Chapter 61: The List

Spring passed and autumn came again — more than half a year slipped by in a flash, as if someone had stolen it away.

The sixth year of Tianfeng (AD 19), early autumn in the seventh month, at Fuchou Village in Xiuling County (Luochuan, Shaanxi), the northernmost part of Liewei Commandery.

For this remote backwater, today should have been an ordinary day: the village Elder, leaning on his pigeon-staff, dozed in the shade of a tree; the simple, honest Husbandman wove bamboo strips with his own hands; and Bailiff Lu of the village, brow furrowed and brush in hand, hunched over his desk — poor at drafting, he dreaded writing reports to his superiors.

Until an assistant clerk rushed into the village office, announcing that a convoy had arrived from the county!

The village officials looked at one another, then went out to see. Three carriages led the way, with seven or eight clerks and soldiers, all bearing swords. The main carriage had a canopy, and from it descended a very young official.

He was only eighteen or nineteen, wearing a black cloth cap. As he drew near, they saw a yellow cord and bronze seal at his waist — someone of Assistant Magistrate rank, or a commandery bureau head.

The accompanying county clerk promptly introduced him to the village elders: "This is the Head of the Household Bureau from the commandery — Lord Diwu!"

Surnamed Di, given name Wu?

Bailiff Lu himself had a rare surname, but he never expected to meet one even more uncommon. He had little learning and knew nothing of the Di clans' history, but the Elder had heard about them from young men in the village who had been south.

"Could it be that filial and righteous Diwu, who resolutely resigned his post as Palace Gentleman to save his elder clansman, and returned to Liewei to serve as a bureau head in repayment to his homeland?"

Only then did everyone realize — this man was famous throughout the entire commandery.

"Has my humble name really spread all the way to the villages?"

Diwu Lun was used to it. He simply followed them into the village office and, without wasting words, stated his purpose directly: he wanted to inspect the village's household registers, population accounts, field and residence maps, and the arrangements for next year's corvée labor.

At this, Bailiff Lu's face fell, and the Husbandman began to stammer. Seeing their guilty looks, Diwu Lun smiled and said, "Gentlemen, rest assured — I am neither an Inspector nor from the Granary Bureau; I will not audit your stores. There is no need for any 'fire-dragon burning the granary' or 'accidentally dropping the ledgers into the well.'"

He had actually encountered such bizarre incidents quite a few times. Settling onto the mat, he said calmly, "Men are not sages — which county or village's accounts are entirely free of errors and omissions? What needed to be seen, I already looked through back in the county seat."

"If you act quickly, then when we come across entries that don't match the county's records, I, as bureau head, can even help you find and fill the gaps."

The village officials exchanged glances, and only when the accompanying county clerk nodded did they hurry off to fetch the documents. Then they stood before Diwu Lun like underlings, looking so guilty that Diwu Lun had to ask them again to sit down.

"Making an elder with a pigeon-staff stand for so long — gentlemen, do you wish to harm me?"

Seeing the atmosphere so tense, the county clerk spoke up with a laugh: "These are all rustic village folk; they've never seen a bureau head as diligent as Lord Diwu."

An ordinary bureau head would not set foot outside the commandery city all year, sitting comfortably in the spacious, warm government office, casually glancing at the annual reports submitted by the counties and villages — wasn't that pleasant enough?

Diwu Lun leafed casually through the ledgers and bamboo slips, saying, "Gentlemen, no need for undue praise. When I accompanied the Governor on the spring inspection tour at the start of the year, I already made a circuit of the southern counties. Only the three northern counties of the commandery I had not visited. I heard the scenery here is quite different from the south, so I took advantage of my official duties to come enjoy the mountains and waters — the inspection is merely incidental."

The blame still lay with Wang Mang's administrative divisions, which crudely and arbitrarily split the Former Han's Left Pingyi into two: the eastern part became Shiwei Commandery, the western part Liewei Commandery, each with ten counties.

Liewei Commandery stretched far from south to north; one had to travel a full four hundred li to go from Changling at the extreme south to Xiuling County at the extreme north — formerly called Fu County, renamed in the Great Xin's typical fashion.

Most infuriatingly, the division ignored natural mountain and river barriers. Xiuling County lay far east of the Luo River. Here, not only were the mountains and rivers different, but even the local dialect was utterly distinct from the commandery's south. Fortunately, Diwu Lun had studied the dialects of all the empire's commanderies and kingdoms under Yang Xiong, so even if he could not speak it, he could understand seven or eight parts in ten.

After finishing the ledgers, Diwu Lun told everyone not to stand on ceremony, explaining only that his visit was mainly to check, on behalf of the Grand Governor, whether any county was concealing disaster reports.

Again, the blame lay with that system of "linking salaries to disasters." Ever since the Xin Dynasty was established, the weather had been strange, with all kinds of disasters striking frequently.

And to avoid salary deductions, officials from top to bottom all began finding ways: they reported major disasters as minor ones, minor disasters as none at all — the realm was at peace and the people content, and thus the salary deducted was less.

