Chapter 303: A Method of Monetizing Power Without Violating the Great Ming Code

The new clerks were a very peculiar group.

In terms of rank, they had no rank at all.

In terms of salary, the fastest-rising among them so far was Wu Yanzuo, who had merely ended his probationary period early — and his monthly pay was no more than five mace of silver.

In terms of authority, they were nothing but a bunch of small-time underlings.

Yet this very group, though collectively attached to the capital's Tax Bureau to do their work, could reach straight up to the Secretariat.

And one step above the Secretariat was the Emperor himself.

And the night school, the rotation duty at the city gates, and all manner of other measures only made their distinctiveness stand out all the more.

Precisely because of this, they had unconsciously coalesced into a tightly knit little group.

The two runners who had been reported for corruption had been reported by no one else but their fellow new clerks.

They had even torn off all pretense of civility and reported them directly under their real names.

To ruin one's prospects — it was not only ruining one's own prospects; ruining the group's prospects was equally intolerable to these new clerks.

And as the Emperor paid more attention and took greater interest, many of the new policies in the capital, once discussed and drafted, would have a copy sent to the night school for them to debate in simulation and work out the detailed regulations.

And "New Imperial Capital" was precisely a term that had gradually emerged from such discussions.

A term not coined by the Everlasting Prosperity Emperor, but by this group of rankless new clerks.

The term was used specifically to refer to that ideal city that was to be built, to distinguish it from the present capital.

The "New" did not carry the meaning of "new versus old."

Rather, it drew on the meaning of "New Policies," and further drew on the meaning of "If you can renew yourself one day, renew yourself every day, and renew yourself day after day."

That is, it signified forever striving to surpass, forever unattainable.

As for "Imperial," that was easy enough to understand — it was simply a very blatant bit of flattery.

But such a term had not yet gained currency; it circulated only in a small circle among the new clerks and the various yamen of the capital.

Even the Everlasting Prosperity Emperor himself had still not heard this expression.

And the reason Qian Changle swallowed the word back down was not out of any intent to keep it secret or hide it.

It was truly that a tree that fills a man's embrace grows from a tiny shoot; a terrace nine stories high rises from basketfuls of earth.

The New Policies had been in effect for only a few months — how could they have wrought so many changes already?

This so-called "New Imperial Capital" truly still existed only on people's lips for now.

Yet the men of the New Policies, striving with all their might, had indeed faintly and indistinctly begun to reveal a few hints of its true face.

The three of them entered Guangning Gate, and a tremendous wave of noise rushed at them head-on.

"Candied hawthorn! Rock-sugar hawthorn on a stick!"

"New Year prints for sale! The latest designs from Taohuawu!"

"Street performers! Smashing boulders on a man's chest — don't pass on by, don't miss the show!"

The entire street was a sea of bobbing heads, people rubbing shoulders and jostling backs.

Common folk dressed in new clothes of every color surged like a tide; children sat perched on adults' shoulders, brandishing rattle-drums in their hands.

Young women and young wives wore red velvet flowers in their hair and clustered in twos and threes before the rouge and powder stalls.

And there were the peddlers with their shoulder poles, nimbly threading through the gaps in the crowd, their hawking cries rising one after another.

The pounding of gongs and drums, the shouts of hawkers, the wails of children, the laughter and chatter of adults — all converged into a wave of heat that shot straight up to the clouds.

What stunned Qian Changping was naturally not this familiar, everyday bustle.

It was the order within that chaotic bustle — an order he had never seen before.

The road was still that same dirt road, not paved with flagstones like the roads inside the inner city.

But right down the middle of the road, a strip of crushed stone one foot wide had been laid.

That strip was far too narrow for anyone to walk on; it looked more like a dividing line.

Every cart, mule, and horse, all according to the line, uniformly kept to the left as they traveled.

In the past, vehicles going opposite ways would fight for the right of way, and low-ranking officials meeting high-ranking ones would have to pull aside and dismount — all of that was now swept away by this single rule.

Qian Changping had never imagined that a regulation in the newspaper, put into practice, would look like this. "So this is what the Ming Times meant by 'keep to the left'?" Qian Changle nodded and pointed. "Look at the stalls, too!"

