Chapter 50: The Silver Scale

Wang Dou and his companions entered through the Nanguan fort gate. As they passed through, the soldiers guarding the pass checked their waist tags and murmured, "Wang Dou?"

He seemed to recall something, studied Wang Dou carefully for a few moments, then waved them through.

Beyond the pass fort lay the prefectural city's great southern gate, Ying'enmen. High atop the wall stood a gate tower, and near the gate rose a tall memorial archway inscribed with three large characters: "Zhengjiao Fang." Baoan City was filled with such arches and stelae; memorial archways like this one were everywhere.

The flow of people entering the city was heavy, especially commoner households hauling grain to pay their taxes. Wang Dou and his group followed them into the prefectural city's South Street.

Compared to Jingbian Fort, Dongjiazhuang, or Shunxiang Fort, the prefectural seat of Baoan was naturally far more bustling. Green flagstone streets were lined on both sides with signs for wineshops, inns, and sundry goods, and there were many more brightly dressed women than one would ever see in the forts — a dazzling sight for a bunch of country bumpkins. Yet the streets were also filled with refugees and beggars, a reminder that these were not peaceful times.

Baoan Prefectural City was divided into two wards and six precincts, with three main streets running east, west, and south. The Baoan prefectural government office lay in the city's southeastern ward, and the famine-relief granary was also within the government compound. Among the group, Gao Shiyin was the most familiar with the prefectural city, so under his guidance they headed toward the Baoan prefectural government office.

When they reached the intersection of South Street and East Street, a large market archway stood at the crossing, bearing the three characters "Cheng'en Fang." Across the street, a tall drum tower soared upward; the locals called it Wenchang Pavilion. It stood nearly thirty meters high, and from the top one could survey the entire prefectural city of Baoan.

Han Chao, Han Zhong, and Zhong Diaoyang all gazed at the drum tower. Wang Dou, too, was full of admiration. Gao Shiyin said proudly, "This Wenchang Pavilion is specially used for sounding the night watches and announcing the hours, but a new restaurant has opened inside. The food and wine are quite good. My lord, once our business is done, this humble one will treat you all to a drink inside."

Han Zhong was delighted and shouted, "Gao Manzi, you said it yourself!"

Gao Shiyin glared. "Would I, old Gao, ever cheat you?"

While they merrily discussed what they would eat later, Wang Dou's attention was caught by a conversation nearby.

In a cloth shop next to them, a man was haggling with the shop owner. The two had been at it for quite a while. The man was nearly fifty, with a refined, clear-featured face and a long three-part beard. He wore a square scholar's cap and a plain straight-hemmed Confucian robe. Though old and faded, it was washed and starched impeccably clean. He looked to be a man of letters, a scholar.

He held a bolt of cloth in his hands and was simply asking the shop owner to lower the price a little more.

The shop owner said helplessly, "Ah, Mr. Fu, this cloth is already very cheap. I have my own costs to cover. If you bargain it down any further, I'll have no profit at all."

Mr. Fu merely smiled. "Shopkeeper, a little cheaper, and this Fu will buy it."

His voice was deep and resonant, quite magnetic, very pleasant to the ear.

The shop owner was already talked out. He shook his head in resignation and said, "Fine. Seeing that you are a scholar, I'll take off another one-tenth of a tael of silver — no more than that."

Mr. Fu smiled. "Many thanks."

He drew out silver coins from his pouch, counted them with extreme care, handed the money to the shopkeeper, then happily took the bolt of cloth and left.

The shop owner watched the scholar's departing figure and sighed. "This Mr. Fu is, after all, the Director of our prefectural school. How can he be so miserly?"

Several neighboring shop owners said, "Old Sun, don't speak ill of Mr. Fu behind his back. Mr. Fu is a rare example of incorruptibility. He never accepts gifts of money or goods from his students, nor does he go out and earn extra by writing for fees. Without those sources of income, as a prefectural school director his monthly salary is only a few dou of grain. If he doesn't watch every penny, how is he supposed to live?"

They all sighed.

Wang Dou's heart stirred. Mr. Fu — Director of the Baoan Prefectural Confucian School?

He remembered that the Garrison Commander of Shunxiang Fort, Xu Zhongjun, was on good terms with the prefectural Confucian school director, Fu Mingqi. Could this be the very man?

Seeing Mr. Fu, Wang Dou suddenly thought of the problem of educating the children at Jingbian Fort. There were now several dozen young children in the fort; it was time to find a few teachers to instruct them in reading and writing.

…

Over on the other side, Han Zhong, Gao Shiyin, and the others had finally settled on what they would eat later. Checking the sky, Wang Dou led them to the Baoan prefectural government office, located in the southeastern part of the city.

This Baoan prefectural government office had been built during the Yongle reign. With the passage of time, and following the ancient custom that officials did not repair government offices, it now looked quite old and worn. In front of the government office was a flat open square, its green flagstones worn into pockmarked hollows.

At that moment, the square was packed with commoners who had come to pay their silver taxes. Some government office runners carrying water-and-fire staves patrolled back and forth in front of the government office, while a number of militia levies armed with swords and spears stood watch not far away.