But whether there truly was a disaster or not, the higher-ups only looked at how much land tax and levies were collected at the annual accounting. So officials forced disaster-stricken peasants to continue paying taxes at bumper-harvest rates — deceiving the officials above while oppressing the commoners below. Reported layer by layer in this way, Wang Mang inside Chang'an's Shoucheng Hall truly believed that the realm enjoyed favorable weather and gentle rains!

This brought bitter suffering to the common people, and many households were ruined because of it.

The Grand Governor, Zhang Zhan, was a good man. His choice was to dispatch officials to inspect the counties and report every disaster, hoping to reduce or remit some of the people's taxes. As for the officials — well, most had land at home and presumably would not starve; they could make a small sacrifice first.

But as a result, the officials could not draw their full salaries, and in the end would still use their authority to extort enough to make up the difference — or even squeeze out more.

Diwu Lun quickly saw through the dirty dealings here and once cautiously mentioned it to Zhang Zhan, but Governor Zhang turned a deaf ear and stubbornly insisted that Diwu Lun tally the commandery's disasters.

"Zhang Zixiao understands too — he can't change anything."

"At least this way, his conscience can still bear it."

An absurd scene emerged: whether one met a "good official" or a "bad official," the sickle always swung down toward the lowest commoners in the end. For a time, it became an inescapable deadlock. Even the Grand Governor was powerless, let alone a minor bureau head like Diwu Lun.

At that moment, the assistant clerk came to report that someone outside had come to file a lawsuit.

Bailiff Lu acknowledged and rose to leave, but the Elder held him back.

He turned back in surprise; the other man shot him several meaningful glances before Bailiff Lu caught on and hastily extended an invitation to Diwu Lun: "Would the superior official care to join in hearing the suit?"

"Ahem." The county clerk and the Elder coughed at the same time, and Bailiff Lu quickly corrected himself: "No, I mean — preside over the suit on behalf of this village!"

"Wouldn't that be overstepping my authority? The harm of encroaching on another's office is worse than a chill. Lawsuits are the business of the Bailiff and the Assistant Magistrate, while the Inspector is ordered to supervise — what have they to do with me, the head of the Household Bureau?"

Diwu Lun, however, had no interest in playing the wise and incorruptible judge. He yawned and said, "I am weary from the journey and will take a brief rest. Gentlemen, go attend to your busy work. Let the meals be as usual — just call me when the millet is cooked."

Then he turned over on the couch, his back to everyone, and went to sleep. Only after they had withdrawn and taken their leave did Diwu Lun raise a hand, signaling Diwu Fu — who had come in carrying his luggage and had ground ink for him — to follow them out.

Diwu Fu was thoroughly familiar with this routine. He assented and left; later he would report every detail of the lawsuit proceedings to Diwu Lun.

Diwu Lun could not sleep either. He merely closed his eyes and reflected on his half-year as an official.

At the time of the winter sacrifice, he had been shocked to hear of several peasant uprisings east of the passes. He had thought them mere sparks that could set the prairie ablaze.

But the sheer bulk of this aging empire was undeniable. Fan Chong, Mother Lü, the Greenwood men, and others had been blazing for over half a year, yet they remained scattered local bands. Though they caught the great drought east of the passes and their numbers swelled, the court had also mobilized commandery troops to suppress them. The two sides seesawed back and forth, unable to sweep across whole regions.

And so Diwu Lun, who spent his days gazing longingly eastward, could only be patient and attend to his own affairs.

Once the footsteps outside had faded, he rose again and took from his luggage several sheets of heti — that is, yellow hemp paper, purchasable at the silk-and-hemp workshops of the Guanzhong region. A byproduct of the textile industry, it had already spread throughout the Central Plains. Though Diwu Lun found it somewhat coarse, the better-quality sheets were smooth, soft, and flat enough to write on.

Compared to bamboo slips and silk, Diwu Lun much preferred them.

On these hemp-paper sheets, mountains, rivers, roads, and other features were drawn in fine black lines — the greatest fruit of Diwu Lun's half-year of labor: a detailed map of the entire Liewei Commandery.

"Once I finish this Fuchou Village in Xiuling County, I will have personally walked every one of the commandery's ten counties and several dozen villages."

Though his ancient history was not strong, he had often debated politics online. "Without investigation, one has no right to speak" — Diwu Lun had at least heard that saying.

Having traversed the entire commandery, he now had a much clearer understanding of the current situation.

In those first few months, Diwu Lun too had been full of righteous zeal. When he encountered someone kneeling by the roadside to file a suit during his inspections, he would eagerly take up the matter. But gradually he discovered...

This world truly could not be set right just by having one or two more "good officials." Zhang Zhan was considered an official with a conscience, yet Liewei Commandery had still turned into this wretched state.

He had also pondered repeatedly: what was wrong with the Great Xin? In the end, he could only reach one conclusion...

It really was a systemic problem!

Just like the late Qing and the Republic, from domestic and foreign policy to the civil service, the economy, land, and people's livelihoods — there was not a single area without deep-rooted ills.

