Chapter 405: Settling Old Accounts, Ushering in a New Era

The family was full of shock and uncertainty; no one dared to make a sound.

They lived in the county town and had seen too many tricks from officials and wealthy households in their lifetime.

First give a little sweetness to stabilize the weavers, and once the weavers are hooked, then add exorbitant levies and squeeze them hard.

When the Xu family recruited workers, they also sang sweeter than they played—wages paid daily, more work more pay.

Once they monopolized the weaving business, they immediately changed their tune, using every means to dock wages, even pressing the measuring stick three-tenths short when weighing cloth—twenty-eight feet of cloth could only be paid as fifteen feet.

Those who wanted to leave the weaving workshop had to pay a redemption fee, or they wouldn't be allowed to go.

What's more, the new court killed people like flies, stirring up a storm throughout the city—who knew whether the butcher's blade would fall on common folk.

Only after the gong-beater left did the family start discussing.

Afraid of being detained by the officials if they went, yet unable to save Yuanyuan without money if they didn't.

Chen Dashi said: "Father, Mother, why don't I go try first—work one day and see if it's real. If something's off, I'll leave right away."

The couple harbored doubts but had no better option, so they let him go.

The family sat restlessly; during that time Yuanyuan grabbed every chore—lighting the fire, boiling water, cooking, washing clothes, washing dishes—her small hands soaked bright red.

The aunt saw it and her heart was full of bitterness.

Chen Dafu sat on the threshold, sucking on a pipe with no tobacco in it, his face full of worry.

Soon it was around dusk, the time when the weaving workshop should be letting out. The family leaned against the doorframe, waiting for their son to return.

But they waited and saw no sign of him; they waited more and still no sign—the whole family's hearts clenched tight.

Just then a neighbor also stepped out to look around, and Chen Afu said: "Old Zhang, someone from your household went to work there too?"

The neighbor Old Zhang knitted his brows and sighed: "Yes! He should have been back by now—why is there still no sign of him? Could he have—"

He stopped mid-sentence, cut off by Old Zhang's wife: "Pah pah pah! Don't say such nonsense!"

Chen Afu sucked on his pipe, pacing anxiously in the courtyard. Another quarter-hour passed in the blink of an eye; the sky had gone dark, yet Chen Dashi's figure still hadn't appeared.

Chen Afu's heart sank. He put away his pipe, went back inside the house, and without a word, removed the warp beam from the loom—the long wooden beam that held the entire warp stretched across the loom, the handiest long implement on it.

The aunt blocked him and said: "Husband, what are you going to do?"

Yuanyuan also sensibly grabbed her uncle's leg.

Chen Afu gritted his teeth and said: "The officials leave us no way to live—I'm going to fight them to the death!"

The aunt hastily stopped him, weeping: "Are you going to throw your life away? Wait a little longer—maybe Dashi was just kept busy late and will be back any moment."

Chen Afu pointed at the sky: "The sky's already this dark—how could anyone still be working? Our Dashi—clearly, clearly he's been detained by those black-hearted officials—today I must go demand justice, and no one will stop me!"

The aunt's wailing grew louder, and Yuanyuan secretly wiped her tears as well.

Just as the family was struggling amongst themselves, someone at the door said: "Father, Mother, Yuanyuan—what are you all doing?"

The three looked toward the door and saw Chen Dashi standing there perfectly fine. They were all stunned.

The aunt was the first to react. She pulled her son into the courtyard, shut the door, dropped the bar, then looked him up and down: "Son, are you hurt? Did the officials beat you?"

Chen Dashi smiled and said: "Mother, where's your mind wandering? The Jiangnan Weaving Directorate is a proper official business. I've been weaving straight through till now—look."

As he spoke he spread his hand, revealing a string of copper coins tied with a red thread.

"Today I wove twenty-eight feet of cloth and got ninety-four wen in wages. I watched the official measure the cloth with my own eyes—can't be wrong, not a single coin short!"

Before, working at the Xu family's weaving workshop, they deducted raw material losses, headman commissions, workshop repair fees, loom repair fees, and all sorts of other miscellaneous charges—for twenty-eight feet of cloth to yield sixty wen was already burning incense for good luck.

Weaving cloth for Great Xia—no shrinkage in measuring, no beatings or docked pay, wages paid daily, plus one meal provided—it sounded so good it seemed like a trap.

The aunt, knowing her son hadn't been detained but had simply worked late to earn more money, immediately launched into a string of complaints.

Chen Dashi smiled and scratched his head, then pulled two white flour flatbreads from his bosom and handed them to his mother. The breads were fried in lard and smelled delicious.