The shopkeepers who had once been desperate to thrust their signboards and awnings out into the middle of the road had now all been pushed back by an invisible force. Every manner of sign and shop banner had obediently retreated back within the shopfronts themselves.

And in front of the shops, separated by a space of five feet, a row of stalls had been set out in perfect order.

Before each stall stood a small wooden placard of uniform design.

Qian Changping was staring, utterly absorbed, and his feet unconsciously began to step toward the middle of the road.

Suddenly, a hand gently tugged at his sleeve.

"Husband, walk this way."

It was his sister-in-law, Madam Wang, who had barely spoken the whole time. She still had to go into the city every three days to wash clothes for a wealthy household, so she had long grown accustomed to the capital's new rules.

She pointed to the space between the stalls and the shopfronts and said,

"We're pedestrians — we have to walk on this 'pedestrian path' here."

"If you walk in the wrong place, you'll be hauled off to wear a tall hat."

As she spoke, she pursed her lips toward the middle of the street.

Qian Changping followed her gaze and indeed saw a runner patrolling back and forth.

And behind that runner, to his surprise, trailed several downcast commoners.

Each of them wore a ridiculous tall hat on their head, with four large characters reading "PUNISHED FOR WALKING WRONG," and with faces full of embarrassment they were helping the runner direct the flow of people and keep order.

"See that? That's what happens when you walk wrong." Madam Wang covered her mouth with a light laugh. "They have to stand there for two quarter-hours as punishment, and help shout orders on top of it. The shame alone is enough to kill you." Qian Changping stared, utterly dumbfounded.

The Ming Times had limited space, every word worth its weight in gold, and had simply glossed over this with a single phrase: "walking wrong shall be punished"...

He could never have imagined that the punishment would be like this.

"I know there are rules, of course…"

Qian Changping murmured to himself, his gaze sweeping once more over the street so sharply divided. "I just never imagined it could be this orderly."

"It's just so…"

Qian Changping racked his brains, searching for a word to describe the scene before him, only to find that the ink in his belly was utterly insufficient.

After holding it in for a long while, he could only exhale heavily:

"So pleasing to the eye!"

Yes, pleasing to the eye.

Not the splendor of carved beams and painted rafters, but a beauty of order.

A kind of clarity and lucidity that comes after a thousand tangled threads have been smoothed out.

"Yes, so pleasing to the eye."

Qian Changle chimed in from the side, unable to resist puffing out his chest slightly.

—This road order, though it fell under the jurisdiction of Shuntian Prefecture, the tall-hat punishment had been devised precisely by these new clerks like himself during night-school discussions and then adopted by the prefecture. How could he not feel proud?

The three of them followed the flow of people and stepped onto the specially designated "pedestrian way."

The sense of crowding here lessened considerably at once; there was no longer any need to be constantly on guard against being struck by a horse-drawn cart from behind.

Only now could Qian Changping take a careful look at those stalls.

He saw that in front of every stall a small wooden placard had been stuck into the ground, with a number written on it:

Guangning Avenue North 001

Guangning Avenue North 002

They stretched away eastward in a single line, with no end in sight.

Qian Changping walked on, his gaze lingering on each of those numbers, and the look in his eyes, originally one of pure appreciation for order, gradually changed flavor. Only when he reached the tail end of Guangning Avenue did he suddenly stop.

At the street corner there was a stall selling all kinds of pinwheels.

The pinwheels whirred loudly in the cold wind, surrounded by a circle of children and parents, a scene of lively bustle.

"These stalls… do they have to pay fees?" Qian Changping turned his head and asked.

Madam Wang shook her head, unable to answer, and cast her gaze toward Qian Changle.

"Not yet in the first month, but come the second month they probably will," Qian Changle answered honestly. "But the money isn't levied out of thin air. In the past, the door-and-stall silver levies were a mess — shops had to pay, stalls had to pay too, but most of the stall money ended up in the private purses of the petty clerks."

"After the first month, once the policy is settled, shops and stalls will be levied separately, registered under real names and paid in real amounts, with no tolerance for siphoning off."

