Chapter 509: Extinction Scheme

What's to the east?

To the east are market towns and fairs, mountain springs and dense forests, and a traveling palace.

A traveling palace that has gone twenty years without welcoming its master.

Chen Chen Guanlou left Jingcheng, heading east the whole way, stopping at the market whenever he grew tired to eat a full meal.

The people at the market, whether in dress or complexion, were worse off than those in Jingcheng. People with the pallor of vegetables were everywhere; clothes patched upon patched upon patched — not quite as many as carp crossing the river, but at least a third. Even the shopkeepers doing business at the market gave off the air of being on the verge of bankruptcy and shutting down at any moment.

He chatted casually with the owner of a small noodle shop. "Boss, business is booming!"

"You flatter me, sir. This business is about to be impossible to keep running."

"How could that be? It isn't even mealtime yet, and there are already plenty of people. How could it be impossible to keep running?"

"The landlord raised the rent, the court added taxes, the clerks squeeze us dry. If it really comes to it, I'll just go back to the countryside and rent a few thin acres of farmland, barely scraping by."

"Has the court raised taxes again this year?"

"Whether the court raised them or not, I don't know. All I know is the government office is again pressing us common folk to pay the corvée money. That's just the first half of the year — by my guess we'll have to pay twice more in the second half. Grain prices have gone up again lately too, so my business is barely holding on."

"In previous years you didn't have to pay corvée money?"

"At least in the years before, there was no such rule. Ever since the court started waging war, there's been an extra charge of corvée money. Last year the head tax was raised by another twenty percent. I heard from the people at the yamen that the head tax is going up again this year. At this rate, every coin we earn gets taken by the yamen, not even a sip of soup left over."

Just as they were talking, a group of insolent yamen clerks burst in.

The noodle shop owner hurried to greet them, heaped on a basketful of pleasantries, and pulled every coin he'd taken in that day from the drawer before managing to send the clerks on their way.

Every customer in the noodle shop kept their head down; no one looked up, instinctively avoiding eye contact — it was nothing new, nothing strange.

Only Chen Chen Guanlou, an outsider, watched the swaggering clerks with curiosity.

The clerks in Jingcheng also collected money, but not like this. A lump-sum system, paid monthly. One street, one alley — pick a person to take charge, assign them to each shop, fixed date for payment. On the first of every month, the lump-sum person hands the money over to the yamen all at once and gets a clearance receipt. That ensures that for the rest of the month, everyone can do business in peace, with no one coming to interfere and demand money.

This way, the money gets collected, and the market stays peaceful, with no messy incidents harming Jingcheng's business environment.

If someone oversteps their bounds, the lump-sum person reports directly to the yamen, and the yamen handles it. If they can't handle it, then they find a way to split the profits and increase the apportionment.

Of course, in this process, the lump-sum person, representing the merchants, also takes part in the apportionment negotiations.

This market clearly had none of those rules — it was all chaos.

One of the clerks, a big fellow, noticed Chen Chen Guanlou staring at them and grew very angry, pointing at him. "What are you looking at? Keep staring and I'll gouge your eyeballs out."

Chen Chen Guanlou smiled and bowed his head to eat his noodles.

The clerk snorted coldly, looking exceedingly smug.

Having taken the money, the clerks walked out of the noodle shop and collected from two or three more shops in succession.

Suddenly, the big clerk covered both eyes and screamed in agony.

"Ah, my eyes, my eyes…"

"His eyes are bleeding."

"My eyes, my eyes… save me…"

The market crowd scattered quickly. The big clerk rolled on the ground howling, blood gushing from both eyes. It wasn't until the other clerks restrained him and knocked him out that the big clerk finally stopped screaming.

Blood everywhere — the scene was utterly savage and terrifying.

Chen Chen Guanlou finished his noodles, drank two bowls of noodle soup, and said, "Boss, settling up. Your skills are good — if I have the chance, I'll come again next time."

The boss, who had been standing at the door peeking at the commotion and secretly enjoying it, snapped back to attention at the mention of paying. Hearing the praise, he plastered on a smile and said, "This is a skill passed down in my family. Three generations running we've made noodles — you can ask around, my noodles are the tastiest at the market, and the portions are the most generous."

"The portions are indeed generous. I'll definitely come again next time."

"That would be wonderful! Come anytime, sir, there's always food ready. Safe travels, sir!"

Chen Chen Guanlou paid, then walked slowly out of the noodle shop. He glanced sideways at the commotion — the big clerk had been knocked out by his colleagues and carried off, leaving a trail of blood.

With the incident, the clerks lost interest in continuing their collections. The market finally returned to its original state. Though not prosperous, though everyone had hardships, though life held many setbacks, the days still had to go on. As long as the government didn't come around to harass and squeeze them, smiles could return to people's faces.

Chen Chen Guanlou bought some dry rations to carry with him and headed toward the traveling palace.

Along the way he took in every bit of scenery, until he grew sick of it.

The closer he got to the traveling palace, the more desolate the markets became, and the poorer the common folk.

In short, once outside the Jingji region, the common folk suffered terribly under the government's exploitation and the court's taxation. The head tax, the corvée money — they drove poor families to drown every newborn, boy or girl. The head tax made no distinction between male and female: anyone who reached the age of six had to pay.

What labor can a six-year-old child provide, yet they have to pay the head tax to the court? This is forcing ordinary households into bankruptcy and driving them into the hills to join the bandits.

No wonder bandits and outlaws never ceased along the entire route.

Compared to leaving the capital a few years ago, the overall situation had clearly grown much worse. Along the way he saw several waves of refugees traveling in groups — organized by village or by surname, dozens or hundreds at a time, the largest wave numbering over a thousand.

In times like these, no wonder people rebel! Anyone who doesn't rebel isn't human.

Passing through certain villages, he saw no children, no elderly — only young men and women in their prime. What exactly had happened there, one dared not think too deeply about.

Faced with villages like these, Chen Chen Guanlou simply walked on by. He couldn't help; it was too dark. Even killing them would dirty his hands. This was the court's responsibility, the government's responsibility. He had no idea which 'genius' came up with collecting the head tax from age six — must have gone mad with poverty. And they collect it every year, and raise the price.

Across the entire Daqian, perhaps apart from Jingcheng, there was no longer a single peaceful place.

This was a pot of water about to boil over. If no one found a way to put out the fire and cool things down — boom, the whole thing would explode! The whole realm would blow its lid. Daqian was doomed sooner or later.

Chen Chen Guanlou concealed his form, skirted the villages, and made straight for the traveling palace.

Along the way he passed through the fiefdoms of the Huangshi Sect kin — the rich stayed rich, the poor grew poorer. He had assumed the common folk inside the fiefdoms would live even worse, with an extra layer of exploitation. After actually looking into it, he found they lived slightly better than those outside the fiefdoms. The good thing was that inside the fiefdoms the old rules still applied: the head tax started at age fourteen. That single regulation alone let the people inside the fiefdoms breathe a sigh of relief — it wouldn't be saying too much to say their burden was cut in half, but at the very least it was reduced by a third.

At fourteen, whether male or female, one was already considered more than half a full laborer. The wages earned from that labor were enough to cover the head tax. This greatly eased the family's burden. Compared to the extinction scheme of collecting the head tax from age six, collecting it from age fourteen was clearly the healthier approach.

He made some inquiries and learned that this place was the fief of the Sea Prosperous Prince — a member of the Huangshi Sect within five degrees of kinship, a princely title holder with no notable reputation, no notable status, and a very low presence.