Chapter 1833: The Local Situation Under the Old Tax System

"Chuzhou is like this—what about the situation in other places?" Zhao Pu fell silent for a moment, then sighed involuntarily, a trace of heaviness slipping into his tone. As he walked, he instructed, "Later, you will give me a full account of Chuzhou's governance and people's condition, down to the smallest detail!"

Zhao Pu's pace quickened somewhat, and Zhao Chengzong hurried to keep up, replying, "Yes!"

Cloud Tower was the largest tavern in Shanyang Port, combining lodging and dining, with no low standard—it was also the tallest building in the port. Inside the guest room, the windows were thrown wide open; seated by the window, one could take in the full view of the port's scenery.

Zhao Pu's expression was composed as he enjoyed the view, sipped tea, and listened attentively to Zhao Chengzong's report on the various affairs of Chuzhou. Of course, Zhao Chengzong was also shrewd enough to sense what concerned Zhao Pu most, and so he spoke with particular clarity on Chuzhou's land and fiscal-tax issues.

On paper alone, land annexation in Chuzhou was fairly severe—the land concealed by the great households was roughly equal to, or even exceeded, what was registered on the rolls, far surpassing the national average.

But the class and economic contradictions over land in Chuzhou were not particularly acute, thanks to the prefecture's sound foundational conditions. Even counting only registered acreage, per-capita farmland was nearly seven mu—though this figure was of limited significance, it still carried some reference value.

One canal, one stretch of the Huai River, one expanse of Hongze Lake—the benefits they brought to Chuzhou's common folk were simply too great. Even if the landlord magnates took the lion's share, the scraps left over were enough for the self-cultivating farmers to get by.

Of course, since the Huai River frequently misbehaved, bringing occasional natural disasters, and there were always those who managed poorly, Chuzhou's trend of land annexation remained pronounced. Direct purchase-and-annexation, even outright seizure, did occur—but the concealed land came more from the landlords' own proactive reclamation of wasteland.

But even factoring in all the unfavorable elements, Chuzhou's popular sentiment remained fairly stable. Farmers without land could become tenant farmers, take up labor, or even venture out to sea—there was always some path to survival.

As for taxation, the pressure Chuzhou bore was not great. Setting aside the output of the land, a single Huaiyang Canal was enough to keep the whole prefecture living comfortably, so the pressure passed on to ordinary farming households was relatively light.

As for the problem of land annexation, the Chuzhou authorities naturally could not have been completely unaware, yet they rarely intervened. Reluctance to touch the interest groups was one reason; the absence of major problems in Chuzhou's governance and people's livelihood was another. Under normal circumstances, as long as things could remain peaceful, no one willingly stirred up trouble—this was also one of the traits of bureaucrats: maintaining stability was itself one of their responsibilities in governing a locality.

And as for the social contradictions brought by land annexation, as long as they could still be suppressed without causing major upheaval, that counted as stability, and stability meant peace and order. Moreover, the Two-Tax Law provided a legal explanation: land could be freely bought and sold, which meant land annexation was inherently lawful.

Under Han law alone, the only thing one could condemn was the large-scale concealment of land, which often implied tax evasion and leakage—an infringement on the interests of the court and the government.

But this problem was not much of a problem for Chuzhou, because in recent years, when it came to the tax quotas assigned by the circuit office, Chuzhou had always paid in full—never short, except under special circumstances like natural disasters.

Now one must again mention the defects of the court's tax system. Under the Two-Tax Law, quotas were apportioned layer by layer from the central government down to the localities, which in practice carried a certain character of tax farming. Although the court formulated a series of tax-assessment bases, in actual implementation, it was simply impossible to follow the court's rules and regulations to the letter.

And while the abundance or scarcity of land and property, the gap between rich and poor, was visible to the naked eye, in fact it was very difficult to quantify concretely, so its reference value was greatly diminished. Meanwhile, local officials collecting taxes ultimately formed a situation of layer-by-layer apportionment and layer-by-layer exploitation, and the primary targets were naturally those commoners who were easy to bully and exploit—farmers, herders, fishermen, and small handicraftsmen.

As for the tax-assessment bases formulated by the court, in their concrete implementation across the regions, they gradually became dead letters. In the early period, under the court's harsh laws and severe punishments, there may have been some restraint, but the speed of bureaucrats' moral decay was beyond imagination. As peace and stability wore on, their audacity grew, and local officials already held no small measure of governing power—some even cast aside the Two-Tax Law entirely and devised their own systems.

