vstars Chapter 195 Chen Fan's Old Files
Chapter 195 Chen Fan's Old Files
At the other end of the stone street, one old shop after another opened its doors.
Steam rose from the porridge in the pot, and the damp firewood brought over added a musty woody smell to the street. People coming down the mountain path didn't stop; those carrying loads, baskets, and children all glanced at the two signs before queuing at the counter.
Si Mo buried himself in bookkeeping, his pen scraping the paper as he turned page after page.
Sun Wukong squatted atop the archway, using a thin wooden stick to pluck grass seeds from the cracks in the tiles. Children dared not approach, only standing below and looking up. After a while, they were dragged away by adults.
Despite the apparent liveliness, Chen Fan remained vigilant.
Signs were erected on both sides, but the opening was simply widened first. To get to the bottom of things, we still need to find out where those old books were distributed from. The head of the wooden fish troupe arrested a few, but the people who played the wooden fish seemed to have sprung up from the ground—one was broken off, but there were still others behind.
Jiang Chao returned around noon.
His shoes were covered in dust. He drank half a bowl of cold water as soon as he entered the room and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"At the very end of Stone Street, there's an abandoned building," he said. "It used to be the old accounting office of a trading company. It caught fire a few years ago, but the walls didn't collapse. No one has lived there since. Someone went in last night; there were messy gray marks at the door, like suitcases had been dragged there."
Chen Fan put down the half-eaten mixed flour pancake in his hand.
"Whose land?"
"Originally, it was a sign for Heping Wharf. Later, the seal for Dongshi was replaced, and then it was torn off. Now it's unclaimed."
Yang Jian was standing by the door wiping his sword when he heard this and raised his eyes.
"Let's go take a look."
Si Mo was about to get up when Chen Fan waved his hand.
"You remain on duty. No one can be arrested today."
Si Mo glanced at him, sat down again, and opened the account book.
"Understood. Keep the account books on the table until you return."
Chen Fan nodded, and led Jiang Chao and Yang Jian along the stone street. Liu Er suddenly appeared out of nowhere, with half a rope draped over his shoulder.
"I'm going too."
"You can go," Chen Fan glanced at him, "but shut your mouth first."
Liu Er grinned, and then really didn't say another word.
The further you go into the stone street, the fewer people there are.
The sounds of the stalls ahead faded into a faint echo here. The eaves on both sides were low, the walls were blackened, and layers of old mud had accumulated in the cracks between the stones. The abandoned building was at the end; the lintel had been burned, the wood was bubbly, and half of the plaque hung askew, with only the character "运" (meaning "luck") remaining.
Jiang Chao lifted his foot and pushed the door open.
A choking, grayish fumes billowed out from inside.
The house was deep. A corner of the front hall had collapsed, and half a piece of charred rope still hung from the beam. The floor was covered with shredded paper, which was brittle underfoot. The window paper had long since rotted away, and light shone in through the holes, making dust swirl all over the room.
Liu Er squatted down and picked up a corner of paper.
"Burned and then turned over?"
"It wasn't searching," Yang Jian glanced at the ground. "It was looking for something. The boxes were dragged out, and two more were taken away."
Chen Fan didn't reply, his gaze falling on the wall to the right.
That should have been a side room. The brickwork outside looked smooth, but the ash stains underfoot were thick. People had stopped here, and more than one.
He walked over, placed his palm on the wall, and felt along the brick lines inch by inch.
When I touched a spot, my knuckles gently pressed against it, and there was a moment of emptiness inside.
"Pry it open."
Jiang Chao drew his short knife and slit it along the brick seam with a click. The two thin bricks sank inward, revealing a narrow opening.
Six Ears reached in, groped around for a while, and pulled out an oilcloth bag.
The oilcloth was covered in dust, with blackened wax stuck to the corners. Chen Fan took it, weighed it in his hand, and found it wasn't heavy. He squatted down, used the tip of his knife to loosen the knot, and the outer layer of cloth fell apart, revealing a yellowed cardboard clip underneath.
The edges of the paper clip were frayed, the cover was soft, and there was half a faded red stamp in the center.
Chen Fan initially thought it was just an old grievance, but when he turned to the first page, he stopped.
It doesn't say "Heping Wharf" or any prefecture or county.
That's his name.
Chen Fan.
The two characters were neatly written, with a small black-and-white portrait of him underneath. In the photo, he was wearing an old shirt, had short hair, and a somewhat stiff expression, as if he had been rushed to finish the photo. Next to the photo was a stamp across the seam, half of which was missing, making it impossible to read the entire organization name; only the words "Personnel" were legible.
Jiang Chao leaned over to take a look and was stunned for a moment.
"Who is this?"
Six-eared creature also poked its head out, its eyes practically popping out.
"Isn't this you? Your face looks so tender, like you've never been beaten."
Chen Fan ignored him.
He continued flipping through the pages. Place of origin, education, employment registration, medical examination summary, salary transfer—the forms were all old, the paper darkened, even the staples rusted. The dates at the end all remained the same. On the next page, where there should have been a continuation, the paper broke, as if only the first half of the set had been copied.
Chen Fan saw the date very clearly.
It was two days before he transmigrated.
The room was very quiet.
Outside, the cries of a vendor selling steamed buns drifted in from the street, sounding distant and barely audible. Chen Fan stared at the string of numbers, motionless for a long time. It wasn't that he had misremembered. That day, he was still working in his original world, working late into the night, the instant coffee on his desk bitter and sour. As he was about to go downstairs, half the corridor lights were broken, and the elevator was taking a long time to arrive.
When I opened my eyes again, I was already at the foot of Wuzhi Mountain.
Yang Jian asked in a low voice, "Did you understand?"
"I understand a little bit." Chen Fan flattened the paper. "This is something from my old place."
Jiang Chao didn't understand and frowned.
"Which side before?"
Chen Fan closed the paper clip without offering any further explanation.
"On the other side."
This time, Liu Er didn't crack any jokes. He looked at Chen Fan for a while, twitched his nose slightly, and turned to stand guard at the door.
Chen Fan flipped the folder to the back, where there were more things inside.
It was an allocation form that hadn't been fully stamped.
The paper was newer than the previous ones, as if it had been inserted later. A corner of the form was missing, leaving only the words "allocation". Below, the columns were neatly arranged, with names, numbers, destinations, and approvers listed in rows. In the lower right corner, where a stamp should have been placed, only half a round seal was pressed, the ink half-dry, as if the seal had been interrupted before it could settle properly.
He only glanced at it, and his back stiffened.
The format of this table is almost identical to that of the Ninth Operations Register.
It's not some amateurish copy from an accountant. The spacing between the grid lines, the way the numbers are written, and the habit of indenting the signature column by half a grid to the left are all the same. Even the thin line at the bottom to prevent confusion is in the same place.
Yang Jian saw it too.
"From the same place?"
"Eighty percent." Chen Fan held the paper up to the light, squinting at the grain. "It's not just the location. The people using the watches all seem to be the same group."
Upon hearing this, Jiang Chao's expression changed.
"Your old files are tucked inside this form?"
"It wasn't tucked inside." Chen Fan touched the back of the clipboard, his fingertip pressing on a bulge. "Someone deliberately put the two together."
He turned the paper clip upside down and shook it gently. Sure enough, a small piece of blue carbon paper fell out from the innermost compartment. The carbon paper was already dry and hard, with half a line of reversed text smeared on it.
—The Ninth Cycle…
I can't see the rest.
Liu Er turned around from the doorway.
"Two people came in from outside, glanced this way, and then went back inside."
Yang Jian sheathed his sword.
"Should we pursue them?"
Chen Fan rewrapped the items and stuffed them into his pocket.
"Don't chase them. If we do, they'll scatter."
He got up and looked around, his gaze landing on the scattered scraps of paper in the room.
"Jiang Chao, gather all the papers you can see. Don't pick and choose, just pile them up. Yang Jian, go to the back alley and look over the wall for footprints. Liu Er, come back with me."