Chen Afu complained: "We still owe debts—why did you buy this stuff?"

"This was the Weaving Directorate's lunch. I didn't eat mine and brought it back. There was even pork rib in the radish soup, but I couldn't bring the soup."

The couple exchanged a glance, both stunned by what they heard.

High wages, plus a free lunch, and food this good? Even if it were bait, it was far too sweet.

The aunt took the bread but didn't eat it herself—she gave it to Yuanyuan.

The family went back inside and sat around the dining table.

Yuanyuan carefully tore one of the flatbreads into four pieces, giving the largest to her eldest brother and taking the smallest for herself.

Chen Dashi took the bread, took a bite, and spoke of what he'd seen at the Weaving Directorate: "They can work there at night too—I'll be heading back over in a bit—"

"How can you weave in pitch darkness?"

Chen Dashi was eating hurriedly; Yuanyuan poured him a bowl of water. After drinking, he said: "No problem—the Weaving Directorate has whale-oil lamps, bright as can be, as bright as the white insect-wax candles the Xu family steward used to use, and no smell either!"

Chen Dashi finished the bread, wiped his mouth, and said: "I'm off!"

"Hey!" Chen Afu called his son back, his face full of suspicion. "Still doesn't add up—Great Xia just took over the workshop. Why weave so much cloth?"

Chen Dashi looked around left and right, then lowered his voice and said mysteriously: "The cloth we weave over there has uniform width, thick yarn, dense weave, high twist for durability—heavy and wind-resistant. I reckon it's for making winter military uniforms."

"Watch your tongue." Chen Afu said hastily.

Chen Dashi didn't seem concerned, just saying: "Father, I asked today—the three bolts of cloth we wove before New Year, they'll take those too. If the two of us go work every day, we can earn five taels of silver. Add in the money from selling the cloth, and we can pay off the cotton debt—little sister won't have to leave."

Chen Afu was quite tempted as well, but he still couldn't believe the officials would be this kind. After a moment he said: "Go to sleep first. Tomorrow morning, the two of us will go together!"

Early the next morning, Chen Afu tucked his shuttle—which he'd used for twenty years—into his belt and arrived at the workshop gate with his son.

This place had originally been the Huating Official Weaving Bureau, controlled by the Xu family.

The location was still the same, but the scene inside was completely different.

The damp, inferior cotton yarn that used to pile up in the corners was gone, replaced by baskets of snow-white clean cotton yarn, stacked in neat rows.

Cloth woven from inferior yarn cost less but was uneven, and the resulting cloth was bound to have flaws—the Xu family would use poor quality and excess waste as excuses to dock wages. Now with good yarn in place, at least that excuse for docking was gone. Chen Afu felt a weight lift from his heart.

Inside the workshop, the rattan chair where the headman used to sit had been removed, replaced by the account room's wooden desk. Weavers coming off the night shift were lining up with dark circles under their eyes to collect their wages.

Chen Afu glanced over—what they were being paid were gleaming little standard coins, engraved with the four small characters "Zhongxuan Tongbao." The quality of these copper coins was nearly on par with the Wanli Tongbao, and better than the Chongzhen Tongbao by more than a little.

On the conspicuous spots of the weaving workshop's walls were posted wage charts and work schedules written on large red paper.

Seeing the Chen father and son enter, a clerk assigned them looms.

The loom assigned to Chen Afu was far smoother than the old waist loom he had at home. Before long, the workshop head handed over a spindle of yarn—snow-white and even, first-rate quality.

The workshop head said in a calm tone: "Weave well, follow the standards, and when the time comes, your cloth will be weighed and you'll be paid. If you don't understand something, ask the instructor. No cutting corners, and no one will shortchange you either."

Chen Afu agreed repeatedly, feeling that everything from the moment he walked in had gone so smoothly it was almost unbelievable.

He sat before the loom, feet working the treadles, hands throwing the shuttle, which flew back and forth between the warp threads—his speed was even faster than when he worked at home.

As soon as the lunch bell rang, men carried in rice barrels—steaming half-polished rice, with radish and pickled vegetables in unlimited supply. The main dish turned out to be braised pork, ladled out glistening with oil, the fatty pieces quivering.

Chen Afu filled a full bowl and ate it with the braised pork, his stomach warming pleasantly.

When work ended in the evening, a supervisor went from loom to loom with a measuring tape. Chen Afu's palms sweated as he stared intently at that ruler.

The ruler's markings were even, with no wear or missing graduations. The head was banded with a small copper piece stamped with the words "Standard Workshop"—it was indeed a proper, honest measure.

