Chapter 40: It's Nothing

After Zhao Jin recounted what he had seen and heard that morning and raised his question, Zhao Zhenxing did not scold Zhao Jin for not focusing on his martial training; instead, he burst out laughing.

"A runner — you make it sound so simple. Do you have any idea how valuable that runner post is?" Zhao Zhenxing asked in return, and Zhao Jin, of course, looked completely baffled.

"The magistrate's yamen governs several hundred thousand people inside and outside this city. Do you know how many runners it has?"

Zhao Jin naturally shook his head. Zhao Zhenxing continued, "A hundred and twenty in all. Among them, there are over sixty who tend horses, guard gates, watch storehouses, and do odd jobs. Another thirty-odd were shoved in by various masters just to draw pay and rations. Subtract those, and the ones who swagger through the streets with blades, who can seize and chain people — fewer than thirty. Your father is one of them. Tell me, isn't that prestige?"

In other words, in the entire sprawling city of Xuzhou, there were only a hundred-some public officials, and fewer than thirty legally armed personnel with law enforcement authority. Zhao Jin understood at once — so his father was a combination of policeman, armed police, city inspector, and every other kind of law enforcer rolled into one. No wonder he was so imposing. Any underworld figure who ran into such a man would naturally have to bow and submit.

"Horse stance — hold it!" Zhao Zhenxing swished the rattan cane through the air. Zhao Jin hurriedly corrected his posture. Zhao Zhenxing went on with his explanation; this was no idle chat, but a way to broaden his nephew's knowledge.

"Your father is different from the other constables and swift-hands. He holds the post of executioner — a job that sees blood and kills. The other blade-and-staff men in the yamen can put on a show of borrowed authority, but when it comes to real bloodshed, they dare not. This makes your father far more imposing than the rest. Add to that his loyalty and sense of honor — he never gets greedy, takes only what he's due — and his prestige in the yamen is very high..." Zhao Zhenxing spoke at length. He usually seemed not to care much about such matters, but he knew everything there was to know.

Zhao Jin, keeping his body tensed, said, "A Xuzhou this big, with so few men — can they really keep order?"

The population directly under Xuzhou's jurisdiction numbered in the hundreds of thousands, yet only a hundred-some men were in charge. How could they possibly manage?

At these words, Zhao Zhenxing laughed again, then broke into a fit of coughing he couldn't suppress. Once he had calmed down, he said, "That hundred and twenty are the ones drawing court pay. On top of that, there are roughly a few thousand un-salaried auxiliary runners and public enforcers. With that many people, how could they not keep order?"

Zhao Jin was dumbstruck. He understood now — his father was on the official roster, and there was a vast force off the roster. The prestige came from many sources: drawing court pay on one hand, the executioner's identity on another, and the authority of that official post as well.

What did those thousands of un-salaried men live on? Zhao Jin was about to ask, but then he quickly figured it out himself. With so many ways to rake in money, who needed official pay?

He vaguely remembered Zhao Zhentang saying at home that the "labor-and-provisions silver" was less than ten taels a year, and even that was often docked or delayed. But Zhao Zhentang didn't rely on that to make a living anyway — the various perks and red envelopes were never in short supply.

"Second Uncle, my father is a Hundred-Household Officer of the Xuzhou Guard. Doesn't that add to his prestige?" Zhao Jin asked. A Hundred-Household Officer was, after all, a ranked military officer of the sixth grade, with a hundred soldiers under his command. That status surely made Zhao Zhentang's authority even greater.

To his surprise, after he asked this question, Zhao Zhenxing fell silent. Only after a while did he speak. "A Hundred-Household Officer of the Xuzhou Guard is an honorable military officer of the Great Ming. How could he stoop to a base servitude like constable? Yet an honorable military officer struggles to fill his belly, while doing this brings wine and meat."

These words were not an explanation to Zhao Jin; they sounded more like he was talking to himself. Zhao Zhenxing stopped himself, then said in a grave tone, "Xiao Jin, this is a murky affair. Best you mention the Xuzhou Guard business as little as possible."

Zhao Jin nodded. He couldn't figure out the reason, but he understood that this matter surely involved troublesome complications.

"Second Uncle, what kind of man is Bronze Head?"

The morning passed in martial training and conversation. Zhao Jin learned quite a bit of knowledge, and his body received a solid number of rattan strokes as well.

