The Dan Clan Merchant Lord was receiving a report from his subordinate.
“Salt?”
“It’s the information he provided. He claims he overheard the Eunhae Merchant Lord’s third son say there was intelligence from higher up that buying salt in advance would yield massive profits.”
“Is that so?”
“An epidemic has started spreading in the Hadong region, and apparently, bathing in saltwater is very effective against it.”
“Which means salt prices are going to spike.”
“He also said the Eunhae Merchant Group will need about ten days to secure the funds to buy salt, so the message was for the Dan Clan to act before them.”
Hearing this, the Dan Clan Merchant Lord grinned.
“Seems the extra gold we gave him is already paying off.”
“I think so as well.”
Everything Yeong-po had provided so far had been accurate.
So they never suspected he might’ve turned against them and given false intel.
Especially since they’d given him five gold taels—real ones.
Still, merchants are by nature the most cautious of creatures.
“Send someone to confirm the information.”
“Understood.”
On the third day, it was verified that salt demand in Hadong was real, and the price of salt had begun to rise slightly.
That meant it would likely continue to rise.
“How much capital do we have left?”
The Dan Clan Merchant Lord was told the current reserves.
“I see. If we’d followed his advice from the start, we could’ve gotten in early.”
“It’s not too late. The epidemic is spreading fast.”
After thinking for a moment, the Dan Clan Merchant Lord made a decision.
“Invest half our remaining funds.”
“Understood.”
I was in Uncle’s office.
“So, how’d it go?”
At my question, Uncle smiled.
“They took the bait.”
“They’ve finally fallen for our setup.”
I smirked, remembering what happened a few days earlier.
Because of the swapped gold taels, Clerk Yeong-po had grown dissatisfied with the Dan Clan.
There was a reason I only switched out four of the five gold taels with fakes.
If all of them had been fake, he’d have stormed over to the Dan Clan right away, and the plan would’ve failed.
Sure, I could’ve come up with another plan, but that would’ve been a hassle.
But with one tael real and the rest fake, it sowed just enough confusion.
Fueled by resentment, Clerk Yeong-po was looking for dung to throw at the Dan Clan—and Uncle and I had handed it to him.
While we were having that conversation, Warrior Yeo Eung-am was observing him from the roof.
He said he overheard everything and couldn’t help grinning.
And just as I expected, the Dan Clan made their move.
“But listen…”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“That thing you mentioned before… is it really true? That there’ll soon be strict restrictions on selling salt?”
“It is true.”
“But looking at the current trend, salt prices are rising. Wouldn’t buying it now guarantee huge profits?”
“It might look that way. But there are two important points to consider.”
I sipped my tea before continuing.
“First, the reason salt is in demand is because of the epidemic. Second, the item whose price is rising is salt.”
Uncle thought for a moment, then his eyes widened in shock.
“The Imperial Court!”
“As expected of you, Uncle.”
That’s right.
The Imperial Court is about to make its move.
“I’m expecting a salt monopoly policy to be implemented.”
Expecting?
No—it’s guaranteed.
This is exactly why I had to come to Sichuan myself.
Salt is essential not just for survival but for everyday life.
If the price of salt goes up, it naturally makes life harder for the common people.
As long as the rise is moderate, the court might overlook it, thinking merchants are just stirring up trouble again.
But this time was different.
With rumors of the epidemic spreading across the Central Plains, people had begun desperately buying up salt. Merchants, in turn, scrambled to stockpile, and salt prices soared beyond control.
Merchants had their reasons—they needed to add profit margins to the salt they bought at high prices.
Then came the spark that ignited the powder keg.
A Confucian scholar, living in obscurity, submitted a memorial to the Emperor.
In short—
He needed salt to care for his elderly mother. She had no teeth and could only eat food seasoned with salt. But now, he couldn’t even buy salt with money, so he was grieving over his inability to provide for her. He begged the Emperor to fix it.
That was roughly the content.
And it gave the Emperor the perfect justification to interfere in the merchant world.
He immediately ordered an investigation, which led to a new law.
That law was the Salt Distribution Act.
First, salt would be sold exclusively by royal-affiliated merchant groups designated by the Imperial Court. This applied only to wholesale.
Second, retailers must purchase salt from the royal merchant group and could only sell it if they held an official sales permit issued by the court.
Third, there were no limits on wholesale volume, but retail transactions were limited to a maximum of one mal (around 18 liters).
Fourth, violations would be punished under national law.
In plain terms, the salt monopoly meant the Imperial Court would control the salt trade and pocket the profits.
There were other minor regulations, but this was the gist.
Once the law was enacted, all the merchant groups involved in salt trade, including those who had jumped into the frenzy during the salt panic, suffered enormous losses.
They’d invested a huge amount of money to buy salt—only to find they could no longer sell it.
The only option left?
Offload it to the royal merchant group.
Naturally, the royal merchant group bought it at the price set by the Emperor.
Because of this, several merchant groups went completely bankrupt.
This was the infamous “Tears of Salt” incident I remembered from my past life.
Of course, those with connections inside the palace got wind of the policy in advance and dumped their salt ahead of time.
But those without such ties had no choice but to take the hit.
And there’s no way the Dan Clan has any ties to the court.
No other merchants would tell them either.
