Chapter 72: The Southeast Financial Clique (Fourth Blood-Spitting Update!)

"Hey, big brother, better to just bear with it."

An old man standing behind the dark-faced man sighed deeply upon seeing this and said, "Since we've come, we might as well buy a little. Otherwise, who knows how much higher the price will be next time we come!"

A woman who had come out to buy groceries also urged, "That's right, this time we can still afford a bit. Next time, who knows if we'll even be able to buy any!"

The man who had spoken first heard the urgings of those around him, and his anger subsided by more than half. He reached back to feel the money pouch on his back, grudgingly took out some loose silver and counted it, then finally let out a helpless sigh.

Originally he had been happily thinking that this time he could buy a few catties of white rice and still have some money left over, and on the way past the meat stall on East Street he could cut a bit of pork head meat to add some meat to the household diet.

Now it seemed he had thought far too well of this world!

These profiteering merchants had jacked up their prices on a whim, and the little silver in his hand was now only enough to buy rice—and much less of it at that, barely enough to feed his whole family for three days. What was he to do?

The man was full of worry, but not buying wasn't an option. Even if it cost more, he had to steel himself and buy.

His old mother at home had contracted the plague, and there was no money to get medicine. The Emperor had ordered Wu Youke and the famous physician Yuan Ban to treat the epidemic, but so far no change was visible. His mother was in an extremely weakened state—how could she go without food?

His wife and children were at home looking after his mother, and those mouths hadn't eaten anything for a full day, waiting for the little silver he earned from hauling loads to get the pot boiling!

The man hesitated for a long while, then turned back, and stammered to the clerk of Yongchang House:

"This rice... can it be a bit cheaper?"

The two clerks at the rice shop entrance had heard everything that had just happened clearly, and they knew well the man's difficulties—yet the two of them acted as if they hadn't heard a thing.

"No! If you're not buying, move aside—there are plenty of people lining up behind you!"

As clerks of Yongchang House, this kind of thing happened every day. To them it was long since commonplace and nothing strange, so when they heard these words, no one paid him any mind. The clerks simply went on with their own work.

"In these times, he has his troubles—does that mean your young master here has it easy?"

"Nobody's doing well these days, so don't talk about whether we can help. If we end up angering the shopkeeper, your young master's rice bowl gets smashed too!"

When it finally came to this man's turn, a trace of a smile appeared on his dark face. He squeezed forward and, with some heartache, handed the loose silver to the two clerks.

The man waited a while full of hope, but what he got in return was only a bit over three catties—less than four—of white rice.

If it had only been that, it might have been tolerable. But the man looked at the very small bag in his hand and trembled with rage—this rice couldn't be called "white rice" at all; it was almost all yellow rice, discolored and exceptionally coarse.

"This is the money from my own blood and sweat! You—you're worse than beasts!!"

A surge of anger shot up in the man with a "whoosh." He had half a mind to throw the rice away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it—if he threw away this bit of rice, his family truly wouldn't be able to get the pot boiling.

But even if he didn't eat a single bite himself and left it all for his mother, wife, and children—three people—it would last at most two days. What good would that do!

The man glanced at the two clerks of Yongchang House, wishing he could punch them in the face, or pick up a brick and smash it into the shopkeeper's face to vent his anger!

Just a few days ago, this loose silver could have bought twice as much white rice. But now, in just a few days' time, not only had the amount been cut in half, even the quality of the rice and flour couldn't be guaranteed.

The man was standing there in a daze when he heard another woman who had just bought rice fling the rice into the faces of several clerks, cursing them head-on:

"You black-hearted profiteers, I curse you to be struck by lightning when you step outside!"

"Earning the blood-and-sweat money of us common folk—do you feel good about it in your hearts? Go spend it all on coffins! Hah, this old woman forgot—even if you profiteers wanted to buy coffins, no one would sell you one. Ptoo!"

This woman had voiced what everyone present was thinking. Most people followed suit, throwing their rice and flour at the clerks while cursing loudly.

The man struggled for a long while, but in the end he still couldn't bring himself to throw away this bit of yellow rice. After all, there were three mouths at home waiting for the pot to boil.

After a long moment, he looked at the chaos before him, his face dark with gloom. He had no heart to get involved, and could only silently turn and leave.

