"It's nothing major, just martial law."
"Martial law? You ran off this time without making a big profit."
"Just made a small profit; the usual price of rice is six coins per jin, but it's already ten coins there."
The man in the black turban spoke gruffly with pride, smiling as he said: "After I go back and stock up, Old Ma and I are planning to jointly deal in more grains and oils, sending them to the metropolitan mansion over there. Do you want to join us? Having more people means taking better care of each other."
"....."
"....."
Conversations among the traveling merchants often revolved around trade opportunities, which, for these lower-level traders, stemmed mostly from word-of-mouth among each other.
Listening to these conversations infused with the flavor of common markets, Xu Yuan subconsciously stroked his chin.
