After 2 days…
"Miss, Shu-er has finished her tour. She knows the layout of the manor and the courtyard now," Qin-er reported, with Shu-er standing quietly by her side.
"And Miss," Qin-er added, her voice dropping to an excited whisper, "the purchasing steward mentioned that a fresh caravan arrived at the East Market this morning. The foreign merchants are setting up their stalls as we speak."
My heart skipped a beat. This was the moment I had been waiting for. I didn't care about the silks or the gold. I wanted those that can stimulate the tongue.
Before leaving, I fastened a delicate silk veil over the bridge of my nose, covering the lower half of my face. Even though the rules for children were less strict, I didn't want my acne—or my identity—to become the talk of the market.
As we stepped into the East Market, the air changed. It was thick with the scent of unwashed horses, sun-baked earth, and something sharp and intoxicating. My eyes sparkled as I spotted a merchant with a vibrant, orange root displayed on a cloth. It is very similar looking to ginger but I know it's not ginger.
He was a man of the Sindhu Kingdom—modern-day India.
"Maricha... flavor. Food," the merchant said, gesturing clumsily. He was struggling with the local dialect, trying to bridge the gap with sign language. This was the greatest barrier to trade in the pre-Silk Road era: the world was huge, and its tongues were many.
But he didn't know he was speaking to an archaeologist who had spent years deciphering the roots of these very words.
I looked at the black pepper and the turmeric. In my mind, the Sanskrit names flowed easily: Maricha for black pepper, Haridra for turmeric, Tulsi for basil, and Ela for cardamom. I didn't just stop there. I found Indonesian traders at the edge of the camp—men who had sailed the treacherous seas. Because they were the direct source and not middle-men, their prices were raw and honest.
I moved through the stalls like a woman possessed, buying cloves, nutmeg, and essential oils. I even tracked down a merchant selling fresh oxen milk, a rarity that made my heart race. During this era, dairy was not a stable. They haven't realized yet the amount of use it has.
When it came time to pay, I felt a literal pang in my chest. "Thirty silver ingots," the total rang out.
It was a small fortune. As the daughter of the Tang Manor, I received an allowance of twenty silver ingots a month—a sum that could feed a common family for years. I had spent nearly everything I had saved, leaving me with a measly five silvers in my pouch.
Don't cry over the silver, Mo-Xian, I told myself, clutching the fragrant jars to my chest. The money is gone but this investment will return to me ten-thousand-fold.
I returned to the manor not as a sickly girl, but as a conqueror with a hidden arsenal of flavor. The Great Yan didn't know it yet, but their bland, bitter world was about to be seasoned with the fire of the West.