7 Brick, Tile, and Wooden Bed

Among the cookware Wei Jinyun purchased, the iron pot was the most expensive. This large pot was nearly half her height, fit snugly on the stove, and was versatile—perfect for stewing meat, stir-frying vegetables, and even making some oil cakes or crispy pastries.

The earthenware sold at the pottery stall was cheap. She bought two stacks of clay basins, bowls, and plates, each well-fired and adorned with a few simple floral patterns. Altogether, they cost less than thirty wen.

No wonder everyone liked to come to the early market. The bowls and earthen jars she bought yesterday near Tianqing Temple had cost several wen each, which was quite dear.

After packing these into her backpack basket, she noticed some stone millstones, wooden mortars, and pestles for sale on the bridge. The prices were reasonable. Making pastries required grinding rice flour and pounding glutinous rice. Buying the processed rice from the miller was an option, but grinding it herself was more fitting.

However, most buyers of millstones also owned donkey carts or wooden carts to transport them. Hiring a delivery helper from a shop to bring the goods home, especially from the distance of Tianqing Temple, would cost over ten wen.

Wei Jinyun circled around again and inquired at the livestock stalls. Buying a strong donkey would cost several guan at minimum. She reluctantly petted a donkey’s head, gritting her teeth as she thought about taking it home one day.

In Pingjiang Prefecture, there were many fabric sellers, especially near Changmen Gate, where silk trade predominated. Wei Jinyun selected a bolt of ramie and one of linen, both with beautiful patterns.

The silk and fine gauze fabrics felt wonderful—light and breathable. She resolved to earn more money in the future to buy clothes for her grandmother and sisters.

Further into the market near Changmen Gate were specialized wood and stone craftsman shops. These artisans were registered with guilds, guaranteeing their skills and reliability.

Traders in wood and stone worked alongside bricklayers and tile masons. Lumber and carpenters were a separate group. There was no need to pick materials here and then seek out skilled craftsmen elsewhere.

In fact, under the arch bridge near Tianqing Temple and the corner where Wei Jinyun bought bowls, there were also tile masons waiting with trowels and mudboards, ready for work. One could approach them directly for quotes.

Their prices were cheaper than those in the guild shops, but as a newcomer, she was not lucky enough to find an honest person there.

If someone secretly did shoddy work, pocketed the money, and disappeared into the crowd, she would be at a loss when leaks and drips appeared. Where could she go to seek justice then?

She hadn’t asked the two women from yesterday for recommendations, since their years of experience surely meant they knew many people and could introduce her to “trusted acquaintances.”

The so-called help from acquaintances was the most binding and difficult to refuse.

Wei Jinyun had a friend whose family subcontracted tile installation to her father’s brother. When the project was inspected, the seams were misaligned, and two years later, the balcony’s tiled floor warped so much that it creaked like a mouse when stepped on.

Yet they still had to pay the money, entertain guests, and greet their uncle with a smile at every festival.

She would never make the mistake of being taken advantage of by familiarity.

There were many shops in the wood and stone craftsmen’s quarter. She wandered, comparing prices, and chose one tucked furthest inside.

Markets were always like this: the deeper in you went, the quieter the business.

Outside Zhou’s brick and tile shop, bricks piled half a man’s height, their grey-blue faces dusted with kiln ash.

Wei Jinyun crouched down, pulled out a brick, and rubbed her palm over its surface. She tapped the corner with her finger.

The sound was a dull yet clear "dong," proof of a solid brick.

Nearby, stacks of butterfly tiles caught her eye. Their surfaces were smooth, and the curves just right. After decades of wear, many of her family’s tiles were broken. Yesterday, when the two women swept the courtyard, falling tiles nearly hit their heads.

If she was to replace the tiles, it was better to replace them all. One must not skimp on renovation materials.

Neither her grandmother nor her two younger sisters could afford to be injured by a mere tile.

Zhou, the shopkeeper, was reclining in a rattan chair eating watermelon. Seeing someone inspect the bricks and tiles, he wiped his hands and came forward to greet her.

“You have a keen eye, madam. Our tiles don’t leak rainwater, and the eaves are neat—perfect for building side rooms.”

He glanced her up and down, his eyes flickering.

“If you’re building or repairing a house, three hundred bricks, two hundred butterfly tiles, along with nails and ridge tiles, is just enough to build a room. The total is one guan and two hundred wen.”

Wei Jinyun stood, tapping a few bricks at the bottom of the pile.

“Those bricks with chipped corners count as part of the total loss. The top stacks of tiles are dirty with mud, but I won’t be picky—I’ll take them all.”