In truth, this kind of thing was not happening for the first time on Wenchang Street, but never once had it had any effect on Yongchang House. The next morning, this rice shop would open for business as usual, continuing to monopolize the grain trade and continuing to raise prices.

The sunlight that day was somewhat harsh, shining on the man and revealing a slightly hunched silhouette. The man walked unsteadily down the street, holding a feather-light bag of rice in his hand, yet his steps were heavy, as if carrying a thousand jin.

By all rights, a man who made his living hauling loads with his back should be one of great strength—carrying this small bag should have been effortless. But these few catties of yellow rice made him feel despair about the life ahead.

This bit of yellow rice could be stretched to last a few days, but once it was gone, his family of four would once again fall into a situation where the pot couldn't be boiled. What would they do then?

Given the current rate of price increases in the capital, the man knew in his heart that even if he didn't eat or drink day and night and hauled loads even in his dreams, he still wouldn't have enough for the next time he needed to buy rice.

Soon, he wouldn't even be able to afford a single catty of rice. He would only repeat the process of other families—watching helplessly as his own children and old mother starved to death, then taking his wife to become one of the many refugees.

"Ai—"

Seeing this man's condition, the other common folk hurrying about also sighed. In truth, each of them was running about for their livelihood, never knowing if they'd see the next day.

They wanted to help, but all were willing yet powerless.

In these times of war and famine, even the salaries of some government runners couldn't be counted on—clearly the court had no money either. Us plain common folk could only muddle through as best we could.

As he walked with his head lowered, a tall figure appeared before the man. He looked up and saw that it was Wang Ping, the head constable of the Northern City Troops and Horses Office, arriving with his runners.

Among the head constables of the various city Troops and Horses Offices, Wang Ping had an excellent reputation—he often gave his own salary to the common folk and could least bear to see such pitiful things. He said to the man:

"Here, take this, go buy some more!"

"This is...?"

The man was at first full of alarm, thinking the runners had come to seize his rice. But when he saw who it was, he immediately relaxed, took the silver with trembling hands, and was so moved he knelt and kowtowed to Wang Ping on the spot.

But when he raised his head, he saw Wang Ping leading a squad of Troops and Horses Office runners away from him, striding furiously toward Yongchang House.

The man was one who repaid kindness, and seeing Wang Ping lead the runners toward Yongchang House, he understood in his heart what was about to happen. He hurried a few steps forward to warn him:

"Head Constable Wang, Yongchang House can't be provoked. Better not go."

"What do you mean?" Wang Ping gripped his saber and glanced back at him, but his pace did not stop. He only turned his head to ask: "This is an order from above. What backing could Yongchang House have?"

"Benefactor doesn't know? The neighbors all around have spread the word—the owner of Yongchang House is the Fan family of Zhangjiakou, and even Minister Qian of the Ministry of Rites in Nanjing has a share in it. You mustn't provoke them lightly!"

"Benefactor, this humble one will say something inauspicious—with such an owner behind Yongchang House, even the Guard Commander of the Five Cities Troops and Horses Offices wouldn't dare provoke them. You should avoid them if you can."

Speaking of the Fan family of Zhangjiakou, they were known to everyone in the merchant world—none who hadn't heard of them.

Back then, Shanxi Regional Commander Zhou Yuji had been ordered by imperial decree to investigate and seize the Zhai family, one of the later Qing dynasty's Eight Great Merchant Houses. Zhai Tang and some Shanxi merchants had precisely been plotting to flee to Zhangjiakou to lie low.

Fortunately, the Ningwu Army had arrived in time, catching all the profiteering merchants in Daizhou City in one net.

Hearing this, not only Wang Ping but the entire squad of runners changed expression drastically. Provoking the Fan family was not a wise move—even the Censor who had been slain by the brocade agents would probably jump up in shock if he heard this.

These merchant houses, in other words, were what was called the Southeast Financial Clique.

Each family had its own spokespeople in the court, and the local officials often traded favors with them. With bribery rampant in officialdom and all the officials jointly deceiving the Emperor, the current situation of market monopoly had come about—even the court's disaster relief efforts could hardly scrape together enough silver and grain.

These financial magnates each acted independently in ordinary times, but when trouble arose, they could quickly form a unified bloc—not only wealthy, but powerful as well.