Chapter 67: To Hell with It All!

As a Revenue Section Clerk, Diwu Lun keenly understood that ever since the Qin and Han, the empire's household registration statistics had been quite thorough.

Not only could they know the general population of each commandery and county, they also required detailed breakdowns — identifying the wealth and poverty of the people, determining how much tax they owed, and leveling out the differentials.

The Revenue Section had to tally the fields, houses, slaves, property, and livestock of every household in every hamlet and settlement, then classify them into different tiers based on the amount of their assets.

Great households (high-asset) were those worth over a million in wealth, such as the Fan and Diwu clans of this commandery; middling households were worth over a hundred thousand, like Jing Dan before he became a county official — a small landowner; small households were worth ten thousand to a hundred thousand, corresponding to most independent farmers; the lowest tier were the under-households, worth under ten thousand, so poor they had no property, not even fields, and could only work as tenant farmers.

Since the time of the previous dynasty's Emperor Wu of Han, frequent wars and insufficient state funds gave rise to the tradition of levying taxes based on assessed wealth, imposed without warning. So the common people mostly believed asset assessment brought no good — wasn't it just that those worth under a hundred thousand couldn't serve as clerks? They didn't seek that anyway, and were only too eager to underreport their wealth.

They figured that Diwu Lun, as Revenue Section Clerk, could simply alter the registers, reduce everyone's assessed wealth, and wouldn't the military tax they had to pay then be reduced as well?

As lineage head, doing this small favor for the clan — wasn't that only reasonable?

But no one expected that Diwu Lun would give them no chance at all — he had, yet again, resigned from office!

"What number time is this?" No one could believe their ears; they looked at each other in dismay.

"The fifth time, I suppose..."

Diwu Lun, however, had long anticipated today's situation. In all worldly affairs, the trouble lies not in scarcity but in inequality. If he used his authority to alter the records for Diwu Hamlet, the other hamlets would of course demand the same. But the household registers existed in duplicate — one copy with him, one with the Five Offices Section Clerk — making it impossible to do seamlessly.

If someone seized on a handle and reported him, what if Wang Mang made an example of him and had him executed?

And if Diwu Lun were to "enforce the law impartially," that too was a job that offended people — the kind that antagonized powerful magnates and commoners alike. When everyone under heaven suddenly had their taxes raised, who would be happy about it? But they dared not pin the blame on the Emperor's head; they could only resent the local officials, the petty clerks who came collecting, and the Revenue Section Clerk directly responsible for the matter.

Why should he take the fall for the Wang family Emperor? Resign, resign!

But this resignation not only irresponsibly dumped the mess onto Commandery Grand Governor Zhang Zhan alone to bear, it also doused the hopes of the clan.

At their head, Jiming glared at Diwu Lun with an expression of anger at his failure to fight, then deflated as well, and could only discuss with the others what to do.

"We'll have to hand over so much of the grain saved for next year's food again. Ah, the farmer never gets to eat the grain he grows himself!"

"Indeed. Looks like once winter passes, we'll again have to survive by digging wild greens mixed with chaff."

"What if I just don't pay?" one tenant farmer declared, filled with righteous indignation.

For the powerful magnates and middling households, this property tax was merely plucking a feather from a passing goose — a sting, nothing more. But for tenant farmers and under-households, it was enough to be fatal. They still had to pay the greater half of their harvest as rent to the landlord, had virtually no savings, and even producing three dan of grain was a struggle.

"If you don't pay, the authorities will send men to arrest you, make you a convict laborer, a government slave! Why bother?" Diwu Pingdan interjected. He counted himself fortunate to be in Diwu Hamlet, with the community granary and community funds as a safety net — he'd heard the community granaries in other hamlets hadn't even been put to use yet.

"You of Diwu Hamlet, it's easy for you to talk standing there with no pain in your backs!"

"Forget it. At worst, we flee as famine refugees. The debts get defaulted on, and this extra tax doesn't have to be paid..."

Jiming grew angry: "Flee where? Guanzhong isn't like other places, with forests, mountains, lakes, and marshes. Everywhere is bare hills and loess plateaus — you can't even scratch up food. The only place you could go, the Shanglin Park, still has guards watching it. The northern border regions are in the grip of famine right now; people there are fleeing south! Once winter comes, running off blindly is a dead end!"

Indeed, there was nowhere to flee.

Listening to their chattering discussion, Diwu Lun felt as if he were once again hearing that song, "The Crows' Journey."

One pellet shot forth and struck the crow's body; the crow died, its hun and po souls flying up to heaven.

The white deer dwells in the western park of Shanglin, yet the archer still gets white deer jerky.

