The reason Xie Yushu had chosen to lay out her drying method so directly was that she wasn’t afraid of Hong San taking her technique and running off to start her own business.
No matter how skilled Hong San was, she could only manage the space in her own yard. No matter how hardworking one person was, how much could they really dry?
One person alone couldn’t build a business.
The key to selling dried kelp was how to sell it, who to sell it to, how to get a good price, and how to sustain sales in the long run.
Xie Yushu wanted to go the route of high volume and high quality.
The quality of the final product would depend on standardization—her modern knowledge applied with strict quality control—and commercial techniques like grading and sorting products. In these areas, she was confident she had no competition.
With reliable sales channels and good quality, these goods would turn into silver.
She was clear on all of this.
Without modern large-scale drying machines, figuring out how to get the best results using only manual labor and sunlight had been what she’d mulled over in bed these past few nights.
That question had been answered the day He Chao brought her to Qianwan Village.
That day, after observing how the locals dried their goods, she’d had an epiphany.
The method Xie Yushu had shared with Hong San was simplified so that even someone with no education could understand it and follow the steps. It was simple, really.
The core steps were three: sunlight, ventilation, and frequent turning.
Regarding sunlight: longer exposure wasn’t always better. Hong San’s method was to leave the kelp in the sun for extended periods.
The soft light of early morning and late afternoon was gentle, good for preserving the kelp’s color and nutrients. At midday when the light was intense, the kelp should be partially shaded and turned over to avoid damaging its flavor compounds.
As for ventilation: airflow was even more important than sunlight.
Xie Yushu had observed Hong San’s drying yard. There were many drying racks, some placed directly on the ground, which meant the kelp absorbed moisture from the earth, drying more slowly and less effectively.
She suggested that Hong San raise the bamboo trays higher or place stones underneath to elevate them, allowing air to flow beneath.
Another point was frequent turning. Previously, Hong San turned the kelp based on the weather. Now, Xie Yushu specified three turns per day—morning, noon, and evening.
This was the simplest and roughest drying method, and the easiest for fishing families to improve upon. The results would certainly be better than their previous methods.
In Xie Yushu’s eyes, Hong San’s skill wasn’t particularly impressive—it was only better by comparison, since the drying techniques here were so primitive.
The problem with traditional drying in this era was that it was hard to quantify experience, standardize it, or scale it up for larger production.
She’d once seen large-scale, three-dimensional drying equipment in a modern factory in a video. She certainly couldn’t build that out of thin air, but she could borrow the concept and create similar drying racks.
That, however, would have to wait until she had a production base set up. Right now, she couldn’t even afford the rent for a site, let alone improved drying equipment.
While Xie Yushu was inside discussing business, Sun Wuyou and Guizhi didn’t want to intrude. They sat on the stone slab at the gate and waited.
Getting bored, Sun Wuyou leaned on Guizhi’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
Guizhi, already sleepy, snuggled against her young mistress’s shoulder and dozed off.
The two mistress and servant leaned on each other, looking perfectly peaceful.
“I’m done. Let’s go back,” Xie Yushu said, patting the shoulders of the two napping figures.
Startled, Sun Wuyou jumped up immediately. Seeing Xie Yushu had come out, she asked, “All settled?”
“All settled. Let’s go.” Xie Yushu nodded.
Sun Wuyou’s mind cleared a little. Half-asleep, she’d caught snippets of their conversation and asked, “Xie Da, are you going to buy kelp?”
Xie Yushu still wasn’t used to that nickname and pretended not to hear, simply answering her question: “Yes.”
Now Sun Wuyou was intrigued. Her family bought large quantities of kelp for medicinal use every year—they had a huge demand.
Though she’d had a hundred questions when eavesdropping earlier—what was Xie Yushu going to do with the kelp? How much was she buying? Why come here instead of buying from vendors?—seeing Xie Yushu’s relaxed expression made her drop the urge to ask. She felt like this person was reliable and always had her reasons.
Guizhi had also woken up and shouldered the medicine box, following the two women.
As they walked and talked, it was Xie Yushu who asked first about the Sun family’s kelp purchase prices.
Sun Wuyou thought for a moment before answering: “Our family grades kelp into two tiers—Grade B and Grade C.”
“Grade B requires good color and quality: intact leaves, dark green color, dry and clean to the touch, with a sea scent but no fishy odor and no mold spots. The purchase price is between thirty and forty wen.”
This quality also kept the longest and was valuable for medicinal use and storage, hence the higher price.
“Grade C standards are lower: slightly damaged leaves are acceptable, thickness can vary, but it must be clean, mold-free, and thoroughly dry. The price is around fifteen to twenty wen.”
Sun Wuyou’s words were like someone telling you the rankings for second and third place—the naturally curious person would notice the absence of first place.
Xie Yushu was no exception—curious, she asked Sun Wuyou why there was no Grade A.
