Chapter Forty-Six: Cheating with the Four Great Inventions

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As it turns out, monopoly is the most lucrative business.

When the first steamed buns appeared in the Tang Dynasty, almost no one could resist their deliciousness, and there were no competitors to be found. In the early morning, eating two steaming hot buns and drinking a bowl of millet porridge was the epitome of comfort.

The one hundred and fifty students at the Imperial College made steamed buns their staple food for all three meals. Even the esteemed scholars of the college, though reluctant to be seen indulging in such affordable fare, succumbed to its allure after hearing their students rave about the taste. One bite was enough to ensnare them.

As more people became devotees, the fame of Mo Family’s “Dog Ignored Steamed Buns” spread rapidly throughout Chang’an. People traveled from distant places to try them, and every day business was booming, with lines stretching far into the street.

Seeing how brisk business was, Mo Dun recruited twenty more workers from Mo Family Village and shifted to a two-team rotation, selling steamed buns at all three meals. Still, the demand far outstripped supply.

“Young Master! Today’s total earnings were two hundred and eighty strings of coins. After deducting a hundred for costs, the net profit is one hundred and eighty,” Zi Yi reported, her abacus clattering. The bun shop had been purchased outright, so there was no rent, which meant profits soared even higher.

“So much?” The three—Qin Huaiyu, Yuchi Baolin, and Cheng Chumo—drew a sharp breath.

“One hundred and eighty strings a day—that’s eighteen hundred in ten days, and nearly five thousand a month!” Yuchi Baolin counted on his fingers, staring in awe.

Though they were sons of wealthy families and accustomed to spending freely, the thought of earning such sums themselves, even if only a tenth, meant each could take home five hundred strings of coins every month!

To put it in perspective, those five hundred taels were what the three would save up in a year of private spending. Now, each could pocket five hundred strings monthly; in Tang Dynasty terms, one tael of silver equaled one string, so each received five hundred strings—a total of fifteen hundred for the trio.

“We’re rich!” Cheng Chumo inwardly shouted.

Qin Huaiyu and Yuchi Baolin were equally excited. This was money earned without relying on their families, making it all the more meaningful.

It was clear that human desire knows no bounds. The three, once eager to spend their earnings, now had no intention of dividing the profits. Instead, their thoughts turned at once to Mo Dun’s plan for branch stores.

“The branch stores near the east, south, and west gates have been chosen. In ten days, they’ll open. Within a year, every ward in Chang’an will have a bun shop of ours,” Qin Huaiyu declared, full of passion.

“Mm,” Mo Dun replied distractedly, not looking up as his goose-feather brush flew across his coursework. He paid no heed to the ambitious Qin Huaiyu before him.

The Imperial College had a ten-day cycle, with only a single day of rest. Mo Dun planned to use this day to visit Mo Family Village, recruit a few more employees for the bun shop, and expand business. The main reason for Mo Dun’s bun shop’s success was to create a new source of income for the villagers of Mo Family, keeping prosperity within the community.

With this in mind, Mo Dun wrote even faster, the hard tip of his brush scratching against the rice paper. Soon, most of his coursework was done, and the stack of paper grew higher.

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“I’ve had enough! This is just bullying!” Cheng Chumo threw his brush onto the pristine rice paper, leaving a glaring blot of ink.

Watching Mo Dun’s rapid progress—another sheet completed in a flash—while he had managed only three pages in the same span, Cheng Chumo felt utterly frustrated. Comparing himself to Mo Dun was a blow to his confidence.

“Liu Yinian really goes too far, demanding twenty pages at a time!” Yuchi Baolin sighed, setting his brush aside. He had barely finished two and a half pages, with the hundred-page goal feeling impossibly distant.

“It’s all Mo Dun’s fault!” Qin Huaiyu looked at Mo Dun with resentment. The reason Liu Yinian assigned so much work was to keep up with Mo Dun’s pace; he didn’t care about word count, just the number of pages.

“If you’d just settle down, you’d have written most of it by now!” Mo Dun pressed down hard as he finished the last character, making a thick stack of twenty pages.

The trio glared at Mo Dun. In the past, they hadn’t felt slow, but now, compared to him, they were clearly outmatched.

“Mo Dun, you’re so fast! Why not write mine for me?” Qin Huaiyu asked hopefully.

Mo Dun looked at him as if he were a fool. “Are you sure Liu Yinian won’t recognize your handwriting? Or did you suddenly master the goose-feather brush?”

He smugly waved his brush, provoking a murderous glare from Qin Huaiyu.

“Don’t you have a ghostwriter?” Mo Dun asked.

“No good! Last year, I was caught—Liu Yinian gave me twenty lashes. Never again,” Qin Huaiyu lamented. He had been showing off, but hadn’t written a single character.

“I don’t care! It’s your fault—you have to figure it out!” Qin Huaiyu shamelessly insisted.

“That’s right!” Cheng Chumo and Yuchi Baolin nodded emphatically.

Mo Dun pondered, then his eyes lit up. “If Liu only checks the page count, there might really be a way.”

“Really?” The three were overjoyed.

“Mo San!” Mo Dun called out.

“Greetings, Young Master! Greetings, young masters!” A tall, lean, dark-skinned youth entered, bowing respectfully.

“No good—the ghostwriter won’t work anymore. Liu already knows our handwriting. That old fox has sharp eyes!” Cheng Chumo was disappointed, thinking Mo Dun had called Mo San to write for them.

“If ghostwriting won’t do, what if it’s your own writing?” Mo Dun smiled.

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“Huh?” The three were baffled.

Mo Dun pointed at Mo San. “Mo San is the finest craftsman of our Mo Family’s younger generation. Anything you show him, he can carve it to perfection.”

“You mean to carve our handwriting—like a seal?” Qin Huaiyu asked.

Mo Dun nodded. “What if the seal was as large as the rice paper?”

“But where would we find jade that big?” Qin Huaiyu frowned.

“How heavy would that be?” Cheng Chumo looked dubious.

“No need for jade, young masters. Wood will do just as well. It’s light, easy to carve, and won’t slow you down,” Mo San explained.

“That’s a good idea.” The three’s eyes shone as they looked at Mo San as if he were a treasure.

Wood was plentiful in the Mo Mansion. Mo San found some hard jujube wood and cut three boards to match the size of the rice paper.

“Please write your names, young master,” Mo San requested.

With a flourish, Qin Huaiyu wrote his name.

Mo San picked up his carving knife and, referencing a scrap piece, quickly carved out Qin Huaiyu’s handwriting.

He dabbed ink and pressed down—the name appeared crisply on the rice paper, identical to Qin Huaiyu’s own writing.

“Perfect! That’s it!” Qin Huaiyu was delighted to see his handwriting reproduced so exactly.

“Mo Dun, you’re a clever one! We owe you this time!” Cheng Chumo gave Mo Dun a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Yuchi Baolin burst out laughing. The three exchanged glances, grinning like weasels who’d stolen a chicken.