After measuring the length, the supervisor ran his fingertips over the cloth surface and nodded: "Thirty-five feet, first-grade cloth—even and dense, and fast weaving too. Fine skill!"

Chen Afu was dumbfounded. By the Xu family's style, this was the moment to nitpick and dock wages—how could they instead be praising his weaving?

The supervisor calculated his wages at one hundred and twenty-three wen based on the length and the first-grade cloth rate, and Chen Afu went to the accounts office to collect his pay.

Only when a string of heavy Zhongxuan Tongbao coins was in his hand did he snap back to reality, realizing he wasn't dreaming.

Earning money could be this easy—then what had he been doing with the first decades of his life?

As he walked out of the workshop, he turned back to gaze at it. It was just dusk, and the interior was somewhat dim—then suddenly one oil lamp lit up, followed by five, then ten, and in one breath dozens blazed to life, illuminating every corner of the workshop in brilliant, golden light.

This must be the whale-oil lamp his son had spoken of.

The weavers on the night shift arrived just then, and under the guidance of supervisors, instructors, and clerks, they made their way to their stations.

Meanwhile, the day-shift workers lined up before the accounts desk, collecting their wages one after another—no crying or quarreling, no brawling or cursing. Everything was orderly.

Was this still the weaving workshop he remembered?

Chen Afu was so stirred that his hairs stood on end. He had seen with his own eyes that a man could earn money honestly through his craft—no need to sell his kin, no need to swallow insults, and the family could be kept whole. The joy of finding a way out of despair crushed the grievances of half a lifetime, and his eyes burned with heat.

He looked up and blinked to compose himself, but then noticed the workshop's plaque had been changed.

The new plaque read "Jiangnan Weaving Company," with a line of smaller characters beneath: "Huating Branch."

"You little brat!" Chen Afu cursed inwardly. The place was clearly called a "company," yet his own son had insisted on dropping a word when telling them about it.

A moment later, Chen Dashi also came out. In his hands, besides his wages, was the money from selling three bolts of cloth—nearly two taels and two maces of silver in total, settled in Great Xia silver coins, with the odd remainder as another string of copper cash.

The first words out of his mouth upon seeing his father were: "Father, Yuanyuan doesn't have to go to the opera troupe!"

Chen Afu also smiled: "We've finally cleared this hurdle. Come, tomorrow at first light, we'll go repay Widow Wang's debt."

As the two walked back, they passed by the market and thought they might as well buy some food. Now that they had money in hand, it was only right to let the family eat well and calm their nerves.

To their surprise, a new shop had opened beside the market, its sign bearing four characters in clerical script: "Great Xia Bank." The brushwork was vigorous and forceful—clearly an upscale establishment, though what it sold was anyone's guess.

The father and son stepped forward to inquire. A man who looked like a manager heard the commotion and turned around: "A bank is a place for depositing money and making loans. For weavers and farmers, small loans carry interest of only one fen."

The father and son exchanged looks of utter disbelief. In the past, borrowing from the pawnshops run by the Xu family required collateral, and interest ran as high as six or even seven fen.

This lending at one fen interest with no collateral—they couldn't imagine how it made money.

Fortunately, the Chen family's predicament was over. The two had no need to borrow, so they didn't ask further.

At the market, the two bought half a catty of mutton and a piece of osmanthus cake for Yuanyuan.

When they pushed open the door, Chen's aunt saw the meat and osmanthus cake in her husband's hands, then saw her son extend the silver dollar, and the tears fell again.

At dinner, Yuanyuan still divided the osmanthus cake into four portions, taking only the smallest for herself and eating it in small bites, her eyes curving with sweetness.

Chen Afu gave her his portion: "Eat more—this was bought to calm your nerves. As for Widow Wang's two taels of silver, we'll return them tomorrow at first light."

Yuanyuan said with a smile: "Let's all eat together. Uncle, when you return the silver tomorrow, I want to come too. I want to thank her in person."

"Good child." Chen Afu praised her.

He looked at Yuanyuan, at the harmonious family before him, and recalled how just two days ago he had cursed the new dynasty's emperor as a "butcher king"—his face couldn't help but flush with embarrassment.

Just as the family was enjoying their harmony, the next-door neighbor suddenly burst into wailing: "If I'd known there'd be a bank, why would I have sold my little girl? Damn you to hell——"

Chen's aunt sighed and said: "That's the Qian family up ahead. They sold their daughter the day before yesterday. I still don't know what this 'silver' something-or-other is."

The father and son recounted what they had seen and heard on the road, and the family sighed with mixed feelings.

But theirs was a small household with no means to help others—they could only hold on to their own livelihood.