Six Ears asked, "Back to Stone Street?"
"Back to the case." Chen Fan walked out. "There are a lot of people here today. Once the sign is up, everyone's watching. This document can't be taken down here."
As he reached the door, he paused again and looked back at the charred, cramped room.
A small piece of paper was still stuck in the crack in the wall, trembling slightly in the wind.
It looked like someone hurriedly stuffed it in before leaving, and didn't manage to put it in properly.
Chen Fan reached out and tore off the edge of the paper.
Only half a word remains.
"List".
He tucked the piece of paper into his palm, turned, and left the abandoned building.
Outside the stone street, the same bustling atmosphere of daily life still lingered. The steamer baskets for buns had just been opened, and white steam billowed across half the street. A woodcutter, carrying a newly bundled of damp firewood, squeezed his way to the counter, calling out, "Take notes!" The clerk stood to one side, carefully holding the signboard, afraid of scratching the lacquer.
Si Mo saw them returning from afar, closed the account book, first looked at Chen Fan's face, then at the wad of oilcloth in his arms.
"Did you find something?"
Chen Fan placed the oilcloth bundle on the corner of the table and tapped it with his finger.
"Found it."
Si Mo asked, "What account?"
Chen Fan pulled out a stool and sat down, then took out the allocation form that hadn't been fully stamped and laid it flat next to the new account book.
Two kinds of paper, two places, two years.
The grid pattern, however, looks like it was all cut from the same mold.
Si Mo looked down for three breaths, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
"These aren't the hands of an accountant."
"I know." Chen Fan raised his hand to hold down the paper, preventing the wind from lifting the edges. "Go and get the roster from the Ninth Cycle. The old one. Don't disturb anyone else."
Si Mo responded and turned to leave.
Chen Fan sat behind the desk, his palm still pressing on the paper. The paper was uneven, with slightly curled edges, as if it had been damp and then dried. As he pressed it, he suddenly felt the bottom right corner, under the half of the stamp, where there was a faint, almost invisible pencil mark.
It's like someone writing their name as a sample before stamping their seal, then quickly erasing it.
He pushed the paper forward half an inch, using the slanted light to make out the details.
Only half of the character remained.
Where.
Chapter 684 Project Proposal for the Old World
When Si Mo brought over the old register of the Ninth Cycle, his sleeves were covered in dust.
The booklet was thick, with a crack in the cover and frayed edges. Chen Fan took it, but didn't open it immediately. Instead, he tapped it twice on the table to shake off the accumulated dust. The dust kicked up, causing the clerk copying the document next to him to cough twice.
"Close the door," Chen Fan said.
Si Mo turned around and closed the door tightly. The wooden latch fell with a soft click.
Chen Fan placed the paper with half of the character "Fan" on it next to the roster and flipped through the pages little by little along the edge. The beginning was mostly old records of income and expenditure and transfers, the handwriting smooth and the ink even, as if it had been specially practiced for the higher-ups to see. When he turned to the second half, where he should have continued recording the number of people and goods, the paper color suddenly changed, as if it had been added at the last minute.
Si Mo leaned closer for a look and whispered, "The page has changed."
"Hmm." Chen Fan stopped pointing.
There were no names on that page; three lines were drawn first.
Upper layer, middle layer, lower layer.
Following this were the addresses, rations, entry and exit permits, and escort arrangements. Below that were a series of quota numbers: how many were mountain dwellers, how many were traveling merchants, how many were short-term residents, and how many were outsiders seeking refuge. At the very end was a small note: once the boundary is merged, silence should be maintained first, then identities verified, and then allocations made.
Chen Fan stared at the phrase "boundary" for a moment, then slowly flattened the paper with the back of his hand.
This isn't a new idea.
Several years ago, or even earlier, some people had already used this as an account.
Suddenly, a commotion arose outside. First came footsteps, then the creaking of wheels on the stone street, heavy and steady. Just as Si Mo was about to go look, someone knocked on the door, the knocking unhurried, as if the person knew who it was.
"Is Mr. Chen here? We're sending documents to the Taicheng Investment Promotion Bureau."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Chen Fan closed the old register and pressed it to the corner of the table: "Open the door."
As soon as the door opened, a sweet, cloying fragrance wafted in, like new lacquer mixed with floral oil. Three people stood outside. The one in front wore a robe with a dark patterned collar and fine gold thread embroidered on the cuffs; his smile was serene, as if he had checked his reflection in a bronze mirror before leaving. The two behind him carried boxes; one held a picture album, and the other a box of seals.
The man entered and bowed, saying, "My surname is Liang, and I am from Heshengxing in the south of the city. I have been entrusted by the Investment Promotion Bureau to deliver a business license for the import of seafood."
Liu Er, who had been squatting on the windowsill eating fruit pits, stopped upon hearing this, tilted his head, and smiled: "You can sell them on mountain roads too?"
Manager Liang seemed oblivious to the barb, his smile unwavering: "It's not about selling, it's about overall coordination. Now that the mountain road connects to the stone street, both sides are open, and people and goods need to move around. In a few more days, with the border crossing opened, there will be even more traffic from all directions. If no one manages it, it will inevitably descend into chaos sooner or later."
Yang Jian stepped aside from the doorway, said nothing, and only glanced at the two boxes.
When Manager Liang had a spare moment, he immediately ordered someone to spread out the catalog.
A large sheet of paper covered half the table. The ink lines on the paper were neat and orderly, depicting mountain roads, stone streets, ferry crossings, and market stalls. Which sections were fenced off, which required tickets, and which only allowed passage with permits were clearly marked. Even the slope where the monkeys often squatted was circled in red with the note "Viewing platform reserved."
Sun Wukong was sunbathing on the porch when he heard this. He sat up and poked his head in through the window.
"Who reserved it?"
Manager Liang's hand trembled, and he almost dropped his pen. He clearly already knew who lived here, but when he actually saw that hairy face, he still swallowed hard and forced a smile: "If the Great Sage is willing to take charge, that would be even better. We also set aside a share for Flower Fruit Mountain when we run the book."
Upon hearing this, Liu Er burst out laughing, slapping the window frame with his laughter.
"And you even take a cut? You guys are really audacious."
Manager Liang straightened his sleeves, coughed, and as if to regain control of the situation: "Everyone, please don't rush to get angry. Listen to me first. The biggest difficulty right now is not the roads, nor the sheds, but the people. Once the annexation begins, the old city and villages will be thrown into chaos. Whoever establishes the rules first will be able to maintain the situation. This management manual is about this."
As he spoke, he pulled a red-bordered document from the box and handed it to the table.
"First, tiered housing. The ring closest to the mountain pass is reserved for guards, doctors, registrants, and residents who pay maintenance fees. The second ring is for merchants and short-stay artisans. The third ring houses the general population. This way, deployment is fastest in case of an emergency. Second, quota-based entry. Not just anyone can enter; registration is required, followed by identity verification, and permits are issued monthly. This prevents a bunch of people of dubious origin from sneaking in. Third, dedicated escorts. VIPs, heavy cargo, and the wounded each use dedicated routes. This is both safe and convenient."
He spoke fluently, as if he had memorized it many times.
Si Mo's eyelids twitched twice when he heard the words "stratified living". When he heard "quota-based admission" and "exclusive escort", his face gradually darkened. He turned around, pulled out an old ledger from a few days ago from the shelf, and slammed it down on the table.
"It's just a different shell; the inside is still the same."
Manager Liang glanced at him: "Young master, you've spoken too harshly. The old system was a black box, a stranglehold. Ours is governance. We need money to build roads. We need entry permits to prevent chaos. We need escorts to manage the flow of people. Times have changed, and the methods must change too."
"The method hasn't changed," Chen Fan finally said.
He sat behind his desk and pointed to the three words.
"Before, people were divided into those who could pass and those who couldn't. Then you'd sell them a life-saving contract. Now, people are divided into those who live inside and those who live outside. Then you'd sell them an entrance ticket."