Qian Changping's gaze sharpened, and he immediately began searching the crowd for those stalls that still stood vacant.

Sure enough, even on this extraordinarily bustling first day of the new year, roughly one-third of the numbered spots remained empty.

In just a moment, Qian Changping had figured out the reason.

"They're all waiting and watching…" Qian Changping sidestepped to avoid a child running wild with a large pinwheel and said, "The common folk have been so oppressed by the officials that they're terrified. Each one is afraid of being saddled with heavy taxes — that's why so many stalls have been left empty."

He took a few more steps, pondered for a moment, and then spoke:

"But A-Le has entered the new administration and sees things clearly. This world is surely going to be different."

"I rather think that under the new policies, even if there are taxes, they won't be enough to break bones and sinew."

"This matter is worth a try!"

Qian Changle's thoughts on ordinary days were all on the grand plans of the new policies; this level had never occurred to him.

He paused for a moment, then spoke: "Elder Brother is thinking of securing a spot here?"

"Wealth and rank are sought amidst danger; gods and demons turn on a single thought."

Qian Changping watched the endless stream of people, his eyes carrying some hesitation, yet also a measure of certainty.

"In the current situation, the rules are being remade. If you dare not enter the field now, once all the rules are set, where will there be any share left for small households like ours?" Sister-in-law Madam Wang drew closer and said with some worry: "Husband, what business do you want to do? The family capital may not be enough for too large an undertaking…" Qian Changping shook his head and said, "What business to do can be discussed later. If we lack capital, we can seek out fellow villagers to pool funds together. But if we miss this chance, there may not be another." The Qian family tradition was to place bets decisively.

But decisive as they were, the bets were not always placed accurately.

During the Wanli years, Father Qian had taken a side in the capital-region rice-planting scheme and bet wrong, forcing the whole family to move from Laoting to this place.

Yet last year, Qian Changle had taken a side with the new-policy clerks, and that bet seemed to have been placed correctly — their days were visibly getting better.

His younger brother's five taels of silver in salary — Qian Changping would not take a single fen of it.

But even if he did not take that money, the feeling of having someone to back him up was entirely different, and it gave him the courage to attempt things he had never dared to imagine before. Old habits die hard. Qian Changping, having inherited his father's teachings and spied such an opportunity, ultimately still wanted to gamble once more.

"Let's not rush to a conclusion. We'll first take a look at every stall one by one."

And so the family of three walked and observed as they went, directly turning their trip into the city to buy goods into a business-scouting expedition.

"That one selling jiaogui snacks — the location is good, but they don't know how to hawk their wares, and the stall across the way has stolen all their business."

"This spot is empty. If you set up a tea stall here, there would surely be no shortage of thirsty people coming all this way from the city gate."

"Could this stall be split into two businesses? We could rent part of it to a fortune-teller and use the rest ourselves?"

Qian Changle followed alongside them, listening to the business talk on their lips, looking at the vivid faces all around him, and suddenly a strange feeling rose in his heart.

The official documents he handled in the yamen on ordinary days, those cold, lifeless numbers — so when they landed here among the marketplace, they were actually livelihoods like this. "Speaking of which…"

Qian Changle dodged a peddler carrying a wonton pole and said, "After the new year, this dirt road is going to be heavily repaired as well."

"Paved with stone slabs too?" Qian Changping turned his head and asked.

"How could we possibly afford that?" Qian Changle immediately shook his head in denial.

"The second-phase road-repair fundraising, even after opening it up to gentry and merchant donations and offering the position of Secretary of the Central Drafting Office, only raised a little over two hundred thousand taels — just half of the first-phase donations."

"After finishing the stone-slab roads of the inner city in the second phase, only fifty thousand taels will be left from that money."

"Shuntian Prefecture originally wanted to hand the money over to the imperial treasury to supplement border pay, but His Majesty vetoed it."

"He said that funds donated for the good work of road repair can only be used for the good work of road repair."

