Chapter Twenty-Three: The Copper Coins Come Rolling In

In the northwest corner of Luoyang’s southern market, a new pharmacy had recently opened: a specialty shop for Celestial Pill, evocatively named "Rise Up!" The storefront was small, the stock limited, yet its opening day drew crowds—word was the medicines were genuine, their effects remarkable, and everything sold at half price.

Three main products were featured: the enhanced Celestial Pill at fifty coins apiece; the regular Celestial Pill at ten coins; and dogskin plasters for two coins a patch. These prices, thoroughly tested by the market, were guaranteed to sell.

Previously, Feng Xiaobao had Celestial Pills sold by local physicians in small county towns for thirty coins each, and they sold well. Now, at fifty coins per pill, it reflected the esteem held for the citizens of the grand capital—anything less would be an affront to the city’s dignity. Thus, fifty coins per pill.

To thank everyone for their patronage, the opening day’s sales were halved, but purchases were limited to ten pills per customer, even at full price. Bold warnings adorned the shop: young adults were not to take more than three pills per day, the strong not more than five, the elderly not more than one, and the youth were forbidden. Seven consecutive days required a two-week break.

Twenty pills lasted nearly seven days—customers were urged to follow instructions for their own health.

Upon entering, visitors were greeted by exquisitely painted advertisements, a tidy, welcoming space (its feng shui approved by Xuanqing), and two bright-eyed young girls energetically promoting the medicines, sparking a host of mischievous thoughts.

Yet, citizens of the capital were worldly; such spectacle was nothing new, and they would not be easily swindled. The key was word of mouth—everyone knew the medicines worked, so they paid without suspicion.

The buying line stretched long enough for city patrols to maintain order; naturally, every patrol received a box of regular Celestial Pills (ten pills), and all were delighted.

Sales were brisk in the tiny shop, copper coins clinking into the money chest until it overflowed.

The takings were quickly transported to Boss Huang’s staff for processing. Feng Xiaobao’s resources were limited; he couldn’t safeguard so much copper, so it was sent directly to Boss Huang’s shop, whose channels ensured its safe handling. Feng Xiaobao had no fear of Boss Huang embezzling—he was a man of professional integrity.

Business boomed that day; nearly eight thousand pills sold, and all the past month’s stock was brought out as needed. Revenue reached a hundred strings of coins, even the dogskin plasters sold five hundred patches.

Such success made Feng Xiaobao and Boss Huang beam over raised cups.

On the second day, prices returned to normal, but revenue still reached eighty strings; sixty on the third day, stabilizing between forty and sixty strings daily, averaging fifty.

With the southern market’s powerful reach, demand came not only from capital residents but also from merchants nationwide. Even the slave masters from Krit—who previously received discounts—came to buy ten thousand pills at once!

They claimed these tiny pills were excellent: easy to carry, easy to store, invaluable. Transported to the western land of Dashi, where men could have four wives, and four mouths to feed, they were essential.

Ten thousand pills! “My lord, we’re small-scale—never prepared so much stock!” protested Feng Xiaobao.

The reply was blunt: “Sixty coins per pill. Will you do business or not?”

At first, Feng Xiaobao considered offering a ten percent discount, but the buyer raised the price by twenty percent. Feng Xiaobao immediately bowed in gratitude!

He hurried back to his rural manor, urging his slaves to work tirelessly.

With a twenty percent markup, he gave his workers a ten percent bonus, and the Krit slave master sold him four pairs of slaves at a favorable price. Feng Xiaobao also hired two more guards.

Besides the Krit merchants, others came frequently, purchasing not just a week’s supply, but enough for seventy or even seven hundred days.

Thus, the Celestial Pill specialty shop thrived on monthly wholesale business, with robust income; annual revenue was projected at twenty thousand strings, with net profit over ten thousand after expenses.

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According to their profit-sharing agreement—eight parts for Huang, two for Feng—Feng Xiaobao would earn two thousand strings.