Early the next morning, before the weaving company's day shift began, the father and son took Yuanyuan to Widow Wang's house. They brought not only the two taels of silver but also made a special trip to the morning market for fresh fish, wine, and meat as thanks.

On the way, they saw a procession of prison carts pass by. The prisoners inside kept crying out their innocence. The three of them stepped back to the roadside and asked a passerby what was going on.

An old man said: "They're all flesh peddlers and debt masters. With the new court in power, these people's livelihoods are finished."

Flesh peddlers were brokers who bought and sold people—Widow Wang, for instance, was a flesh peddler who specialized in supplying talent to the "opera troupes."

Debt masters were moneylenders—some ran pawnshops, some lent grain or livestock, and some lent goods like cotton as collateral, which was called "cotton debt."

The debt the Chen family owed was exactly this kind of cotton debt.

These debt masters used all sorts of methods, but they all shared one trait: exorbitant interest. Most of what weavers earned from their cloth ended up in the cotton-debt masters' purses, and if a debt came due and couldn't be repaid, the compounding interest could drive a family to ruin.

Otherwise, the Chens wouldn't have been so terrified of their debt coming due.

Now that the prison carts blocked the road, the three couldn't get past, so they stood by the roadside and watched.

Chen Dashi suddenly pointed into the distance: "Father, look—isn't that our cotton-debt master, Manager Zhou?"

Chen Afu followed his son's pointing finger and saw Manager Zhou with disheveled hair, a ghastly pale face, trembling body, and listless demeanor, his hands bound behind his back with coarse hemp rope, squeezed dejectedly into the prison cart.

"So it is." Chen Afu was stunned, sighing inwardly at the vicissitudes of the world. Just days ago, his family had feared the cotton debt coming due, being driven to ruin by the debt master.

Who would have thought that days later, the debt master would be the first to meet ruin.

"Father, if the debt master is dead, then do we not have to repay this cotton debt?" Chen Dashi said.

Chen Afu waved his hand stubbornly: "No. One matter is one matter—a man's death doesn't cancel his debts. If he has a wife and children, we should repay the debt to his family."

"Mm." Chen Dashi nodded.

Just then, Chen Afu suddenly remembered something: "Damn! Could Mother Wang also be in trouble? Come on, let's go check on her quickly."

After the prisoner cart left, the three quickened their pace. When they arrived at Mother Wang's courtyard, the gate was tightly shut. Chen Dashi knocked nervously.

After a long while, a low, curt voice came from inside: "Who is it?"

"From the weaver Chen Afu's household, here to return Mother's deposit money."

After that shout, there was again a long silence. The three exchanged bewildered looks, not understanding what this meant.

After another long pause, the sound of a door bolt being drawn came from within the courtyard, then the wooden door creaked open. A young servant poked his head out, glanced warily down both sides of the alley, then slipped aside to let the three enter, closing the door behind them and locking it again.

In just three days, Mother Wang had changed completely—hair disheveled, dressed in plain cloth, her face haggard.

Chen Afu asked with concern.

Mother Wang smiled bitterly: "The new dynasty has no slave registry—from now on, people can no longer be bought and sold—alas! Who would have thought King Xia would tour all the way to Songjiang? We were committing our crime right under their noses and got caught red-handed—

Yesterday alone, they arrested twenty human traffickers and took them outside the city to be beheaded. Today they caught another dozen or so, and they too were—

And sent outside the city—"

As Mother Wang said this, she clutched her chest, clearly terrified out of her wits.

Yuanyuan noticed there was tea on the table and poured a cup for her.

Mother Wang took the tea and smiled at Yuanyuan: "This little girl of yours is truly clever. If she entered a theater troupe, she'd surely make a name for herself on the Qinhuai River. What a pity—pah pah pah! No pity at all, look at this mouth of mine—"

Chen Afu took out the deposit money to return it, and also set down fresh fish, wine, and meat.

Mother Wang sighed with emotion: "These past days, your family was the only business I did. Thank goodness I kept some kindness in my heart and didn't push the deal to the bitter end—otherwise I might have been sitting on this morning's prisoner cart.

Our acquaintance was fate, I suppose. I don't lack this silver anyway—you take it back."

"How can that be—" Chen Afu insisted on returning it.

As the two argued, a flurry of hurried footsteps sounded outside the courtyard—at least a dozen people by the sound of it, with the clatter of scabbards striking against one another.

Then heavy knocking came at the door.

"Great Xia Songjiang Garrison Brigade! Open up!"

Mother Wang was so frightened she fell straight off her chair, sending teacups and the teapot shattering all over the floor.

