In the square, the roaring wave of excitement nearly swept the makeshift platform away.
The assembly was over.
Everyone surged toward the other side of the square as if they had gone mad, rushing toward the shed marked [Cooperative Guild Exchange].
They shoved and jostled, each desperate to reach the front first and see how many merit points those fine goods cost.
A literate craftsman was pushed to the front. He raised his voice and read the list aloud, word by word, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"Iron sickle, thirty merit points!"
"One hundred beeswax candles, thirty merit points!"
The crowd's breathing grew heavier. That price was within reach if they stretched a little-clear three mu of land or hunt five wild boars... The quicker thinkers were already doing the sums.
The craftsman swallowed, his gaze moving down the list as his voice rose involuntarily.
"Thick wool coat, eighty merit points!"
"One bag of refined sea salt, five pounds... one hundred merit points!"
"Steel plowshare, one hundred and twenty merit points!"
Muffled gasps and murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.
One hundred merit points meant clearing ten mu of hard, saline-alkali soil-nearly half a year's work for a grown man.
Their blazing fervor cooled a little.
Ignoring the clamor, the craftsman traced his finger over the final entry, the most tempting item of all. His voice turned thin and strained.
"One... one jar of sugar lumps, twelve pounds... t-two hundred merit points."
The square, so noisy a moment earlier, fell terrifyingly silent.
The tiny glimmer of hope that had just risen in their hearts dissolved once more before the cold reality.
Two hundred merit points.
That number was enough to crush any dream.
The jar of sugar lumps, sparkling in the morning light, no longer looked like a