Chapter 2614: Mulberry Market
Guan Zongbao rose at the fifth watch to relieve his mother from feeding the silkworms. Only after completing the morning chores did he cook breakfast. The silkworm droppings he collected weren't destined for the fish ponds—not anymore. Last year, the local Master Zhu had begun purchasing silkworm feces in bulk for some patent medicine workshop, paying handsomely enough that farmers throughout the region now saved their droppings for sale. Fish feed had to be supplemented instead by harvesting wild grasses from the fields.
At dawn, Huang Shi woke from her brief rest feeling somewhat restored. She ate a simple meal of pickled vegetables over rice, then joined her son while the morning air was still cool. Together they carried sickles, hoes, and mulberry baskets to the garden for weeding. The pulled weeds would feed the grass carp in their pond, though this was never enough—Guan Zongbao also had to harvest water grass from the nearby marshes and shallows, piling it into green manure to supplement the fish.
Morning dew still clung to the mulberry leaves. Feeding damp leaves to silkworms made them sick, so they had to wait until the moisture evaporated before picking. Once the early farm work was finished, mother and son began their harvest.
The mulberry gardens of Jiujiang differed markedly from those in Jiangnan. Planting density depended on soil fertility—fertile land allowed rows spaced one chi and two cun apart, while poorer soil required one chi and five or six cun. With spacing of seven or eight chi between rows, a single mu of Jiujiang mulberry land typically held five or six thousand plants. By contrast, the arbor mulberry of the Yellow River's middle and lower reaches was planted at only 240 trees per mu, and Jiangnan's Lake Mulberry at no more than 200—a stark difference. Guangdong mulberry trees could live thirty years or more. Those planted before the Beginning of Spring would yield leaves for the final three harvests of the year; those planted in the first or second lunar month wouldn't produce until the following year.
The most distinctive practice was "Cutting Branches"—Yizhi—performed around the Winter Solstice each year. The planter would measure about an inch up from the root, then slice horizontally with a sickle in one swift stroke. A second cut was forbidden, as it would injure the tree. This timing coincided with the pond fish harvest, making it ideal for draining the ponds and spreading the nutrient-rich mud over the dikes. The pond silt fertilized the mulberry through winter and suppressed weed growth.
However, if overwintering silkworm eggs needed to be supplied, growers maintained what was called the Mulberry Flower Crop. Rather than cutting at the Winter Solstice, they let certain horizontal branches grow into what they called "Big Tree Tail." By late winter and early spring, these branches sprouted a few tender leaves—the "Mulberry Flowers." Seed makers had to reserve these in advance with the growers. Due to the extremely low yield, Mulberry Flowers commanded premium prices. Since the branches were only cut after these leaves were picked, such trees couldn't supply the first silkworm crop of the season—only the second.
Huang Shi bent at the waist, gripping branch stems with her left hand while her right hand moved rapidly, pinching off leaves with practiced precision. The technique was delicate—too rough, and you'd damage the tree. The first crop was especially taxing; the new growth that sprouted after the winter cutting grew short and close to the ground, forcing pickers to stoop continuously. During the first three crops, while the weather remained cool, the tender leaves couldn't be stripped completely bare. Five or six leaves had to remain on each branch.
As she worked, Huang Shi gathered the picked leaves and transferred them to the basket on her back. The basket was woven from bamboo, its open weave allowing air to circulate and prevent the leaves from fermenting in the heat.
Guan Zongbao wiped the sweat from his brow. "Mother, when we've saved some silver this year, let's hire pickers for next season. Working ourselves to the bone like this, day and night—we'll collapse eventually. It's not worth it."
Huang Shi shook her head. "From the second crop through the seventh, each jin of mulberry leaves costs four wen in labor. The first crop is even worse—six wen. It's not worth it. Better to save our money and find you a wife. Then we'll have an extra pair of hands at home."
By the time they finished, the sun hung high overhead. Guan Zongbao hauled the morning's weeds back to compost, then loaded the mulberry leaves onto a shoulder pole and set off for the Mulberry Market, hoping to fetch a good price.
"So many wretched mosquitoes! Next time I'm bringing a box of repellent tablets and smoking every last one of you to death!" Zhao Hening swatted at the air with a local cattail-leaf fan, trying to drive away the swarm hovering around her head. She silently thanked herself for heeding Zhang Xiao's advice and packing long sleeves and trousers when leaving Guangzhou, dressing like the local village girls. After living in Lingao for so long, she had nearly forgotten how vicious rural mosquitoes could be.
Li Yao'er had assigned her to investigate how the local sericulture industry operated. Zhao Hening had dragged Zhang Jiayu along under the pretext of needing a local guide. Li Yao'er, somewhat worried about safety, had also arranged for Le Ziren, the resident officer at Jiujiang Police Station, to accompany them.
Jiujiang Great Market served as the town's commercial center, but the Mulberry Market wasn't located there. Instead, it operated at the village level. In sericulture regions, such markets were countless—even tiny hamlets had one. The area was densely populated. Zhao Hening's group had traveled only two or three li south from the Great Market before arriving at Nanfang Village. Ring-shaped fish ponds surrounded the settlement, formed by excavating earth to build the dikes. They served an obvious defensive purpose, like a moat.
