The First Deal
“You’re right,” Ye Li said evenly. “I do intend to sell tofu puffs. And yes, they may not be easy to sell.”
He paused.
“Because I plan to price them at fifteen wen per jin.”
“How much?” Jiang Fuzheng’s voice shot up.
Jiang Mai stared at him, certain he had misheard.
Jiang Ya’s small mouth fell open in shock. He lowered his head and patted his little belly.
How many copper coins had he and his brother eaten last night?
Ye Li spread his hands helplessly. “Uncle Jiang, the cost is high. One jin costs eight wen to make.”
“Eight wen?” Jiang Fuzheng looked incredulously at the tofu puffs in Jiang Mai’s hands. “These things cost eight wen per jin?”
“They do. I was startled myself when I calculated it yesterday. I ran the numbers three times before I dared believe it. But the good news is—there are sixty pieces in a jin.”
“Sixty?”
“Yes. They’re hollow and light. Sixty only weigh a jin.”
Tofu puffs were airy; even the larger ones were not heavy. His were slightly bigger than those sold in spicy hotpot shops, yet still sixty made up a jin.
“Explain the accounts in detail.”
Jiang Fuzheng frowned. The three figures Ye Li had just mentioned had unsettled him too much to accept at face value.
“Of course.”
Ye Li began counting on his fingers, carefully laying out each expense so the village head would see he was not spinning tales.
The Jiang family did not grow soybeans, so he had to buy them at the grain shop—three wen per jin.
One jin of soybeans could produce three jin of firm tofu. During frying, moisture evaporated; one jin of tofu yielded only half a jin of tofu puffs. Three jin of tofu would produce one and a half jin of puffs.
In other words, one jin of soybeans became one and a half jin of tofu puffs.
But soybeans were not the only cost. There was brine and pork lard.
Firm tofu did not absorb too much oil, but to fry three jin of tofu—enough for one and a half jin of puffs—required two liang of lard.
Lard was expensive. If he bought pork fat and rendered it himself, it cost around thirty-five wen per jin. Two liang came to seven wen.
The brine used to curdle one jin of soybeans cost about five li.
Then there was firewood. For now, their own supply sufficed, but if production increased, he would need to secure dry wood. He counted that as one wen.
And labor.
He had no intention of pushing the Jiang family’s heavy millstone himself. He meant to hire someone to grind the soy milk. He estimated one wen per jin for labor.
Soybeans, lard, brine, firewood, labor—together these five costs totaled twelve wen and five li for one and a half jin of tofu puffs.
Averaged out, that meant eight wen and three li per jin. When he said eight wen, he had even rounded down.
After hearing this meticulous explanation, Jiang Fuzheng fell silent for a moment. Then he said, “The cost may be high, but fifteen wen is truly steep. The villagers won’t bear to buy it.”
That was the price of pork. If a household could afford pork, who would choose tofu instead?
“Uncle Jiang, I have no choice,” Ye Li replied. “Ordinary tofu won’t turn into puffs. I must first make the tofu, then fry it. By the time it’s done, the sky is dark. After a full day’s labor, I make less than seven wen per jin. This is hard-earned money—earned with sweat and blood.”
Seeing Jiang Fuzheng unmoved, he added, “Besides, there are sixty pieces in a jin. If a family won’t buy a whole jin, they can buy by count. Four pieces for one wen—that’s not expensive.”
“One wen buys half a jin of tofu,” Jiang Fuzheng countered.
“But the taste is different. Come, let me show you the proper way to eat them.”
Ye Li took the bowl from Jiang Mai and began preparing a cold dish. “Mai, fetch two stalks of garlic sprouts.”
Jiang Mai silently headed to the small vegetable plot.
Jiang Fuzheng led Jiang Ya into the kitchen.
Ye Li washed his hands and sliced each tofu puff in half so the honeycomb interior could soak up sauce.
Jiang Mai returned with the garlic just as Ye Li placed the halved puffs into a clay basin.
The garlic was newly grown—small bulbs at the root, tender and juicy, milder in flavor. There was no aged garlic left from last year, so Ye Li made do.
He minced the garlic into the basin, then added chili powder, brown sugar, salt, sesame paste, and fragrant vinegar. Finally, he drizzled a little sesame oil.
As the oil hit the garlic, the aroma rose at once—garlic and sesame blending into a rich fragrance. Jiang Ya swallowed discreetly.
Ye Li mixed everything thoroughly with chopsticks.
The presentation was modest—only chili powder, no bright red chili oil—but the fragrance was irresistible.
He placed the basin on the small table and handed out chopsticks with a smile. “This is how tofu puffs should be eaten. Uncle Jiang, please try.”
Jiang Fuzheng picked up half a puff coated in garlic and sesame paste and put it into his mouth.
