Chapter Five: The Uplifting Tale of the Poor (Part Two)

The next morning had barely begun to brighten the sky when, as Xiaobao and his father were still washing up in their room, someone slipped inside. Feng Dabao looked up and, to his surprise, saw that it was Doctor Zhang. He couldn’t help exclaiming, “Mister Zhang, you…”

Doctor Zhang, full of proper dignity, replied, “I’ve come to see how Xiaobao is recovering!”

Hearing this, Feng Dabao, a seasoned man of the world, immediately understood that the doctor’s words were not entirely sincere. He played along perfunctorily, saying, “Xiaobao’s doing quite well. Why, just last night he went out and practiced boxing three times!”

“That’s good, very good!” Doctor Zhang stroked his beard with satisfaction. “However, he’s still so young and has fainted twice already. It’s best to monitor him closely and be cautious.”

“You’re absolutely right, sir!”

The two men carried on with idle chatter, their conversation so meandering that even Xiaobao could barely stand to listen. Doctor Zhang, sly as he was, found his match in Feng Dabao, who wore an honest face but was just as quick-witted. He could talk to men as men and to ghosts as ghosts, missing nothing—otherwise, how could he have survived in the world for so long?

Their words fenced with each other, neither willing to be the first to broach their true purpose, since that would be like admitting a need. Doctor Zhang kept trying to steer the conversation toward the topic of the Power Pills, but Feng Dabao, confident and unfazed, refused to take the bait.

Finally, Doctor Zhang lost patience and stated his intentions outright: “Yesterday I tried your treasured Power Pills on one of my patients, and the results were remarkable. I was wondering, how many do you have? I’d like to purchase a batch.”

Feng Dabao held up three fingers. “I have three hundred pills in stock.”

“The price?”

“Ten coins each!” Feng Dabao announced, beaming with delight.

His joy was matched by Doctor Zhang’s alarm. “What?!” he blurted out in shock.

Feng Dabao’s price stunned Doctor Zhang. Even Xiaobao would have cried out, “What?!” At the time, a dou of rice cost only three to five coins—a single pill was worth two dou! Was this some kind of elixir of immortality?

Yesterday, when selling on the street, they had only charged two coins per pill! Yet now, selling in bulk, not only was there no discount, but the price had increased fivefold. Was Feng Dabao out of his mind?

Doctor Zhang fixed his gaze on Feng Dabao, who remained impassive and simply said, “No bargaining.”

Seeing Feng Dabao’s determination, Doctor Zhang could only sigh deeply and, instead of getting angry, broke into a laugh. “You really must be desperate for money!”

“This is the price—not a coin less!”

The two men stared each other down, neither willing to yield. But it was a seller’s market, after all. Doctor Zhang relented and said, “I can’t sell these three hundred pills all at once. If I pay you so much and can’t sell them, I’ll lose money.”

Unmoved, Feng Dabao replied, “Impossible. If you give each person one pill a day and sell to ten people, you’ll sell out in a month!”

He assured Doctor Zhang, “My pills are genuine, with remarkable effects. You won’t lose a thing.”

“That’s true, that’s true,” Doctor Zhang murmured, thoroughly convinced—especially since he had already taken three Power Pills himself!

How so quickly? After receiving the pills yesterday, he took one when he got home, a second in the evening, and a third this morning, spending the whole night delighting his concubine.

“So, you accept?” Feng Dabao asked.

“Yes!”

The two men sealed the deal with a handshake.

Ten coins a pill seemed an outrageous profit for Feng Dabao, but in fact, Doctor Zhang intended to sell them at thirty coins apiece.

This batch would be sold to the county’s elite—the gentry, who lacked for nothing. For them, thirty coins for a pill, even three hundred, was nothing, as long as it worked.

As a physician, Doctor Zhang knew the condition of his wealthy clients well. They were men with beautiful women at their beck and call, newlyweds every night, exhausting themselves in pleasure, until they were all but spent.

Doctor Zhang did have his own formulas for male vigor, but none as effective as the Power Pill.

The Power Pill, being both restorative and invigorating, was an all-natural remedy, strengthening the body and enhancing martial prowess—a fact Doctor Zhang had verified himself.

Once the deal was struck, Doctor Zhang casually inquired, “The formula for the Power Pill… if only…”

Feng Dabao waved his hand. “A family secret, passed down from our ancestors. It cannot be shared!”

The mention of “ancestral tradition” was enough, for in those days, people revered their forebears and would not lightly covet another’s legacy. Doctor Zhang let the matter drop.

Besides, such secret formulas were usually passed down orally, and even if forced to write it, Feng Dabao, being illiterate, could hardly comply. Should he be coerced, he need only be vague in the preparation, and the efficacy would be lost.

