Chapter 50: Households

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight fell upon Qingliang Mountain in Yan'an Prefecture.

Atop the mountain, the pagoda's peak blazed with brilliant, dazzling light.

Below the mountain in Fushi City, hovels crammed together and starving refugees surged like a tide.

County runners parted the crowd with hands on their waist sabers; laborers inside the city pushed grain carts loaded with millet to a stop at the city gate, delivering the grain to the porridge sheds.

Zhang Pan, the clerk of the Revenue Office, said, "The county office assigned me the southern pass relief — that's my responsibility. From the end of last year till now, hauling grain and ladling porridge every day, I've seen the bitterest misery of this world."

He lifted his head. "Now the granary is empty. If no rain comes by the sixth month, the porridge factory won't even have bran and chaff to transport... Twenty-seven households — how many people can you take away?"

"I scraped together everything just for the land and grain. I truly don't have the means to support any more people. Sir Clerk, the fewer the better."

Liu Chengzong had barely finished speaking when Zhang Pan raised a hand to cut him off, shot him a sidelong glare, and said, "Don't put a tall hat on me. I'm just a petty functionary — 'Sir Clerk' this and that. If I started calling you 'Second Master Liu' this and 'Second Master Liu' that, wouldn't your heart flutter?"

"It's nearly the last ten days of the fourth month. Once the beans and sesame are harvested, it'll be time to plant broomcorn millet. Without hands, can you farm your two thousand seven hundred mu? Take a hundred people with you, and I'll do my best to pick seasoned farmers for you — sturdy field hands with no children in tow."

"A hundred? Raise your noble hand a little higher. Mark me twenty-seven single households to take away, and I can still think of a way to feed them."

Liu Chengzong said, "Otherwise, in half a month they'll just have to come back. Even if they eat up all my seed grain, I can't feed that many people."

If he had the grain, bringing a hundred people back to build up Liu Family Village would actually be fine. As long as a little rain fell in the sixth month, broomcorn millet could be rush-planted. Three busy months of scrambling and they'd have grain to last the winter.

But without enough grain, the advantage of strong laborers ceased to matter, while the drawback of heavy grain consumption was magnified without limit.

"Second Young Master Liu, I, Zhang, truly have no reason to harm you. If only I could let you take no one at all, I'd happily do you that favor — nothing wrong with it. But the prefectural office has issued an order that cannot be defied... Eighty people. Twenty-seven households, and you take eighty people. It cannot be fewer."

It truly wasn't Zhang Pan being harsh. In this era, households were universally large extended-family units. What people called a "household" was akin to a modern household register — one household commonly numbered ten or more people.

Take Liu Chengzong's own family, for example. With no elders, they counted as sparsely populated in Yan'an Prefecture, and still they had six members. And that was with Chengzu and Chengzong away soldiering and unmarried; otherwise, they'd have at least ten by now.

Even among refugees, a household of only three was not common.

"But eighty people truly can't be fed. And even if the numbers were smaller, they can't all be farmers. Old Temple Village was smashed to pieces by bandits — no huts to sleep in, no farm tools. We need stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths."

"Mm... Craftsmen won't be hard."

"A stonemason might not be found. The prefectural office is running a work-relief program, building a glazed pagoda in Yanchang County. Any refugees with stoneworking skills were sent there long ago. Other craftsmen won't be hard to find, but the headcount cannot be reduced."

Zhang Pan lowered his head and pondered a moment, then looked up. "How about this: whether you call it Old Temple Village or Liu Family Village, the regular tax will start from the summer of next year. Apportioned levies will depend on Heaven's will — if rain falls in the sixth month, you pay the autumn grain; if no rain falls in the sixth month, forget it."

"Even if you're at your wits' end, you still have Old Fourth Master. You're still better off than they are. Three million common folk across Shaanxi are fighting their way through this great drought. Clear one hurdle at a time. Second Young Master Liu, don't decline any further — let's get through this hard pass together."

With the matter pressed to this point, though the headcount still exceeded his estimate, Liu Chengzong had essentially gotten what he wanted. Knowing full well he had no further grounds to refuse, he simply relaxed his faintly furrowed brow, clasped his fist in his palm, and said, "Then I'll trouble the clerk to stamp the deed and select twenty-seven households, eighty famine refugees. I'll lead them back."

