Chapter 263: The Fox Wants to Cross the River, but What of Its Tail?

After the twelfth month arrived, the capital grew livelier by the day.

The departure of the various Northern Zhili county magistrates, their companions, and their private secretaries had no effect whatsoever on this city.

The so-called Northern Zhili New Policies were, in the eyes of most capital commoners, nothing more than conversation fodder to go with a dish of fennel beans and an extra two taels of cheap liquor in the teahouses and wineshops.

The capital's populace numbered no less than a million, and naturally each had their own interests at stake.

It was just as the famed Wanli-era minister Yu Shenxing once said:

"Of the capital's people, native Jingzhao folk make up one or two parts in ten; the soldiers of the Capital Camps and their households, four or five parts in ten; and people from the four quarters of the realm, six or seven parts in ten. And among those from the four quarters, the people of Kuaiji make up four or five parts in ten."

Though not necessarily precise, these words still captured the general picture.

The commoners of Jingzhao, the soldiers of the Capital Camps and their families, the migrants from outside, the southern merchants doing business — each group lived its own life, and the abacus beads in their hearts clicked to different reckonings.

Only the various new policies that actually landed on their heads were what they truly cared about.

Indeed, once the New Policies arose, it was never going to be only Northern Zhili that felt the impact.

The capital region lay right under the new sovereign's nose; compared to Northern Zhili, the changes there could only be swifter, fiercer, and more violent.

First of all, the Vice Prefect of Shuntian, Zhang Zibing, after being attacked by successive memorials last time — even drawing His Majesty's protection in response —

had reflected painfully on his mistakes. After lying low for two months, he finally launched the "Capital Census" initiative once again.

Leaving aside the many revisions in this new plan, just the word count alone was double that of the previous one.

Its various articles and sections were meticulous down to the finest detail.

First, the New Policies would be phased, and the census must be phased as well: begin with the Inner City, then proceed to the Outer City.

Second, having learned from the last lesson, he obtained the list of examination candidates from the Ministry of Rites ahead of time and directly prepared and issued their temporary residence permits, so as to avoid the juren gentlemen rising up in a mob to make trouble again.

Third, standardized census registration forms were printed in advance and distributed to every baojia unit for filling out. Once the deadline arrived, inspectors would be dispatched to check and verify them one by one. Fourth, anyone who reported the concealment of population or the sheltering of persons without a guarantor would be rewarded with two taels of silver.

Fifth, anyone who reported a runner or bailiff for corruption and harming the people could go directly to the yamen and beat the drum; the case would be personally tried by Judge Wang Zhaodui, who was in charge of official discipline. If the accusation was substantiated by solid evidence, the reward would be fifty taels of silver.

With this whole combination of punches thrown, Zhang Zibing was brimming with confidence, certain that this time he would strike true in one blow and wipe away his earlier disgrace.

And yet, this power-packed punch of his had, in truth, rather spectacularly whiffed.

Not a sound... not a single sound of opposition!

In the capital today, the wind had long since shifted.

The capital's commoners and the juren gentlemen each had more pressing matters of their own to attend to; who had the leisure to oppose his census?

Outside the former Chongwen Gate Tax Office — now the Capital Tax Bureau — a cold wind sent dead leaves skittering across the ground.

The vermilion gates stood wide open as a crowd of people clustered around a fat man emerging from within.

The fat man wore a thick padded jacket of silk and satin, with a sable-fur cloak draped over it. His round face was piled high with smiles. This was none other than the richest man in the capital, Wu Jinbo. "Gentlemen, please go on back."

Wu Jinbo cupped his hands in salute, the gold thumb ring on his hand glinting coldly in the winter light. "With the year's end approaching, I am truly busy. Wu must still go to his shops to settle the accounts, so I will not stay to chat with you all."

The circle of merchants around him hurriedly forced smiles onto their faces, bowing ever lower, one after another: "A safe journey, Squire Wu. Fair winds, Squire Wu."

Only after watching Wu Jinbo, his retainers, and his household staff depart in a grand procession did the atmosphere on the spot finally relax.

"Tsk, tsk. Just look at that style."

A small-time silk merchant rubbed his hands together, puffing white breath. "Summoned to an audience by His Majesty three times — what tremendous favor is that?"

"Favor?"

A medicinal-herb trader beside him gave a cold laugh and lowered his voice. "He bought that with his life! Haven't you heard? That gentleman holds an IOU from His Majesty for seven hundred eighty thousand taels! At one percent annual interest!"

The few small merchants nearby who were not well-informed sucked in a sharp breath of cold air at this piece of news.

To dare lend money at interest to the very head of the Emperor himself — wasn't this Wu Jinbo afraid of his head leaving his shoulders in the middle of the night?

