Chapter 29: The Problem of Selling Wine

“I have no hidden intentions, merely frustration at your repeated disregard for instruction,” Scholar Zhang remarked, stroking his beard and letting out a grunt. “Now be off with you!”

“Yes, yes,” Wei Renshi nodded quickly, smiling. “Scholar Zhang, Master Liu, I shall take my leave now.”

With those words, he turned and made to depart.

“Wait!” came a voice from behind, “Do you know who I am?”

Wei Renshi froze, silently cursing—he had let something slip. Pretending not to hear, he hastened his pace and in a blink was out of the Hall of Literary Excellence.

Outside, he searched for Xi’er and found her speaking with Li He. He walked over to them.

“I saw Young Master Li come out, but you weren’t with him, so I called them over,” Xi’er explained as Wei Renshi approached.

Wei Renshi nodded and asked Li He, “Is it always like this here?”

Li He replied, “Unless someone important is expected, it’s always the same. The doors open in the morning and no one supervises until dusk, when they come to clear everyone out.”

“This is the imperial library; letting students freely browse—aren’t they afraid the books will be damaged?” Wei Renshi inquired.

Before Li He could answer, a voice from behind interrupted, “All volumes here are kept in pairs: one in the Eastern Capital’s library, one in the Chang’an library. The Hall of Literary Excellence employs dedicated book restorers, and the students are careful, so damage is rare.”

As they conversed, none had noticed someone approaching. Startled by the sudden voice, they turned around.

“And how does this young gentleman know me?” the newcomer fixed his gaze on Wei Renshi.

Wei Renshi was taken aback—he had followed them out!

Yet he remained composed, replying, “How could I know you? Only that, earlier this afternoon, as you and Scholar Zhang passed by the entrance, I overheard Scholar Zhang mention you were surnamed Liu.”

With that, he added, “I’ll take my leave.” Gathering his companions, he departed the Hall of Literary Excellence.

By the time they returned to the inn, dusk had fallen. Wei Renshi went to seek Li He, and found him hard at work, pen flying over the paper, copying texts from memory.

“The Hall of Literary Excellence isn’t always accessible. While the impressions are fresh, I write them down, so I can study them further later,” Li He said, finishing several pages before addressing Wei Renshi.

“You have a remarkable memory, Changji,” Wei Renshi observed, astonished by how much Li He had memorized in a single day. After a pause, he asked, “Changji, have you ever considered moving to Luoyang?”

Li He laughed, “Property in Luoyang is terribly expensive. I can’t afford a house in Fuchang, let alone Luoyang.”

Wei Renshi fell silent, but his mind began to calculate.

Fuchang was too small; to do business, one needed a place like Luoyang. The combined markets of Luoyang’s city wards rivaled the entire market of Fuchang.

I must do business in Luoyang! Wei Renshi set himself this short-term goal.

But what to sell?

Wine!

After two days wandering the northern and southern markets, this was Wei Renshi’s conclusion.

The people of Tang truly loved their drink. Whether inns, restaurants, wine shops—brothels, taverns, or ordinary homes—wine was omnipresent.

Yet the wine was cloudy, not only tinged green but thick, with a faint sourness and odd sweetness from fermented grain, the flavor far from pleasing.

No doubt there were finer wines, but Wei Renshi had neither seen nor could afford them.

As for distilled spirits, the clarity alone would be a major selling point. If worried the Tang people wouldn’t accept the flavor, he could dilute the alcohol to lower the concentration and blunt the harshness.

Other businesses abounded, but most required heavy upfront investment, which Wei Renshi currently lacked. Some would need him to build workshops and experiment, but he had neither the funds nor resources.

Only winemaking, with its modest costs and manageable techniques, could produce a superior product for the market. For Wei Renshi, it was by far the most cost-effective venture.

Yet there remained a crucial obstacle. If this could not be overcome, all else was mere fantasy.

That was the current monopoly on wine.

Wei Renshi recalled that during the reign of Emperor Gaozu of Tang, years of poor harvests led Li Yuan to issue a fierce edict banning winemaking. The language was severe, referencing “those addicted to drink, losing livelihood and assets... While war persists, harvests fail, prices soar, and many turn to idle pursuits. Waste flourishes, and the expenses of delicacies and brewing multiply. The remedy lies in strict regulation by regional officials, prohibiting slaughter and winemaking.”

Later, during the prosperous eras from the reign of Taizong to the flourishing of Kaiyuan, the monopoly on wine persisted, but enforcement was lax.

After the An Lushan Rebellion, however, the dynasty, needing to ensure imperial revenue, fund military expenses, and support the court and bureaucracy, devised new taxes and reinstated the wine tax.

“In every prefecture, a set number of licensed wine sellers must pay monthly taxes; beyond this, all others, whether official or private, are strictly forbidden.” The authorities registered winemakers and sellers, categorizing their scale, granting exclusive privileges to those authorized, and prohibiting all others. Besides government-run establishments, government-sold yeast and wine could only be purchased if half the price was surrendered as monopoly tax, or the tax was incorporated into the seedling tax, maintaining the state’s monopoly.

Additionally, for every unit of wine sold, the seller must pay a tax of one hundred and fifty coins—a steep rate.

Leaving aside the burden of taxation, the identity alone barred Wei Renshi from winemaking or selling—he was not a licensed wine seller. To do so privately would invite arrest and prosecution.

Thus, to pursue this trade, Wei Renshi had only two options: convert his household into a licensed wine seller, which was impossible, or find a licensed seller to partner with.

Yet this, too, posed challenges.

If he partnered with a small tavern, their foundation was weak, requiring marketing to build a customer base. With such fragile roots, they could easily be toppled by competitors. The advantage was, with a small tavern, he could claim a substantial share of the profits; if the tavern rose through distilled spirits, his income could be considerable.

Alternatively, he could approach a large, established tavern. These had a vast market presence and strong backing, with established sales channels, saving much trouble and effort. But such taverns, secure in their profits, would hardly grant a share to a minor scholar seeking partnership. The portion he might claim would surely be much less.