"So Shuntian Prefecture is preparing to use it to fix up the remaining roads in the city. Raise the dirt roads a bit more, clear out the ditches, lay down some crushed stone to mark the lane divisions — with fifty thousand taels, that would be more than enough, and perhaps there'd even be money left to repair the roads outside the city."

Having heard so many stories of this sage sovereign in the past, Qian Changping was now utterly unmoved by the Emperor's "sagely virtue."

"Truly a wise and sagacious Son of Heaven!" he offered a sincere yet perfunctory compliment, then immediately pressed on, "So... will this project hire laborers? Or will it use corvée conscription?"

"It will hire laborers, not go through corvée. From now on, unless there truly is no money, corvée will be avoided as much as possible. This is..."

Qian Changyue had been about to follow the flow and speak of concepts from the night school — "the redistributive significance of government taxation," "the nature of silver and currency circulation," and the like. But a glance at Qian Changping made him swallow those words and directly disclose the specifics:

"The silver will be split: the wards and tithings will cover half, and Shuntian Prefecture will cover the other half. Six mace of silver per laborer per month."

"If within a tithing there are those who cannot pay in silver, they may convert their obligation into labor instead."

Qian Changping abruptly halted his steps, letting the flow of people behind him collide against his back.

He was silent for a moment, then his eyes suddenly lit up.

"Six mace of silver! That's no small sum! But city folk all have their trades, and the men are mostly indolent and fond of gambling..."

"I reckon in the end, we'll still have to recruit hardworking farmers from the capital environs to do it!"

"Changyue! This is a tremendous opportunity! Our Ji Centurion's village might be able to enlist as a group!"

"Before the spring planting rush, earn an extra sum while we can!"

"Keep a close eye on this news. If recruitment opens, remember to come back and tell us!"

Qian Changyue gave a vague assent, but his mind could not help churning.

This news... it was merely about repairing the roads in the city, something utterly unrelated — could it actually be useful?

He had always been far too diligent, every day the last to leave the night school.

On the three rest days mid-month, he would always memorize texts, work problems, and even return to the office on his own to join the night school discussions.

So when he got home, he would collapse and sleep, and truly had few deep conversations with his elder brother.

It was only now, when his brother asked about the stall matter, that he realized something was off.

The many policies he discussed daily at the night school, among colleagues — it seemed they were not merely grand matters of saving the nation and the people.

Rather, disclosing a few lines could alter the livelihood of a single family, the livelihood of an entire village.

Qian Changyue fell silent for a time. He felt something about this was not right, yet also seemed fine.

Did this count as leaking secrets?

If an attendant official leaks confidential and grave matters to others, beheading.

But I am no attendant official, and this road-repair matter... surely cannot be counted as confidential and grave, can it?

If a frontier commander reports grave military intelligence, and one leaks it, one hundred strokes of the heavy rod, three years' penal servitude.

Anyone who learns of the court or a Regional Commander or general mobilizing troops to attack foreign tribes, or to capture rebels and traitors — confidential grave matters — and then leaks them to the enemy: beheading. These two clauses certainly do not apply either!

If one privately opens and reads the sealed documents of an office...

Qian Changyue frantically flipped through the Great Ming Code in his mind, comparing clause by clause, eliminating clause by clause. Only when he confirmed he had not violated any law did he breathe a slight sigh of relief.

But on this matter, his courage was still small. He planned to take the reporting matter and this matter together and ask Brother Mengju about them later.

After that, Qian Changping and his wife continued taking stock of the stalls they passed.

But Qian Changyue shut his mouth and said no more about the new policies soon to be launched in the capital.

Yet as they walked along, all manner of details — once so commonplace — kept tugging at his mind.

A horse cart passed, dropping several lumps of dung in the middle of the road, drawing a wave of disgust from passersby.

Instantly, the Regulations on the Management of Horse and Mule Excrement in the Capital surfaced in Qian Changyue's mind.

Horses and mules entering the city would henceforth all be required to have a bag tied behind the rump.

What he used to think about was: how to derive this rule, how to enforce punishments, what departments to mobilize, how many personnel were needed...

But now what he thought was:

Those cloth bags... could they be a business?

Perhaps one could manufacture some wax-sealed, waterproof cloth bags to sell?