But this matter, after all, touched upon the Emperor, and no one dared discuss it deeply. After a moment of silence, the topic quickly turned to themselves. "Say, do you think this capital tax reform that Assistant Prefect Li is pushing will actually come down on us?"

The silk merchant was rather worried. "They say it's about 'equalizing and lightening the burden' — shifting the taxes onto the big merchants and reducing the taxes on us small-scale businesses."

"But this whole thing... why does it sound so far-fetched?"

"Doesn't it just."

The herb trader chimed in. "Will those great merchant princes agree to it? The figures standing behind them — which one isn't connected to the heavens? All those palace eunuchs and ennobled nobles — are any of them easy to deal with? In the old days of tax collecting, wasn't it always the big fish eating the little fish, the little fish eating the shrimp, and in the end it all landed on our heads? Now they want to reverse it? I'd say it's a tall order!" "Not necessarily." A young merchant in the corner cut in, his expression carrying a trace of hope. "I hear the clerks in this Tax Bureau are all newly recruited. A hundred new clerks, every one of them personally vetted by His Majesty, all packed into this Tax Bureau."

"I hear the rules are ferociously strict — aligned directly with the Embroidered Uniform Guard's standards. Embezzle a single tael of silver and you're summarily dismissed and sent to a penal battalion..."

"Hah, crows are black the world over. Where would you find a white crow..." The silk merchant started the sentence but, in the end, did not dare disparage the New Policies. Still, he continued, "A new official lights three fires. Once the fires die down, won't it just go back to the same old routine?"

"First they cut taxes, then they raise them. In the end, the taxes end up higher than when they started. It's not like that hasn't happened before."

"Exactly. The only reason those big merchants don't dare make a peep now is that His Majesty's New Policies have them pinned down for the moment. Once this gust of wind passes, how could they possibly stay meek and obedient?"

The more the crowd chattered, the less confident they felt.

In the end, the older herb trader sighed and tucked his hands into his sleeves.

"Folks like us, we're just meat on the chopping board. Whether we end up braised in soy sauce or steamed plain — that depends on the cook's mood."

"Let's watch a while longer. Wait till we get a clear look at this cook's quality, then we'll talk."

"When the time comes, if we have to cut flesh, we cut flesh. If we have to spill blood, we spill blood. Business can always keep going."

The men all shook their heads with bitter smiles and dispersed, vanishing into the cold wind.

In the Inner City, inside a street-facing guardhouse.

A so-called guardhouse was where the fire-watch and neighborhood patrol stayed. All night watchmen, patrols, and soldiers on duty rested here between shifts.

But with a charcoal brazier burning for warmth, it had also become a place where idlers gathered in winter to chat and shoot the breeze.

With a clatter, the door was pushed open, and a figure wrapped in a gust of cold wind ducked inside.

"Shut the door! Shut the door! It's freezing a man to death!"

The several men huddled around the fire inside immediately shouted.

The newcomer was a lean, wiry fellow. Shivering, he bolted the door securely and squeezed up to the charcoal brazier, his face blue with cold.

"So? Did you get the full story?"

The man seated in the place of honor was a neighborhood chief, cradling a chipped purple-clay teapot in his hands as he asked at a leisurely pace.

Several neighbors from the surrounding streets leaned in too, eyes eager.

The wiry man rubbed his hands together for a long while before he recovered enough to speak:

"I asked around. Shuntian Prefecture did issue word — they're taking a headcount. Our patch has to submit the registers within ten days." "Hey! Who asked you about that! Who cares about that nonsense! Just do as you're told!"

An old man who made tofu was so agitated he slapped his own thigh. "I'm asking about the house-number levy! Is it true they're really abolishing it?"

The so-called house-number levy was, one could say, a tax unique to the capital.

In its formal design the tax was actually fair, being levied by graduated assessment.

— Specifically, according to shop frontage, dwelling, and number of bays, it was divided into four grades for payment of silver: each year an upper-grade household paid two mace of silver per bay, a middle-grade household one mace and five candareens, a lower-grade household one mace, and a lowest-grade household five candareens.

For the lowest of the low, the bottom grade, one bay meant five candareens of silver — that is, fifty cash a year, truly not high at all.

However — the state of officialdom in our Great Ming, those who know, know.

The court collected at most fifteen thousand taels a year from this levy, yet after layer upon layer of extortion, by the time it landed on the common people, it was routine for the sum to multiply several times over.

When the yamen runners came to collect this money, they were like wolves and tigers; the slightest delay and you got a flogging.

And among it all, every kind of fraudulent transfer — lower households shifted into the upper bracket, upper households turned into lower — along with extortion and embezzlement, was simply endless.