The yellow swan brushes the heavens, soaring to the utmost height, yet the rear palace still gets to boil and cook it.

The carp dwells in the deep abyss of the Luo River, yet the hook and line still catch the carp's mouth.

The world was full of peril and tragedy; omens of chaos sprouted everywhere. Great households, middling households, small households, under-households — they seemed clearly distinct. But in truth, they were no different from the yellow swan, the white deer, the carp, the crow — mere fish and flesh in the eyes of the Emperor and nobles!

Laws that changed overnight, oppressive governance fiercer than savage tigers, endless wars — like pellets, bows and arrows, bird nets, and fishing hooks, they followed like shadows.

No matter where they came from, how well they hid, how deep they concealed themselves, how far they migrated, none could escape the fate of being netted, shot down, and butchered.

Just when they had barely scraped together a moment of quiet life, Wang Mang would slap his forehead and issue a decree, and ordinary people's lives would shatter into pieces.

In this present age, the rich could no longer set themselves apart, and the poor had no means to survive. Each person's life has its own allotted span — what need is there to speak of death and life, before or after!

The road ahead cut off, for a moment everyone fell silent. The farmers' dark, sun-reddened faces flushed even redder with agitation, as if at any moment crimson blood might burst forth from their skin.

Diwu Lun had been waiting for that moment all along, hoping very much to hear a certain cry from their mouths.

"To hell with it all!"

Regrettably, it did not come. Had they been in Ba-Shu, the border regions, Guandong, Jing-Chu, or Haidai — those tenant farmers and under-households butchered time and again — with no retreat left, they might well have thrown down their tools and revolted. Joined the Lü Mother, joined the Greenwood, rather take to the mountains and forests as roving bandits than suffer this abuse, robbing the rich to aid the poor, killing officials and severing heads, having a good bout of vengeance.

But this was Guanzhong, the vicinity of the capital, where the court's power was strongest. Any rash impulse would bring annihilation; their suffering could only be silently endured.

It seemed that, for the time being, the people could not be their own saviors.

Diwu Lun had heard enough. He once again stood up on the oxcart and shouted to the crowd.

"All you kinsmen and fellow villagers!"

Jiming and the others turned their gazes toward him, and saw Diwu Lun declare loudly: "Though I have resigned my official post."

"I still hold one identity — lineage head of the various Di clans of Linqu Township!"

Some secretly sneered. It was true that over this past half year and more, Diwu Lun had led the various clan elders to prosper, but he hadn't brought much direct benefit to the ordinary clansmen and hamlet folk.

But Diwu Lun's next sentence made everyone so stirred they wanted to kneel.

"The great lineage head is the honored unifier of the clan; the lineage head must unite the clansmen and must not let ties be severed."

"Therefore, not just Diwu Hamlet, but also Diyi, Disan, Disi, Diwu, Diliu, Diqi, Diba — the entire Di clan... no, not just the clan, even those of other surnames within the hamlets — so long as you are willing to contribute one dou of grain to the community granary, then for this asset-based tax levy, the grain you owe..."

Diwu Lun thumped his chest, overflowing with heroic spirit: "Shall all be paid by me!"

As steward of the Diwu clan, Diwu Ge's mood rose and fell constantly with the quantity of coin and grain in the storehouses — he was happy when grain increased, miserable when it decreased.

Ever since the lineage head started the coal briquette business last year, and added lime mortar this year, business had picked up. The grain stored in the Diwu clan granaries had grown rapidly; with the autumn harvest just in, even after deducting land rent and expenses, they still had four thousand dan of grain stockpiled.

Diwu Ge made his rounds inspecting one overflowing earthenware vat after another — he couldn't have been happier.

But today, when he was shocked to hear that Diwu Lun intended to take out half the grain to pay the asset tax on behalf of the poor wretches in the clan, Diwu Ge instinctively spread his arms wide and barred the way in front of the granary.

"Lineage Head!"

Diwu Ge's voice was brimming with displeasure: "Does the Lineage Head know how many households are in the clan, and how much grain this will cost?"

"Of course I know," Diwu Lun said. "Across the seven hamlets, excluding the great and middling households, there are five hundred sixty-three households in total. Over four hundred are small independent farmers — the most land any holds is fifty-four mu, the least eight mu. In addition, there are over a hundred tenant farmer households who have lost their land."

Diwu Lun had not served as Revenue Section Clerk for nothing. He could even state the specific household assets of particular individuals: take Diwu Pingdan's family — four mouths, one dwelling plot, fifteen mu of land, total household assets assessed at thirteen thousand. Diwu Lun had personally calculated this. If they relied on the land alone, his family would go hungry every year, but now Diwu Pingdan worked as a foreman at the coal kiln, and Diwu Lun paid his family four dan of grain each month.

