Catch the Rat (3)
The head of the Dan Merchant Group was listening to a report from his subordinate.
"Salt?"
"That's the information he gave us. He said he heard it from the third son of the Eunhae Merchant Group's leader. There's word from above that buying up salt in advance will make a fortune."
"Is that so?"
"A plague has started spreading in the Hadong region, and they say bathing in saltwater is highly effective against it."
"So, salt prices are going to skyrocket."
"The Eunhae Merchant Group figures it'll take them about ten days to scrape together the funds to buy salt. The message is for us to snap it up first."
The head of the Dan Merchant Group grinned at his subordinate's words.
"Looks like giving him that generous payout was worth it."
"That's what I think too."
All the information Youngpo had brought them so far had been spot-on.
So, none of them suspected he might be feeding them false info out of spite.
Besides, what they'd handed him was five genuine gold ingots—no fakes.
Still, merchants were a cautious breed, always doubling down on prudence.
"Send someone to verify that intel."
"Understood."
And on the third day, the reports about the Hadong plague and salt proved true.
Salt prices began creeping up a bit higher than before.
Proof positive that they'd climb even more.
"How much capital do we have on hand?"
The Dan Merchant Group head learned the remaining sum.
"Damn. If I'd known, we should've started buying salt like he said."
"It's not too late even now. They say the plague's momentum is fierce."
After a moment's thought, the head made his call.
"Invest half our remaining funds."
"Understood."
I was in my uncle's office.
"How'd it go?"
Uncle smiled faintly at my question.
"They've finally made their move."
"They fell right into the trap we set."
I chuckled, recalling a few days back.
Because I'd swapped out four of the five gold ingots Youngpo stole, he'd grown resentful toward the Dan Merchant Group.
There was a reason I'd only faked four—leaving one real.
If all five were counterfeit, he'd have stormed straight to them, and our scheme would've collapsed.
Sure, I could've pivoted to a new plan, but that would've been a hassle.
With one real ingot in the mix, misunderstandings bred perfectly.
So, fueled by venom, Youngpo the accountant hunted for some "shit" to dump on the Dan Merchant Group—and my uncle and I supplied it.
During our chat, Yeo Eung-am warrior had been watching him from the eaves.
He'd overheard everything and grinned, just as I'd figured.
And sure enough, the Dan Merchant Group bit.
"But listen."
"Yes, Uncle?"
"That thing you said before—is it really true? That there'll be major restrictions on selling salt soon, baked salt or whatever."
"Yes, it's true."
"But with prices rising like this, buying now looks like a massive windfall."
"Sure, it seems that way. But there are two key things to consider here."
I wet my throat with some tea and continued.
"First, salt's in demand because of the plague. Second, it's the rising price of salt itself."
Uncle pondered, then stared at me in shock.
"The Imperial Palace!"
"As expected from you, Uncle."
That's right.
The palace would act soon.
"I'm expecting a salt monopoly decree."
Expecting?
No—this was certain.
It was why I'd come to Sichuan Province.
Salt was essential not just for survival, but daily life.
If its price soared, the common folk's lives would harden.
The palace might tolerate moderate hikes—merchants being merchants.
But this time was different.
Rumors of the plague spread across the Central Plains, spurring frantic salt hoarding. Merchants competed fiercely, driving prices to the heavens.
They had margins to cover, after all.
Then, in that powder-keg moment, a spark ignited.
A rural scholar, living humbly, petitioned the Emperor.
To sum it up...
I need salt to care for my elderly mother. She has no teeth, so salt's the only side dish she can eat. But even with money, I can't buy any—I'm failing her, and it breaks my heart. Please, Your Majesty, fix this.
Something like that.
It handed the Emperor perfect pretext to intervene.
He ordered an investigation, and a law emerged.
The Salt Distribution Act.
One: Salt wholesaling is monopolized by imperial merchant groups designated by the palace. Retail only.
Two: Retailers must buy from those imperial groups and hold palace-issued sales permits.
Three: No wholesale limits, but retail capped at one mal.
Four: Violations punished by imperial law.
Bluntly, the palace would control salt and pocket the profits.
