Chapter 72: The Street Urchin Trades Herbs, Losing Three Taels of Silver to the Grass-Eating Goat

The corpse’s name was Sheng Mingquan. Because he was born skinny and small, people had given him the nickname “Leather Monkey.”

Leather Monkey was trouble from a young age, never doing honest work, always sneaking around and stealing chickens or dogs. When he grew up, he had even less means to earn a living. Eventually, he started working with a rascal, running a shady trade in medicinal herbs. Leather Monkey claimed he was trading herbs, but in truth, he would slip into the mountains at night, steal handfuls of herbs from others’ medicinal gardens, and then sell them to herb merchants for a bit of drinking money.

A few days ago, Leather Monkey struck gold in Sishui County, fifty miles east of Jian’an’s capital. He sneaked into a mountain herb garden, filled a cloth bag with medicinal plants, and, while the family slept, stole a ginseng drying outside their door.

The day before yesterday, Leather Monkey hid the bag and came to the West Market to sell his loot, heading straight for Chen Shuisheng’s stall. Chen Shuisheng was a vendor at the Restoring Spring Pharmacy—a man whose very face carried a mocking grin and the shifty look of a swindler. He was sharp-tongued and mean-spirited. Normally, he would stroke his goatee and feign honesty, but behind his back, he was notorious for cheating customers, short-changing weights and raising prices.

The other vendors at Restoring Spring called him “Grass-Eating Goat.” First, because he was unscrupulous: he preyed on newcomers, gouged prices, and cut weights, earning the disdain of all. Why didn’t he cheat regulars? Simple—his business was strictly one-off; no customer ever returned. Second, though he traded in herbs, his knowledge was shallow; he could barely identify half of what he sold. A goat eats grass indiscriminately; so the nickname “Grass-Eating Goat” fit him perfectly.

Normally, Chen Shuisheng could scrape by, fooling and cheating just enough to get through life. At least he wouldn’t lose his life over it. But the gods are watching from above, and as the saying goes, walk enough nights and you’ll meet a ghost.

On this particular market day, Chen Shuisheng set up his stall at dawn. The morning light was soft, the sun blushing on the horizon. Not long after, someone slipped quietly to his stand. Chen Shuisheng glanced up and couldn’t help but smile—it was Leather Monkey himself, the herb thief.

Every vendor at Restoring Spring knew Leather Monkey’s herbs were ill-gotten, and buying from him could land them in legal trouble, so none would touch his goods—except one.

Leather Monkey and Grass-Eating Goat Chen Shuisheng were cut from the same cloth, so Chen was always glad to buy from him. Why? The price. Leather Monkey’s herbs were cheap—he didn’t grow or water them himself, and no one else dared buy them, so they sold for much less than legitimate herbs.

Moreover, Chen Shuisheng knew Leather Monkey had nowhere else to sell, so he would mercilessly drive the price even lower, buying at a pittance. Now, seeing the money walking right up to his stall, how could Grass-Eating Goat not be delighted?

“Well, Leather Monkey, you’re back to support your brother’s business, eh?” Chen Shuisheng greeted him with a smile.

Leather Monkey winked and grinned, “Just got my hands on some good stuff yesterday—first person I thought of was you, brother.”

Seeing Leather Monkey knew how to play the game, Chen Shuisheng smirked, “Oh? Let’s see what treasures you’ve brought.”

Leather Monkey glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pulled a cloth bag from his coat. As he opened it, he started pulling out herbs, boasting, “Rest assured, brother Chen, everything I bring is top-quality.”

Chen Shuisheng knew Leather Monkey was full of hot air, so he paid little mind. Looking down, he found his suspicions confirmed: Leather Monkey was pulling out licorice, nettles, nightshade, plantain—common herbs, nothing special. Chen Shuisheng lost interest at once.

Leather Monkey, quick to read faces, saw Chen’s disappointment and quickly pulled something from the bottom of the bag. “Brother Chen, look at this—what do you think?”

Chen Shuisheng assumed it was another trick, but he glanced at it and froze. Leather Monkey had produced a ginseng root, just over a finger’s length.

Chen Shuisheng, ever the sly merchant, barely let his surprise show before feigning indifference. He said in a flat tone, “I thought it was wild ginseng—turns out it’s just garden ginseng.”

He wasted no time in devaluing the root. Ginseng was divided into wild and cultivated varieties. Wild ginseng grew deep in the mountains, absorbing the essence of heaven and earth, famed for its life-saving powers. But wild ginseng was hard to find—it grew among beasts and snakes, and old wild ginseng would turn into “ginseng dolls,” hiding from humans. Only professional mountain men could find it, and it was reserved for nobles and the wealthy.

Ordinary folk couldn’t afford wild ginseng, so medicinal gardens began cultivating ginseng—ten years to grow a finger-length root. Though far inferior to wild ginseng, it was still precious, beyond the reach of most.

Chen Shuisheng’s sharp eyes saw that Leather Monkey’s root was over ten years old—a top-grade garden ginseng.

Hearing Chen’s attempt to lower the price, Leather Monkey grew anxious. “Brother Chen, have pity! I nearly lost my life getting this root.”

But Chen Shuisheng, sly as ever, ignored the plea. He raised two fingers, “Two taels.”

Leather Monkey forced a smile uglier than a cry, “Brother Chen, give me a little more. I won’t ask much—five taels, just five.”

Chen Shuisheng shook his head, “Too expensive. Sell it elsewhere.”

He was certain Leather Monkey had no other buyers, so he was in no rush. In the end, after haggling, Chen Shuisheng bought the ginseng and the herbs for three taels.

Leather Monkey pocketed the silver and left quickly, vanishing at the street’s end—but in truth, he hadn’t gone far.

Chen Shuisheng, having scored a bargain, was overjoyed. He examined the finger-length ginseng again and again. Suddenly, he noticed something amiss. The root was columnar, with many fibrous branches, yellow-brown and fragrant.

When he looked closely, Chen Shuisheng cried out in dismay. It wasn’t ginseng at all—it was a dang gui root.

He spent his days hunting geese, but today the goose pecked out his eyes. Though dang gui resembled ginseng, its value was much lower; this root was worth at most one tael.

Losing money was agony for the swindler Chen Shuisheng—like being sliced with a dull knife, slow and burning.

All morning, he sighed and grumbled, neglecting his business. He watched customers flock to other stalls, growing frantic like an ant on a hot skillet. Seeing others make money hurt him more than losing two taels himself. Yet, his reputation as Grass-Eating Goat was so notorious that not a single soul paused at his stall.

By midday, a young boy rushed up. The boy looked twelve or thirteen, ragged and gaunt, holding a prescription and standing before Chen Shuisheng.

“Boss, fill this prescription—quickly!” the boy shouted, barely catching his breath.

Chen Shuisheng’s heart leapt—he thought, “Heaven has eyes, a fat sheep has come!” Why? The boy was in a hurry; surely someone at home was gravely ill and needed medicine at once. In such urgency, he’d never notice if the weight was short, especially since he was just a naive youngster.

Chen Shuisheng planned his trick, but kept his face honest, taking the prescription from the boy’s hand.

Glancing at the paper, Chen Shuisheng nearly burst out laughing.

Why? Because the first item on the boy’s prescription, written clearly in black on white, was “one finger-length ginseng.”