The drumbeat at three quarters past midnight pierced the carved window lattices, fragmenting the patter of raindrops hitting banana leaves in the inn's courtyard. Raindrops wove slantingly, creating fine ripples on the bluestone slabs. Each falling drop was like a tiny chisel, carving a fleeting indentation into the stone. The oil-paper lanterns hanging in the corridor swayed gently in the wind, their orange-red glow illuminating Siyan's figure by the window like a dynamic ink painting. He hunched over the elm table, his nose nearly brushing against the open account book. The rosewood abacus glowed amber in the candlelight, each bead warm and shiny from his caress. The clattering of beads, mingled with the distant cries of "selling osmanthus sugar cakes" from the night market, weaving a fine web in the humid air.

"The bearded man owes six taels, five qian and three fen," Si Yan dipped his little finger in tea to relieve the greasiness, and accidentally rubbed the account book while drawing circles on the abacus. The ink stain spread on the rice paper like a miniature dark cloud. "Based on the daily interest rate of one cent, the repayment today is six taels, five qian, nine fen and four li..." He tilted his head, frowned, and carefully checked the numbers on the abacus. The ink dot on the tip of his nose swayed slightly with his movements, just like a little civet cat that drank ink secretly, causing Nian Li beside him to giggle.

"Brother, look at this!" Nian Li waved a string of bright red chili peppers in front of Si Yan's eyes. Water droplets rolled down the plump stems, creating tiny dents on the table. The peppers were a bright red, like a string of miniature lanterns, gleaming alluringly in the candlelight. The little girl held it in front of Jiang Yan, her amber pupils reflecting the flickering candlelight, and she was filled with curiosity: "Dad, is your tongue still red? This string of chilies can dye it even redder!"

Jiang Yan was wrapping an ice cube in white cotton cloth and applying it to his tongue. Hearing this, he reluctantly moved the cloth away, revealing the still slightly red corners of his lips. "Much better..." His tongue still felt numb as he spoke, his tone filled with a mixture of laughter and tears. "If it gets any more spicy, Dad could be in the opera troupe tomorrow to play Guan Gong, and he wouldn't even have to worry about the makeup." Just as he finished speaking, the waiter's call suddenly came from outside the window, the resounding sound of bamboo clappers breaking the warmth of the room: "Madam Su, there's a letter for you from Hangzhou!"

The envelope was made of Hangzhou's unique mulberry paper, with fine cloud patterns embossed along the edges. The seal was stamped with my grandfather's customary cinnabar seal, and even tiny jasmine petals could be seen in the ink. When Su Jinli opened the envelope, a familiar jasmine fragrance emanated from the letter paper—the scent of the Jasmine Pavilion in my grandfather's mansion. Every early summer, hundreds of jasmine plants bloomed like a layer of snow, and the entire courtyard was filled with a sweet fragrance. The handwriting on the letter was vigorous and powerful, with the salty scent of the sea breeze, as if one could feel the ebb and flow of the Hangzhou Bay:

"My daughter, Jinli: I heard you've arrived in Sichuan. I'm so relieved to hear you've traveled so long. I have an old friend in Sichuan named Wang Zhongshan, who was once my father's sworn brother. He now runs a spice shop in Chengdu's East Market, with the plaque 'Wang Ji' on the door. His family's secret recipe for spicy spices has been passed down for three generations, capturing the essence of Sichuan cuisine. Perhaps it will satisfy your craving, or you can use it for other purposes. I'm writing to you, so take care. This is my grandfather's name."

"Wang's Spice Shop?" Jiang Yan leaned over to read the letter. The scent of ink mixed with his scholarly air, creating a wonderful atmosphere. "Your grandfather's old friend must have some unique skills." Si Yan immediately slammed his abacus shut. The clattering of beads startled a swift perched on the windowsill. The little fellow's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Mom, let's go to the spice shop tomorrow! And while we're at it, we can calculate the land and water freight costs for shipping spices from Shu to the capital, as well as the storage losses. Maybe we can find a big business opportunity!"

At noon the next day, the fog still hung over the East Market. The puddles on the bluestone pavement reflected the rising sun, shimmering like scattered gold beneath the feet of passersby. A copper bell hung from the black lacquer door of Wang's Spice Shop. When Su Jinli pushed the door, the clanging sound startled swallows nesting under the eaves. A few tender yellow heads popped out, curiously peering in. The shop was filled with the combined aroma of star anise and cinnamon. Rows of ceramic jars lay neatly stacked on the blue brick floor, their jars inscribed in cinnabar with words like "Chaotian Pepper, Hanyuan Peppercorn, Jianchang Ginger." The calligraphy was flamboyant, as if still carrying the heat of yesterday's simmering, and one could almost see the spices bubbling in the cauldrons.

"A distinguished guest!" An elderly man in a blue cloth shirt emerged from behind the counter. His goatee was stained with tiny bits of Sichuan peppercorn shells, but his eyes, clear as tea, shone with shrewdness and kindness. "But Miss Su from Hangzhou?" He pulled a letter from his indigo cloth pocket, handwritten by my grandfather. "I'm Wang Zhongshan. Your grandfather often spoke of you, saying you were a clever child." Shopkeeper Wang smiled so hard that his eyes narrowed, revealing his half-missing front tooth. He seemed especially friendly. He pulled a square oil-paper package from under the counter. The edges were soaked with oil, giving it an amber hue. It was clear at a glance that it contained a treasure.

The moment the oil-paper package was opened, a rich, spicy aroma filled the air, blending with the richness of butter and the crispness of tsaoko, as if opening a mysterious world of spices. Si Yan leaned forward and took a deep breath. The abacus was already ticking away, the clatter of beads drowning out the sound of rain outside. The little fellow muttered to himself, "Mom, if this base material is sold to the capital, it will be worth two taels of silver per package. After deducting the packaging and shipping costs, plus the labor costs..."

"Try it first." Shopkeeper Wang skillfully brewed a pot of Old Eagle Tea. The tea, amber-hued in the white porcelain cup, was dotted with tiny water droplets, a testament to the finest tea. "This base uses thirty pounds of Qianwei butter and five pounds of Luzhou Chaotian peppercorns," he pointed to the backyard stove. The chilies, drying in a bamboo basket, glowed fiery red in the mist, seemingly enough to set the whole room ablaze. "Add star anise, bay leaves, tsaoko, and cardamom, and simmer for three hours. Finally, sprinkle a handful of Hanyuan peppercorns for flavor. It's spicy but not dry, and won't cause irritation. It's a secret recipe passed down from our ancestors."

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