Manager Liang's smile faded slightly: "Mr. Chen's words are unfair. You know, the border is no joke. Those fissures outside the mountains have widened again these past few days. Things from the wild don't recognize people or shop signs. If they really pile up to the street corners, who can bear the responsibility of talking about equality for all?"
This time, even the clerks copying documents by the door stopped writing.
They were afraid too.
These past two days, quite a few strange things have indeed happened outside the city. This morning, someone reported that the old well on the south slope had deepened by three feet overnight, and several black stones that didn't belong here had appeared on the well's edge, which they couldn't crack even if they were smashed.
It's probably true.
But Manager Liang's book wasn't meant to shield him from trouble; it was meant to secure his position.
Chen Fan pushed the old roster over and spread it out in front of the layered diagram on that page.
"Take a look at this."
Manager Liang lowered his head, his face first showing doubt, then stiffening.
The format on that page was almost identical to the business manual he had brought. It had three layers: top, middle, and bottom. Quotas. Entry and exit passes. Escort ranks. Even the blank spaces were nearly the same. The only difference was that the old register was followed by lists of unpaid taxes, conscripted laborers, and corvée labor.
Manager Liang's hand remained suspended in mid-air, without touching it.
"This... is just a coincidence."
"Coincidence?" Liu Er flipped over from the windowsill and landed behind him, reaching out to lift him slightly by the back of his collar before releasing him. "Your Coincidence can copy homework?"
Sun Wukong grinned, revealing a set of white teeth: "Old Sun understands now. Before, they used whips to drive people away. Now they use signs. They've changed the wording, but they still want to occupy the mountain pass."
Manager Liang's forehead was covered in sweat, but he still stubbornly said, "Great Sage, your words are extreme. If there is no order, who will guarantee the stability of the city? Are you suggesting that the mountain people, scattered households, and outsiders all rush in? If that happens, the granaries will be empty first, the pharmacies will be looted first, and there won't even be time to cry."
Chen Fan looked at him and said, "Stability isn't about squeezing out the poorest people first."
"Then what do we rely on?"
"We rely on building roads. We rely on making our accounts public. We rely on people who are hungry being able to exchange their food for two steamed buns at the mountain pass, without having to verify their ancestors' lineage for three generations."
Manager Liang's lips twitched slightly: "Easy for you to say. Road repairs don't cost money? Guarding the pass doesn't require manpower? Escorting doesn't require carriages and horses? Mr. Chen can't expect everyone to work for free. Heshengxing is willing to advance the funds, provide the escort team, and establish the rules first. Taking the entrance fee and qualification is just to recoup the costs. What's wrong with that?"
After those words were spoken, the room fell silent.
Even Liu Er didn't say a word.
Because this is the hardest thing to argue with. It sounds too much like a truth. Building bridges requires wood, patrolling roads requires food, and lamps require oil. When the old world collapses, the first people to reach out to help are often not there to help, but to first register the door frame in their own names.
Chen Fan lowered his eyes and looked at the new seal in the corner of the album.
Heshengxing, the Investment Promotion Bureau, and the City Defense Bureau.
A joint effort by three parties.
This wasn't just Manager Liang's idea. Someone behind the scenes had already turned the opportunity into a business deal. Before the other side even really got involved, the project proposal arrived first.
He reached out and turned the pages of the business book one by one.
The details were further elaborated later. It stated how many days it would take to recoup the initial investment and how many months it would take to expand to Dongpo. If the influx of people surged, temporary shelters could be added, charged daily. For those with "special bloodlines or unusual appearances," a separate high-level settlement could be established, with special protection fees collected. A small box was drawn in the margin, stating: "Priority will be given to recruiting those with combat capabilities, and signing residency contracts."
When Si Mo saw that line of text, his fingers curled up.
"They even wrote the person's name as a sample."
Manager Liang said in a low voice, "People always need to prioritize."
"Who decides what's important?" Chen Fan asked.
Manager Liang replied quickly: "Naturally, those who can afford it will be selected first."
He was stunned when he said that.
It sounded like he just blurted it out.
The minor officials inside looked up at him, their expressions changing instantly. The neighbors who had been watching the commotion outside gradually quieted down upon hearing this. The woodcutter, carrying an empty basket, stood at the doorway, his feet motionless, but his face darkened.
Sun Wukong reached out and pulled the picture book over, glanced at it twice, and then threw it back onto the table.
"You wrote it in such detail. You even circled which rock I, Old Sun, am squatting on."
Manager Liang hurriedly replied, "That was just a gesture."
"Your ancestors are being shown this." Six Ears kicked the seal box over. The cinnabar rolled on the ground, staining a patch of brick seam red.
Yang Jian finally spoke, his voice low: "Who sent you?"
Manager Liang's throat bobbed: "Prefectural City Investment Promotion Bureau."
"name."
"The document... the document was signed by Clerk Zhao. On the city defense side, it was Commandant Song who gave his approval. The silver was paid by Hesheng Bank, and the Trade Association acted as guarantor."
Yang Jian nodded, as if he had remembered.
Chen Fan didn't ask anyone else. He closed the business book again and placed it on top of the old register. The new paper on top of the old paper, with the edges still curled up, couldn't be pressed flat.
He read those three points aloud again.
"Separate housing. Limited-quota admission. Exclusive escort."
With each passage read aloud, the person at the desk grew increasingly somber.
This is not a new method.
This is just old grievances with a new red cover, a different way of saying them, and then using the boundary as a gong to bang on the ears of all those who are afraid of chaos.
Chen Fan raised his hand and pushed the business license forward.
"Send it back."
Manager Liang hurriedly said, "Mr. Chen doesn't have to sign; you can keep it for now. Tomorrow, the Investment Promotion Bureau will hold a public meeting at the street corner. All shop owners, residents of the mountain pass, and ferry boatmen must attend. If you don't go, they will take it as their consent."
Chen Fan looked up: "Where is the consensus?"
"Under the West Archway"
"when?"
"The third quarter of the hour of Si (9-11 AM)".
Chen Fan nodded: "Understood."
Before Steward Liang could say anything more, Liu Er had already picked up the empty seal box and stuffed it into his arms: "Hurry up. If you're any slower, I'll divide it into layers for you too. Head on top, legs on the bottom."
Manager Liang's face paled, and he retreated with the box in his arms. The two behind him hurriedly followed, but the blueprints, rolled up too quickly, had their corners hit the door frame, causing a crack.
The sound of wheels came from outside the door again, slowly fading into the distance.
The room was quiet for a moment.
Si Mo first hugged the old register back to his arms, his palm still resting on the page with the layered entries. He asked, "Are you really going tomorrow?"
"Go." Chen Fan stood up, picked up the business book, and nailed it to the wall.
The wooden nail pierced through the paper and stuck right into the words "Mountain and Sea Entrance Business License".
"Go and see the old world, and see what price you're prepared to pay to buy the new market."
Chapter 685 Wukong Pulls Up the Boundary Stake
As dawn broke, ruts were already visible on the newly leveled dirt road at the mountain pass.
A light rain fell last night, and the mud was still soft. Several large trucks were parked by the roadside, their sides covered with tarpaulins and their corners nailed with copper plates; from a distance, it was clear that they were not made by locals.
When Chen Fan and Si Mo walked over, a large crowd had already gathered in front of them.
There were people carrying firewood, selling vegetables, and idlers who had just sneaked over from Stone Street yesterday to watch the excitement. The people stood close together, but no one pushed forward. In the cleared area on the ground, three black iron stakes stood upright.
The base of the stake is as tall as a person.
The iron head was hammered into a sharp point, half of it already embedded in the mud. Each stake also had a wooden plaque nailed horizontally to it, freshly painted and dazzlingly shiny.
Several lines of large characters were written on it.
"Shanhai Trading Company's branch office on the road."
"A contract has already been signed to reserve this area."
"Those who sell miscellaneous goods are not allowed to set up stalls outside the designated areas."
