Chapter 492: Goumang

On the second day of the second month, yang qi rises and the earth fully thaws. For the civilized states within the Great Wall, this marks the start of spring plowing. In the eastern outskirts of Jimo City in Jiaodong Commandery, an open field was already packed with a sea of people, where a lively "Whipping the Spring Ox" ceremony was underway.

The centerpiece of the ceremony was a spring ox sculpted from yellow clay, life-sized and true to form. It had taken Jiaodong potters half a month to craft, and the detail was exquisite: the old ox was robust, its back arched high, muscles bulging at the shoulders. Head lowered as if pulling a plow, its tail gently swayed as though swatting away flies, vivid and lifelike.

Heifu, meanwhile, stood awkwardly behind the ox's hindquarters, holding a colorful staff wrapped in five-colored silk. By tradition, the commandery governor was to play the role of Goumang, the deity presiding over plant growth, and whip the clay spring ox before him.

This was an ancient custom of the Central Plains, said to have begun with Duke Dan of Zhou, when an earthen ox was brought forth to signal the timing of farming, symbolizing the welcome of spring, the start of agricultural work, and a bountiful grain harvest.

However, while Nan Commandery and Guanzhong whipped the ox at the Start of Spring, Qi territory set the date on the second day of the second month, likely because the proximity to the sea meant the weather warmed up more slowly.

Regardless, Heifu respected the local custom and did not forcibly change the date. He had also changed out of his official robes, donning a green coat, a green hat, and standing beside a green banner. Wearing this somewhat ridiculous green attire, he put on a performance before the eyes of thousands.

This was what Chen Ping had advised him: the commandery governor must show that he shares the people's toil to lessen their hostility. If he ignored the matter entirely like the previous governor, how would the people of Jiaodong ever see him as their parent-like official?

And so, after the drums and music began, Heifu circled the spring ox once, raised his whip, and lashed it down upon the ox's back, stroke after stroke.

After the three lashes were complete, Chief Clerk Chen Ping, the Field Bailiff, the Ox Chief, and others stepped forward in order, repeating Heifu's actions. Two old farmers stood to the side, loudly bellowing farming songs in the Jiaodong dialect.

Compared to the officials' earnestness, the watching commoners, especially the farmers who had rushed over from the outskirts upon hearing the news, were not buying it, their faces mostly indifferent.

Ten years ago, the people of Jiaodong would have been jubilant at every spring plowing. Idle all winter, it was time to get out into the fields and stretch their limbs. Taxes in Qi were light, and people could not be bothered to labor too hard. A rough plowing was enough; come autumn harvest, they paid the one-in-ten tax and gave another tenth of their yield as tribute to the ministers and grandees. The rest was theirs to use as they pleased, and life was quite comfortable.

But after Qin took control of Jiaodong, the people discovered they had to spend the bulk of their time in the fields, practicing intensive cultivation just to produce more grain. Only then, after the Qin officials took away 1.5 shi per mu, would their families avoid going hungry.

Farming became a heavy burden—who could still be happy? The old farming songs stuck in their throats like fishbones, impossible to sing!

A retainer of the Jimo Tian clan, hidden among the crowd, whispered to the person next to him: "This governor is laughable. No matter how he whips the spring ox, no matter how he claims to value agriculture, can the government's rent of one and a half shi per mu be reduced by even half a dou?"

"Exactly! The yield from our bitter toil for most of the year still ends up in the pockets of the Qin officials!" The crowd deeply agreed.

Over the past five years, resentment over heavy taxes and levies had accumulated in the farmers' hearts. Though life was not so bitter that they had to rebel to survive, it still left them gasping for breath. Discontent gradually spread, so much so that when Heifu and his men finished whipping the spring ox and had people distribute its clay pieces to the farmers, no one reached out a hand!

One must know, Jiaodong farmers believed that "the flesh of the earthen ox is good for silkworms and wards off plague." Snatching a piece could serve as a protective talisman, signifying a bountiful grain harvest for the year.

Heifu, however, did not get angry. He ascended the city wall, bowed with clasped hands to the thousands of onlookers, and said:

"I was once a commoner, tilling the fields in Nan Commandery. Later, through merit and rank, I became a minister and official, taking my place in the court. His Majesty appointed me Governor of Jiaodong Commandery, hoping I could bring prosperity to the people of this region and enrich the commoners."

After the Confucian scholar Lai Sheng, whom Heifu had designated as his temporary interpreter for his outstanding Qin speech and script scores, relayed Heifu's words, a clamor instantly erupted.

A bold farmer, egged on by those around him, shouted: "The governor jests! The government collects more than half the harvest in rent and taxes—how can the commoners be rich?"

This remark drew a chorus of agreement. The Tian clan retainer hidden in the crowd again muttered:

"I hear this governor receives a salary of 2,000 shi of grain per year! How many farmers must toil through the night to support him?"

"Exactly! The reward money given to those two scholars yesterday was also worth several hundred shi of grain—that's the blood and sweat of several households!"