No... this matter seemed to go through that thing called "public bidding" — probably not something ordinary folk could participate in.

This seemed like a business only a family like Brother Wu's could do...

After a few more steps, passing an alley entrance, someone was secretly relieving himself against the wall.

Qian Changyue thought again of the Regulations on the Construction of Public Latrines and the Management of Night Soil in the Capital.

What this official document discussed at great length, however, was the matter of the night-soil heads.

In the past, the night-soil heads relied on ruffians and thugs to each stake out their own territory and monopolize the purchase price.

In the past, all manner of customary fees were also handed over to the petty officials.

From now on, this matter would be brought into the open — formally bid out, priced, and taxed.

The capital would be divided into wards, recruiting night-soil heads to jointly manage the public latrines, street night soil, refuse, sweeping, and such matters.

It amounted to requiring them to fulfill certain duties while also ceding certain benefits.

And every year, the night-soil heads would undergo evaluation and selection.

To use one of the Yongchang Emperor's theories to explain it: "Small matters, the people do; great matters, the officials do."

Thus, if small matters go poorly, punishing the people suffices; if great matters go wrong, there are rules for disciplining officials.

If it were reversed — letting the government manage small matters — then errors in small matters cannot easily be punished on officials, and small matters would inevitably become unmanageable.

Therefore now, Shuntian Prefecture was sorting through all manner of miscellaneous and minor affairs, planning to gradually implement them all by this method.

Moreover, this matter was also linked to the Five Wards Troops and Horses Office clearing out ruffians, and to the Northern Metropolitan Region's new policy of reclaiming farmland.

So although the night-soil matter sounded base, the project's stature was extremely high.

But at this moment, Qian Changyue, uncharacteristically, was not thinking of these policy procedures. He was thinking...

Could his own family perhaps try to bid for this night-soil head matter?

All along the way, whatever Qian Changyue saw, he could spin out three layers of association.

Entering Xuanwu Gate, he saw the ruins left by the great explosion at the Wanggong Factory in Fushi Ward to the west.

He thought of the "Discussion on the Establishment of Capital Dormitory Management."

When he saw a water-seller hawking water door to door with shoulder poles, he thought of the bacteria visible under a microscope, and the "Discussion on Boiler Room Operations," the "Yongchang Coal Promotion Subsidy Measures," the "Draft Capital Sanitation Regulations"…

When he saw a water-seller hawking water door to door with shoulder poles, he thought of the bacteria visible under a microscope, and the "Discussion on Boiler Room Operations," the "Yongchang Coal Promotion Subsidy Measures," the "Draft Capital Sanitation Regulations"…

Countless policies he had discussed and heard about now suddenly took on a different shape in Qian Changle's eyes.

In this moment, on this bustling, shoulder-to-shoulder street,

within this torrent where new policies and old customs intertwined,

Qian Changle, a probationary Fourth-Class Clerk, for the first time truly saw clearly what he held in his hands.

It was not merely brush and ink, not merely toil.

It was something insignificant, yet genuinely real — power.

"Foolish boy, what are you thinking about now?"

Madam Wang's voice broke Qian Changle's reverie.

She looked at this young brother-in-law with some amusement. "You nearly knocked over someone's candied hawthorn stand just now."

Qian Changle came back to himself and scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

Ever since the training period ended and the night school instruction began, he had often worn this dazed and foolish look.

One day when a cold rain fell in the capital, his mind was so full of official documents that he forgot to close his umbrella and walked right into the main hall holding a dripping oil-paper umbrella, only realizing it when he stood before his superior.

It made Li Shiqi, Vice Director Li, shake his head in exasperation, point at him, and laugh as he scolded, "Foolish boy, foolish boy!"

Qian Changle was scratching his head sheepishly when his elder brother tugged at his sleeve.

"A'le, which official's residence is that?"

"How is it that in the first month of the year, it's surrounded by commoners, yet not a single carriage or horse is in sight?"

(Illustration: He entered the city through the Guangning Gate and has now reached East Chang'an Avenue, near Taijichang. One more turn and he will arrive at the yamen to pay New Year respects to his superiors.)