She stood on tiptoe to peer inside, seeing two tile masons idly sharing melon slices. The tiles were covered in mud—evidently, business had been slow.

There were many shops in the wood and stone craftsmen’s quarter, but this one, tucked at the back, was not as busy as those at the entrance.

“I’ll pay one guan today,” she said. “Your shop is at the end of the alley. If I haul this whole batch away today, the neighbors will see you sell honestly, and your business will only get better. If you hold onto stock, when new kiln goods arrive, these will become old stock, worth less.”

Zhou sighed, seeming to struggle to hire workers.

He glanced at the sun and then at the two men lazily swatting flies inside the shop. Clearing his throat, he said, “Madam, look at our tile masons—Xiao Zhang and Er Niu!”

Inside, the men came over when called.

Zhou patted one on the shoulder and smiled at Wei Jinyun.

“See, madam? This is my nephew, Xiao Zhang. He started learning the craft young and has twenty years’ experience building houses and walls. Look at his build.”

He punched Xiao Zhang’s muscular arm.

“To be honest, the study room of Scholar Wang from Shantang was built by him. The corners of those walls are so precisely laid you need to squint to see the seams. It doesn’t leak in rain. If you hire him, I guarantee your house will stand sixty years without loosening.”

He winked at the other man.

“Our Er Niu is a master at laying tiles. Last year’s storm flooded the street, but only the houses he worked on stayed dry. He can eat three bowls of rice at a time and works tirelessly from dawn till dusk. If he starts today, he’ll finish tomorrow, and the day after, you can move in!”

Zhou rattled off this praise without pause, stroking his mustache expectantly.

The two men scratched their heads, shy from the compliments, and smiled sincerely at Wei Jinyun.

Not as exaggerated as Zhou made it sound, but still impressive.

Wei Jinyun smiled inwardly but held her composure.

She resolved to come back to the market more often to study how they polished their sales pitch.

They were quite the talkers.

The two men clicked immediately and fetched paper to write a contract:

Three hundred bricks, including six defective ones; two hundred butterfly tiles, including twenty-nine dirty with mud; thirty tile nails; fifteen ridge tiles; total one guan, payable on delivery.

Two tile masons, eighty wen per person for labor, one hundred wen deposit, five days to complete.

Wei Jinyun and Zhou pressed their fingerprints to seal the deal. Silver and goods exchanged hands cleanly.

Zhou laughed as he counted the money.

“Madam, you’re young but know your business better than our builders. I’ll have Xiao Zhang and Er Niu hitch the donkey cart and follow you to unload. They’ll finish unloading by noon and start work right away.”

Wei Jinyun cleared her throat softly.

“Wait a moment more. I still need some furniture made for the shop. I bought some things outside, and I see your cart has room—can you help load them?”

Zhou finished counting and resumed eating watermelon. The melon was crisp and sweet, like it had been soaked in honey.

“Of course,” he smiled. “Xiao Zhang, go help madam load.”

Xiao Zhang followed Wei Jinyun back to the market and saw her “things”: one iron pot, three earthen jars, two mud stoves, one stone millstone, three wooden mortars and pestles, two rolls of cloth, two bags of rice, some flour...

He remembered the shopkeeper’s orders and helped her carry, his face reddening as he hoisted the largest stone millstone onto the cart.

While he was busy, Wei Jinyun headed efficiently to the carpenter’s shop.

She had scoped out the Wang family’s woodworking shop—a middle-aged couple running the business. They made tables and chairs and also wove bamboo goods.

Outside the shop were a few benches, a high-backed chair, and several bamboo baskets.

Mrs. Wang was weaving a delicate bamboo basket when she first noticed Wei Jinyun.

Quickly she stopped her work.

“A lady! Please come in! Are you looking at furniture or bamboo goods? My husband’s craftsmanship is excellent, and my bamboo work is sturdy and durable.”

Mr. Wang, pushing a plane, looked up and wiped his hands with a sweat towel hanging from his shoulder.

Wei Jinyun spoke clearly, smiling faintly.

“To be honest, I just leased a little shop to run a food stall. Today I’ve come to buy some tables and chairs for the opening, and three beds as well.”

Mrs. Wang’s eyes brightened. This was a big customer.

She stood up at once.

“Food stalls need good tables and chairs! Old Wang, bring out the new long table for madam to see.”

She turned to Wei Jinyun.

“Don’t worry. We know what’s needed for dining. The wood is solid and thick; it won’t wobble.”

Mr. and Mrs. Wang worked together to bring out a long table. Mr. Wang patted its surface.

“Look, the tabletop is just the right thickness, the legs are hardwood, mortise joints tight as can be. It’ll be as steady as a mountain in your shop.”