Si Mo glanced at it first, then looked at the middle-aged man in the silk jacket next to him.
The man carried a scroll of documents, his shoes were clean, and he stood steadily, as if he had deliberately chosen a spot that wouldn't get muddy. Four burly men followed behind him, each with a short stick tucked into their waistband.
Upon seeing Chen Fan approach, the middle-aged man first cupped his hands in greeting.
"Who's in charge here?"
Chen Fan stopped in front of the stake, didn't say anything at first, and looked down at the ground.
These three stakes are driven quite deep.
There was freshly turned yellow soil nearby. It seemed they started before dawn, afraid of being stopped by a large crowd.
He looked up and asked, "Who gave you permission to hit them?"
The middle-aged man smiled and unfolded the document by half an inch.
"My surname is Liang, and I am the head of external affairs at the Shanhai Trading Company. I sent a letter to the county government yesterday and also met with several old businesses along the way. From now on, this section of the mountain pass will be managed by my company. Now that the road is open, business must have some rules."
He spoke slowly, as if he had memorized the words.
"Our company is paying for the roadside repairs, setting up checkpoints to monitor goods, and closing down the stalls. From now on, anyone who wants to sell, rent, or lease can come and discuss it. It saves you all trouble, and it saves us trouble too."
An commotion immediately broke out in the crowd.
Yesterday, that man carrying firewood slammed his load on the ground.
"Did you build this road?"
Manager Liang didn't look at him, but only at Chen Fan.
"It doesn't matter who built the road. What matters is who can make this business last. A small, scattered stall won't amount to anything. If the price changes every day, outside merchants won't dare to come. If Manager Chen understands business, he should understand this principle."
Si Mo's face had darkened.
He took a half step forward, about to speak, when Chen Fan raised his hand to stop him.
"Where is your godfather?"
Manager Liang unfolded the document in his hand a little more.
"The county's reply is still on its way. The old association has already given their approval. Yamaguchi is unclaimed wasteland, so it's first come, first served. We'll put up the stakes first and then complete the deed later; that's not breaking the rules."
Chen Fan chuckled.
"Whose rules are these?"
Manager Liang's smile faltered.
"The rules of the marketplace."
"There are no rules in the marketplace," someone else chimed in.
The speaker was the old woman selling steamed buns. She lifted the cloth covering the steamer, and white steam billowed out as she continued, "Yesterday you sent someone to check the price, and today you're closing down. Your rules are faster than a stray dog urinating."
Everyone around burst into laughter.
Manager Liang's face twitched, and he gave the burly man behind him a wink.
Two burly men walked forward, and as soon as their feet touched the muddy ground, the crowd of onlookers stopped in their tracks. The man carrying firewood turned his carrying pole sideways, and several women carrying vegetables also put their baskets on the ground, completely blocking the way.
Seeing this scene, Si Mo felt the anger in his heart subside somewhat.
These past few days of setting up tables, keeping accounts, revising contracts, and setting up signs have all been worthwhile.
At least for now, they're not the only ones standing at the intersection.
Manager Liang took a breath, his voice becoming deep.
"Manager Chen, business is business, don't make things ugly. The trading company wants this access point, not to discuss it with you, but to inform you. If you don't agree today, tomorrow there will be more than just us."
Chen Fan nodded.
"I understand."
He turned his head to look up at the mountain path and called out, "Brother Monkey."
The people surrounding them were taken aback at first, then all looked up.
Someone had been squatting on that big rock on the hillside sometime earlier.
Sun Wukong had half a blade of grass in his mouth, his arm resting on his knee, as if he had been listening for a long time. When Chen Fan called him, he spat out the grass and grinned.
"You should have said so earlier. I thought you were trying to reason with him."
He came down as soon as he finished speaking.
It's not about taking it one step at a time.
He stepped forward from the stone, kicking up a trail of dirt, and in the blink of an eye, he landed next to the foremost iron stake, like a yellow shadow.
Manager Liang was so frightened that he took half a step back.
"you……"
Sun Wukong ignored him, first bent down and patted the stake, tapping it with his fingers, making two crisp clanging sounds.
"They're quite willing to invest."
After he finished speaking, he clenched his five fingers and grabbed the pile.
The surroundings suddenly became quiet.
Even the mules pulling the cart behind it shook their ears.
Sun Wukong lifted his arm.
First, the mud skin cracked.
Then came a muffled thud.
He pulled the entire iron stake, roots and all, straight out of the ground. Clumps of soil scattered and hit the wooden sign, causing it to tilt and crack the paint.
The crowd was silent for a moment, then erupted.
"It's out!"
"My goodness, this is an iron stake!"
"I knew there really were monkeys on the mountain!"
Sun Wukong lifted the stake with one hand, weighed it twice, found it too light, and then walked to the second stake.
This time it's even faster.
Grab, lift, raise.
The second one has also emerged from the ground.
The two burly men next to the third stick tried to stop him, but before they could pull out their short sticks, Sun Wukong swept them away with his foot, sending the sticks flying far away. He also landed hard on his buttocks in the mud and didn't get up for a long time.
"Don't get in the way," Sun Wukong said.
Without even glancing at it, he reached out and pulled out the third stake as well.
The three wooden signs were still hanging there, swaying back and forth.
Sun Wukong slammed the three iron stakes together on the ground, causing the wooden plaques to clang loudly. He tore off one of the plaques, read the words twice, then, finding the writing unpleasant, rubbed it between his hands, and the entire plaque split in two.
"What a piece of junk."
Manager Liang's face turned truly pale at this moment.
He moved his lips a few times, wanting to say something harsh, but he didn't dare glance at Sun Wukong. In the end, he only managed to stammer out, "You're destroying the boundaries of the merchant guild; you'll be facing legal trouble."
Chen Fan walked to the edge of the pit and used the tips of his shoes to brush away the damp soil that had been turned up.
"A lawsuit is possible. Boundary markers are not allowed."
He turned around, his voice not loud, but everyone around him could hear him.
"I'm making this clear today. This road at the mountain pass is not for sale, rent, or lease. It's the same for everyone. No one can simply take a piece of paper and claim this road as their own backyard."
Manager Liang gritted his teeth: "Can you hold out?"
"That's my business."
Chen Fan looked at the document in his hand.
"Go back and tell the person who wrote this business agreement, and then tell those in the county who agreed. If you want to do business, bring the goods, bring the price, and set up according to the rules. Trying to block the mountain pass with a unilateral business agreement and then slowly strangle it is a dead end."
He raised his hand and pointed at the three stakes.
"Today we're removing the bollards. Next time you come, I'll impound the car too."
At first, there was a hushed exchange from the crowd behind, then someone shouted, "Did you hear that? We're not contracting it out to outsiders!"
"You can sell it even at a street stall!"
"Whoever drives the pile first is the grandson!"
Laughter erupted one after another.
Manager Liang stood in the middle, his face turning red and then pale. He looked around, then at the three deep pits at Sun Wukong's feet, and ultimately dared not go any further.
He stuffed the document into his sleeve, turned around and left.
The four burly men behind him, ignoring the mud, followed to help lift the cart. The wheels were stuck in the soft ground and couldn't be moved for a while. The people around didn't help either; they just stood and watched.
Sun Wukong picked up three iron stakes and asked Chen Fan, "Where should we throw these things?"
Chen Fan glanced at the roadside.
They really need a place to tether livestock there.
"Go stand at the ferry crossing."
Sun Wukong chuckled, hoisted the three iron stakes onto his shoulder like straw, and carried them down the slope. The cracked plaques trailed behind, scraping against the pebbles with a screeching sound.
Si Mo stood beside Chen Fan and whispered, "They won't just let this go."
"I know."
Chen Fan squatted down, grabbed a handful of wet soil, and slowly filled the three holes.
The man carrying firewood squatted down beside them and helped by shoveling soil into the pits. The woman selling vegetables saw this and tamped the soil down around the edges with the sole of her shoe. In no time, the three pits were filled in, leaving only a patch of fresh mud that was barely visible from a distance.