Is two thousand strings a lot?

Let’s compare with Tang Dynasty officials’ salaries: Bai Juyi, known as Bai Letian, struggled to live in Chang’an. As a junior scribe (a mid-level official), his salary was sixteen thousand coins—equivalent to sixteen strings (one string is a thousand coins), totaling 192 strings annually. Promoted to Left Remonstrator, his yearly salary was thirty thousand coins, or 300 strings; as a second-rank official, his monthly salary was one hundred thousand coins (100 strings), totaling 1,200 strings a year.

Feng Xiaobao’s income now exceeded that of a second-rank official. Of course, those in high office made more through shady dealings but at their own risk, whereas Feng Xiaobao slept soundly.

At last, food and clothing were no concern, and income was steady.

The capital’s purchasing power was unprecedented. A modest pharmacy like Feng Xiaobao’s netted over ten thousand strings in pure profit, let alone the commercial giants—like the Krit slave master, whose wealth was vast and profits enormous, making Feng Xiaobao’s gains seem trivial.

Half a year later, "Rise Up" flourished further, doubling sales and multiplying profits.

He now owned thirty slaves and ten guards—a formidable entourage.

All this came about because, feeling his wings fully grown, Feng Xiaobao launched the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia Pill!

The recipe was selected from the "Straightforward Guide to Pediatric Prescriptions" by Song Dynasty Imperial Physician Qian Yi, derived from the "Rehmannia Pill" formula, which omitted aconite and cinnamon from Zhang Zhongjing’s "Kidney Qi Pill" in the "Essential Prescriptions from the Golden Cabinet." Ingredients: eight qian of cooked rehmannia, four qian each of cornelian cherry and dried yam, three qian each of alisma, moutan bark, and peeled white poria. Grind and mix with honey into pills the size of a tung seed. Dose: three pills, dissolved in warm water on an empty stomach.

These pills were effective for kidney deficiency, dizziness, tinnitus, weak waist and knees, thirst, nocturnal emissions, nourishing the body and strengthening health.

Now, with Celestial Pill causing bodily strain, the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia Pill replenished what was lost.

After hearing descriptions of both pills, Daoist Xuanqing remarked, “Which is stronger—the spear or the shield? They contradict each other!”

Feng Xiaobao answered wisely, “Yin and yang, black and white—that’s the Eight Trigrams!”

Which prevailed was left unsaid; Boss Huang simply laughed, “Rise up! Rise up!”

Feng Xiaobao remembered the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia recipe thanks to a photographic memory gained in another realm. The formula was simple; after arriving in the Tang, he wrote it down, tested it, and used his slaves as guinea pigs.

The precursor to the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia was the Kidney Qi Pill; the former nourished yin and kidneys, while the latter—with aconite and cinnamon—boosted kidney yang. Thus, the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia Pill filled a critical gap in traditional medicine and gained widespread respect, its reputation quickly spreading nationwide.

After several months, the pill reached the imperial palace, becoming an essential medicine.

Though his shop was small, its fame ensured a steady stream of customers and large-scale wholesale profits.

Compared to Celestial Pill, domestic demand for the Six-Ingredient Rehmannia Pill was greater, while Celestial Pill was mostly exported, especially to Krit merchants who bought tens of thousands. They claimed it dominated the market in Dashi, where men chewed several pills before each encounter for extra vigor.

Naturally, the copper coins kept rolling in.

With newfound wealth, Feng Xiaobao never forgot those who helped him. He wasn’t stingy: first, he contributed funds to refurbish Xuanqing’s “Temple of the Supreme Lord.”

The idea was his, but the primary financier was Boss Huang, the true magnate, aided by neighborhood contributors who gave according to their means; wealthier gave more, the less well-off offered labor.

Colleagues of Li Chunfeng also chipped in, though less—not for lack of means, but because news reached them late.

