Chai Cuiqiao asked, "Is he coming over this afternoon?"
"Who cares if he shows up or not."
Li Ang said indifferently, "Alright, go take two hundred cents from the chest; I need to go out for a bit."
"It's already prepared. Here."
Chai Cuiqiao gave a slight smile and handed over a plainly colored cloth pouch.
Li Ang nodded approvingly. "Very thoughtful of you. I'll buy some fruit on the way back for you."
"I want Fenghua Peaches—the white-skinned kind! I saw that the Eight Fruit House at the corner had them in stock a few days ago."
Chai Cuiqiao blinked, her eyes shimmering with premeditated excitement, and she licked her lips. "The ones two and a half inches big are only five cents each; eating one or two is enough for dinner. And there are Haoizhou mulberries, three cents a bunch. Oh, and pomegranates, but those are fifteen cents each—too expensive. Better to get some candy instead."
Candy was a type of caramel made from grains like corn and barley, fermented and saccharified. A small piece could be bought for one cent and chewed for half a day; it was considered the most cost-effective children's sweet treat.
"Hey, aren't you pushing your luck?"
Li Ang laughed as he ruffled Chai Cuiqiao's hair, pocketed the money pouch, and headed out through the backyard.
Just as he stepped outside, he heard an excited voice from nearby, "Risheng?"
Li Ang turned his head and saw a well-maintained woman in her thirties or forties, wearing a short-sleeved outfit. She was approaching with her maid, carrying a bag.
"Aunt Song."
Li Ang greeted her with a smile.
The Aunt Song who called him by his childhood nickname was the manager of the Lansheng Building, the restaurant next door to Security Hall. She and Li Ang's mother, Cui Yi, were distant relatives from the same village, and both had married into Yizhou City.
However, Aunt Song's husband had passed away early, leaving her a widow with an orphaned child and no other relatives to turn to. While running the restaurant, she also raised her son, Song Shaoyuan. The Li Family had been of great help to her during that time.
The two families were distant relatives as well as neighbors, sharing a bond akin to kinship, making her Li Ang's half-aunt.
When Li Ang's parents passed away four months prior, it was Aunt Song who helped organize the funeral. Otherwise, considering the high cost of funerals in that era, the Li Family wouldn't have been able to save even twenty strings of coins.
"Risheng, are you heading out?"
"Yes."
Li Ang nodded. "I'm going to buy some fresh tea to send to Mr. Liu Xuan."
Pu Liuxuan, the Professor at Yizhou State School where Li Ang studied, was also a good friend of Li Hanquan.
"Hey, no need to buy any fresh tea; we've got some at home."
Aunt Song gestured dismissively and instructed the maid beside her, "Lu Yi, go to the storeroom and fetch two canisters of Qujiang thin slices."
"Aunt, it's really not necessary."
Li Ang felt quite helpless. Qujiang thin slices were a famous and expensive tea variety. Even lower-grade Qujiang thin slices, not exclusively reserved for the Royal Family, cost five or six hundred cents a pound—completely beyond Li Ang's budget.
Aunt Song shook her head. "Nonsense about it being unnecessary; we're all family here. That boy Shao Yuan went mountain-climbing with friends again. The provincial exams are coming up, and he's still not focusing on his studies—I must scold him when he gets back. Later, you can take his share to the Professor as well."
"Brother Song excels in the State School, placing at the top in exams time after time. He's sure to pass the provincial exam and become a scholar this year. A little sightseeing is just for relaxation, right?"
Aunt Song's son, Song Shaoyuan, was sincere, magnanimous, and amiable, with a quick wit. He was a notable figure at the Yizhou State School and a highly anticipated candidate for the provincial examination.
Li Ang chatted intermittently with Aunt Song. Soon, the maid returned with two small ceramic jars, exquisitely tied with red string.
Aunt Song insisted that Li Ang take them and, in her capacity as an elder, lectured him at length, admonishing him to study hard and not to disappoint his parents' expectations.
After Li Ang left, Aunt Song watched his retreating figure. Recalling her own widowhood, she was deeply moved. Wiping away tears from the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief, she whispered softly, "Ah, what hardships this child has endured, sustaining the family business alone..."
"Hu Bing, baked buns, steamed buns, five cents each!"
"Selling sweet rice wine here! Sweet rice wine, seven cents a bowl."
"Biluo! Cherry Biluo, pear Biluo, apple Biluo..."
"Silky remembered Diaohu rice, fragrant Jindai soup. Fresh noodles have come to market, sauce and dregs joined as one..."
Li Ang walked along the street carrying two jars of Qujiang thin slices, listening to the street vendors' loud calls.
Steamed buns, round on top and flat on the bottom, he remembered as mantou. Sweet rice wine was indeed sweet fermented rice. As for Biluo, it was a type of pastry shaped like shaomai: savory with meat fillings, sweet with fruit fillings. There were even crab roe Biluo and egg yolk Biluo—anything could be made into Biluo. Diaohu rice was made from wild rice, and Jindai soup was made from water shield.
To advertise using the poems of Du Gongbu, a poet of the current dynasty, the young vendor must have had a taste for elegance. However, the last two lines, "Fresh noodles have come to market...", were actually from another of Du Gongbu's poems, "Locust Leaf Cold Noodles." This poem described cold noodles made with locust leaf juice mixed with flour, an emerald green color, refreshing and cooling when rinsed with cold water.
The Yishui River was the main artery of the city. Along the riverside streets, besides vendors selling cooked food, there were those selling fruits, household sundries, and more.
Li Ang, who had not gone out for a long time, listened to the variegated cries of vendors, the sounds of carriages and horses, and the clinking of bowls and utensils. He smelled the dampness of the morning rain mixed with the aroma of food. Feeling the breeze against his face, he couldn't help but smile slightly, superimposing the bustling scene before him with memories of commercial pedestrian streets from his past.
He stretched out his hand to catch a falling willow leaf, pinched it with one hand, placed it to his lips, and gently blew on it to make a sound, pausing from time to time to greet familiar neighbors on the street.
DANG DANG DANG—
The deep and distant sound of a bell rang from the north. Shop assistants in the stores on the inner side of the street stopped their work and went to their counters to ring their own copper bells. Meanwhile, the vendors along the river on the outer side of the street also took out copper bells and began to shake them.
Even on the cargo ships sailing on the Yishui River, sailors rang the bells hanging at the bow.
The Yu Country divided the day into twelve shichen—Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, Chen, Si, Wu, Wei, Shen, You, Xu, and Hai—which corresponded to the twenty-four-hour system Li Ang remembered. Zi Chu marked 11 p.m., Zi Zheng was midnight. Chou Chu was 1 a.m., and Chou Zheng was 2 a.m.
At this moment, the bell that resonated through Yizhou City was struck by the Haotian Taoist Temple; the number of chimes corresponded to the shichen. Every citizen within the city, at Chenzheng (8 a.m.) and Xu Zheng (8 p.m.), would also ring their household copper bells in unison with the temple's chimes.
As for why? For thousands of years, throughout the lands under the influence of the Haotian Sect, it had been this way. Over time, people stopped asking.
Rumor had it, or so it seemed, that besides marking time, the unwavering daily ringing of the bells also served to drive away evil spirits...
But in this world, did demons really exist?
Li Ang's smile faded slightly. He pocketed the willow leaf and quietly quickened his pace.
If evil spirits truly existed, given his awakening to the memories of the Otherworld, would he be considered an Evil Demon?