Volume One, Chapter 30: Sky-High Stones—One Tael Each!

"Father! Mother! I want that talking stone! Have you found it for me or not?"
Qian Yue’s wails nearly pierced Master Qian’s eardrums.
Rubbing his throbbing temples, he sighed helplessly, “My dear son, it’s not that I don’t want to find it for you.”
“We’ve practically turned all of Lu Prefecture upside down, dug every inch, and still haven’t found such a strange stone.”
“I don’t care! I don’t care!”
Qian Yue started rolling on the floor, his voice rising ever higher. “Go ask Zhang Jinbao! That stone was painted by his little page boy!”
Master Qian, hearing this, grabbed at the hope like a drowning man clutches at a straw, and hastily ordered the servants, “Quick! Go to the Zhang Residence and ask!”
Almost at the same time, messengers from the Liu Residence and the Sun Residence were dispatched as well.
At the Zhang Residence, Zhang Shengcai looked out at the crowd of servants from the various households filling the courtyard, their voices clamoring about “talking stones” and “stones painted with the Monkey King,” and felt his head about to split in two.
He waved his hand forcefully, signaling the noisy group to quiet down. “Please, everyone, listen to me!”
“These peculiar things you speak of... I truly know nothing about them.”
“I haven’t heard of Jinbao possessing any strange stone treasures either.”
From the crowd, a servant called out, “Master Zhang, my young master said it was painted by the page boy who serves your son, and the stone even tells entertaining stories!”
“Chen Pingchuan?” Zhang Shengcai raised an eyebrow.
That boy, what is he scheming now?
He immediately gave orders to Steward Ren. “Go, bring Pingchuan here at once!”
Soon, Chen Pingchuan was ushered into the study by Steward Ren.
Zhang Shengcai recounted the matter, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “Pingchuan, are these stones truly your handiwork?”
Chen Pingchuan bowed slightly. “Master, it is indeed some idle doodling I did when I had nothing else to do.”
“So these stones...” Zhang Shengcai hesitated.
The servants before him numbered more than twenty, representing most of the prominent families in Lu Prefecture.

It was impossible for Chen Pingchuan to stay here and paint stones for them one by one.
Even if he worked as fast as he could, he wouldn’t finish before nightfall.
Was the Zhang Residence supposed to feed and house these servants as they waited? That would be unseemly!
Chen Pingchuan seemed to see through Zhang Shengcai’s dilemma and smiled gently. “Master, you need not worry. I will go speak with them.”
Stepping out of the study, Chen Pingchuan addressed the anxious servants in a clear voice, “Please return and inform your masters that these items will soon appear at the Lu Prefecture marketplace. If fate allows, you will meet them there.”
The servants exchanged perplexed glances. They couldn’t fathom what the young page was up to, but seeing his confident demeanor, they could only bow and depart, returning to report to their masters.
Zhang Shengcai watched the small figure of Chen Pingchuan, curiosity brimming in his eyes.
What on earth was this boy planning?
…
At dawn, the eastern sky was just touched with a pale light.
Chen Zhonghe, carrying his son’s treasured stones, braved the morning dew as he traversed dozens of miles of rugged mountain paths, finally reaching the city of Lu Prefecture before sunrise.
In the bustling central marketplace, he found a quiet, inconspicuous corner and carefully spread a worn cloth bundle on the flagstone pavement.
He unwrapped the bundle and arranged over thirty colorful, uniquely shaped painted stones in neat rows.
As the first golden rays of sunlight pierced the mist, they gently bathed the pebbles resting on the cold stone.
The rebellious Sun Wukong; the charmingly foolish Pigsy; the dignified Tang Monk; the honest and loyal Sandy…
Every figure, brought to life by vibrant mineral pigments, seemed almost animated, as though imbued with a soul, ready to leap forth from the stone at any moment.
The marketplace was coming alive, with more and more passersby.
These novel objects, never seen before, quickly caught the attention of several early shoppers.
Summoning his courage, Chen Zhonghe tried to imitate the other hawkers, raising his voice to call out,
“Painted stones for sale… Stones that tell stories…”
His cry was a little out of place in the morning market, drawing curious glances from the passing crowd.
Chen Zhonghe’s cheeks burned, his nerves frayed.

One tael of silver for a stone!
Wouldn’t people think he was mad?
At last, someone stopped.
A middle-aged man in a silk jacket, looking quite respectable, crouched down with curiosity, picking up a stone painted with the scene “Three Battles with the White Bone Demon,” and examined it closely in his palm. “Hmm? This painting is quite exquisite; I’ve never seen anything like it before. What is this supposed to be?”
Beside him, a young scholar in coarse linen robes picked up another stone, depicting “The Great Sage Havoc in Heaven,” and exclaimed, “This monkey is so vivid and lifelike—truly remarkable.”
The middle-aged man picked up a few more stones, growing increasingly fond of them, and asked, “Brother, how do you sell these painted stones?”
Chen Zhonghe’s palms were slick with sweat from nervousness. He swallowed hard, barely managing to squeeze out, “One… one tael… one tael of silver each.”
The words had barely left his lips when the low murmurs of the surrounding crowd fell silent.
The guests, still holding the stones and examining them with interest, froze mid-action, their expressions turning stiff.
The eerie silence lasted only an instant.
Then, laughter erupted from the crowd.
“What? One tael of silver? Did I hear that right? Brother, have you lost your mind?”
“Hahaha! This honest fellow must be so desperate for money he’s gone mad! A worthless stone, and he dares ask for one tael of silver!”
“Exactly! Even the city’s famed master painter, Mister Wang, charges only a few hundred coins for a finely detailed landscape. Yet you, with some pebbles picked from the riverbank, daubed with color, dare demand such a sky-high price?”
“He must have lost his senses from poverty! Early in the morning, trying to amuse us with worthless stones!”
“Whose tael of silver grows on trees? Who would be foolish enough to waste money on your silly rock?”
The jeering, mocking, and scornful looks washed over Chen Zhonghe in relentless waves.
His weathered, dark face flushed deep red, as purple as a pig’s liver.