The Xin Dynasty was not new at all; it seemed more like it had inherited two centuries of accumulated maladies from the Former Han. Wang Mang had indeed diagnosed the root cause as the conflict between people and land, and so he administered a dose of drastic medicine — the "royal fields" and private dependents reforms. But once those quack local officials stirred the pot, the empire only grew sicker.

What this age needed most, perhaps, was no longer medicine or reformist policies, but a swift blade to cut the tangled mess, a flame to burn everything away.

And so Diwu Lun set aside his lamentations for the world. While tending to his own clan's affairs, he began to observe and record the absurdities and strange phenomena of this decadent age. Gradually, he came to know the wickedness in the villages and wards, the successes and failures of officials, and he memorized the populations and strategic points of every county — all of which would prove useful in the future.

In the course of this, he saw the basest of officials, witnessed the insatiable greed of powerful magnates, and with his own hands buried the frozen, starved corpses outside vermilion gates. He brought still more children who had lost their parents and were wandering in a daze back to Diwu Village to be settled, until they had gathered enough to fill half a garrison company.

And then, Diwu Lun also recorded the rich who were cruel, the tax collectors who plundered without restraint — the jackals and wolves who, in his eyes, devoured people without spitting out the bones — all of them went onto this long list!

And after their names, he marked a glaring ×!

Yet he also often encountered good officials who held fast to themselves amidst the absurdity of the age, scholars who, with a true chivalrous heart, tried to save more people, and Confucian students who believed in the Way of the sages' benevolence and righteousness and sought it with bitter resolve.

Diwu Lun recorded these as well, drawing a √ after their names.

But the greater number of officials merely drifted with the current, neither one thing nor the other. Call them good men, yet they truly took part in corruption and perversions of the law, living off the blood of the common people; call them bad men, yet they had some bottom line, left a little leeway for the people under their rule, and occasionally did something decent.

Take this Deer Bailiff, for example. After Diwu Fu had listened to the lawsuit outside, he came to report to Diwu Lun: it was a case of a son accidentally striking his father, which the neighbors had reported to the authorities.

Had it been an impatient official, he would have straightaway judged the son guilty of high treason and unfilial conduct. But this Deer Bailiff, though he knew nothing of adjudicating cases by the Spring and Autumn Annals, was able to inquire into the process in detail. He summoned the neighbors from left and right to seek verification, and in the end concluded that the son had not acted deliberately, whereas the neighbors had malicious intent, and had them beaten right there in the court.

Diwu Lun nodded slightly. As for whether the Deer Bailiff was always like this or had only deliberately acted so today, there would be plenty of time in the days ahead to observe and inquire.

He noted down the names of the officials at every level in Xiuling County, and after the Deer Bailiff's name, he drew a "?"

These symbols determined their future fates.

"And how should I mark myself?" Diwu Lun suddenly wondered.

He chewed on the end of his brush and thought for a moment, then drew on his own palm a single… exclamation mark!

…

The next day, the Deer Bailiff, unaware that a label had already been affixed to him, led Diwu Lun's carriage toward the Fuzhi Mountains.

This was the other purpose of Diwu Lun's journey: to visit an old friend on behalf of Yang Xiong.

If the Changling area was still the quintessential Guanzhong Plain, then Xiuling County already displayed the character of the Loess Plateau.

They traveled across a vast tableland, the yellow earth beneath them thick and solid. At the edges of the tableland, ravines crisscrossed in every direction. Places that looked close at hand might require climbing up and down many times over. The local people, trapped among these ridges and hillocks, had thus developed customs that differed every five li and dialects that changed every ten.

Yet unlike the barren plateau Diwu Lun had imagined, where faces are turned to the yellow earth and backs to the sky, the air here was moister and far more livable than in later ages. Looking out, at least half the land was covered in grassland.

But the forests had already been largely felled, and many places had been opened into farmland. It was the season of yellowing grain, the harvest approaching, and farmers labored among the fields.

Diwu Lun's destination was a small earthen tableland, atop which stood structures resembling the cave dwellings of later ages, surrounded by farmland that had been reclaimed only a few years before. A group of people were at work, and the young man leading them leaned on his hoe and sang.

What he sang was not a folk song for harmonizing, but a more obscure verse from a fu poem.

"Facing the river's brink, I brush away my tears — where now are the Nine Shao and the Nine Songs? That the sage and wise go unacknowledged is surely what the times and fate hold in store."

"Long ago, when Confucius departed from Lu, he tarried and lingered, roaming far and wide, yet in the end returned to the old capital — what need was there for the Xiang's depths and the rushing rapids!"

Diwu Lun laughed the moment he heard the tune. Was this not his teacher Yang Xiong's "Refuting the Li Sao"? He merely said to those beside him, "It is indeed the secluded dwelling of Lord Xuanju — no wonder one can hear such 'refined' songs here."

The Deer Bailiff and the county clerk wore strange expressions. They had already come and been rebuffed many times.

At the sight of the guide carriage approaching, the young man's singing stopped at once. He merely waved for the people working in the fields to leave quickly, while he himself came over, hoe in hand. Seeing that Diwu Lun and the others were all officials, he frowned and shouted:

"How many times must I say it?"

"My father will never take office. You need not come again!"

…

PS: Please send recommendation votes.