Chen Fan stood up and clapped his hands.
"Go and move that sign from yesterday closer."
Si Mo was taken aback: "Which one?"
"That area where you can set up stalls on both sides of the mountain road intersection."
Si Mo laughed and turned to run away.
Before long, two people carried over a wooden sign and stuck it in the middle of the intersection. The bottom of the sign was still covered in old mud, but the words were still very clear.
"This road leads through the mountains and also through the streets."
"Those carrying loads can stop, while those setting up stalls can do so on a first-come, first-served basis."
"Buy and sell on a case-by-case basis; no contracts accepted."
The wind blew through the mountain pass, and the wooden sign swayed gently twice.
The woodcutter grinned after reading it, then hoisted his load under the sign to reserve a spot. The old woman selling steamed buns also moved her steamer aside, muttering, "I'll steam an extra batch today, so someone won't come to drive piles again tomorrow morning."
Chen Fan didn't say anything more, but just glanced down the mountain path.
The merchant's carts were still stuck in the mud, their wheels spinning freely, splashing mud all over their sides. Manager Liang, holding up the corner of his robe, was jumping up and down anxiously.
He watched for a while, then turned and walked towards the other end of the stone street.
Halfway there, Si Mo caught up from behind and handed him a pen and a notebook.
"Set up a table?"
"put."
Chen Fan took the booklet and turned to the first page as he walked.
"I'll make a note of one thing today."
Si Mo quickly dipped his brush in ink.
Chen Fan said, "The three boundary markers at the mountain pass have been removed. The three wooden signs are now invalid."
Si Mo lowered his head and began to write quickly. As he finished writing with the last stroke of ink, he looked up and saw Sun Wukong planting the three iron stakes by the ferry crossing.
It was inserted straight.
An old yellow ox nearby sniffed it, swished its tail, and then tied it up.
Chapter 686 Temporary Accounts in the City
As soon as it was light, Shijiekou was already bustling with activity.
It had rained a while last night, and the road was still wet. People carrying loads, leading oxen, and carrying children were all crowded outside the mountain pass. Some came to exchange grain, some wanted to find work, and some were just checking the wind direction.
Two bailiffs in gray coats were still standing on the other side of the old street, holding bamboo rulers in their hands. They didn't say a word, but their eyes kept scanning this side. It seemed they were just waiting for things to get chaotic here so they could go back and report, "Indeed, this is outrageous."
Si Mo stood under the wooden sign, holding the account book, without turning the page for a long time.
Last night, the boundary markers were removed, and the street was cleared out. But with the clearing out came new troubles. More and more people are coming, there's nowhere to store goods, no one is assigned lodging, and people looking for temporary work are swarming in, with the order of priority determined entirely by who shouts the loudest.
A salt seller slammed two baskets down on the ground, his face turning red with anxiety.
"I walked all night from Dongwa. If the salt is left out any longer, it will get damp. Didn't you say you'd open a breach? Now that you've opened a breach, someone has to take it back."
A woman holding a child nearby chimed in.
"My husband came to ask about work last night, saying to wait until today. We've been waiting until now, and we're still carrying the burden. We need to get a definite answer about where we'll stay and what we'll eat."
Then someone else shouted, "Make an appointment for me first, I'm the one with the cloth!"
"I have chickens here!"
"I can repair walls and build stoves!"
The sound waves piled up one after another, causing the wooden sign to tremble.
Zhu Bajie had just rolled up his sleeves when he heard this, his forehead throbbed, and he turned around and cursed, "Get in line! If you all push forward, who's going to pay for it if you collapse the line?"
Nobody listens to him.
Sun Wukong squatted on top of the sign watching the commotion, his ears twitched, and he chuckled.
"Old Chen, your business has barely opened and it's already turning into a market brawl."
Chen Fan slowly walked out from behind, holding a roll of hemp rope in his hand. He didn't look at the people first, but at the ground. The middle section of the stone street was low, and two patches of water from last night still remained. If people and goods squeezed together again, and the mud and water swelled up, the people in the old street would have something to say about him today.
He threw the hemp rope on the ground.
"Stop shouting. Let's separate the area first."
Si Mo looked up and asked, "How do we divide it?"
Chen Fan raised his hand and pointed.
"Set up temporary tents at this end of the sign. When you arrive with goods, register them first. Write down where they came from, what they are, how many kilograms, what you are exchanging for, and what you are selling. After you finish writing, give them wooden tags and find your stall according to the tags. No one is allowed to set up their stall without a tag."
He then pointed to the row of empty houses on the right.
"The three old shops that were vacated yesterday, and the six empty rooms behind them, will all be considered temporary accommodations. We'll start by recording the number of people. Singles will stay in one room, and families with multiple members will stay in a larger room. We'll change the assignments every day, and fill in any vacancies that arise."
The woman immediately asked, "You can stay here without paying?"
"You can deposit half a day's work or goods first," Chen Fan said. "If you really have no money or goods, just sign your name. The deduction will be made from your account after you finish the work today. Staying overnight isn't free, nor is it a way to kick people out first."
The woman understood, took a step forward while holding the child, and remained silent.
The salt seller asked anxiously, "Where's my salt?"
"After registering, go into the shed first," Chen Fan said. "The White Dragon Horse will lead the way, and items will be moved first according to weight and moisture sensitivity. Salt, cloth, and herbs should be moved first. Firewood and stones should be placed in the open space at the back. Anyone who piles things up haphazardly will not be recorded today."
The white dragon horse was drinking water by the roadside when it heard its name called. It shook its mane, looked up, and walked over.
"I have no problem transporting goods. We just don't have enough trucks."
"Borrow." Chen Fan turned to look at Si Mo. "Go find those oxcart owners from last night. One cart per day, pay in cash, and we'll cover the rest in the account. Write down the names of all those who come."
This time, Si Mo didn't hesitate. He opened the booklet and started writing, asking as he wrote, "Where are the makeshift tents set up?"
Chen Fan tapped the empty space next to the sign with his toe.
"Right here. Four bamboo poles, a piece of oilcloth. The front is for keeping accounts, the back is for stacking slips. People stand on the left, goods go on the right. Don't mix them up."
Zhu Ganglie looked around and suddenly smacked his lips.
"People and goods can be separated, but what about water? This area is low-lying; if another rain comes, everything will be soaked."
Chen Fan had already seen it. He walked along the edge of the street for more than ten steps, then poked the stick into the mud, and the tip of the stick sank in halfway.
"You lead the men to dig a ditch."
Pigsy was taken aback: "Me?"
"You," Chen Fan tossed him the stick, "dig from the street to the ferry crossing and divert the floodwater. The ditch doesn't need to be wide, just enough for water to flow through. Then lay two strips of gravel for the wheels to run over. Whoever comes looking for work today, report to your place first, and you'll be paid daily."
"Payment by the day?" The young men in the back immediately perked up.
Chen Fan turned around.
"Those who dig ditches, move goods, and repair roofs will all be paid daily. Come to the tent before sunset to collect your wages. If you're short even a penny, go find Si Mo. Those who slack off or cheat will also be written down and won't be coming back tomorrow."
Si Mo looked up at him, and paused on the paper with her pen.
He understood the weight of those words.
In the past, the old street area was notorious for its slow payment when hiring day laborers. They'd say the accountant wasn't there one day, the foreman hadn't signed off the day after, dragging it out for ten days or half a month until the workers were starving and had no choice but to accept it. Chen Fan's suggestion of daily payment was aimed at that old system.
The two clerks in the old street looked rather grim.
One of them couldn't help but step forward and tap the mud off the edge of his boot with a bamboo ruler.
"If you set your own rules like this, who will recognize them? If something goes wrong later—the goods are lost, the people run away, the house collapses—who will be held responsible?"
Chen Fan looked at him, his voice low.
"Let's settle the accounts."