Zhang Pan was instantly relieved. "Just waiting for those words. Let's go!"

With that, he left a runner at the city's outer porridge factory to watch over things in his stead, then walked with light, brisk steps as he led Liu Chengzong back to the county office. The deed-stamping went especially smoothly. He dug out the registers of refugees registered outside the city and let him pick his refugees.

Fushi County had handled this matter with extreme thoroughness.

Porridge factories were set up at each of the four outer gate districts. The clerks distributing porridge registered the refugees' identities and issued wooden tags. By presenting their tags, they received porridge daily.

This made it easy to calculate the grain used for cooking each day and prevented embezzlement and waste in between; the registers reduced the complexity of resettling refugees and also helped somewhat in preventing refugee uprisings.

With the registers at hand, Zhang Pan needed only a moment to write up the official document in triplicate. He handed one copy to Liu Chengzong, then turned and called a runner over. "Find Secretary Wang's son-in-law. Have him take the people Second Young Master Liu wants and pick them out. Wait for me outside the west gate in one shichen."

Liu Chengzong made to rise and leave, but Zhang Pan detained him, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "No rush. I've picked out a few carpenters and blacksmiths for you. The refugees are scattered across the gate districts — finding them will take nearly half a shichen anyway. It's cold outside, and the Revenue Office has no urgent business. Sit a while before you go."

"Truth be told, the Revenue Office isn't warm either. The Prefect said that with Wang Zuogua causing trouble in the south, we petty clerks must be diligent and frugal. He had all the charcoal and firewood withdrawn from the yamen..."

Zhang Pan slowly shook his head in helplessness, his expression that of a man straining to suppress a longing to let fragrant curses fly. He spread his hands. "The Prefectural Magistrate's office gave the word — even if we buy our own charcoal and firewood, we can't burn it in the yamen."

Liu Chengzong inclined his ear to listen, a polite smile on his face. This sort of thing wasn't hard to figure out.

After all, humans are foolish and selfish — lenient with themselves and strict with others is the norm. Those above me, all are equal; those below me, class distinctions are clear — nothing more natural.

The Prefect gave the word, and the mid-level officials, to keep the underlings from making trouble for them, simply decided no one gets to burn charcoal. Done.

Only, affairs inside someone else's yamen — one knows best one's own cold and warmth. Liu Chengzong felt no need to chime in and echo. A nod and a smile would suffice to show he'd heard.

"Second Young Master Liu, you don't talk much either — just like Old Fourth Master. When Fourth Master was first transferred from Mizhi to the prefectural seat, he always had a stern face. If a runner didn't handle a task he'd assigned properly, he'd furrow his brow and scare the man half to death, ready to cut off his own head in apology. Imposing without anger — exactly like my maternal uncle."

Liu Chengzong thought to himself that this was his first time meeting this elder brother, and their relationship wasn't close enough to start swapping family trees.

Earlier, the official business had been perfectly normal. The moment the business was done, the man started talking in disjointed fragments, as if idleness had addled him. Everything he said left Liu Chengzong at a loss for how to respond. He wanted to get up and leave, yet felt that would be inappropriate, so he could only stare fixedly at Zhang Pan.

He had a vague sense that the county clerk's words carried a hidden meaning.

Zhang Pan, seeing he wouldn't take the bait, rose with a smile, pulled a folded document from among the scrolls and files, spread it open on the table, and raised a hand. "You have a maternal uncle too."

It was an arrest warrant circulated to Yan'an Prefecture. There was no portrait, but it listed Cai Zhongpan's physical description, distinctive features, and accent.

The warrant convicted him of killing eight government soldiers and seizing two hundred taels of silver — crimes of the utmost evil.

It was to be forwarded to village tithing heads everywhere to maintain strict vigilance. A reward of five qian of silver was offered for reporting him to the authorities.

Once Liu Chengzong finished reading, Zhang Pan nudged the document forward lightly. "Put it away. I have no charcoal brazier here either. The postmaster of Jinming Horse Relay Station is one of my people. This warrant will never be received by Yan'an Prefecture."

"However, I have a matter in which I need your uncle's help, and I hope Second Young Master Liu can arrange an introduction on my behalf."

Note: Household population figures reference the Jiajing 20th year census in the Shaanxi General Gazetteer. Yan'an Prefecture averaged 12.9 persons per household.