The former Hanlin Junior Compiler Jiang Dejing, precisely by relying on the detailed data and step-by-step solutions for these very abuses that he laid out in that five-ringed memorial, "Petition to Equalize and Lighten Burdens, to Tax the Great Households Harshly and Draw Close to the Humble People" —

it was by this that he made a startling leap, becoming one of the last batch of New Policy secretaries before the door closed in the twelfth month.

— Of course, this matter was far too remote from the common folk sitting here; they had only vaguely heard that some Hanlin official or other had spoken of abolishing the house-number levy, and nothing more.

The wiry man swept his eyes over the group, lowered his voice, and said with an air of mystery:

"I found an old acquaintance who works in the Revenue Section and asked. The official dispatch did mention it — it said the capital's tax reform would proceed in two steps."

"The first step is called 'equalization'; the second step is called 'lightening the burden.'"

"What does that mean?" Everyone looked at one another, baffled.

The ward head coughed and pointed at the man with the spout of his pot. "Stop stringing us along. Out with it."

"It means we're still in the first phase. First they have to set the rules straight, collect the taxes in full, and dig out all those great households that used to dodge and evade payment." "Once that's done and the state coffers are full, only then, in the second phase, will they consider reducing or remitting our house-number levy."

The room fell silent in an instant.

The flames in the charcoal brazier popped once, sending up a spark.

"I knew it..."

The old tofu seller's face was full of disappointment, his back bent. "There's no such thing as a bargain like that. The court's mouth is a bottomless pit — you only ever hear of stuffing things in, never of anything coming back out."

"But they did say second phase — surely they'll get to it eventually? The key is, when does this second phase start?" someone asked, unwilling to let it go.

The wiry man spread his hands. "Who knows? The great lords only say the second phase comes if the first phase is done well. But how you write the word 'well' — that's for those above to decide. How would the likes of us ever know?"

The group fell into silence.

After a long while, the ward head sighed and took a sip of the stale tea left in his pot:

"For people like us, just dealing with the corvée runners already strips a layer of skin off us. If this house-number levy could truly be abolished — even if it were only reduced a little — that would be a living bodhisattva showing his divine power."

"True enough. If they really could lighten the burden, then this Assistant Prefect Li — I'd set up a longevity tablet for him in my own home."

"Ai, don't think too far ahead."

The ward head shook his head, his gaze passing through the window paper to the dull, overcast sky outside.

"Let's wait and see. With a sage sovereign come into the world, surely things will get a little better? However bitter it gets, it can't be more bitter than now, can it?"

At that same moment, in a shabby tavern in the southern quarter, the atmosphere was blazing hot.

Several greasy tables had been pushed together, laid with a small plate of sliced soy-marinated pork, some fried soybeans, and two large jars of cheap liquor.

"Come! Brother Zhang!"

A man with a face full of surly flesh raised a large bowl.

"Two months ago when you came out of the Valiant Guard Camp, your elder brother here had dull eyes and didn't see you were a hidden dragon! These three bowls of wine, your brother drinks to make amends!" This man was called Li Jiushan, an old File Leader in the Capital Camps.

Sitting across from him was none other than Zhang Fu.

After being eliminated from the Valiant Guard Camp, he still drilled and practiced martial arts every day.

He had even gone so far as to borrow a copy of "One Thousand Common Military Characters — Phonetic Edition" from former colleagues in the Valiant Guard Camp, then paid a tutor out of his own pocket to copy it and diligently studied on his own.

With all the food and various expenses, he had gradually spent seventy to eighty percent of the monthly grain ration he had received in solid payment while in the Valiant Guard Camp.

In just one more month, he would soon sink into the same miserable straits as the rest of the Capital Camps' braves.

By then, with only that bit of monthly grain, skimmed at every level, he would not be able to train even if he wanted to.

Fortunately, Zhang Fu had bet right — His Majesty would indeed not train only a single Valiant Guard Camp!

This time, for the Capital Camps' selection of a "model camp," from the Valiant Guard Camp, officers from File Leader up had turned out in full force, bearing uniform, standardized regulations, and directly among the hundred-odd thousand men of the Capital Camps, they screened according to those standards, meticulously sifting out over seven thousand men.

And among them, naturally, was this "former Valiant Guard" himself.

But as for this meal and drinks today, Zhang Fu truly could not figure out what File Leader Li wanted with him.

Surely it couldn't be that he wanted a mere File Leader like himself to pull strings for him?

This model camp — the Army Reorganization Minister Yang Suoxiu was in charge of it, the Eunuch Superintendent of the Capital Camps Cao Huachun was watching over it, and even several secretaries from the Secretariat regularly came to the camp to walk about and make inquiries.

With such a show of force, let alone a mere File Leader like himself — he feared that not even a Company Commander or a Battalion Commander would dare make any reckless moves.

