"This copper cash shouldn't be carried in large amounts—a hundred or so is enough. It's heavy and troublesome, and the sparsely populated Hu tribes might not even recognize it!" Charles Thompson pulled out nearly a thousand neatly stacked copper coins that his wife had prepared and tossed them aside.

"Then what will Davey use? If he's going out to do business, he has to at least look the part, right?" Mrs. Thompson-Bolton was startled, lost her aim with the needle, and stabbed it deep into her own finger.

"Look how flustered you are!" Old Charles Thompson, ignoring the fact that their son was right there, grabbed his wife's injured finger, put it in his mouth, sucked on it a few times, spat the blood onto the ground, and scolded, "Why are you in such a rush? Hurry and wash it with salt water!"

"But Davey's money…"

"Tomorrow I'll go to the county and exchange all the copper coins for twill brocade. That stuff is fine and brightly colored—Hu women all love it. When Davey gets to the grasslands, he can trade the brocade directly for their cattle and horses. As for daily expenses, he'll rely on those baskets of coarse tea. He can trade with the Hu for dried meat, milk tofu, mushrooms, and daylilies—a single jin can be exchanged for a hundred jin! Go wash your hand, it's hot out, don't catch a chill!"

Old Charles Thompson was an old hand on the frontier, knowing the value of everything and how to barter with the Hu. Before departure, he taught his son all the tricks by hand. By his calculations, the caravan would leave Shanggu on the ninth and reach deep into the grasslands in a month and a half. If they could get some furs, he would ask George Clark and the others to bring back the The Thompson Family's goods and the blue-flowered mules. As for David Thompson, he would use the excuse of waiting for next spring's business to stay temporarily with a friendly tribe.

In this way, after the busy spring next year, Charles Thompson would drive the livestock beyond the frontier to find his son. Whether the authorities conscripted soldiers or laborers, with one nearly fifty and the other not subject to military orders, no one could do anything to them.

"Don't worry, I've heard licorice is very cheap over there. When the time comes, the two of us—one collecting outside the frontier, one selling in Shanggu—are sure to make a fortune! Then we can lend uncle some capital, and mother won't have to wear that worried look all day!" David Thompson was full of fantasies about life on the frontier. Losing the chance to take the imperial exams didn't matter; what was important was finding a way to revive the family. Once the family prospered, all sorts of troubles would lessen.

As he thought about it, the smile on his face grew even brighter. Cultivate oneself, manage the family, govern the state, bring peace to the world—he might not have the chance to govern the state or bring peace to the world, but surely he could at least make his own family's life a little better?

"You make your own decisions!" Old Charles Thompson reached out and patted his son's head, forcing a smile.

By the twentieth time Charles Thompson and his wife had packed the luggage, George Clark's caravan finally arrived, late, in Yixian town. With a favor to ask, Charles Thompson dared not be negligent—he booked the entire ground floor of the 'Youjian Inn' to host George Clark and David Thompson's future companions. Uncle Michael Bolton and aunt Mrs. Bolton-Brooks pulled out all the stops, frying up hearty dishes that sizzled and popped in the wok. A dozen dishes were laid out on the table, along with Michael Bolton's secret aged wine, and in less than half an hour, George Clark and the others were in a dazed, tipsy state.

"Brother Damu, don't worry, Davey is my responsibility. As long as I'm here, not a hair on his head will be harmed. If I, George Clark, make even a single copper coin on this trip, your The Thompson Family won't get less than half a wen!" George Clark slapped his chest with a loud smack, opening his short jacket.

"I'm not expecting to make much money—it's the kid's first time out doing business, mainly for the experience. My legs aren't nimble, and when it gets cold, I can't even get on a horse. If I weren't afraid of holding up everyone's business, I'd go myself!" Charles Thompson smiled along, urging everyone to eat. Then he called David Thompson over to pour a greeting drink for Uncle George.

"Uncle George!" David Thompson called out respectfully, poured a bowl of wine, and raised it above his brows. The way these guests ate today was so crude that it shattered all his previous fantasies about the caravan. Not a single one looked like a refined, wealthy merchant in silk robes and hats; instead, they were all burly, rough men, looking more like reformed bandits. The only one who ate with any grace sat by the window, looking somewhat scholarly, but in the caravan he stood out like a crane among chickens—conspicuous and lonely.

The man from Hejian, George Clark, was just as Charles Thompson had described—a straightforward fellow. He took the wine bowl David Thompson raised, and each time he drained it in one gulp. After three bowls, he pointed at David Thompson, then at himself, and said loudly, "My surname is Sun, and I'm the ninth in my family. You can call me Uncle George or Brother George, whichever you like. But once you're in the caravan, you have to follow the caravan's rules. In business, profit and loss are your own, but on the road, if trouble comes, we stick together through life and death. Can you do that?"

"As Uncle George commands!" David Thompson knelt and promised loudly.

"Get up, this isn't the government, we don't stand on ceremony." George Clark quickly stood up and pulled David Thompson up as he made to kneel. "Honestly, everyone here is from the surrounding villages. This time they chose Uncle George to lead, next time who knows who they'll pick. So no one's above anyone else. If you bow to me this time, what if next time you're chosen as leader—should I, old Sun, have to kowtow to you in return?"

"Haha! Haha!" The whole room burst out laughing at George Clark's words, and someone started teasing, "Don't listen to this old rascal. He's just afraid if you bow to him, his seniority will be too high and he won't have money to give you as a greeting gift!"

"Go on, go on, am I, old Sun, that stingy?" George Clark, face flushed from the teasing, fumbled at his waist for a while, pulled out a silver bean the size of a bullet, and stuffed it into David Thompson's hand. "Can't let you call me Uncle George for nothing—take this little silver bean, use it to get yourself a wife someday!"

"That won't do!" Charles Thompson leapt forward, snatched the silver bean back, and forced it into George Clark's hand. "I've already troubled you enough—how can Davey take your money? Besides, you're not some rich boss, old Sun, no need to be so polite with the kid!"