"In my view, it's the commoners who are poor, and the Qin officials who are rich!"

Heifu heard the farmers' shouts, but he stopped the Military Section official, who was flying into a rage from humiliation and wanted to send troops into the crowd to suppress them. That would only backfire. Instead, Heifu smiled and said:

"You gentlemen are quite right. In Jiaodong, each mu yields 3 shi, yet 1.5 shi is taken as rent—indeed, it is more than half the harvest. The reason for this is that the government did not know that the yield per mu in Jiaodong is actually so low!"

A few old farmers who had remained silent could not help but speak up at this: "Three shi is low?"

Qin called it shi, Qi called it fu, but the capacity was actually the same. Even the mu system was the large mu of 240 paces, so the decree to unify weights and measures met far less resistance here than the standardization of script. It was simply a matter of replacing the old measures like dou, qu, fu, and zhong, which the common people had struggled to abandon, with Qin terminology, and eliminating the distinction between small and large dou.

In the eyes of Jiaodong farmers, the yield from the land they tilled was quite good. After all, people of the time said: "The sea and Mount Tai mark Qingzhou; its fields are rated upper-lower, its taxes middle-upper."

Across the whole realm, while they dared not claim it was the best, it was still above average!

"That was before. Now, things are very different."

At Heifu's signal, Chen Ping, tasked with overseeing the spring plowing, stepped forward with a smile and told the farmers by the city gate an astonishing fact:

"Good fields in Guanzhong can produce 6 shi and 4 dou per mu. Even average ones can yield 4 or 5 shi!"

"If 1.5 shi is taken from a 6-shi yield, is that still more than half the harvest?"

The farmers looked at each other in bewilderment. After a moment, a few quick-witted ones calculated the result. Compared to the actual tax rate of roughly two-tenths that Jiaodong people had paid under Tian Qi, it really did not seem much different!

Chen Ping seized the opportunity to peddle his pitch: "As long as Jiaodong can emulate Guanzhong, extensively building irrigation canals, and you gentlemen follow the Field Official's orders, using the new manure-fertilizing methods to farm, though you may not immediately reach 6 shi per mu, you can still hope to produce 3.5, even 4 shi! And the land rent will remain unchanged at 1.5 shi. The remaining grain will belong to each household! The government will absolutely not take an extra half dou!"

"Due to a shortage of manure, this method can only be offered to one hundred farming households around Jimo. If anyone is willing to try, report to the field clerks! The government will send people to teach you, and you may come to the city each month to collect manure for free!"

Heifu did wish to immediately promote advanced agricultural techniques, but unfortunately, the public latrines in Jimo had just been built, and manure was severely lacking. Also, unlike Nan Commandery, most of the land in Jiaodong was in the hands of powerful and wealthy families. The government had little public land and could only encourage commoners to be the first to adopt household-based production quotas.

But after these words were spoken, no one responded. When it came to their own fields' harvest, the commoners all hesitated.

"It's a lie," someone muttered under their breath.

"For the past five years, the Qin officials only cared about collecting rent. Rain or drought, we still had to hand over 1 shi and 5 dou. When have they ever cared about our harvest?"

"Indeed. If this method is useless, and instead of increasing yield, it decreases it, what then?"

This scene was also within Heifu and Chen Ping's expectations. The government's administration over the past five years had been a complete failure. The farmers' hostility and suspicion could not be dispelled with just a few words.

So Chen Ping whispered a few words into Heifu's ear. It was time to bring out today's true main character.

Heifu nodded and ordered the commandery soldiers to beat the drums. The thumping drumbeats silenced the farmers' arguments and clamor. Only then did Heifu say to everyone:

"Just now, this governor wore green robes, a green hat, and raised a green banner, playing the role of Goumang whipping the ox. But everyone knows that was fake. Today, however, I have invited a genuine, real-life 'Goumang' who can increase crop yields in this mortal world!"

These words stunned the farmers. In the myths of Qi, Goumang was the god of wood, overseeing the sprouting and growth of trees and crops. He was also the god of spring. Bumper harvests or crop failures were all decided by Goumang!

Everyone craned their necks, wanting to see what trick this dark-faced governor was playing!

They saw Heifu gesture, and Chen Ping supported an elderly man as he appeared before everyone. Behind him were several middle-aged farmers in coarse brown clothes, their expressions nervous and restrained.

"I heard Goumang has a bird's body and a human face—he is a divine being. This old man is supposed to be Goumang? Is the governor deceiving us commoners?"

The Tian clan retainer hidden in the crowd began to heckle, drawing considerable agreement. But immediately afterward, they were shocked into silence by the old man's identity!

Heifu personally helped the old man to the edge of the city wall and loudly introduced him: "This elder is the leader of the Agricultural School, specially invited by this official from Xue Commandery—the rustic elder, Xu Sheng!"

"You all feel the government's words are untrustworthy. But are the words of the Agricultural School trustworthy?"

(End of chapter)