Chapter 63: The Gentry's Money, Returned in Full

Every year at the eighth-month autumn harvest, the county market grew extraordinarily lively — men and women, crowds coming and going, a clamour of noise, shops lined up in rows, the cries of hawkers unceasing throughout the whole marketplace.

Especially at the offices of the "Five Equalisation Officers" under the Bureau of Finance, where a long queue stretched out — these were common folk from every township in the county, come to sell their grain.

For Changling County, this year's harvest was somewhat better than the last few: the rains came at the right times, no locusts came to cause trouble, and each mu of land yielded an extra dou or two of grain. Everyone reckoned this year would be easier than the last, and they were all quietly pleased.

But the happiness born of heavy millet ears since the start of autumn vanished the moment they heard the grain price called out by the market clerk.

"This grain price — how is it so much cheaper than last year?" The farmers could not believe their ears.

"A good year, a big harvest — grain is naturally cheap." The market clerk knelt behind his desk, picking the grime from under his fingernails with a wooden splinter, not even glancing at the farmers before him in their ragged hemp clothes, their faces sun-baked to a dark reddish brown.

"The land only yielded an extra dou or two, but the grain price has fallen by half!" The farmers began to grumble — don't think they couldn't do sums.

The market clerk only laughed. "A fall is a good thing — it shows the realm is at peace."

Then his face hardened. "Furthermore, this price was set by the Court Remonstrant and the Five Equalisation Market Masters. We are merely following regulations. To sell at any other price is to break the law!"

The Xin Dynasty's economy operated under the Five Equalisation system; the Five Equalisation Officers were responsible for stabilising commodity prices, and they had their reasons. But the farmers did not see it that way — cheap grain hurt the farmer, and what was more, they had heard that neighbouring commanderies were suffering disasters. They simply did not believe the grain yield could have doubled; surely this market clerk was just trying to turn a fat profit for himself.

The market clerk was unmoved. "Your vision is narrow, confined to one corner. Have you not considered that the grain harvest east of the passes must also be abundant, and can be shipped into Guanzhong at any time? Grain and rice from every region are pouring in like the Wei River — the price may fall even further in a few days. Just wait and see!"

He also declared, "From Chang'an to the Six Commandants, every Five Equalisation Officer buys grain at the same price. If you don't wish to sell, you are welcome to try your luck elsewhere — and pay an extra transit tax on top."

The common folk had virtually no choice. This was a bustling county market — sell to private merchants instead? But which private merchant would willingly take such a loss-making deal? They might well offer even less than the official price.

Someone muttered, "Better not to sell at a loss at all. We'd do better to haul it back and keep hoarding it."

The market clerk overheard this and let out a snort of laughter. "Go on, hoard it. When the end of the month comes and the poll tax is due, let's see if you can produce those hundreds or even thousands of cash!"

Taxes — yes, those damned poll taxes and head taxes. Ever since the Former Han, they had to be paid in coin, not in kind. Under the Han, an adult man or woman paid 120 cash; now, with coin debased, they had to pay two or three hundred cash — roughly the sale price of one dan of grain. This year, it would take two dan.

If, in an ideal state, each household were allotted a hundred mu of arable land and harvested two hundred dan of grain, paying the ten-percent land tax plus the poll and head taxes would be no trouble at all, and they would still have plenty left over.

But after two hundred years of annexation under the Former Han, especially in densely populated, land-scarce Guanzhong, the land had all been concentrated in the hands of powerful families and nobles. Some poor folk, a household of four or five, had only a dozen or so mu. The grain they grew barely filled their bellies, and the poll tax became the last straw that broke them. After this sale, would the grain left at home even last the winter?

Yet refusing to sell could only be said in a moment of fury. Even if food and clothing were self-sufficient, besides taxes, they still had to buy iron tools — shoddy things they could not do without — from the Iron Office, likewise under the government, and exchange for salt at the Salt Office at a price so high it made them want to weep, grieving over every single grain spilled.

The Xin indeed filled the state coffers without raising taxes, but the farmer was ruthlessly fleeced again and again. The money earned from a year of tilling the fields did one quick turn and vanished straight into the purses of the Five Equalisation Officers.

The farmers, crestfallen, resigned themselves and sold their grain. After haggling over whether the grain was hulled finely enough and whether the standard measures were levelled fairly, they received their money from the market clerk.

"Can we exchange these for huoquan coins?" Looking at the strange-looking huobu coins in their hands, each supposedly exchangeable for twenty-five huoquan, the farmers were somewhat distrustful.

Over the past dozen or so years, they had been burned too many times by all sorts of large-denomination currencies. A pouch of small coins, heavy and solid in their arms — that was peace of mind.