At the first bite, sauce burst from the honeycombed interior—fragrant, spicy, savory—yet balanced by the chew and soybean aroma of the tofu itself. The flavor exceeded expectation by far.
He glanced at Ye Li.
Ye Li’s face held a trace of anxiety. “Uncle Jiang… what do you think?”
Jiang Fuzheng said nothing. He simply reached for another piece.
The tension left Ye Li’s face; the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya were no less astonished. They ate eagerly, though not without caution—casting furtive glances at Ye Li, ready to stop at the slightest sign of displeasure.
After three mouthfuls, Jiang Fuzheng set down his chopsticks. The boys followed suit at once.
He cleared his throat. “Wife of the Ji boy, how many tofu puffs remain from yesterday? I’ll take them all.”
“There’s no need to speak of buying. You’re an elder; it’s only right I show filial respect. There’s a little over one jin left—please take it.”
Jiang Fuzheng looked surprised. So this Ji family wife understood propriety now. He felt a flicker of relief.
“Enough of that. I know you’ve no money. Am I to carry them off and then have you borrow from me later? If I did that, your father-in-law would leap from his grave to beat me.”
Thinking of the late Jiang Dahai, he sighed. “When your household truly prospers, just don’t forget this old man when you have fresh dishes.”
His words were measured and sincere.
Ye Li flushed slightly. “Uncle Jiang, then thirteen wen will do. The firewood was ours, and I pushed the mill myself, so there was no expense there. I’ll sell at thirteen per jin.”
“Fair enough.” Jiang Fuzheng smiled. “When you come grind beans later, use my mule. Save your strength.”
At that, Ye Li’s delight was plain. He had been worrying about this very problem last night.
“Thank you, Uncle Jiang!”
“I’ll head home first. When you come to grind soy milk, I’ll pay you.”
After seeing him off, Ye Li asked Jiang Mai to set out breakfast while he washed.
Breakfast was simple: corn gruel, corn flatbread, shredded pickles. Yet with the cold tofu puffs, the plain meal became unexpectedly appetizing.
After eating, Ye Li carried the soaked soybeans and two empty buckets to Jiang Fuzheng’s house.
Before leaving, he instructed Jiang Mai to deliver a block of tofu to Jiang Dahe’s household.
Most of yesterday’s tofu had been fried into puffs; less than a jin remained—enough for a stir-fry.
When Jiang Fuzheng had taken him around the village yesterday to promote his business, Jiang Dahe’s family had been out in the fields. Still, he had to show courtesy. Jiang Dahe had raised Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya; if Ye Li was to make tofu a livelihood, he would not let that household lack it.
Jiang Mai simply nodded. After Ye Li left, he took the tofu in a bowl and headed out with Jiang Ya.
At Jiang Fuzheng’s house, the village head promptly handed Ye Li a string of coins—thirteen wen exactly.
With that in hand, Ye Li dismissed the thought of borrowing lard.
Ten jin of soybeans could make thirty jin of tofu. Thanks to yesterday’s promotion, there should be many buyers today. If he sold out, he could earn twenty-five wen—though that was an ideal scenario. He planned an opening discount; even so, profit plus the eight wen left by the original owner of this body would suffice to buy more beans and lard tomorrow.
The family had seen him grind soy milk yesterday, so they went about their business. Only Jiang Fuzheng stayed to harness the mule.
The mule turned the mill faster than Ye Li could, and the stone mill was large; by the time Jiang Dahe arrived, the first bucket of soy milk was nearly full.
“Second Uncle, what brings you here?” Ye Li greeted him.
“Mai said you’ve learned to make tofu. I came to see if there’s anything I can help with,” Jiang Dahe said cheerfully.
“Thank you, Second Uncle. With Uncle Jiang’s mule, the work isn’t heavy. You could have sent Xiao Liu to take a look instead—you’ve lost time coming yourself.”
Jiang Liu was Jiang Dahe’s eldest daughter.
Jiang Dahe looked mildly surprised. As Mai had said, this nephew-in-law was different now. The former Ye Li had never given him a pleasant expression. Still, it was a good change.
“This is our family trade. Xiao Liu is nearly of marriageable age—how can she meddle in such work?”
“…Then please help carry this bucket back for me. It’s too heavy for me alone.”
Jiang Dahe was a good man, yet because his wife had borne only one daughter and one ge’er, he favored sons excessively—treating his nephew-husband and Jiang Mai better than his own children.
Since he was offering help sincerely, Ye Li would not refuse.
Now inhabiting the body of a ge’er, his strength was less than a man’s. Carrying the ten jin of soaked beans earlier had already left him sweating.
Please consider a coffee if you like my translations. I have translated many books but the website is free version. I would like to upgrade so I can put all my translations here.