Sun Wuyou explained that the grading standards for their medicinal purchases were set by her grandmother. Her grandmother had high standards and had yet to see kelp that perfectly met her requirements for Grade A, so that tier had remained vacant.
Xie Yushu’s mind raced after hearing this.
Even the lowest grade, Grade C, was bought at twenty wen per jin—double the ten wen per jin that Aunt Hong San was getting. And in Xie Yushu’s view, Hong San’s kelp should qualify as Grade B by Sun Wuyou’s standards. Yet she was selling it cheaply to middlemen for ten wen.
That was a huge loss of potential income.
If she could set up a kelp processing base and produce kelp that met the Sun family’s Grade A standards, she could supply their demand steadily and generate a continuous stream of income.
Xie Yushu calculated the profit margins in her head—her mental abacus clacked away. There was serious potential here.
Dried kelp could not only be sold to pharmacies for medicinal use but also to markets within the prefecture and even to inland regions.
Kelp was rich in iodine, calcium, iron, potassium, B vitamins, and dietary fiber.
Iodine alone was a nutrient many inland residents lacked, often leading to goiter (thyroid enlargement). And kelp was the most natural, accessible iodine supplement.
Dried kelp was also easy to store, making it ideal for the dry, cold climates of inland areas.
The more Xie Yushu calculated, the more excited she became. The kelp business might seem unremarkable at first glance, but through her modern eyes, the money-making potential was vast.
She could already envision her leased drying yard—workers in clearly defined roles, each doing their part. Under an organized, technically efficient operation, fresh, high-quality kelp would go through several rigorous steps and emerge as premium Grade A dried kelp.
The expertly handled kelp would be bundled and sent to pharmacies, loaded onto merchant ships at the ferry, and shipped to various regions—returning as heavy, gleaming silver.
The flame of ambition in Xie Yushu’s heart roared to life, making her whole body tingle with excitement.
The three of them walked a while and returned to town. Since Sun Wuyou had come to the rescue in time to treat He Chao, Xie Yushu invited them to a restaurant in town as a gesture of thanks.
This time, Sun Wuyou and her servant held back, knowing Xie Yushu was tight on money, and only ordered a few dishes.
After the meal, Xie Yushu said goodbye and hurried home, eager to refine her business plan.
But when she arrived, she found the village chief pacing anxiously at her gate.
Xie Yushu’s heart sank with a bad feeling.
She rushed over: “Village Chief?”
Su Quan grabbed her as soon as she appeared. “Miss Xie, you’re finally back!”
“What happened?”
“While you were out, your aunt came looking for you.” Su Quan quickly recounted what had happened.
Today, her aunt had suddenly returned to the village after years away. She’d gone to the Zhai house first, and when she didn’t find Xie Yushu there, she’d come to Su Quan instead, saying she wanted to sell the Zhai house.
Su Quan had kept a straight face, fobbed her off with some excuse, and rushed over to the Zhai house to find Xie Yushu.
Aunt?
The original owner had only one aunt—Zhai Yan.
The moment Xie Yushu heard that name, she knew nothing good would come of it.
Sure enough, it was a heartless move. Zhai Yan actually wanted to sell the Zhai house—the only thing the Zhai family had left in the village.
Xie Yushu told the village chief to go back and that she’d find a way to handle it.
She hadn’t even gone looking for her greedy aunt yet, and the woman had come to her on her own.
Xie Yushu wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip. Everything Zhai Yan owed the original owner, she would get back.
She’d been warm-hearted enough to help He Chao, a virtual stranger—let alone the original owner, whose body she now inhabited.
In her memories, the original owner’s mother, Xie Lan, had been a businesswoman. The family of three had lived in Tang’an County. When the original owner was ten, they’d returned to Songwan Town to pay respects to Zhai Jin’s deceased parents. An accident had occurred, and both parents had died protecting her.
At ten years old, orphaned, she’d still had about fifty guan left by her mother. Zhai Yan had set her sights on that money.
Somehow, Zhai Yan had gotten wind of it and taken her in, then “held onto” the money on the pretext that she was too young.
The money from selling the Zhai parents’ fertile land wasn’t enough to buy a townhouse, so Zhai Yan had topped it up with the original owner’s money to buy a house in Bailian Town. The whole family moved in happily, and for years, they’d lived comfortably—all on that money.
Recalling the original owner’s miserable years as a dependent in the Zhai household, Xie Yushu felt a wave of bitterness and anger, an urge to confront the Zhai family immediately.
They were blood relatives—why did they have to go so far?
Xie Yushu remembered that Zhai Yan’s eldest daughter, a few years older than the original owner, was already married. But she also had a second daughter. Calculating the timing, Zhai Yan’s sudden return to sell the house was likely because she needed money urgently—maybe for her second daughter’s wedding, or some other pressing expense.
But what she was curious about was: who would she sell it to? How would she sell it? A rundown old house in the village wasn’t worth much—unless someone wanted to tear it down for other uses.
The Zhai family’s land had already been sold off by her aunt. Now she was setting her sights on the house itself.
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