The market clerk rolled his eyes at them. "You dare refuse to accept them? Do you want to be convicted and sent to labour at the Grand Provisioner's Office?"

The farmers, frightened, could only swiftly complete the transaction: they had come with heavy loads of grain; they left clutching only flimsy, weightless huobu notes. Without realising it, they had been fleeced once again by the coinage.

There was no help for it — better to sell the grain cheap and scrape together the poll tax than to borrow from the powerful families. The interest was far too high. Thirty-seven years old, a farmer, and still having to borrow to scrape together a dowry for his daughter — it was simply too bitter.

What was more, did they think they could borrow just because they wanted to? In the past, when powerful families and merchants lent money, wasn't the whole point to let interest compound until the small farmer was driven to bankruptcy, so they could buy up his land? Now land could not be bought or sold, and they could not even be made into slaves — so why lend at all? Let the wretched poor die if they must!

Many had calculated that, with the extra grain harvested this year, they could exchange it for a bit more money and buy a bronze mirror for their wives at the market, get some malt sugar for the children to satisfy their cravings, and perhaps purchase some thick winter clothes that were hard to make at home.

In the end, they dared buy nothing, and could only go home, heads hanging, pulling their empty carts behind them.

But when they turned their heads, they saw a group of farmers who had just arrived, their carts still fully loaded with grain. Under the market clerk's jeers and scornful looks, they turned around with great resolve and left.

"No sale, then no sale!"

They were adamant about not selling cheap. Unhulled grain kept well, after all — they would hold onto it until winter came. When the grain price rose then, they would recoup their costs.

The leader among those farmers was Diwu Pingdan of Diwu Village.

Someone recognised him and went over to ask with concern, "Pingdan, you're not selling your grain — are you not paying the poll tax? Do you want to be arrested and sent to the frontier to work off the debt in labour?"

"No fear."

Diwu Pingdan said proudly, "Diwu Village has a charity granary and charity money!"

While ordinary small farmers were rushing to sell their grain in preparation for the eighth-month autumn poll tax, the landlords were perfectly unruffled.

Their households were large, with many mouths to feed, so grain had to be hoarded. As for the money and silk for taxes, they had long since put it aside in previous years.

What was more, although the money was collected by the Bureau of Finance, the one responsible for the headcount and tax assessment — wasn't that none other than the clan head, Diwu Lun!

In mid-eighth month, on the eve of the autumn altar festival once again, the various Di clans gathered in the walled compound of Diwu Village in Linqu Township.

Before his grandson arrived, Diwu Ba had already made things clear to the clan elders: "Though he has become a Revenue Clerk, Boyu has already said — do not expect him to hide your household registrations or underreport your fields."

"In the commandery, and even in Chang'an, who knows how many eyes are watching Boyu. His position is difficult. The most he can do is ensure that no county clerk deliberately exploits us, assigning our families extra taxes or labour levies."

"What Cigong says is most true." Everyone agreed. No one bore any grudge against Diwu Lun for "enforcing the law impartially," because since the various families had merged into one clan, they had already profited greatly from it.

The harvest increase for the Di clans far outstripped that of ordinary households, because in the spring, Diwu Lun had very generously shared the curved-shaft plough and the intercropping of beans and grain with every family.

The latter, especially, had helped them achieve excellent yield increases — per mu, counting beans and wheat together, they had harvested an extra three to five dou.

Diwu Lun had indeed fulfilled what he promised last year: "Make your families comfortable, bring joy to your wives and children!"

With the harvest so bountiful, everyone went to Di Si Xian to ask about the market price of grain. When they heard that the Five Equalisation Officers were buying grain at half of last year's price, they all cursed and swore. Di Yi Guan said in astonishment, "Could it really be that a bumper harvest east of the passes has driven down grain prices?"

"Quite the opposite — there is a great drought east of the passes. In many places, the crops have failed entirely!"

Di Si Xian lowered his voice and gave everyone the inside story. He had trade caravans going to Hedong and was better informed than most. If the harvest had not been so poor, there would not have been so many bandit uprisings across the lands east of the passes.

"Then why is grain still cheap? Shouldn't it be expensive?" Di Liu Du, who had his head buried in the fields all day, did not quite understand the ways of such things. Wasn't the duty of the Five Equalisation Officers to stabilise prices? Why were they arbitrarily slashing them instead?

"Outright extortion, nothing more. They say no merchant is not a swindler — I'd say those Five Equalisation Officers are the biggest swindlers under heaven."

Di Si Xian shook his head. He had heard that the men in charge of the Five Equalisation were two great merchants from Luoyang: Zhang Changshu and Xue Zicu, each with a household fortune of over a hundred million cash.