Minor details aside, once announced, every merchant group—from veterans to plague profiteers—faced ruinous losses.
They'd sunk fortunes into stock they couldn't sell.
One option: Sell to imperial groups.
At prices the Emperor set.
Many went bust.
This was the infamous "Tears of Salt" incident from my future memories.
Those with palace ties dumped stock early.
The rest? Helpless.
The Dan Merchant Group had no such connections.
No rival merchant would tip them off.
In the cutthroat merchant world, who shares intel for free?
Just starting to buy, they'd double down.
And in a month?
Shit the bed.
Our Eunhae Merchant Group weathered that storm unscathed.
Thanks to Father's call: "Profiteering on salt amid this crisis is wrong."
The Eunwol Pavilion leaders backed him.
I love our group for that.
But this time, we adapt.
A true merchant sells to tigers too.
"Still, we need some smoke and mirrors. They'll only move without suspicion if we do first. So, let's buy some salt too."
"Even for deception... jumping into salt now feels wrong. Won't it hurt people more because of us?"
Uncle voiced the same concerns as Father.
"We'll invest this salt elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
"Distribute it—hop by hop—to the slums desperate for it."
"For free?"
"Yes, free."
Uncle gazed at me admiringly after a pause.
That's right.
Money wasn't the only asset.
Reputation was huge.
A chance to rebuild ours, tarnished by that baseless "fake warrior" rumor.
Plus, an opportunity only I knew.
Couldn't miss it.
Why's Uncle looking so burdened?
"Ahem, Uncle?"
"Fine. We'll do as you say."
A while later,
I led branch members to the slums.
Behind me, carts laden with salt trailed in a line.
Today: free salt giveaway.
Eunpung Squad Leader Gu Ji-seong stuck close.
"We're giving all that away free today?"
I nodded at his question.
"Yes."
"......"
His face screamed volumes; I smirked.
"Feels wasteful, huh?"
"Obviously."
"Don't grieve. It's all investment."
I pressed on.
"I'm a merchant, not a philanthropist. I do this because it'll profit big."
Today, I'd reap tens—nay, thousands—times the salt's cost.
"Sichuan's brutally hot, though. Not sweltering, young master?"
"I'm fine."
My Ice Arts kept heat at bay.
Others sweated buckets in the humid scorch.
Sichuan needed salt desperately—today's reaction was predictable.
We reached the pre-scouted spot.
Set up tables, ropes for lines—waist-high posts with red cords, snake-coiled to manage crowds safely, a trick from my old future.
Salt sacks piled on tables.
Tiny pouches filled on-site—barely two spoonfuls each.
Maximize reach.
Measured scoops prevented gripes.
Once ready, we distributed first to the bailiffs helping today.
I'd looped in the county magistrate ahead, securing cooperation—with some coin and salt greased palms.
These public gigs needed local buy-in to avoid backlash.
Bailiffs treasured salt too; preemptive goodwill smoothed sails.
"Thanks for the help today."
"Hahaha! No worries."
"We'll do our best."
My cousins led the distribution.
Sister Hyang-ok asked me,
"Why do we have to be out front?"
"For everyone's sake."
"You're smart—no harm in following your lead."
She took her post.
Putting them front-and-center built the Sichuan branch's future.
Show locals we cared for Sichuan, stoke loyalty.
Most branch staff and clients were Sichuan natives—who stuck tight-knit.
Aunt (local) wed Uncle; kids accepted as "Sichuan," but a subtle distance lingered.
Root cause: "They're outsiders carting Sichuan wealth away."
Flip it: Show we plow local gains back locally.
So, frontline: lifelong locals.
Not me, soon departing.
Prep done.
I ordered the flag raised.
Flutter!
The Eunhae Merchant Group banner snapped in the breeze.
Good vibes today.
"Free salt here!"
"Getting salt for free!"
"Come grab yours!"
Crowds hesitated.
Wary if truly free—or real salt.
They knew prices; the poor felt them sharpest.
"Heavens! All that's salt?"
"Giving it free? They're nuts."
"Nah, no way."
Their murmurs reached me.
Time for shills.
Our pre-hired plants sauntered up.
"This salt really free?"