The two of them arrived at a pawnshop on the street. Zheng Qian leapt from the carriage, holding her cat in her arms, and approached the counter.
The pawnshop wasn't like the tall counters of the Ming or Qing dynasties. It was a simple shopfront with just a table. Behind it sat an elderly man, a sand tray laid out before him.
Zheng Qian studied it carefully and understood immediately. "As expected… a sand counting tray."
This was exactly what she wanted to see: whether there was any form of abacus on the street.
Zheng Qian was born in the space age, where everyone had a personal terminal implanted in their minds.
A personal terminal was like a supercomputer—any knowledge could be accessed without memorization, making learning effortless. It also served as an ID, unique to each person.
Her personal terminal, like her medical space, had somehow followed her through this bizarre journey across time.
Even now, she couldn't be sure if she had been blasted silly by a particle cannon and was dreaming, or if she had truly traveled through time.
She needed money, so she wanted to create something valuable.
First, she thought of the abacus.
Back in her courtyard, she had seen her wet nurse, Mother Dai, doing calculations with a sand tray—a simple pan of sand where one could draw and tally numbers. It was convenient for the era.
Zheng Qian realized: the abacus was extremely practical, used for over a thousand years until calculators eventually replaced it.
But exactly when the abacus first appeared, historical records differed. Scholars from Earth argued: some claimed the Southern and Northern Dynasties, while more reliable sources said it was the Ming or Qing period.
She didn't know for sure. What she did notice, however, was that Mother Dai didn't use an abacus.
That meant, in this era, the most likely place to find one would be a pawnshop.
Even if an abacus were expensive, a pawnshop would have one—they needed to calculate the value of items.
So she had prepared designs for an abacus, planning to make one herself. But first, she wanted to check the pawnshop.
As expected, they used sand trays.
"A sand tray… there's probably no abacus in this era," she mused.
The shopkeeper called to her, asking what she wanted to pawn.
Zheng Qian smiled. "Sorry, I made a mistake. I thought this was a tavern."
The old man's face fell. He suspected this young lady was trying to cause trouble. But seeing her fine clothing and maid beside her, he realized she was from a wealthy household and dared not be rude.
"Miss, next time, make sure you know where you're going before entering," he snorted.
Zheng Qian acknowledged him politely.
Hongluan, embarrassed, tugged at her. "Miss, let's go."
Zheng Qian started to turn, but paused. She asked the old man, "Do you use this to calculate accounts?"
"What's wrong with that?" he asked.
"No, I just wondered if there are any other ways to do calculations?"
The old man frowned. "You mean mental calculation? I'm too old for that; I can't be so precise."
"No abacus?" she pressed.
"Of course there's an abacus! Isn't this one? You don't recognize it?" He pushed the sand tray toward her, a bit brusque.
Zheng Qian smiled. Confirmation: no abacus existed yet.
The abacus, later called a suanpan, must have replaced sand trays. Otherwise, why would it carry the word "pan" (tray) at all?
"Excuse me, how dare you speak to our young lady like that?" Hongluan exclaimed, seeing the old man's condescending tone.
The old man was about to snap. He wasn't the shop owner, and even pawnshops had status—no commoner could just bully someone of high rank.
"Enough," Zheng Qian said with a smile, lightly tapping Hongluan. "Why quarrel with the elderly? Respect your elders."
Hongluan: "…."
They left the pawnshop, while the old man muttered, "Could it be she's not very bright?"
The two got into the carriage. The driver glanced at them.
"Miss, shall we head back?" Hongluan asked.
"No. I want to find a carpenter's shop," Zheng Qian replied.
Hongluan didn't understand.
At the carpenter's, Zheng Qian handed over her blueprints, asking him to prepare frames and borders. The plans were for disassembled parts.
Hongluan squinted. "Miss… what exactly are you making?"
"You'll see soon enough," Zheng Qian smiled. Then she asked the carpenter, "Can it be ready in an hour? I'll pay one tael."
Zheng Qian only needed a few wooden strips. The work was simple, and half an hour was enough—except the carpenter had other jobs.
But he knew one tael equaled a thousand copper coins, while he could make only eighty coins per day. This payment was like a windfall from heaven.
The carpenter paused, then grinned. "Don't worry. One hour is enough. Wait here, Miss."
Zheng Qian paid him on the spot and left the blueprints.
Hongluan winced at the expense. Her monthly wage was two taels; just a few wooden strips cost half her month's pay. With the Hui Ning Courtyard barely making ends meet, this extravagance upset her.
"The money will come back," Zheng Qian said reassuringly.
Next, they went to a small jewelry stall, selling cheap ornaments: wooden hairpins, small beads for women of modest means, and wooden prayer beads.
Zheng Qian selected some small, flat prayer beads—three strands of twenty to thirty beads each.
"That'll be eighty-one strands," the vendor said nervously. Seeing her gold hairpin, jade bracelet, silk robes, and jade pendant, he wasn't sure why such a wealthy young lady wanted his wares.
Zheng Qian sent Hongluan to a nearby bank to exchange one tael for a thousand copper coins. She counted three hundred coins for the vendor, leaving sixty as a tip.
The vendor, unused to such generosity, was dumbfounded. Normally, he haggled with buyers for hours over a single strand of beads; today, he sold three strands at once with a tip. Joy lit up his face.
Hongluan sighed. Her mistress was extravagantly generous.
After walking a while, Zheng Qian spotted a teahouse. She took Hongluan inside to have tea and listen to the opera, still cradling her cat.
The cat's gaze was calm, resting in her arms without moving.