This situation, in the twenty-fourth year of Kaibao, had already become quite common—so it was throughout the realm. As for this chaos, the court was neither unaware nor unwilling to address it.

It was just that in the past, what the court valued most was fiscal revenue, and what it feared most was localities failing to deliver taxes. In Emperor Liu's centralization reforms back then, fiscal power had been a major focus.

Now, local governments, according to the tax quotas set by the court each year, collected and remitted them with quality and quantity intact—what more was there to be dissatisfied about? Local officials thought this way and acted this way, and quite a few ministers at the central court held the same view—as long as things weren't taken too far, stirring up popular resentment and causing disturbances...

Chuzhou was no exception to this "custom." In the twenty-third year of Kaibao, with the quota set by the Finance Commission and apportioned down by the Huai East Circuit, Chuzhou's tax quota was 310,000 strings of cash—for an ordinary prefecture or county, this was a heavy tax indeed.

But Chuzhou was no ordinary prefecture: abundant arable land, good soil conditions, developed water conservancy, enormous output, while also enjoying the benefits of the canal, with ample commercial taxes. Being near the sea, the profits of fishing and salt had also been developed to a degree. In recent years, Champa rice and cotton cultivation had both been promoted in Chuzhou—all of these were money-makers.

Therefore, a mere 310,000 strings was truly nothing for Chuzhou. Even if difficulties arose, the local "worthies" could squeeze themselves a bit and easily let the prefecture government fulfill its quota.

With Chuzhou's situation so good, the circuit office naturally was satisfied and raised no other demands—as for the land problem, it was even less on their minds. But one very important issue was this: with the circuit office apportioning a quota of 310,000, would Chuzhou's bureaucrats collect only that much? Obviously not.

Under the Great Han's latest fiscal distribution principles, the central government took half, two-tenths stayed with the circuit, and the remaining three-tenths went to the administrative expenditures of the subordinate prefectures and counties. But would local governments dutifully stick to these proportions?

In fact, throughout the entire tax chain, apart from the fifty percent remitted to the central government, everyone from the circuit office on down harbored a mentality of taking more and grabbing more. The circuit office felt two-tenths was not enough and wanted a larger share; the prefecture government, unable to withstand the circuit office's pressure, naturally pressed down on the subordinate counties and townships—and with pressure mounting layer by layer, grassroots tax collection naturally went as high as possible.

As for Chuzhou, the actual tax revenue collected last year was fully 400,000 strings. After setting aside the fixed portions due to the central government and the circuit office, what remained was more than enough for the prefecture to live comfortably—and down at the county and township level, the actual tax money collected was clearly far more than 400,000 strings.

Bureaucrats—that's just how they are. The court sets a tax quota, and in the actual process of collection, with layer upon layer of fleecing and squeezing, they can scrape out three times, five times, even ten times the amount.

Zhao Chengzong could be considered to have a certain degree of integrity—he governed with relative restraint—but even he did not fully follow the court's regulations. Even if he wanted to, he could not withstand the will of the entire prefecture's bureaucrats and powerful elites; he could only maintain things as best he could, avoiding excessive exploitation of the people under his governance and preventing popular unrest.

And while Chuzhou could hold up under such circumstances, other circuits and prefectures might not be so fortunate—after all, there were not many prefectures in the realm with conditions as favorable as Chuzhou's. Not to look far, just those impoverished prefectures and counties west of the Huai—that's where the situation was truly serious.

Moreover, the poorer the place, the more viciously the skin was flayed. Especially those bureaucrats who only sought to curry favor with their superiors, complete their quotas, and simultaneously satisfy the greed of the bureaucratic and landlord classes—the things they did were even more appalling.

The Great Han's supervisory system, supplemented by two secret-service organizations, had monitoring capabilities far surpassing those of any previous dynasty—but even so, it was impossible to achieve comprehensive surveillance over every locality.

In the past, even when the court dealt with those who went too far, it only scratched the surface; the overall environment was unaffected. The vigorous campaign for official discipline had dealt with so many officials, but those newly appointed to replace them still governed, controlled the people, and collected taxes according to the old model—no essential change whatsoever.

Under such circumstances, the more intelligence gathered, the more one learned—and with such shocking, hair-raising realities, how could Emperor Liu sleep soundly? How could he not resolve firmly to wield the knife against the fiscal-tax system and push forward tax reform?

Regardless of how many benefits the new tax system might bring, what defects it might produce, or even whether it could fundamentally change the current reality of officialdom squeezing the localities—at the very least, through such a reform, the exposed malpractices could be thoroughly cleaned up...

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