...
「On the morning of the fifth day.」
The market on Upper Street was already bustling.
Wang Laoshu squatted in a corner, puffing away on his long-stemmed pipe.
In front of him sat a large sack of brown rice.
Just then, a middle-aged man in a coarse, short robe, carrying a small bag, walked over.
"Need some brown rice? Twenty cents a pound, one cent cheaper than the grain merchants over there."
Wang Laoshu quickly tapped the ash from his pipe and greeted him with a smile.
"Twenty cents? Too expensive! It was only fifteen cents before the prices went up!" the man said lazily.
"Then what's your offer?" Wang Laoshu asked with a frown.
"Eighteen cents a pound, tops. Take it or leave it. If you don't sell, I'll just wait for the price to drop back to fifteen cents," the man said.
"Eighteen cents?" A sharp pain shot through Wang Laoshu, as if he had a toothache. He had bought this very sack of brown rice for twenty cents a pound.
