The Old Master was in the salt business. The Old Master wasn’t into the salt business.
His ten-li salt farm and over a hundred acres of snow-white salt beach were run by his general manager Chen Three and Third Wife.
The Old Master was into gambling and would frequently travel dozens of li to town to gamble.
In town were gambling houses and theatres. There the Old Master had bought a grand three-room river-front home on a busy street. When it rained or snowed or when the Old Master felt like it, he would stay at the vacation home.
Usually when he returned home, he would spend the night in Third Wife’s suite and wouldn’t get up until the sun had already climbed high in the sky. By then all the farmhands had already gone to work. Third Wife would have breakfast with him and brief him on a few things she deemed important. It was never clear whether the Old Master was listening or letting the words into his ears at all. Usually, when the breakfast was over, he simply lay down the bowl and chopsticks, worked on his teeth with a toothpick, and then took a stroll in the courtyard. When he was in a good mood, he would tell the servants which flower or plant needed to be watered; when he was not in a good mood, he would have a stern look on his face and stride to the horse-drawn wagon waiting outside.
The wagon then carried the Old Master to town.
Thus, everyday, in the midst of jingling bells, sprawled on the bench in a half-awake state, the Old Master would be drawn out of the salt farm and beach on his way to town.
At the end of the day, well past midnight at the earliest, and sometimes around daybreak, the jingling bells of the horse-drawn wagon would be heard again. Sometimes, though, the Old Master’s wagon wasn’t seen for three or five days in a row.
That was why many new farmhands, who would start right after the Spring Festival, work till the fields were covered by green wheat, till late autumn when it was time to harvest the salt, never had as much as a glimpse of the Old Master.
If the Old Master had any concern, he would tell Third Wife while in bed, who, in turn, would tell Chen Three.
As to Chen Three, well, he would try to see the Old Master once every ten days or half a month to update him about things he’d like to hear, such as new income figures. When the Old Master was delighted, he would ask Third Wife to prepare a few dishes and they would drink a few cups together.
This year during the salt harvest season Chen Three had been so busy dealing with salt merchants from all over the country that he hadn’t come to see the Old Master for over half a month. One night when the Old Master returned home from town, he asked Third Wife, “Haven’t seen Chen Three for a while. Where has he been?”
Third Wife said: “Oh! This year’s salt harvest is very good. Haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
Third Wife added: “It rained much less this spring and summer. So the salt harvest is extraordinary! Salt merchants from Heaven-knows-where swarm over here. Chen Three’s been running around like a headless dog trying to handle them.”
Then Third Wife said: “The line of salt wagons coming and going would stretch as far as two or three li!”
The Old Master didn’t say a word. The following day on the way to town, as if hit by something, the Old Master told his “chauffer” to take him to the salt farm.
At first his “chauffer” thought he hadn’t heard it right. He asked again to make sure: “Master, did you say you wanted to go and take a look at the salt farm?”
The Old Master didn’t say another word. The “chauffer” knew the Old Master really wanted to go. The Old Master was a man of few words. Whatever he said he had said it and he would never repeat it.
So the “chauffeur” turned the wagon and urged the horse in the direction of the salt farm.
Well before reaching the salt farm, they were stopped by merchants’ wagons crowding the road.
The Old Master stepped off the wagon, squinted to see the long line of wagons, stroked his chin a few times, and hurried toward the retail station with his fine walking cane.
No salt farmhands greeted him as the Old Master hurried along. Nobody knew who he was anyway.
Even before reaching the retail station he could hear a loud commotion there. . . .
“Your Honorable Mr. Chen. . . . ”
“Your Honorable General Manager. . . . ”
The Old Master knew this Honorable Personage was none other than Chen Three.
When he got nearer, the Old Master saw Chen Three being surrounded by a throng of salt merchants, all dressed in fancy long gowns and felt hats, this one handing him a cigarette and that one lighting it up for him. Even the two servants who were holding Chen’s teapot and cooling him with a large fan benefited from such show of attention, each having a cigarette in the mouth and blowing smoke rings like they were something.
The Old Master got even nearer. Still no one paid him any attention.
Feeling every bit of the slight, the Old Master found a bench behind the loud crowd and sat down. Still Chen Three had not noticed him. Vexed, the Old Master jabbed his cane through the crowd and prodded him in the back.
Chen Three was startled. Before he could ascertain who the little old man behind him was, the Old Master called with a stern face: “Chen Three!”
Chen Three knew right away: “Old Master, why are you here?”
The Old Master turned his face away, pointed at his boots with the cane, and said, nonchalantly, “See what’s in my boots. It bothers my feet.”
Chen Three knelt down at the Old Master’s feet right away to work on his boots.
Everyone present was puzzled. What happened to the proud and powerful Master Chen? Manager Chen? Why was he now on his knees checking the boots of this little skinny old man?
Chen Three removed the boots ever carefully, held them close to his face, bent to check inside this way and that way, and shook them several times as if his life depended on it. Nothing fell out. He reached in and felt with his fingers . . . still he couldn’t find anything. So he said to the Old Master: “Old Master, there’s nothing inside!”
“Well—” the Old Master groaned, a displeased look on his face. “That can’t be. Look again more carefully.”
At this, the Old Master plucked a gray hair from his head, snapped it into his boot, and pointed at it: “See, what is this?”
Chen Three picked up the gray hair between his fingers. For quite a while he didn’t even dare to lift his head to look the Old Master in the face. As to the Old Master, well, he kicked into the boots and stood up to leave without giving Chen Three even a glance.
(2001)