From Beggar to Emperor: My Profession Has Its Own Characteristics

One noon and one afternoon.

This is Zhu Yuan's first day working as a porter.

I carried it forty-five times in total.

The sacks started at around 60 pounds, then increased to 70 or 80 pounds, and eventually approached 100 pounds.

As the weight continued to increase, coupled with the physical exertion, he moved slower and slower, each step feeling like walking on cotton, sweat dripping from his chin onto the ground.

Without the characteristics of a professional porter, and without the spiritual encouragement from the experience gained from ancient books, Zhu Yuan doubted he could have even made fifteen trips on the first day.

He made forty-five trips today, which took a long time. Except for not taking a break at noon, he worked a little longer and was the last of all the porters to leave.

The dock was mostly empty by now, the setting sun had turned the river surface a hazy yellow, and the cargo ships in the distance were just dark silhouettes.

It was long past the time to exchange the bamboo tallies for payment.

Old Ma squatted alone in the shadows beside pile number six, rolling a handful of tobacco leaves.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and glanced at Zhu Yuan, the last person to walk up to him.

Old Ma's face remained expressionless. He simply stopped rolling his cigarette, silently untied the water gourd from his waist, and casually tossed it over.

Zhu Yuan caught it instinctively.

"Thanks."

He pulled out the stopper, tilted his head back, and gulped down the remaining water in one go.

Today, most of the water from Old Ma's gourd went into his stomach.

By the seventh trip, he not only felt tired, but also very thirsty.

I had so much to do today. I bought clothes and rented a house, but I forgot to prepare a water gourd for myself. So I rushed to the dock to become a porter.

He was extremely thirsty at the time, and Old Ma silently handed him the water gourd.

Old Ma didn't talk much, but Zhu Yuan knew that he was most likely a compassionate person, otherwise he wouldn't have taken such good care of him.

Unless he looks like his son, and his son is no longer alive.

When he arrived at the dock, although he was unlucky at first and was assigned to a manager surnamed Lin, things went well afterward, especially when Manager Wan assigned him to Old Ma's side.

After Zhu Yuan finished drinking the water and wiped his mouth, Old Ma finally asked, "Are you coming again tomorrow?"

"Here you go." Zhu Yuan didn't hesitate at all, and handed the empty gourd back.

Old Ma took the gourd, weighed it in his hand, and glanced at Zhu Yuan's back, which was ramrod straight despite his exhaustion.

"Seeing how hard you were working today," he said slowly, "I thought you were just going to do this for one day, make a quick buck, and leave."

Zhu Yuan simply smiled upon hearing this.

"In our line of work as porters," Old Ma said, unusually talkative. As he tied the empty gourd back to his waist, he said, "If you want to make it last, you can't just work hard and grind all the time."

You need to know when to relax and when to rest so that your energy can be sustained.

If you work like this, you might be able to handle a lot on the first day, but if you do it every day, your body won't be able to take it. After a month, your total earnings might not be more than those who know how to take a break.

"If you don't believe me, try it tomorrow and you'll see."

Zhu Yuan stretched his legs, and although his shoulders and back ached so much that he inwardly gasped for breath, he still tried his best to appear relaxed.

"To be honest, my health is actually quite good."

Zhu Yuan worked so hard for a reason. The more he did, the faster he accumulated bamboo tokens, and the more money he made—it couldn't be simpler.

He had to save up one or two taels of silver as quickly as possible, as that was the threshold for entering the Dongyun Martial Arts School.

As for the consequences of working too hard, Zhu Yuan believed that the inherent nature of being a porter would resolve them for him.

Occupational characteristics are related to the occupation. For occupations like porters, having only two legs is not enough.

"As long as you have a good physical foundation," Old Ma reminded him one last time, his tone still calm but carrying the experience of someone who had been there. "But if you really want to earn more in this industry, you can't just rely on your shoulders to carry the load."

You need to learn how to use a carrying pole as soon as possible to distribute the weight between both ends, which will save a lot of effort.

"I've got it, Uncle Ma!" Zhu Yuan nodded earnestly.

Old Ma tacitly accepted the address Zhu Yuan and said nothing more. He then turned around and counted out forty-five thin bamboo strips one by one from the basket containing bamboo tallies.

Zhu Yuan extended both hands to accept the forty-five bamboo tokens, then bid farewell to Old Ma and turned to walk towards the seat where Steward Wan was.

Manager Wan was sitting behind his wooden table, flipping through account books by the light of an oil lamp.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw that it was Zhu Yuan, then glanced at the bamboo tally in his hand.

"Oh?" A hint of obvious surprise flashed across Steward Wan's eyes.

He pushed the ledger aside, leaned forward slightly, and carefully examined Zhu Yuan from head to toe, as if trying to find something unusual about his thin frame.

"So many? I didn't realize." His voice trailed off. "I'm quite surprised that someone as small as you could get so many chips."

"Manager Wan, I'm just more hardworking."

"Hmm." Manager Wan nodded. "I like hardworking people. Here, let me check it."

"Yes," Zhu Yuan replied, placing all forty-five bamboo tallies on the table.

Manager Wan used his long, slender fingers to count the bamboo tallies, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

"Forty-five." He then picked up a brush and began recording in the ledger, saying at the same time, "According to the old rules of the dock, anything less than five coins is not counted. Today, I'll charge you forty bags, with five coins left over."

As he spoke, he dipped his brush in ink, “Pay 30% of the dock tax. 30% of 40 coins is 12 coins. That’s your wages for today.”

As he spoke, Steward Wan opened the drawer under the table, counted out twenty-eight copper coins, and arranged them one by one on the table.

Zhu Yuan didn't say much, but silently stepped forward and carefully put away the twenty-eight coins.

He could feel that Steward Wan's gaze was still on him, as if waiting to see if he would complain or feel resentful.

But he didn't.

He already knew all the rules of the docks from Zhang Cheng; a 30% tax was a fixed amount.

The remaining five coins from today will accumulate in tomorrow's account and continue to be taxed.

If he doesn't come in the next two days, these five coins will be wasted.

In addition, there was a monthly allowance of one hundred coins, which was called a protection fee.

Deeper inside, Zhang Cheng also told him that the cost of moving a bag of goods was actually two coins when reporting to superiors inside the dock.

The extra profit in this price difference is a kind of lucrative income that these low-level porters can never see or touch.

In the dock's hierarchy, porters like him, who were paid by the bag, had the most unstable income and worked the hardest. The highest-ranking porters were paid monthly, like Old Ma.

"Thank you, Steward Wan. I'll head back now."

Manager Wan simply nodded, as if he had heard, and then his gaze returned to the open ledger as he continued his work.