Wei Jinyun inspected the legs carefully and tested the chairs’ sturdiness, nodding in approval.

“Your craftsmanship is indeed fine. I’ll also need three sturdy beds—beech or fine fir wood will do. But the long tables and chairs are most important. I’ll also want three sets each of large and small steaming baskets made of bamboo.”

She looked to Mrs. Wang.

“The steaming baskets must be tightly woven, so no steam escapes—used for steaming buns and pastries.”

Mrs. Wang nodded confidently.

“I’ll take care of the steaming baskets. The bamboo from Pingjiang Prefecture smells fresh, and I scrape the splints smooth so nothing sticks or leaks. Counting it up, madam, you have quite a list.”

Wei Jinyun joined in.

“Money is tight everywhere now, so this expense is not small. I see you’re honest. Please give me a good price. If I need more furniture or repairs in the future, I’ll definitely come to your shop.”

Mrs. Wang’s smile never faded.

“You’re straightforward. We run a small business, so our prices are fair. This beechwood bed, with solid materials and fine workmanship, costs this much—”

She gestured a price and went on to quote for tables, chairs, benches, and steaming baskets.

Wei Jinyun debated and bargained with the couple, spending much breath, until the price came down to what she wanted.

The beds were ready-made, quality wood but plain—comfortable enough. The couple called their son and hitched their cart to help carry the beds. Soon they returned with Wei Jinyun.

The three beds cost her six hundred wen.

For the tables, chairs, benches, and steaming baskets, they signed another contract:

Six cedar long tables, twelve benches, six bamboo and rattan chairs, three sets of large and small steaming baskets; total cost one guan eight hundred wen; three hundred wen deposit; delivery in half a month; inspected to sample, deposit refunded if unsatisfactory.

Mrs. Wang held the contract, staring at it thoughtfully, murmuring that this young, slender lady was sharp and spoke with practiced ease.

Wei Jinyun held both contracts—the tile and the furniture—in her hand.

“But there is one more task I want to entrust to Uncle Wang. If he can do it, we’ll sign a contract for that together with the furniture.”

Mrs. Wang and Mr. Wang perked up, intrigued by the unusual business.

“Madam, whatever you need made from wood or bamboo, our family can try.”

Mr. Wang held the drawing Wei Jinyun had given him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

It resembled a cart used at the market but was somewhat different.

Four wheels formed a sturdy base, compact in size. Above was a wooden cabinet with two layers. The lower layer was half-enclosed wood, the upper layer a flat, spacious work surface surrounded by low railings on three sides.

One board on the work surface could be lifted, revealing a square cavity beneath, positioned exactly above where a mud stove would be placed in the lower cabinet.

Another board beside it was similar but covered the area without the stove. Lifting it revealed a counter for placing ingredients, spices, and a cash box.

The drawing also sketched a detachable, lightweight canopy frame with a note saying it could be covered in oiled cloth or bamboo matting.

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Mr. Wang said, looking up at Wei Jinyun.

“I could give it a try. I’ll make a prototype first, and you can see it. I won’t take a deposit.”

He was used to making tables and chairs and had crafted a few carts and sedan chairs before. This clever little cart was something he was eager to try.

After this day at the market, Wei Jinyun felt as if her mouth was dry from talking so much. She had thought it would take only an hour at most, but when she left the wood and stone craftsmen’s shop, it was nearly noon.

The vendors selling pan-fried buns and steamed dumplings were already washing dishes and packing up, the breakfast rush over.

Wei Jinyun wasn’t very hungry. She went to a tea stall for a bowl of perilla water, bought a bag of fried stinky tofu skewers, and weighed out two jin of candied apricots for her sisters and a jar of walnuts for her grandmother.

The fried stinky tofu was best dipped in chili sauce, but there were no chilies yet. The vendors chopped mustard greens and soaked them in garlic water, which gave a distinctive flavor.

She bit into a skewer. The outer layer was crispy and thin, the inside soft and fluffy—crispy on the outside, tender within, a fragrant stench lingering. It was slightly spicy.

Lu Lan liked honeyed kumquats. There was a honey candy shop at the Changmen Wharf with good flavors, where he often shopped.

But June was apricot season. Madame Shen at the shop enthusiastically introduced the apricots, and he bought five jin on the spot.

Carrying the bag of candied apricots, he turned and caught sight of a slender, graceful figure.

She held a package wrapped in oiled paper in each hand and, with her right hand, picked two bamboo skewers of honey candy, just like him.

She took a bold step and climbed onto a donkey cart.

He squinted watching the moving cart from afar, seeing her lean by the stone mill and poke a piece of stinky tofu with a bamboo skewer, gasping from the spice.