The Emperor had taken them for Sang Hongyang reborn and appointed them both as Remonstrant Officers, yet the two still conducted affairs with an intensely mercantile flavour. The fine Five Equalisation Offices had been turned into a den of profiteers: far from stabilising prices, they bought cheap and sold dear, hoarded and cornered the market, passing goods from the left hand to the right. On the surface, the state treasury was indeed fuller — but the people's hearts had been lost.

While everyone was still discussing, Diwu Lun hurried into the hall. The eighth month kept him equally busy, and he was still wearing his official robes. He told everyone not to rise and pay their respects, and went straight to the purpose of today's meeting.

The first matter was preparing for the autumn altar festival in a few days' time. Tasks had been assigned to each clan; everyone would pool money and grain together to make it a lively affair, ensuring fairness.

The second was the announcement of an important matter: "The commandery Grand Governor has highly praised the charity granary and charity money of Diwu Village as an excellent policy, and has decided to extend it throughout Linqu Township next year."

It had to be said, the charity granary and charity money established by Diwu Village had indeed brought real benefits to the villagers and clansmen.

Last winter and during the lean spring months, when food was tight, the charity granary had saved the lives of at least three households in the village.

And the more striking effect was this: the villagers could first borrow charity money to meet the urgent poll tax, without having to rush to sell their grain cheap in the eighth month. If they could hold out until winter or even the lean spring season, they could sell their old grain at a high price, making several times the money, and then repay what they had borrowed — no hurry at all.

As for salt and iron, there was no need to spend a fortune getting gouged either. Never mind that farm tools could be borrowed from the main clan — Diwu Lun's official post was no empty title; he had long since established his channels. Add to that Diwu Xian's connections over in Hedong, and they could even get wholesale-priced salt, then distribute it to the clan members at a fair price.

In short, the charity granaries and charity funds brought enormous benefits to the whole Diwu li, and aiding their relatives even won praise from the commandery. Zhang Zhan seized on this point, declaring that if the whole realm could be made to follow suit, Diwu Lun's achievement would be no less than that of Grand Minister of Agriculture Geng Shouchang, who promoted the Ever-Normal Granary under Emperor Xuan — a promotion would be just around the corner.

Diwu Lun, however, was troubled rather than pleased, and urged Zhang Zhan to slow down and not be hasty.

Zhang Zhan thought he was deliberately stalling, assuming Diwu Lun was unwilling to share his successful experience — but in truth, Diwu Lun was hardly hoarding his treasure out of selfishness.

"Master Zhang, I have heard that when the Son of Heaven restored the well-field system, it was first trialed in his fief, the Xindu principality. It is said there were omens of auspicious grain and the results were quite good, until it was halted by the traitorous rebel Zhai Yi."

"So in the Shijianguo era, the Wangtian and Slave Private-Ownership Edict was extended to the whole realm. May I ask you, Master Zhang, how well has that state policy been implemented now?"

At that, Zhang Zhan fell silent. How well? In name it survived, in reality it was dead.

That absurd order — that anyone holding more than eight qing of land must divide it among their neighbors — had been suspended because it could not be enforced. The ban on buying and selling land and slaves was still being upheld; though it curbed the annexation appetites of the powerful within the Pass, it also meant peasants could not borrow, could not even sell themselves, and many were driven to the brink — that was Zhang Zhan's view.

The charity granaries and charity funds, like the fine-sounding Wangtian and Slave Private-Ownership system, worked on a small scale, but once forcibly rolled out, far from bringing benefit to the commandery's farmers, they would be a disaster.

Because for this measure not to harm people, the requirements were simply too high.

First, you needed a clan head like Diwu Lun, one who sought no profit or advantage and only wanted to win people's hearts, who would make up the shortfall in the charity granaries and funds without compensation — anyone who could gladly stomach a money-losing venture like that was either a power-seeker or a true sage.

Second, that clan head had to possess considerable prestige and credibility, and be able to enforce a strict oversight system to prevent those guarding the stores from stealing them.

Without those two points, the so-called charity granaries and funds were nothing but an extra layer of harsh levies imposed on everyone. Diwu Lun could see it with his eyes shut: in the end, it would inevitably turn into the sort of vile scheme where "the gentry's money is returned in full, while the commoners' money is split thirty-seventy."

Under Diwu Lun's strenuous urging, Zhang Zhan reluctantly agreed to postpone, but he still insisted on implementing it.

Next year — that is, the first year of Dihuang — it would be trialed in Linqu Township; in the second year, expanded to Changling County; in the third year, to Liewei Commandery; in the fourth year, reported to the Son of Heaven, so that all of Guanzhong would follow suit; in the fifth year, extended to the whole realm…

But Diwu Lun thought to himself: "Can this Great Xin even hold out for five years?"