As Li Chunfeng’s disciple, Xuanqing could have easily solicited funds from elite families to cover the temple’s repairs. But he never considered it, for such patronage carried heavy karmic consequences.

If someone sponsored you heavily, they would later ask you to divine their fate or even defy the heavens on their behalf; and since he truly possessed magical powers, such acts risked divine retribution.

Those seeking to give Xuanqing money did so in hopes of favors, but he was indifferent. Boss Huang, knowing Xuanqing’s nature, never offered to help repair the temple—not even mentioning it.

Thus, he afforded Feng Xiaobao great respect—truly great respect.

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When Feng Xiaobao expressed his gratitude to Xuanqing and his disciple, proposing to help repair the temple, Xuanqing nodded in agreement.

Anyone else offering to help? He would turn away—he didn’t want karmic debts.

He agreed with Feng Xiaobao because their bond already entailed great karma; one more or less made no difference.

The walls were freshly plastered, floors redone, deities’ statues repainted, the roof retiled—the newly refurbished Temple of the Supreme Lord began a new chapter.

...

Drums and gongs sounded—after a month closed for renovations, the reopened temple was busier than ever.

This time, the reopening was not just incense-burning; something novel and rare awaited.

Besides the main hall for the Three Pure Ones and side halls for Lingguan and the God of Wealth, the entrance wall now featured a youthful, heroic deity—Li Nezha!

In Daoism, Nezha’s titles included Marshal of the Central Altar, Grand Master of Communication, Mighty General of Divine Power, and Great God of the Three Altars. Colloquially, he was called the Prince, the Third Prince. His role traces to the Yuan Dynasty’s "Compendium of Gods of the Three Teachings" and gained lasting fame in "The Investiture of the Gods" and "Journey to the West" (Ming Dynasty). Nezha’s origins are linked to India and Buddhism, perhaps even ancient Persia.

The deity’s presence in the Temple of the Supreme Lord came from Feng Xiaobao, confirmed by Xuanqing. Feng Xiaobao recounted the gist of "The Investiture of the Gods" (though he couldn’t recall it all, nor write it down), enthralling Xuanqing.

Thus, Nezha’s image adorned the entrance wall, becoming the temple’s new guardian deity. Beside it was a biographical introduction—the most detailed account of Li Nezha.

Nezha was the third son of General Li Jing, commander of Chentang Pass at the end of the Yin Shang dynasty, a reincarnation of the Spirit Pearl...

Feng Xiaobao’s true intent in bringing forth Nezha’s image was his desire to perform the "Electronic Third Prince" dance!

This dance, originating in Taiwan, featured electronic music and three deity figures—usually three Third Prince statues—dancing at temple fairs. Initially criticized by elders as inappropriate, its lively, dynamic style soon won popularity and increased devotees.

To some extent, Feng Xiaobao was a fan; he enjoyed the performance and could dance it himself.

After arriving in the Tang, he cherished the idea and, given the opportunity, brought the dance to the temple’s reopening.

Without electronic music, they used live instruments—drums and gongs—calling it "Thunderbolt Third Prince!"

The Third Prince figures were crafted with elegance and vivid colors—Feng Xiaobao spared no expense. With energetic music and dazzling dance steps, the traditional religious ceremony transformed into a lively pop culture event, beloved by all.

Xuanqing watched Feng Xiaobao lead the dance, the crowd cheering, hands clapping, feeling an extraordinary sensation.

A deity, born under his guidance.

No matter what, Li Nezha originated here—this was the ancestral temple of Nezha’s worship.

He had discussed the propriety of this with Feng Xiaobao, since introducing a new deity seemed unconventional.

Feng Xiaobao reassured him: anyone who saw the Third Prince dance and still objected, he’d be amazed!

His performance was genuinely impressive—dynamic, a fresh take on Daoist tradition. Besides being entertaining, it engaged the audience, drawing many young people; Xuanqing noticed many were learning the dance themselves.

With the Third Prince’s appearance, the impact was profound.

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