Zhang Fu could not figure out the reason, but in any case, there was wine and meat, and he had been scrimping for a long time — naturally, he would eat and drink first and talk later.

He raised his bowl and, without a word, drained three bowls in swift gulps, then picked up his chopsticks and wolfed down the food.

"Good! That's the spirit!"

The men around them cheered even as they drooled, yet none dared join in with their chopsticks.

Li Jiushan suppressed the pang in his heart at the cost, leaned in closer, his eyes flickering:

"Brother, your elder brother wants to get the real truth from you. We soldiers take up the trade for our rations — all we want is to feed our families."

"I've heard that in that Valiant Guard Camp, there's no labor conscription? No 'ticket money'? No 'seasonal money'? That when the silver is issued, you don't have to pay respects to your superior officers?" This string of questions made everyone around hold their breath.

That the Capital Camps were rotten to the core was something everyone knew.

The monthly grain ration is one dan of rice, but what reaches your hand is only half. And that rice is low-grade stuff — take it to market for cash and you'll only get three or four mace.

Forget drilling and training — just feeding a family is desperately hard.

Zhang Fu set down his wine bowl, let out a drunken belch, and spoke as if each word were gold:

"Real. More real than pure gold."

Li Jiushan pressed him while pouring more wine. "So this new Demonstration Camp they've set up — can it really be like that?"

Zhang Fu fell silent for a moment.

He had only been in camp a few days; the first month's pay had not yet been issued, and the officers around him were still quite unfamiliar.

By all rights, he should not answer this question.

But from what he had observed, many of the regulations and procedures seemed exactly the same as in the Valiant Guard Camp.

And there was that same practice of stripping all the officers of rank and then selecting anew, starting from File Leader.

Only because they came from the Capital Camps, and it was understood that they had suffered heavy skimming before and their physical condition might not be at its peak, the selection test had been postponed to the fifteenth.

Zhang Fu thought it over and still answered cautiously.

"The pay hasn't been issued yet, but the regulations are exactly the same as the Valiant Guard Camp."

"However…"

He caught his breath and, feeling in the end that giving only that much information hardly justified the wine and meat before him, added, "Getting in now is already pretty much impossible."

"The Demonstration Camp still has vacancies, but His Majesty has said they won't be filled from the Capital Camps — they'll be filled from the border garrisons around the realm."

"From now on, those eliminated from the Valiant Guard Camp go into the Demonstration Camp, and those who perform well in the Demonstration Camp get promoted to the Valiant Guard Camp."

Li Jiushan's eyes darted; he pointed at himself and the brothers around him and asked in a low voice, "So when does the Demonstration Camp expand? When does our turn come? Surely it can't stay at just a few thousand men forever?"

The wine was cheap stuff, but it packed a delayed kick. Zhang Fu had sneaked six or seven bowls, and by now it was going to his head.

He slammed the table:

"The struggle between men and land! You get it? That's what this is — the struggle between men and land!"

The men around him jumped, baffled by why he was suddenly dragging this up.

Zhang Fu, tongue thick, waved his arms: "With only nine thousand men, how do you pacify Liaodong? How do you fight to retake the realm? The whole Capital Camps are bound to be overhauled! I figure… I figure if not next year, then the year after!"

"But… but you can't rush it."

He pointed at the sky. "His Majesty said it: cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, bring peace to all under heaven! That's called… that's called step by step! You get it!"

Zhang Fu finished speaking and — thud — collapsed straight into sleep.

"With that tolerance, I thought he could down a thousand cups without falling. Turns out he's a kitten." One of the men jeered, then turned his gaze to Li Jiushan. "Chief, what do you make of this?"

Li Jiushan pondered a moment, then said, "No rush. No rush."

He murmured to himself, as if reassuring himself, or as if soothing the others.

"First let's see whether this Demonstration Camp actually works out, whether that monthly grain ration really gets paid in full."

"If it really works out…"

A faint glimmer passed through his eyes.

"If it really works out, we'll empty our family savings if we have to, train hard, and fight to get into the next wave."

"If it doesn't work out…"

The man beside him cut in loudly, "No way it won't work out! The Emperor himself is watching it!"

Li Jiushan shook his head, then nodded, and in the end said nothing more.

"Forget it, forget it. No point thinking so much. Let's just watch and see."

"Come on! Drink, drink, drink! We don't usually splurge on a feast like this — hurry, hurry, don't let it go to waste!"

The men raised their wine bowls and clashed them together with a crisp ring.

Outside the tavern, the cold wind still howled.

Everyone was waiting, watching.

Was this New Deal in the capital merely a cold wind that would blow past and scatter, or was it a light that could truly pierce the darkness?