Fortunately, Doctor Zhang was a gentleman. Had he been a rogue, the situation would have been different.

After Doctor Zhang left, his servant soon brought the payment.

When the pills were handed over and the coins counted, Feng Dabao stared at the heap of money on the table as if in a dream.

Watching his father dance with joy, Feng Xiaobao smiled quietly, revealing a maturity and confidence beyond his years.

This was only the beginning.

From then on, wherever they traveled, Feng Dabao and his son not only sold their pills openly in the market but also sought out local physicians to sell the Power Pill on their behalf.

Their sales strategy was simple: give out three pills for free to try, and only discuss business once the effects were proven—first the free trial, then the paid sale.

Given the obvious effects of the Power Pill, the physicians who tried it hurried to negotiate for more.

Feng Dabao’s price of ten coins per pill surprised them, but with no competition, they had no choice but to comply.

As a result, business for the Fengs flourished. There was never any worry about demand, and they even signed long-term supply agreements with several neighboring physicians.

Gradually, their means improved: better housing, better food, better clothes—all according to Xiaobao’s plan to first improve their own circumstances.

In private, Feng Xiaobao advised his father, “Father, the pills we sell in the market and to the doctors are the same, but the price to the doctors is ten times higher. That doesn’t seem right.”

Feng Dabao chuckled. “The doctors sell to the gentry. As for those gentlemen, we ought to charge them dearly!”

“But our business depends on their support. If the gentry are unhappy, we’ll be in trouble,” Xiaobao pointed out sharply.

“Well…”

Hearing this, Feng Dabao saw the sense.

If the pills were the same, selling to the common folk for two coins and to the gentry for ten—did he take the gentry for fools?

But if he matched the gentry’s price, the common folk couldn’t afford it.

“What do you suggest?” Feng Dabao sought his son’s advice.

The idea to offer free samples first had helped open up sales, and Feng Dabao now saw his son in a new light.

“It’s simple—just reduce the quantity in the pills we sell to the common folk,” said Xiaobao.

“How?”

“The price for the gentry is ten coins. If we divide that dose into five portions, selling each for two coins, that’s what we give the common folk.”

“Oh!”

In those days, honesty was the norm—never cheat the young or old, especially with medicine. The idea of reducing the dose took Feng Dabao a moment to grasp, but Xiaobao’s explanation made it clear.

“But if we change the dose for the common folk?” Feng Dabao hesitated.

“Don’t worry, Father. Most of our sales now go to the doctors. If the common folk want it, fine; if not, that just leaves more for the gentry. Besides,” Xiaobao said with pride, “once people hear the gentry are using these pills, do you think they’ll refuse?”

“Good boy, you’re right!”

Xiaobao simply smiled. He had learned plenty about marketing in his past life. Reducing the dose would affect efficacy and reputation. Ideally, he would use elaborate packaging—boxes within boxes, each with the same amount, but the ones for the high-end clients wrapped especially finely for prestige. Unfortunately, they lacked the resources for such packaging, and most of the profits went to the doctors anyway, who sold to the gentry at thirty to fifty coins a pill.

What a pity!

Before dawn, the stove blazed, filling the hills with the rich fragrance of medicine.

Feng Dabao oversaw three hired workers as they processed the medicinal ingredients. Father and son had temporarily settled in a rented house on the outskirts of a nearby county town.

Now, they sourced herbs through purchase rather than collecting them themselves.

They had hired three workers for washing, sorting, and preliminary processing, handling most of the workload.

A woman was also employed to cook and do the laundry.

This decision had caused a small dispute between father and son.

Given Feng Dabao’s usual frugality—he’d split a coin in half if he could, though he was generous with his son—he saw no need for servants. He’d cook and wash himself; they weren’t gentry, after all.

Oh, good son, if you don’t want to cook or wash, I, your father, will do it for you! Every coin saved is for your future bride.

But Xiaobao’s philosophy was different: let everyone do their job, make the best use of resources.

Rather than argue, Xiaobao used the same method as before—trial. “Let’s try hiring the woman for cooking and washing for a month. If it’s a waste, it’s only a month’s wages.”

After a month, Feng Dabao never mentioned the previous arrangement, and the woman stayed on.

Indeed, it’s easy to go from simple to extravagant, hard to go back.

With so much outsourced, their lives were no longer as tumultuous as before. They even kept three local dogs for security.

The workers came by day and left at night—the meals were provided, but not lodging.

Only in the evenings would father and son work together, turning the prepared herbs into pills.

It truly was a secret family recipe—passed from father to son, not to daughters.

Rising early, Feng Dabao saw everything in order, and was deeply satisfied.

What pleased him most was his son.

He could hear the cries and shouts outside—without needing his urging, his son Xiaobao was already eagerly practicing his boxing.