The official didn't understand at first.
Chen Fan raised his hand and pointed at the booklet in Si Mo's arms.
"Goods are registered, people are recorded by name, residence is recorded, and work is paid daily. Who came in, who left, who took how many bags of rice, who carried how many cartloads of bricks, it's all in the register. Don't you old streets like to check? Come check. If anything is missing, I'll admit it."
After he finished speaking, the people in front of him fell silent.
The salt seller first picked up his basket and handed it forward.
"Then I'll write it down first."
Si Mo immediately sat down behind the long bench that had been temporarily moved in and turned to a new page.
"Name."
"Zhao Liu".
"goods."
"Two baskets of coarse salt, thirty-seven and a half catties."
Si Mo lowered his head and wrote. After finishing, he tore off a piece of the wooden tag, drew the character "salt" with a charcoal pencil, and then added a dot to the corner.
"Go to the second shed on the right and wait for the bus."
Zhao Liu took the wooden slip, as if he were holding a genuine contract, and his hand became lighter.
Once the first one succeeds, things go smoothly for the others.
The woman carrying the child came up and noted the location. Two men who knew how to repair walls went to Zhu Ganglie's place to get shovels. An old man with his grandson, who said he knew how to weave straw mats, was also noted by Si Mo and assigned to pave the floor of the empty house.
The white dragon horse, finding the people too slow, simply pulled the cart himself, first carrying away the dampest salt and cloth. The wheels clattered and rattled as they rolled over the gravel. He made two trips, sweat beading on his forehead, still muttering to himself.
"If anyone says I'm only good as a mount again, I'll whip them with an axle."
Sun Wukong was delighted to hear this. He jumped off the sign, picked up a bundle of wet wood with one hand, and casually tossed it to the back of the field, where it landed right on the woodpile.
"Old Pig, hurry up and dig. If the water overflows your side, don't blame me for filling the ditch with you."
Pigsy snorted through his nose, but swung the shovel even faster. Before long, a shallow ditch was dug along the street. The sewage swirled at the ditch's mouth before rushing down, flowing out along the ferry crossing.
The people who were standing and watching before have stopped watching now.
Some people moved bamboo poles. Some people pulled up oilcloth. And an old woman selling pancakes moved her oven half a zhang (approximately 3.3 meters) away, saying she wanted to bake hot pancakes for the workers, and that the wages could be settled later, but would be written on the books first.
Si Mo remembered that his wrists were sore, but his temples were unusually relaxed.
He looked up at the newly erected shed, then at the line of people, and suddenly felt that this newly connected stone street was, for the first time, truly alive.
By noon, two strings of wooden tags had been hung in front of the makeshift tent.
One string describes goods, the other describes people.
On the door of the third empty room on the right, there was a piece of coarse paper pasted on it. The ink wasn't completely dry, and there were only four characters written on it:
First come, first served.
A gust of wind swept down from the mountain pass, lifting a corner of the paper by half an inch. Si Mo reached out to press it down, but before he could smooth it out, a boy rushed over from behind, carrying bedding, and asked breathlessly:
"Are there any empty rooms? My mother and sister are behind us, they'll be there soon."
Si Mo didn't answer. Instead, he flipped through the ledger, his fingers tracing down the newly written names line by line.
Chapter 687 The Living People Zone in the Old Register
Si Mo's finger stopped in the middle of the ledger page, without answering the boy first.
He looked up at the street corner. Chen Fan was returning from outside the shed, his cuffs dusty, as if he had just moved into an old house. He put the booklet on the table and asked, "How many houses came after that?"
"Six households." Si Mo handed over the account book. "Three households want houses, two households want to build sheds, and there's an oil seller who said he wants to reserve a corner first."
Chen Fan flipped through two pages, his gaze not lingering on the new name for long.
"The third room on the right is for that boy," he said. "The fifth room is available for those who are sick. Those who want to set up tents should go to the ferry crossing first; don't crowd the main street."
The boy, clutching his bedding, nodded hurriedly and turned to run. After a couple of steps, he turned back and asked in a low voice, "What do I need to hand over first?"
"Stay here for now." Chen Fan closed the booklet. "The accounts will be settled later."
The boy was stunned for a moment, as if he hadn't expected it to be so straightforward. He quickly pulled the blanket over his shoulder and ran even faster.
The street was bustling with people, and the rice porridge in the pot was boiling. Steam rose from the eaves, curling the edges of the paper. Chen Fan stood before the desk, looking at the newly written list of names, but his mind was not on the accounts.
The half-character "ordinary" from last night is still weighing on his mind today.
That's no coincidence.
He called Si Mo aside: "You stay here. I'm going to the back storeroom."
"Check old files?"
"Okay. Bring the roster for the Ninth Cycle as well."
Si Mo nodded, turned around and went into the backyard. Not long after, Yang Jian also came from the end of the street, carrying a newly pulled-out broken stake, the top of which was still covered in soil.
He stood the broken stake on the ground and glanced at Chen Fan first.
"I've found two ley lines you asked me to keep an eye on," Yang Jian said. "They're both under the street, not at the mountain pass."
Chen Fan looked up: "Under the street?"
"Hmm." Yang Jian drew a direction on the ground with his toe. "One is by the well at the east end, and the other is behind the third row of empty houses. The soil layers are different. There used to be an old stone frame buried underneath."
Si Mo ran out carrying two thick books, his shoulders bent from the weight. One was black-covered, the other gray-cloth-bound, both with damp patches on the corners. Chen Fan took them and squatted down on the stone steps behind the makeshift tent to start flipping through them.
Yang Jian also squatted down, placing the broken stake across his knees.
The first page is the old land register.
The paper was brittle, making a creaking sound when turned. The drawing on it wasn't of the current stone street, but an earlier map of the mountain pass. The lines were thick, the houses few, and the ferry crossing narrow. Chen Fan flipped through a dozen pages and saw a plot of land circled in red.
There were small annotations next to the drawing.
"Ninth rotation, southwest connecting belt, Bingqikou."
Next line.
"Living Person Preparation Area"
Si Mo took a breath, his fingers almost tearing the edge of the page.
"Does it really have that name?"
Chen Fan didn't say anything, but gently tapped the four characters with his knuckles. The paper was old, but the ink hadn't smudged, as if the person who wrote these characters had used heavy strokes, afraid that future generations wouldn't be able to see them.
Yang Jian put down the broken stake, took the diagram, and glanced at it.
"This is not a resettlement site," he said.
"No," Chen Fan said, "It's like the reserve zone."
He also opened the old register covered with gray cloth. The first part recorded the number of transfers, and the second part listed the stratification of land plots. Each stratum had a number, with entries and exits, like an old accounting book. Turning to the end, he suddenly pulled out a single page. The single page was newer than the register, with stitches sewn along the edge, and then torn off.
There are only three columns listed above.
Plot of land. Entrance. Quota.
Chen Fan scrolled down and saw that the third line described the old site of this stone street.
"Chengqikou, Old Stone Street, 300 living people, 60 candidates."
Si Mo's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Three hundred and sixty living people?"
"It's not a living person." Chen Fan flipped the paper over; there were words on the back. "Look at this last sentence."
Si Mo leaned closer to examine it.
"If the mouth is open, it is accepted; if the mouth is closed, it is sealed. First enter the name into the register, then use it in layers."
He stopped after reading it, feeling a chill on his back.
The stalls ahead were still hawking rice and salt, but this place, separated only by an earthen wall, was sweltering outside, while the words written inside felt utterly cold.
Yang Jian pressed down on the single page: "That night at the border, it wasn't a collision between the two sides."
"Hmm," Chen Fan said, "Old Mouth woke up on his own."
He laid out the three items, one on the floor register, one on the roster, and the single page in the middle.
"The file says 'connecting belt,' the plot map circles 'Chengqi,' and the roster gives out quotas for living people. The three lines match up." Chen Fan looked up at the stone street. "This place was never meant for people to live peacefully."