The wealth and poverty conditions and class composition of the entire township — even the entire county, the entire commandery — Diwu Lun now had them all clear in his mind. There was nothing left worth digging into in the data obtainable from the Revenue Section Clerk post, and only then did he resign, fully satisfied.

After two centuries of consolidation, most of the farmland had concentrated in the hands of the main-line senior branches. Diwu Ba, for instance, held fifty qing of land; the First Branch, the Liu clan, held even more. One percent of the township's population owned sixty percent of the land and wealth.

Though the gap between rich and poor was vast, perhaps because people still lived in clan settlements, the conflict between great landlords and small households or tenant farmers had not yet sharpened beyond reconciliation. The ones who exploited them most ruthlessly were, instead, the Xin Dynasty officials under Wang Mang. If they could levy an extra one-thirtieth this time, next time they could do what they did in Yizhou — extort half of the common people's assets through arbitrary taxes.

Diwu Lun had long since done the sums. He only needed to put up a little over two thousand shi of grain to pay the entire property tax for every middle household, small household, and lower household in the township — and still have half the grain left in the granary. What was there to fear?

Diwu Ba supported him. Diwu Ge had no words to refute him and could only protest sullenly, "Clan Head, last year you said we should stockpile ten thousand shi of grain. Now, just when we've begun to see some hope, you want to scatter most of it — and not even as a loan, but as money thrown into the water. What is the Clan Head after?"

Their people, of course.

Diwu Lun smiled. "To lose a single hair of my own and yet benefit the whole clan, so that the lower households need not break up their families and flee into exile — is that not a tremendous good deed? A house that accumulates goodness is sure to have blessings to spare. Trust me: when a thousand pieces of gold are scattered, they will return again!"

He ordered the granaries opened and the grain transported out. Cart after cart, handcart after handcart, carried gleaming yellow millet forth.

Word of this had already spread throughout the township. Soon, Diba Zhi came hurrying to pay a visit. He bowed before Diwu Lun in the Riren Hall and said with a look of shame, "The ancients said, 'Though living apart, share wealth as one; when there is surplus, return it to the clan; when there is shortfall, the clan supplies it.' I never imagined Boyu would be so generous — worthy indeed of the Clan Head. I wish to personally fund the lower households of the Diba clan to help them through this hardship."

Shortly after, the clan heads of the First, Third, Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh branches also arrived upon hearing the news. All declared that they had already put their charitable granaries into use ahead of schedule, hoping to make some contribution to the clan.

More and more people came to the door. Those dozen or so small landlords with household wealth above a hundred thousand also came on their own initiative to report that they could independently bear the tax grain, and were even willing to help out their own tenant farmers.

Even Jiming of the First clan came and kowtowed. "My family may be only a small household, but we can still manage a dozen or so shi of grain. I beg the Clan Head not to trouble himself over us!"

As for the tenant farmers and lower households who flocked in droves, declaring themselves willing to work for the Diwu clan for nothing to repay this debt — there were even more of them.

It seemed that next year, the Diwu clan's estate would have a great many more laborers.

But Diwu Lun refused them all. He declared that not a single grain of the grain sent out this time would return to the granary, and told everyone to keep their own household grain in reserve against unforeseen needs. This won him still more praise and admiration.

Diwu Lun, however, was perfectly clear in his own mind. "Before this, my title as Clan Head was in name only. Clan authority did not extend below the ward; I could issue orders only with the help of the various branch heads."

Then from this day forward, he was, in the hearts of the more than five hundred households and four thousand people of Zhudi Seventh Ward, the true Clan Head!

And when the common people of this commandery and this county heard of this matter, what would they think?

In Liewei Commandery, for every fraction of popular support Wang Mang lost, Diwu Lun would claim a fraction.

As one waned and the other waxed, sooner or later the day would come when he stirred up big news right in the capital region and bloomed at the center!

……

The various Di clans of Linqu Township were an exception among exceptions. In every county of Liewei Commandery, scenes of tragedy and bitter comedy were playing out — that was the real situation caused by the court's emergency surtax.

Wang Mang's edict was passed down layer by layer: from the Remonstrant to the commandery, from the commandery to the county, then to the township and the ward.

The Emperor had only to slap his forehead; the high ministers and commandery governors had only to move their lips. But the concrete work always fell to the lowly clerks at the grassroots to run the errands and carry it out.

Because the property tax was collected by township and ward as units, the tax-collecting clerks cared only about the total accounts — they did not care which household the grain came from!

