N-M #613 - You really give it to me!
#613 - You really give it to me!
Two wolf pelts hung from their shoulders, the fur stained with grease and blood, forming red tips.
Cold raindrops fell on their shoulders, carrying a chilling and icy aura.
Rainwater flowed through the tears in their clothes into wounds scraped by thorns and wolf claws, causing a burning pain.
After wandering in the forest for three days, Lafer and his son both looked sallow and disheveled, but they had no intention of rushing home.
Instead, the two cheerfully took a detour, went to the main road in the manor, and stopped people to ask, "How did you know we hunted two wolves?"
In the past, they would have been greeted with envious and jealous eyes at this time, but today was different.
When they carried the wolf pelts onto the narrow dirt road, almost no one showed much surprise at the sight of the two wolf pelts on their backs.
And when they asked the question, "How did you know we got two wolves?", the person they asked just hurriedly said, "Who asked you?" and left.
"Dad, what's going on?" Lafer asked, his head covered in dust, grass, and confusion. "What are they rushing to do? Is there a market?"
"The market day is far away, and it's the wolf hunting season. What kind of market would be held at this time?" Old Lafer scratched dandruff from his head, letting it fall like rain.
He thought about it but couldn't figure it out, so he simply carried the wolf pelts, grabbed his son's arm, and walked towards the crowd.
Soon, following the gathered villagers, they realized they were all heading towards the village church.
Old Lafer suddenly felt something was wrong. He told his son to secure the wolf pelts, squeezed into the crowd, and pushed to the front row.
When he saw the scene before him clearly, his face instantly changed from white to red, then to blue, and finally to pale white.
Four or five members of the Scythe Brotherhood maintained order with flails in hand, and a long line formed at the church entrance.
Each person in line carried a large bag filled with wool yarn wound around wooden sticks, each bundle weighing one pound.
Inside the church, Ansel and Bryson sat at separate tables, one responsible for quality inspection and the other for distributing money.
Behind Ansel stood three trusted people elected by the community to measure the yarn count.
Ansel had previously used woodworking tools to make a batch of standard yarn frames, winding them with exactly 18 strands of yarn of the appropriate thickness.
Because the density and feel of yarn with more than 18 strands and less than 18 strands differed significantly for the same weight.
This allowed them to simply compare and then weigh, with occasional spot checks.
Compared to a real quality inspection, this method was obviously quite crude, but they had no other choice.
After the quality inspection passed, Ansel would put a checkmark after their names and record the quantity.
Bryson would then take dinars, coppers, and the next batch of wool from the bag and hand them over.
Almost everyone who received the money smiled so much that their eyes disappeared, while those who had not joined were filled with envy and jealousy.
When the shiny white and dark dinars were handed to the villagers, Old Lafer couldn't believe his eyes.
Especially when he saw a familiar figure among them, it was Lalor, who took out a full six bundles of yarn from his sack.
When three clanging silver coins collided, making a crisp sound, Old Lafer's face turned ashen.
Because he suddenly realized that if it weren't for his family's spinning wheel, they wouldn't even have 3 dinars!
That half block of salt wasn't even a quarter of a pound, and its price was probably less than half a dinar.
It was like he gave Lalor 1 dinar for free!
If that savage woman with wild blood in his family saw this, it would be terrible.
He absolutely couldn't let her get the news, or he would have to sleep in that small thatched hut in the fields tonight.
"Lafer Ironskin!"
Just as he was about to cover his face and leave, Old Lafer suddenly heard a familiar, lioness-like roar behind him.
At that moment, Old Lafer realized he was done for.
Stiffly turning his neck slowly, a rough hand full of calluses rushed towards him at lightning speed.
"Bang!"
When the palm slapped Old Lafer's face, the onlookers could see a cloud of dust flying.
It was the dust that had accumulated on Old Lafer's face over the past few days, shaken off by the force of the blow.
"I told you to lend out the spinning wheel! I told you not to get the wool!"
Although it was just a flurry of wild punches, Old Lafer, feeling guilty, could only dodge repeatedly: "They're giving out money, the Scythe Brotherhood, they'll take it back with a poll tax later."
"They're giving 3 dinars for three days, the poll tax is only 5 dinars a year, who did you hear that from, you big idiot?"
Amidst the laughter of the crowd, Old Lafer was miserably scratched on his face and neck by his wife: "A wolf pelt is much more expensive than their processing fee!"
"Expensive, expensive my ass!" Old Lafer's wife continued to grab Old Lafer's face and neck. "You got the wolf pelt, how much did you earn in a few days, 3 dinars?"
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Wolf pelts were indeed more expensive than wool. One pound of wool was only about 1.1 dinars, and even the processing fee for one pound of yarn was only 0.5 dinars.
A wolf pelt could sell for 4-6 dinars, which was 4 to 6 times the price of wool.
But the problem was that the wolf pelt was not entirely owned by Lafer and his son, they could only get 30% of the income.
The hunting rights in the mountains belonged to the lord. Many people wanted this 30% but didn't have the connections.
After they cleaned and processed the wolf pelts, they handed them over to the estate manager for sale. The split from two wolf pelts was only 3 dinars.
Hunting wolves took three days, cleaning, processing, and drying took another three days, and the income for six days was only 3 dinars.
Spinning yarn, comfortably sitting at home, without the risk of injury, without being exposed to rain or sun, six days also yielded 3 dinars.
Even if they had two spinning wheels and two people to spin yarn, the income could be doubled.
In comparison, the behavior of Lafer and his son, "two people, six days, 3 dinars and a body full of injuries", seemed a bit clownish.
Lafer, seeing that his labor results were not respected by his mother, chimed in to help his father: "Mom, hunting wolves is a man's income. Although it's tiring, the money isn't bad."
As soon as he finished speaking, Lafer's wife, who was tired of hitting Old Lafer, jumped up and grabbed Lafer's ear:
"You little bastard! This wool! Is always available! Can you still hunt wolves! In the winter?"
Lafer's family used slaps as commas, raining down on Little Lafer like a storm.
"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"
Little Lafer didn't dare to speak after being slapped several times by his mother.
Lafer's wife was considered a shrew among the mountain people. She sat down on the ground and cried, "I don't care, you go get the spinning wheel back, and then go find Monk Ansel to get the wool."
"Tsk." Old Lafer grabbed his wife's arm and squatted down amidst the continuous laughter of the crowd. "We agreed to lend it for ten days, it's only been three days, you've already used the salt."
"If you don't get the spinning wheel back, I won't close the door when I sleep, I'll go sleep with Lalor."
"Hey, hey, hey." Old Lafer had no choice but to forcibly pull his wife up. "I'll go later, okay? Get up first."
After finally helping his wife up, Old Lafer knew that after his wife's commotion, his request to get the spinning wheel back wouldn't be gossiped about.
Touching the palm print on his face, glancing at the bloodstains on his shoulder, he turned to look at the church, his expression extremely complicated.