Zhang Jiayu pointed toward several thatched "shops" clustered at the water's edge outside the village. "Hening, this is what they call the Mulberry Market."
Zhao Hening's face fell. "This is a market? Three ramshackle thatched huts?"
"Guangzhou's rural clans don't welcome outside merchants," Zhang Jiayu explained. "Village traders go home after conducting their business—they don't need permanent shops. A few simple shelters are enough."
Before they could get closer, the sound of two women hurling abuse at each other reached their ears. The first woman shrieked, "You shameless chicken thief! If you love chickens so much, why don't you become one yourself!" The Cantonese wordplay was unmistakable—chicken also meant whore.
The second woman shot back, "You're the chicken! Your whole family are chickens! You see anyone's hen and think it's yours!"
"Hmph! Stealing my chicken and still acting righteous!"
"What proof do you have? Why was your chicken foraging in my mulberry garden, then?"
Villagers began gathering to watch. Someone attempted to mediate but made no headway. A hen represented considerable wealth in the countryside—neither woman was willing to concede, much less admit to theft.
Zhao Hening noticed Le Ziren watching the scene with obvious amusement. "You're a Senate cadre," she said. "Why are you standing there enjoying the show instead of resolving the dispute?"
Le Ziren shrugged. "Miss Zhao, it's just a chicken. These petty squabbles happen constantly out here—you can't possibly manage them all. Besides, I don't speak their dialect. How would I even know whose chicken it is?"
Zhao Hening rolled her eyes at him. After a moment's thought, she stepped forward and called out loudly, "Both of you aunties, please stop arguing!"
The two women, mid-tirade, were startled into silence by her sudden interruption. They stared at her, momentarily confused.
Neither Zhang Jiayu nor Le Ziren had expected Zhao Hening to intervene. Before they could stop her, she pressed on. "What you're arguing about is who owns this chicken, but neither of you can prove it. I have a solution."
The second woman looked her up and down. "Well, well. Whose yellow-haired girl is this? Still wet behind the ears, and she wants to stick her nose in my business?"
The first woman, sensing an ally, spoke up. "Listen to her! A girl who sees injustice and speaks up. What's the matter—feeling guilty?"
"Guilty of what? I've never been guilty of anything! She's an outsider meddling in village affairs!"
"An outsider is perfect. No connection to either of us—that's fair."
Unable to argue the point, the second woman relented. "Fine. Let's hear what brilliant idea she has."
Zhao Hening asked, "Where do each of you live?"
Both women pointed to their respective thatched cottages on the nearby mulberry dike. Their homes weren't far apart.
"Give me the chicken," Zhao Hening said.
Not wanting to appear guilty, the second woman handed over the small hen without protest. Zhao Hening gripped it by the wings and led the crowd to a spot equidistant between the two cottages. "This chicken doesn't have anyone's name written on it, and neither of you can produce definitive proof of ownership. But the chicken knows where it belongs. This is the midpoint between your two homes. I'll release it here. Whichever nest it returns to—that's its owner. Agreed?"
The first woman nodded eagerly—her chicken would certainly run home. "Agreed! Yes, agreed!"
The second woman's heart sank. A chicken taken from someone else's house would naturally run back there. If this worked, she really would look like a thief. But she couldn't back down now. "Fine," she said stiffly.
Seeing no objections, Zhao Hening released the hen. The moment its feet touched ground, it bolted toward the first woman's cottage in a flurry of feathers.
The second woman scrambled for dignity. "My chickens all forage freely in the mulberry garden. Like some men—never coming home. If it doesn't want to come home, so be it."
And so the dispute was settled. With no more spectacle to watch, the onlookers drifted away to resume their work. Basking in the first woman's gratitude, Zhao Hening turned to Zhang Jiayu with a satisfied smile. "Well? Handled beautifully, wouldn't you say?"
"Clean and elegant. I'm genuinely impressed." Zhang Jiayu felt a twinge of shame. He had always fancied himself chivalrous, concerned with matters of justice and the greater good—not petty village squabbles. Yet here was Zhao Hening, resolving a dispute with such effortless grace.
Le Ziren chimed in, "Miss Zhao truly is a top student of Fangcao Di..."
Zhao Hening adopted Zhang Xiao's tone. "Grassroots Senate cadres must learn to immerse themselves in local communities, understand the people's concerns, and shine the Senate's light into every corner."
"Yes, yes, absolutely right, Miss Zhao." Le Ziren nodded vigorously.
The Mulberry Market soon returned to its normal rhythm. Zhao Hening's group posed as farmers looking to buy mulberry leaves and struck up conversations with the villagers. In well-developed sericulture regions like Jiujiang, Mulberry Markets didn't follow the usual market-day schedule—they operated continuously for more than twenty days per silkworm crop to ensure a steady supply of leaves. The land they occupied might belong to the village commons, a clan's shared property, an ancestral hall's sacrificial holdings, or temple grounds. Typically, merchants bid for operating rights annually or every few years, with the proceeds serving as ground rent.
The largest of the thatched structures was a storage shed for mulberry leaves. Beside it stood a smaller room where transactions took place. Zhao Hening found her attention drawn to a young man in patched clothes. He was handsome despite being deeply tanned, though wounds and bruises marked his face.
It was Guan Zongbao.
(End of Chapter)