Why would anyone in this cold-blooded business world share that kind of information out of kindness?
The Dan Clan Merchant Group had only just begun buying up salt, and they would undoubtedly purchase even more.
And one month from now—
They’d be pissing blood.
Our Eunhae Merchant Group came out unscathed from the storm caused by the “Tears of Salt” incident.
All thanks to Father’s decision.
— Profiteering off salt during times like this is not right.
The Pavilion Lords of the Eunwol Council supported his choice.
I really do love our merchant group for that.
But this time had to be different.
Even if you meet a tiger, selling to the tiger is what makes you a true merchant.
“Ah, but we’ll need a bit of misdirection. If we don’t act, the Dan Clan won’t either. So let’s buy some salt ourselves.”
“For misdirection’s sake, I understand… but still, joining in on salt purchases during a crisis is troubling. Wouldn’t we just be causing more harm to the people?”
Uncle voiced the same concern as Father.
“We’re not keeping the salt. We’ll invest it elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
“We’ll distribute it to the people in the slums, those desperately in need of salt—even just a hop (cup) each.”
“For free?”
“Yes, completely free.”
Uncle considered it for a moment, then looked at me with admiration.
That’s right.
Money isn’t the only asset a merchant has.
Reputation is just as valuable.
This was a perfect opportunity to restore the reputation we lost from the false rumors about the Self-Dancing Dolls.
And there’s another opportunity—one that only I know about right now.
I can’t let it slip by.
Though… why’s Uncle looking at me like that, all emotional and overwhelmed?
“Ahem, Uncle?”
“Alright. We’ll do it your way.”
.
.
.
Not long after.
I led the branch members to a slum neighborhood.
Behind me were several carts loaded high with salt.
Today, we were holding a free salt distribution event.
Following close behind was Eunpoong Division’s First Squad Leader, Gu Ji-seong.
“Are we really giving all this away for free?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“…”
He looked like he had a lot to say. I chuckled.
“Feels like a waste, doesn’t it?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Don’t worry. It’s all an investment.”
I continued,
“I’m a merchant, not a philanthropist. I’m only doing this because I believe the returns will be enormous.”
I was planning to earn dozens—no, thousands of times more than the value of the salt we’d give out today.
“But Sichuan really is hot. Aren’t you hot, Young Master?”
“I’m fine.”
I’d mastered Ice Qi cultivation, so I wasn’t bothered by heat.
Unlike me, everyone else was drenched in sweat thanks to Sichuan’s infamous heat and humidity.
That made this one of the regions with the highest demand for salt. I didn’t even need to imagine how the reaction would be to this salt giveaway.
We arrived at the site we’d selected in advance.
We set up tables and installed crowd control lines so people could form orderly lines.
This was an idea someone had come up with in the future I remembered: waist-high wooden posts with red ropes to guide people through like a coiled snake.
It was safer and more efficient than letting the crowd rush in.
Bags of salt were stacked atop the tables.
We placed small paper bags and began filling them directly.
The bags were tiny—only enough to hold about two spoonfuls of salt.
We needed to share it with as many people as possible.
To prevent complaints about uneven amounts, I had standardized scoops made to ensure consistent portions.
Once we had prepared a decent quantity, we gave some of the salt to the constables who came to help maintain order.
We’d informed the local administrator about the event in advance and asked for support.
For any public event like this, involving people, it’s essential to coordinate with the local office or risk complications later.
Of course, a bit of money and salt changed hands to smooth that out.
That’s how we got the constables to help.
They valued salt as much as anyone, and greasing the wheels early would prevent future trouble.
“Thanks for your support today.”
“Haha! Don’t worry about it.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Leading the distribution today were my cousins.
Hyang-ok asked me,
“But why do we have to be the ones doing this?”
“For everyone’s sake.”
“You’re smart, so listening to you can’t hurt.”
With that, she stood at the distribution table.
Putting them out front was for the sake of the branch’s future.
By showing that the Sichuan Branch was giving back to Sichuan, we could inspire loyalty.
Most of the employees working at the Sichuan Branch were locals, and most of our customers were too.
And Sichuan people have a strong sense of unity.
Even though Aunt had married into the family and Uncle and his children were considered Sichuanese, there was still a subtle distance.
The biggest reason, as I saw it, was the idea that “they’ll take Sichuan’s wealth and send it elsewhere.”
But if we could change that perception—show that the wealth earned in Sichuan was being used for Sichuan—it’d be a different story.
So the ones standing up front had to be locals from the Sichuan Branch.
Not someone like me, who’d be leaving soon.
Everything was ready.
I gave the order to raise the banner I’d prepared.
Flap!
The flag bearing the name “Eunhae Merchant Group” fluttered in the wind.
I had a very good feeling about today.
.
.
.
“Free salt distribution!”
“Get your free salt here!”
“Come and get your share!”
The people hesitated.
They weren’t sure if it was truly free, or if the salt was even real.
They knew how expensive salt had become.
The ones who feel inflation most are never the rich, but always the poor.
“Good heavens! Is that all salt?”
“And they’re giving that away? For free? Are they insane?”
“Come on, no way.”
I heard their murmurs.
Now’s when we needed our shills.
Soon, the plants we’d placed in the crowd casually walked up and asked,
“Are you really giving this salt away for free?”
–TL Notes–
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