The cold wind of Julu Commandery rattled the tavern door as I sat behind the counter and, without looking up, quoted three times the usual price for braised pork. The young man across from me slammed the table and called my place a rip-off, while the middle-aged man beside him silently sipped his tea. My head was full of chili seeds, the curved-shaft plow, refined salt, and the recipe for Maotai. I was calculating how to present these treasures in Xianyang and trade them for a post as chancellor. The young man kept arguing over the menu, so I casually added that this meal was on me, and once I got to Xianyang and secured an official position, I’d pay him back double. At last, the middle-aged man set down his teacup. A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, though I couldn’t make sense of it. He had no idea that this quiet tea drinker was the very King of Qin I was planning to seek out and serve.