He stopped arguing and agreed at once — he might as well borrow Zhang Zhan's tiger-skin authority to compel all the Di clans of Linqu Township to get the charity granaries and funds running.

Each family would pay money to the clan head, Diwu Lun, based on their population and household wealth, and he would authorize trusted clan members to manage it.

This was, in effect, a disguised tax levied on each clan. The people looked at one another, but in the end they agreed. After all, Diwu Lun had also indicated that if they did this, starting next month, every family could send one to three children to study free of charge at the charity school.

Because charity granaries stored grain and took up space, they were set up separately in each li.

Diwu Biao hemmed and hawed, then said he could accept the charity granary, but could they charge a certain amount of interest on loans — not much, just one-tenth…

"One-tenth or below — each family may decide for itself."

Diwu Lun said, "And it may only be collected if the loan is not repaid by the following year."

Let those short-sighted fools squabble over those paltry scraps of profit; in the end, as long as the people's hearts were won over to him, that was enough.

This was his first step toward integrating the economies of all the Di clans in Linqu Township. Thinking of it still made Diwu Lun furious: he had shared the curved-shaft plow and bean-grain intercropping with the clans, but because the former was better suited to the small plots of smallholders, the clans showed little interest and basically never adopted it.

Starting with this year's wheat planting, Diwu Lun would send extra men to each li to supervise.

After a whole round of agenda items, none of it sounded like a major problem, and everyone raised their hands in agreement.

Little did they know, after more than half a year of development, they were no longer just relatives who gathered only for the sacrifices.

Above the administrative structure of Linqu Township, a monster called "the lineage" had broken free of the womb and formed its own system. It had a leader whose word was law, clan statutes that rivaled official ordinances, and charity funds that amounted to taxation — it lacked only an organ of violent enforcement: an army.

"When the Zhao clan regulated the fields, they took one hundred twenty paces as a wan and two hundred forty paces as a mu, and the ducal house levied no tax upon them. The ducal house appointed officers to oversee the selection of officials and the collection of revenues, thereby governing the wealthy people. Thus it was said they solidified the state, and the state of Jin submitted to them."

"They lent out using a large dou and collected repayment using a small dou. The people of Qi sang of him: 'Old dame, go gather the plantain — let us go home to Tian Chengzi!'"

Diwu Lun recalled these two stories he had learned from Yang Xiong. If he wanted to transform a family into a state, the Zhao clan of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States period, and the Tian clan of Qi — his own Diwu clan's ancestors — had amassed a wealth of experience.

He was growing fonder and fonder of attending the Master's history lessons.

"Copying the answer key — who can't do that?"

…

After the council with his relatives concluded, Diwu Fu, whom Diwu Lun had sent to Maoling, also returned.

"Were those local products delivered to the Ma household?"

Throughout this past half year, Diwu Lun had been looking after Ma Yuan's children under the name of "Ma Yuan's life-and-death friend." Although the Ma family was well-off, Diwu Lun had people bring gifts and local specialties every few days — vegetables from the garden, chestnuts from the grove, pickled pears with a touch of sweet and sour.

"Delivered. I set them down in the kitchen of the residence myself. The Ma family's young lady also had me bring back a letter."

Diwu Fu handed the letter to Diwu Lun and lingered, hoping to see some amusement, but a glare sent him slinking out.

Diwu Lun opened the bamboo tube; inside was plain white silk covered in the Ma young lady's fine, delicate script, exceedingly lovely to look at — this was not the first letter she had sent him. Every time he sent something, she would reply with a careful letter of thanks.

And today there were two of them; it seemed she had put considerable thought into this.

"Excellent — today I shall have a long while of diversion."

Delighted, Diwu Lun reclined on the couch and began to read.

The Ma young lady's clerical script was graceful and full of character, the composition balanced and even, and the content as courteous and flawlessly watertight as ever.

She related the recent goings-on at home, said she had newly brewed rice wine, and that it would be discourteous to receive without giving in return, so she invited Diwu Lun to taste some as well. She closed by inquiring after Diwu Lun's well-being, and at the letter's end was the self-effacing phrase: "Your handmaid bows her head to the ground, and bows it again."

The only regret was that Diwu Lun still did not know her given name.

Having skimmed it quickly and then read it through carefully once more, Diwu Lun opened the second letter — and shot up from the couch!

"Your ox-and-horse servant Ma Yuan bows twice and speaks!"

After eloping with Wan Xiu and vanishing for nearly a year, Ma Wenyuan had finally sent word!

…

PS: Begging for recommendation tickets.