Leaving Zhong Diaoyang behind to look after the horses, Wang Dou, Han Chao, Han Zhong, and Gao Shiyin pushed their way forward to observe.

Below the government office steps, several silver chests had been set out. Beside the chests stood several tables, where minor clerks held silver scales. One by one, they checked each taxpaying household's household registration booklet, then weighed and assayed their silver payments. Finally, they issued them silver packets, called out each name, and had them drop the packets into the chests. Another clerk then wrote out a receipt in duplicate, and with that each household's tax silver was considered paid.

Wang Dou soon made out the pattern. When the commoner households' silver was weighed and assayed, the silver packets came in two types: white-sealed and red-sealed. It seemed that poor, low-ranking households used white seals, while the gentry and great households used red seals. Those using red seals appeared to escape many of the meltage fees and miscellaneous surcharges. Most of the people present used white seals; very few used red seals. Those who received red-sealed packets were mostly stewards or household servants of the gentry and great houses. When they got their red-sealed packets, these people all looked immensely pleased with themselves.

Han Chao watched for a while, then suddenly said in a low voice beside Wang Dou, "There's something wrong with those silver scales."

Wang Dou's attention sharpened. Following Han Chao's explanation, he looked and soon saw it clearly. When the clerks weighed and assayed the silver, their other hand seemed to brush lightly against or pinch the silver scale they were holding. Instantly, the weight of the silver on the scale dropped considerably. The clerk would then loudly berate the taxpayer standing before him. The taxpayer, dumbfounded, could only make up the shortfall with additional silver.

There also seemed to be something wrong with the standard weights on the scales.

When the clerks weighed silver and this happened, most taxpayers were utterly bewildered, believing they had indeed brought too little silver, and nervously made up the difference. Some, however, knew the clerks were cheating, but could only swallow their anger, their faces bitter, not daring to utter a word.

Watching their expressions, the clerks merely snickered at one another.

Slippery as oil, these clerks, Wang Dou assessed inwardly. By his estimate, if the taxpaying households together paid one hundred taels of silver, just by tampering with the silver scales, these officials and clerks could embezzle as much as seven or eight taels. If the tax silver amounted to thousands or tens of thousands of taels, how much would that be? This kind of practice, he imagined, was widespread throughout the Great Ming.

Layer upon layer of such exploitation made the people's lives ever more bitter. The Great Ming's rule was, to a very large extent, undermined by these low-level officials and clerks.

…

Wang Dou took out his commoner household registration to pay his silver. Gao Shiyin and Han Zhong immediately bustled forward, shoving aside several commoners so Wang Dou could cut in line. Wang Dou was about to say something, but the two had already cleared a path, so he could only step up. The ragged commoners around them, seeing how tall and burly the men were, fumed inwardly but dared not speak out.

Just then, the clerk registering at the table in front of them suddenly left, and a middle-aged clerical official sat down in his place. Wang Dou looked, and called out, "Uncle Qi."

It turned out this clerical official was none other than Qi Guan, the Judicial Clerk of Baoan Prefecture. Earlier that year, he had accompanied the Sangganli village head, Jiang An, to sell Wang Dou some official prefectural land. Seeing Wang Dou, Qi Guan was also somewhat surprised. Smiling broadly, he said, "So it is Worthy Nephew Wang. Have you come to the prefectural government office to pay your grain tax today?"

His manner was warm. Earlier that year, when he had gone with Jiang An to sell land to Wang Dou, he had profited quite handsomely, and so he held Wang Dou in very good regard.

Wang Dou acknowledged him. Qi Guan gave an instruction to a minor clerk beside him, and when that clerk weighed the silver, he did not tamper with the scale in his hand. But then Qi Guan lowered his voice and said, "Worthy Nephew, this is all your uncle can do. By regulation, the meltage fees and miscellaneous surcharges that follow cannot be waived."

Meltage fees and miscellaneous surcharges had long been the private slush fund and gray income of officials, clerks, and government office runners throughout the Great Ming. In the early Ming, meltage was set at seven ge per dou, or seven sheng per dan. By now, these meltage fees and surcharges equaled the principal tax itself, and in some places even exceeded it several times over.

Wang Dou naturally understood that these meltage fees and surcharges implicated the interests of many officials and clerks in the prefectural government office. Although Qi Guan was a Judicial Clerk, he dared not challenge such an unwritten rule. Wang Dou said, "Your nephew understands. I will not make things difficult for you, Uncle."

But Han Zhong and Gao Shiyin, hearing this, were furious. They were about to step forward when Wang Dou stopped them with a look.

…

After the silver was weighed and assayed, Qi Guan gave Wang Dou a red-sealed silver packet. Under the envious gazes of the surrounding commoners, Wang Dou dropped the packet into the chest and collected his receipt.

He then stepped over to Qi Guan's side and said in a low voice, "Uncle Qi, there is a matter in which I must ask your help."

As he spoke, he gently pressed a silver ingot into Qi Guan's hand. Qi Guan squeezed it lightly and felt that the ingot weighed a little over one tael. His eyes lit up.

※※※

Old White Ox: This chapter's update is a bit late, apologies. There will be another chapter tonight, posted before midnight.