Si Mo asked in a low voice, "Then who is it for?"
"Divide it into layers," Chen Fan said.
As soon as those two words were spoken, a gust of wind blew in from outside, making the tent flaps rustle loudly. A few new families in front were moving boxes, and children were squatting by the wall, picking at the cracks in the stones, none of them aware of the old foundation they were stepping on.
Yang Jian remained silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Why leave this opening in the Ninth Cycle?"
Chen Fan raised his hand and tapped the word "Entrance" on the flyer.
"Recycle."
His voice wasn't loud, but Si Mo heard it clearly.
"To maintain the stratification of the old system, we had to keep bringing in new people. Those who died, broke down, or ran away always needed to be replaced. The merging of the borders wasn't an accident; it was a loophole they left. As soon as things got chaotic outside, this loophole opened. People were first pulled in, then divided according to the roster. The upper layer picked out the usable ones, the lower layer stuffed them with hard labor, and the rest were put on hold until the next round."
Si Mo's lips moved, but he didn't say anything for a long time.
He suddenly remembered the people who had come in the past two days: refugees, lost souls, firewood carriers, oil sellers, and the boy carrying bedding. If they hadn't set up a sign at the street corner beforehand, writing "first come, first served," who would have ended up in their hands as soon as they came in?
No one will ask him if he's cold or hungry.
They will only record names first.
Record it in the old booklet.
Yang Jian picked up the broken stake from the ground again and pointed to the old engravings around the stake: "I thought it looked familiar when I dug it out. This isn't a boundary marker, it's a checkpoint marker. It has an old number on it, which is half a digit off from the register."
Chen Fan took it and examined it closely. After wiping away the mud from the stake, he indeed saw half a circle of fine characters. It wasn't the commonly used notation nowadays; it looked more like the warehouse number written by an old official.
"Bingqi lower entrance, secondary stake two."
Si Mo felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck: "There's another main stake?"
"It's most likely still near the well," Yang Jian said.
Chen Fan didn't get up immediately. He stared at the few pages of paper, already connecting the dots in his mind.
The project proposal for the old world. The business plan for the entrance to the mountains and seas. The tiered accounts. And then there's the land map and the number of living people on this street.
It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.
It's a whole set of old things, broken, buried, rotten, and now they want to put them back together.
Whoever controls the entrance gets to record the first transaction.
Whoever writes their name first gets to rebuild the roster.
To those outside, it looks like a small market town. But if you really open the booklet, you'll see it's just an old mouth, barely opening a crack because it's been starving for so long.
Chen Fan rolled up the flyer, tucked it into his sleeve, and looked up, saying, "We can't wait any longer."
Si Mo asked, "Should we seal the wellhead first?"
"Sealing off one place won't do any good." Chen Fan stood up, brushed the dust off his knees, and said, "We need to get control of the entrance account first."
"Accounting rights?"
"When people come in, we'll record their transactions in our ledger first." Chen Fan looked at the two strings of wooden tags in front of him. "Goods go to goods, people go to people. Everyone who enters the street must register in this book first. Even if someone wants to take over a business, they'll have to go through us."
Yang Jian understood and nodded: "I'll go guard the well."
"Don't just stay here," Chen Fan said. "Frame up that old stone area. Move what you can, and smash what you can't. Also, dig up the area behind the third row of empty houses."
"it is good."
Yang Jian carried the broken stake and walked away quickly, covering half a street in no time.
Si Mo was still standing there, holding the old register in his hands, his face pale. He looked at the bustling crowd in front of him, then at the register, and suddenly tucked the old register into his arms, turned around and went back into the shed to spread the new work account out even more smoothly.
"I'll add another page," he said.
Chen Fan went inside and watched him grind the ink.
"Add what?"
Si Mo dipped his brush in water, lowered his head, and wrote steadily.
"Register your name before entering the street. Don't ask about your past place of origin."
He finished writing, blew on it, and looked up again: "Should we hang up another sign?"
Chen Fan glanced at the line of text and hummed in agreement.
"Hang it up. Write it bigger."
Si Mo tore off a piece of cardboard, pressed it against the corner of the desk, and picked up his pen again. Another truckload of people arrived outside, its axles creaking as if it had come from a great distance. The oil seller was helping to unload the barrels, and the boy carrying the bedding ran out of his newly assigned room, leading his mother and sister inside.
The wind made the corners of the shed shake.
Si Mo finished writing the last stroke and handed it to Chen Fan to see.
Chen Fan took it, didn't change a single word, and turned around to nail the paper to a pillar outside the shed.
Chapter 688 Both Realms Come to Set Up Stalls
Not long after the playing cards were nailed up, a crowd gathered outside the tent.
Someone who could read read it aloud first.
"A three-day trial period will be implemented, during which all goods may enter. For every foot of space occupied, one line of accounting will be recorded. Only the name will be recorded; guarantee certificates will not be accepted."
Someone behind them was stunned.
What does it mean to not recognize a guarantee?
Si Mo stood at the door, pen in hand, and said, "You don't need a merchant to vouch for you. Tell us your name, where you live, what goods you brought, who you sold them to, and how much you sold for, and we'll record it."
The oil seller was the first to react, wiping the oil stains from his hands: "Can I sell these two buckets of oil today?"
"You can set it up." Chen Fan sat back down behind his desk. "Set it up near the street. Don't block the road."
The man grinned and turned to move the bucket.
He walked quickly, as if afraid he would take back what he said.
The news spread in both directions along Stone Street.
Before an incense stick had burned out, it got hot again at the ferry crossing.
A small boat had just docked, and two baskets of green vegetables were handed down from the bow. The leaves were still wet, and felt very cool to the touch. Behind them was a thin woman, her trousers rolled up to her knees, carrying a bamboo pole on her shoulder. She glanced at the sign, then at Chen Fan.
"My surname is Zhou. Zhou Liuniang. I come from the east side of Haikou. I sell vegetables and scallions, and I also brought some pickled radishes."
Si Mo lowered his head to take notes.
"Where are you staying?"
"I stayed on the boat last night."
"Real name?"
Zhou Liuniang put down her load and straightened up: "My real name is Zhou Liuniang. My father gave it to me. If you remember it wrong, you won't be able to find me later."
Si Mo nodded and added a tag after the string of wooden tags on the goods.
Zhou Liuniang felt half relieved after seeing those words.
Someone had told her before that the mountain pass was about to open. She rowed her boat there before dawn. On the way, she encountered merchants who stopped her to inquire about her goods, saying they were willing to buy them all for thirty coins a basket, in cash. She was tempted, but then she heard them say that she had to sell for three months straight and couldn't set up a stall privately. She didn't dare answer and rowed her boat there as usual.
Now that she sees this card, she knows her trip wasn't in vain.
She chose a shady spot, laid out the greens flat with the leaves facing outwards, and placed the radish basket at the back. As soon as she finished, two women surrounded her and asked the price.
Chen Fan didn't go over to look.
He only looked at the footsteps on the street.
With more footsteps, the street comes alive. And once it comes alive, anyone who wants to go back and sign a life-or-death contract has to think twice.
Before noon, two rows of stalls had already squeezed out of the stone street.
On one side were wooden utensils brought by people from the mountains: wooden spoons, wooden basins, and low stools, their edges worn smooth and shiny. On the other side was cloth brought from the mortal world. The patterns weren't as dark as those commonly seen here, and it contained several bolts of fine cotton, making it soft to the touch. A young woman with short hair squatted in front of the cloth rolls, speaking with a mortal accent. She paused when giving her name, as if she was a little unaccustomed to it.
"Lin Wan. Lin as in forest, Wan as in morning and evening."
Si Mo looked up at her.
"Which way did you come from?"
"South entrance to the old city. A tailor's shop. The shop is gone, only a few rolls of cloth remain."
She said the shop was sold out, and ran her finger along the edge of the fabric as if she were wiping a loose thread. Chen Fan heard this but didn't ask any further questions, only instructing Si Mo to add the following sentence after her name: "Can tailor, can take on jobs."