"It's over, it's over!" she muttered incessantly.

"Open the door, I know someone's in there," the voice outside urged.

A wooden door, after all, couldn't hold back the garrison soldiers. The young servant had no choice but to open it tremblingly.

Soldiers poured into the courtyard. The leading officer stepped forward, glanced at Mother Wang who was nearly collapsed on the ground: "Are you Wang Liuqing?"

Mother Wang nodded tearfully.

"Take her away." Without a word, his men stepped forward to seize her.

Yuanyuan blocked them: "Stop! She's a good person!"

"Whose child is this? Keep her under control!"

Chen Afu hurried forward to pull her back.

Yuanyuan was pulled aside by her uncle, but she kept talking about how Mother Wang had lent them money. Her words came crisp and fast, concise and clear, and soon she had explained the whole matter plainly.

The leading officer chuckled: "You're a sharp little girl. Don't worry—this Wang woman hasn't done much evil, so she shouldn't get a heavy sentence.

The prefectural office has called her in to help locate the sold children. If she does well, she can earn merit to offset her crimes and strive for a lighter verdict."

Mother Wang immediately scrambled to her feet and kowtowed: "This common woman is willing to earn merit, willing to earn merit—"

"Let's go." The officer then took a coin from his belt and tossed it to Chen Afu. "Your girl here is loyal and righteous. Take this silver and buy her some candy."

"Thank you, sir soldier—"

The officer had already been about to leave, but hearing this form of address, he stopped and corrected: "You should call me 'soldier.'"

In all his life, Chen Afu had never heard such a strange request—who didn't like being called "sir"?

But the sword handle was in the other man's hands, so Chen Afu obediently changed his wording, and only then did the officer leave satisfied.

The three finally breathed a sigh of relief, and father and son escorted Yuanyuan home.

On the way, Chen Dashi said: "Father, I feel the Xia army is different—very different—but I can't quite say where the difference lies."

Yuanyuan chimed in: "Because that officer uncle this morning was a good person, while the old government soldiers were bad people."

Chen Dashi laughed: "That makes sense! Father, I think although the Great Xia army looks fierce and terrifying, that's only toward bad people. Toward common folk, toward good people, they're all polite and quite reasonable."

Chen Afu recalled how he had cursed King Xia as "King Yama" and said Great Xia wasn't even as good as Great Ming—those damnable words—and now, embarrassed and angry, he snapped: "Lecturing your old man now, are you?"

"Father, I'm innocent!"

The two bantered as they sent Yuanyuan home, then headed toward the weaving workshop.

The two had arrived late today—many people were already working in the workshop. The air was filled with the swish-swish of shuttles darting back and forth, loom treadles rising and falling—a scene of bustling industry.

When the foreman assigned them their looms, he said in a low voice: "Today a high official will be inspecting the workshop. You two have the best skills here. If the officials ask you questions, just answer normally. Conduct yourselves properly—don't offend the honored guest."

"Yes." Chen Afu acknowledged but didn't think much of it.

He wove all the way into the afternoon, when he heard the foreman's voice from behind him.

"—This workshop has two hundred and thirty looms. Each skilled worker can weave roughly one bolt of cloth per day—

Though looms aren't worth much. Every weaving household in Songjiang Prefecture has looms of their own—the total should be somewhere between fifty and a hundred thousand. The common folk weave a bit whenever they're free, then bring the completed bolts to sell to the workshops."

Another, younger voice said: "I notice most of the weavers here are men?"

The foreman explained carefully: "That's right. The women, children, and elderly of weaving households mostly stay home spinning yarn—what they call 'men weave, women spin.' Generally, it takes four spinners to supply enough yarn for one weaver."

"So spinning is the bottleneck that chokes cloth production?"

Chen Afu was secretly amused, thinking the phrase "choking the neck" was rather interesting.

The foreman said: "Your Majesty has keen insight. Aside from spinning, weaving also faces problems of cloth width, dyeing and calendering, cotton supply, and more. On cloth width specifically—"

Chen Afu's heart seized with panic: "Your—Your Majesty?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his whole body went rigid, and his ears rang with a dull buzz.

Cold sweat broke out on Chen Afu's forehead: "King Xia is standing behind me? Does he know I spoke ill of him? Is he coming to cut off my head?"

Chen Afu's heart pounded wildly; his wrist twitched, his foot missed a step, and with a crisp "Pop!" a tautly stretched warp thread snapped clean through, leaving a rough, jagged break running crooked across the smooth weave.

Cold sweat dripped down, and Chen Afu thought to himself: "I'm done for!"

Yahei

Pink Round

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