Spend over one thousand taels in Xiangshe Tower on any given day, and you could light a sky lantern on the rooftop — one zhang wide, one zhang long — with a blank space for the customer to inscribe whatever they wished.
These sky lanterns had been specially commissioned from craftsmen — enormous and striking. Once lit, they were visible from anywhere in Shangjing, and from the moment they were ignited to the moment they were released took roughly half an hour — more than enough time for everyone around to talk about them.
The first person to come and light a sky lantern was a pampered young wastrel who waved his hand casually and said he wanted his own name written on it.
And so that night, everyone in all of Shangjing knew that there was someone named Wang Youcai — and that he was truly, genuinely wealthy.
The second person to come was a wine merchant, who had the name of his winery written large upon the sky lantern.
That winery, not particularly well-located, was immediately descended upon by a surging crowd of customers, and all the fine wines accumulated over many years sold out in just a few days.
Chen Baoxiang watched with satisfaction as the customers inside the tower grew more and more numerous.
All the people of the world, rushing about in their endless bustle, come for fame and go for profit — and Xiangshe Tower offered both fame and profit in abundance. What could possibly be difficult to sell?
But relying solely on the sky lanterns was no long-term strategy.
Chen Baoxiang looked toward the entrance.
Zhang Zhixu had finally finished his day’s work and arrived, having changed into informal clothes, striding in through the front door in quick steps.
The moment this person entered, he had a greater effect than any celebrated performer or famous scholar — the ground floor, which had been loud and clamorous, fell instantaneously quiet at the sight of him.
He did not glance at anyone around him and walked directly up toward the upper floors.
Only after his figure disappeared did someone on the ground floor venture tremulously to ask: “Was that not Zhang Zhixu?”
“It was him. I saw him at a birthday banquet at the Chen household.”
“Why has he gone upstairs? Is there something else up there?”
“But of course.” An attendant stepped close with a gentle smile. “The ground floor carries ordinary goods — the second, third, and fourth floors are all treasures.”
The crowd drew in a collective breath.
Pieces already described as ordinary goods ran in the hundreds of taels — what sort of prices must the upper floors command?
One wealthy merchant couldn’t resist asking: “What sorts of things does Minister Zhang purchase?”
The attendant smiled softly and gestured toward the dozen or so rosewood boxes that the other attendants were currently packing up nearby.
Several customers immediately pressed forward to look.
“All rare pieces,” someone clicked their tongue, pointing to a piece of carved jadeite and asking the attendant, “What does this cost?”
The attendant gave a figure, then smiled: “Minister Zhang was generous — he purchased enough in one visit to qualify for Xiangshe Tower’s fifth floor. The finest jadeite is all up there.”
The jadeite piece was superbly carved, yet its price was surprisingly accessible — if sold elsewhere, it would likely fetch several hundred taels more.
The wealthy merchants suddenly understood: Minister Zhang was the most discerning buyer of all. The goods below were expensive, but the ones above were the true value. As long as you qualified for the fifth floor, going back and forth between floors, you wouldn’t lose out by much in the end.
And precisely because the goods below were so expensive, those petty upstarts who merely played at wealth had no means to match their purchases.
The logic, once grasped, was instantly illuminating.
Those watching from outside looked on as the absurdly priced hundred-tael wooden combs and two-hundred-tael hairpins — every last one — sold out in no time at all.
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