Lin Wan looked up at him after hearing this.
Chen Fan was flipping through the account books and didn't look at her anymore.
After a while, a woman carrying a child came and asked, "Can you alter a baby jacket? The sleeves are half an inch too short."
Lin Wan paused for a moment, then quickly nodded.
There was another commotion at the street corner.
An old man with a ruddy face pushed a wheelbarrow loaded with seafood. Rows of salted fish hung up, dried shrimp were packed in bamboo sieves, and kelp was rolled up like ropes. The salty smell could be smelled from afar. Two boys followed behind, carrying a wooden sign that read "Haixi Zheng Ji".
Si Mo frowned: "This is a signboard, not a guarantee. It can be hung up, but it can't occupy two plots of land."
The old man stopped the car, took a couple of breaths, and then said, "Who's taking up two spots? I only have one car. Zheng Youhai, Zheng from the Zheng family, Hai from Youhai. Write it down."
Si Mo puts down his pen.
Seeing how quickly he wrote, Zheng Youhai became a little suspicious: "Does he really memorize it? Won't he take a cut later?"
"Collect the road tax, from the lighting account." Chen Fan looked up. "Wait it for today. We'll decide in three days."
This statement is like a stone thrown into water.
Many people on the street heard it.
Exempt for three days.
Let them sell it first.
As soon as the opening was made, people who had been watching from a distance began to move inside. Some carried rice, some carried bamboo baskets, and an old craftsman with a white beard carried two door panels over, saying that the wood was salvaged from an old house and could be used to make tables and desks.
Sun Wukong squatted on a stone pillar at the street corner, looked at it for a long time, and suddenly laughed.
"This doesn't look like opening a mountain pass; it looks more like attending a temple fair."
Chen Fan said, "Temple fairs don't keep accounts."
"So keeping track of expenses is useful?"
"Yes." Chen Fan pushed the booklet forward. "People come, goods are sold, prices are checked, and the account isn't empty. If anyone says they can only buy out entire packages here, they'll have to persuade everyone on this street to go home first."
Wukong reached out and turned two pages.
The names on it are densely packed, not pretty, but real.
He clicked his tongue and threw the booklet back: "This thing is harder than a boundary marker."
In the afternoon, the merchants indeed arrived.
It was Manager Liang again, his cuffs neatly pressed flat, and his shoes barely dusty. He stood at the street corner, first glancing at the new sign, then at the stalls on either side. Vegetables, seafood, woodenware, fabrics—even the needles and thread sellers were squatting on the ground, spreading out a cloth.
He forced a smile.
"Mr. Chen, the street is bustling. But bustling is bustling, and there still needs to be order. With too many small vendors, prices become chaotic, and the goods become mixed. If counterfeit goods, defective goods, or short weights appear, who will take responsibility?"
Chen Fan did not get up.
"The person who keeps the books under their real name will bear the responsibility."
"Simply registering names is not enough."
"Is this enough? We'll be gone for three days."
Manager Liang took two steps forward and lowered his voice: "The price of that previous business agreement is negotiable. After we take over, we can set up the stalls, arrange the goods, and save you the trouble."
The street vendors remained silent, but their hands moved more slowly.
Zhou Liuniang was weighing vegetables for someone, the scales hovering in mid-air, her ears perked up. Lin Wan also looked up, placing the scissors on her lap.
Chen Fan looked at Manager Liang: "In your book, there's a clause that goods must be delivered first, then prices determined. Another clause states that imported goods should have priority for the trading company. If we had followed your rules, this street wouldn't be where it is today."
Manager Liang's smile faded.
"A trade route needs a central pillar. Selling in a scattered manner will not lead to success."
"Whether it works out or not, you'll see for yourself." Chen Fan pointed to the street. "Go from one end of the street to the other and ask them who's willing to pack up their stall now and go back to sign your buyout agreement."
Manager Liang did not respond.
He really did move forward.
First, ask Zhou Liuniang, "The merchants can buy your vegetables by the whole cartload. That way, you won't have to hawk them."
Zhou Liuniang pulled the vegetable basket closer to her feet: "I buy the whole cartload for thirty coins a basket. Here, it's forty-five coins a basket. Sell it slowly, I'll pay."
Manager Liang then turned to Zheng Youhai: "Seafood gets heavy if stored for too long; it's safer to entrust it to a trading company."
Zheng Youhai flipped the salted fish over without looking up: "The price is stable, and it's stable in your hands too. I sold two baskets of dried shrimp today, enough for the boat fare."
Further in, a mountain carpenter, carrying a small stool, grinned broadly: "This is the first time I've seen that city people are actually willing to spend money on this."
People around them burst out laughing.
Too much laughter changes the mood.
Those who were initially worried are now daring to speak up.
"Didn't the trading company say that since the import channels are uncertain, we can't just order goods?"
"They say they're going to protect the goods, but I don't see anyone grabbing them today."
"If something's really wrong, isn't the tent over there?"
"Once you've written your real name, there's no denying it."
One sentence after another, no one was shouting on purpose, but it was more effective than shouting.
Manager Liang stood in the middle of the street, feeling as if he were walking on a layer of pine stones, his feet feeling unsteady. The two men he brought with him tried to speak, but he raised his hand to stop them.
Chen Fan then got up.
He went outside the shed and straightened the sign a little.
"Trial for three days. Record the goods today, the price tomorrow, and the repeat customers the day after. After three days, anyone who can't sell their goods, whose price was lowered, or who was cheated on the street can come to the tent and complain. If it's clear, it will be corrected in the ledger. If it's unclear, it will still be recorded. The entrance isn't anyone's backyard; let people in first, and the road will be long."
Manager Liang stared at the sign, his lips twitched, but he ultimately didn't mention the buyout again.
He stood there for a while, then turned and left.
The two apprentices, rushing to keep up, nearly knocked over a stall selling wooden spoons next to them. The old craftsman cursed, bent down to pick up the two spoons, and then looked up and shouted to those around him, "See? This is the kind of thing they do if they want to buy out our business."
Another burst of laughter erupted in the street.
After laughing, they each went about their own business.
Zhou Liuniang's last basket of vegetables was sold out. She squatted down, carefully counted the copper coins one by one, and wrapped them in two layers of cloth. Lin Wan took on three alteration jobs, her sewing box spread out, her hands steadyer than before. Zheng Youhai, annoyed by the sun's angle, tore a rope and hung the salted fish high up to prevent the cat from stealing them.
Si Mo sat behind his desk, his wrist aching from writing, but he didn't stop.
The newly turned page was filled with names.
There are those on this side of the mountain, and those on the other side of the mortal world.
Some people wrote neatly, while others couldn't even write their names and could only dictate them. Si Mo would then write them down by sound and have them put their handprints on them. If there wasn't enough ink, he would simply mix some soot from the bottom of a pot with water to make a small dish, which would still allow them to make the handprints.
As dusk fell, Chen Fan picked up the booklet and weighed it in his hand.
It's much heavier than it was this morning.
It's not that the paper is heavy, it's that there are too many people inside.
Wukong strolled back from the street corner, carrying half of an old door panel that no one had bought on his shoulder.
"Anyone selling this?"
"Someone might buy it tomorrow," Chen Fan said.
Wukong placed the door panel at the entrance of the empty room and knocked twice: "Alright, you can use it as a table for now."
Si Mo chuckled and quickly moved the oil lamp over to test its height. Once the lamp was placed steadily, it illuminated the account books perfectly.
Outside the tent, people were still queuing up to register their names.
An old man leading a donkey stood at the front, holding two jars of pickled vegetables in his arms. He leaned forward and asked, "Does this count as today's?"
Si Mo dipped his brush in ink: "Fine. Sign up."
The old man cleared his throat, raising his voice high.
"My name is Shi Laoliu. Shi as in stone. I'm the sixth in my family. I'll bring two more jars tomorrow."