They dared not press the great clans of the commandery, like the Xiao and Fan families, so they showed them every indulgence. Yet the total amount of grain could not fall short, so they turned instead to harrying the small folk with harsh urgency, forcing the middle households, small households, and lower households to come up with all the tax grain.

On top of that, some officials, wanting to make up the cost of those several horses they had been forced to pay for nothing, secretly took their cut. The court had clearly levied a tax of one-thirtieth, but when it was actually enforced, it became one-tenth, or even one-third!

The impoverished small-household tenant farmers, unable to sustain themselves, were already struggling; the lower households walked a narrow, rocky path with nothing to lean on. Father and son bowed their heads and served the rich as slaves, laboring for them. With this new blow on top of it all, the ruin of their families and the loss of their lives was only a matter of days.

Some handed over the grain they were supposed to eat the next year, sold their scrawny livestock, or borrowed money to pay the tax. Some, unwilling to be fleeced, argued on principle and would pay only their rightful share — only to be beaten black and blue by the tax-hastening clerks and thrown in jail on a charge of resisting tax. Some simply abandoned their rented fields, slipped away, and fled far off into exile.

When the tenant farmers and lower households who still remained, sighing and lamenting, heard of how Diwu Lun had rescued his clan, they were all filled with envy. Had the court's laws not forbidden it, they would have flocked to him like flowing water long ago.

They only warned one another in secret: "If next year is a famine year, throwing in our lot with the Filial and Righteous Diwu Lang might still offer a road to survival."

Even Diwu Lun's act of resigning because he did not want to carry the blame was, as it passed from mouth to mouth, prettified into "unwilling to oppress the people, he indignantly flung down his seal."

By the start of winter in the tenth month, after a month of turmoil that had set every household in the countryside clucking in alarm, the property tax from the Six Colonel Commanderies of the Guanzhong had been collected in full and, together with the slave tax and the silk, transported in its entirety to Chang'an.

There were also some households that truly could not scrape together this heavy tax. They could only be bound with ropes and sent along as government slaves, traveling with the baggage carts.

On the road, they also encountered private slaves abandoned because their masters were unwilling to spend thirty-six hundred cash. Out of the wolf's den and into the tiger's lair, these slaves faced the life ahead with utter bewilderment.

In Liewei Commandery alone, there were over a thousand such people, bound and taken to be settled near the capital.

During this time, people even came to inspect their physical condition and their teeth. Whole families, perfectly fine, were forcibly separated — the old, the weak, women, and children were assigned to light labor as government slaves in the Shanglin Park, while the able-bodied men were gathered together.

From the Six Colonel Commanderies, six thousand such slaves, convict laborers, and condemned prisoners were obtained. Added to those gathered from all under Heaven, the total was impossible to estimate — though it certainly fell far short of a million.

They were ordered to organize into squads of five and ten, and were even issued a set of clean clothing.

The great and mighty Emperor sent a Yellow Gate attendant to announce a glad tiding to them all: they would have a chance to no longer be slaves.

"What chance?" Everyone was overjoyed. Could it be a general amnesty and a distribution of land?

The officer, however, said: "The Son of Heaven is mounting a campaign against the Xiongnu. He commands you to serve as the army's sharp vanguard!"

Everyone stood dumbstruck as wooden chickens. Going to the frontier meant near-certain death. No — they would rather remain slaves!

But the matter was not for them to decide. Wang Mang had already cheerfully made his decision, and had even bestowed upon this group a strange new title.

"The Boar-Rush Braves!"

And the two generals commanding the Boar-Rush Braves were none other than General of Renewal Lian Dan, who had just returned crestfallen to court after two fruitless years of campaigning in the Southern Borders,

and Grand Marshal Yan You, long famed as a renowned commander.

The morrow was the auspicious day for bestowing the axe and battle-axe and proclaiming them the "Two Campaign Generals." But as Yan You looked at himself in the bronze mirror, clad in brand-new armor, his face was filled with worry.

"If orders are not clear, and rewards and punishments are not trusted, then gold will not stop them and drums will not make them advance. Even with a million men, of what use would they be?"

"To send men into battle without training is called murder. To use such an army to attack the Xiongnu is no different from piling the weight of a thousand armies onto a bird's egg — it is doomed to fail."

Yan You made up his mind. "I must present a remonstrance. Even if it costs this old life of mine, I must persuade His Majesty to cancel this campaign!"

……

PS: According to the Zhengli granary register recorded on the bamboo slips from Han Tomb No. 10 at Fenghuangshan in Jiangling, Hubei, among the 25 households in Zhengli, the largest landholding was 54 mu, the smallest 8 mu, with an average of just under 25 mu per household. The ratio of people to land in the Guanzhong would only have been more severe.