Zhao Jin felt he had gained a great deal. His second uncle, Zhao Zhenxing, stood guard at this gate every day, yet he was remarkably well-informed about outside news. According to him, among the jianghu figures south of the city, Bronze Head ranked in the top ten. Bronze Head had once been called "Dung Ball." Later, through ferocious brawling, he fought his way to a name. People flattered him by calling him Bronze Head, and everyone forgot what his real name had been — they only remembered his surname was Cheng.

He had seized the abandoned Black Tiger God of Wealth Temple and opened a dice den there, drawing crowds to gamble. Behind the scenes, he also ran a fencing-stolen-goods and salt-smuggling operation. The salt-smuggling business wasn't large — he simply took goods from the big salt barons outside the city and distributed them. Beyond that, the streetwalkers and clandestine prostitutes on the streets around the Black Tiger God of Wealth Temple were all under his protection; he took a cut and guaranteed their safety.

By the time he got to that last part, Zhao Zhenxing had gotten carried away. Only after he finished did he catch himself and laugh self-deprecatingly. "What am I telling a kid like you all this for? You wouldn't understand anyway."

But Zhao Jin understood it all. Fencing stolen goods and smuggling, sheltering prostitution and protecting gambling — these paths to wealth were passed down from ancient times to the present, much the same in any era.

Over the course of that morning, Zhao Jin finally grasped exactly what social standing his father held. Within and beyond the city of Xuzhou, apart from those literati with examination degrees, the magistrate's yamen, the Ministry of Revenue branch office, and the ranked officials of the Xuzhou Guard, Zhao Zhentang counted as a figure of considerable renown.

Yet for all his imposing power, his social status was not high. Zhao Zhenxing explained it very clearly: this officially rostered runner post could be inherited, but it came with a drawback — it was classified as a base servitude. Even if one left the yamen runner service, one's descendants for three generations were barred from sitting the imperial examinations. Of course, for Zhao Jin, this was no great loss.

Between nominal degradation and practical benefit, Zhao Jin certainly knew which to choose. Merchants were also classed as base servitude, yet everyone could see how splendidly those merchants now lived.

At this point, Zhao Jin also understood why they were told not to bring up the Xuzhou Guard matter. Though civil posts were honored and military ones debased, a Hundred-Household Officer of the Xuzhou Guard was still an honorable military officer of the Great Ming. This military officer status and the executioner's identity were surely a murky affair, with old entanglements behind it — best mentioned as little as possible.

At noon, Zhao Zhentang came home for a meal. At the table, he tossed two paper packets directly to He Cuihua. He Cuihua paused, then asked, "The regular cut isn't due today, is it?"

She asked, but her hands didn't stop. Inside the paper packets were several pieces of broken silver. He Cuihua hefted them, and a smile immediately spread across her face. "About four taels of silver," she said, delighted.

Zhao Jin ate while inwardly stunned. Good heavens, he thought — the legal annual pay was less than ten taels, yet one trip south of the city brought back four taels. Who knew how much the annual regular cuts and shares added up to? But another thought struck Zhao Jin: in a southern district that run-down, a single underworld figure could casually produce four taels — who knew how much he was raking in.

He Cuihua was about to put the silver away, but then she divided it into two portions and pushed one toward Zhao Zhenxing. "Second Brother-in-law, you take this."

Zhao Zhenxing was about to refuse when Zhao Zhentang said evenly, "If your sister-in-law gives it, you take it. If you don't want to spend it on yourself, buy Xiao Jin some food or things he can use."

Hearing this, Zhao Zhenxing did not refuse.

The two Chen Sheng brothers came over to find him. Today, the old steward of the Chen household had come along. As they walked, Chen Sheng said in a muffled voice, "Zhao Jin, I've thought it through. I'm going to find my father and have him drive off those ruffians. Otherwise, no one will dare play with us anymore."

Chen Sheng's father, Chen Wu, held a position in the yamen even slightly higher than Zhao Zhentang's — probably something like head constable. If he stepped in, his deterrent power over those ruffians would be even greater. But Chen Sheng's reaction had been a bit slow, and he had the usual instinct of a boy his age — afraid to tell his parents he had gotten into trouble.

"Those ruffians won't dare hit anyone anymore," Zhao Jin said.

Chen Sheng paused, then understood at once. Delighted, he said, "That's wonderful! I was still too scared to bring it up with my father!"

They certainly hadn't thought it through as much as Zhao Jin had. The group chatted and laughed as they made their way to the goods yard. Just as they were about to enter, they spotted Mu Shulan by the roadside, looking around anxiously. This time, the ones accompanying the little girl were not the middle-aged man and woman, but two sturdy young men.

When she saw Zhao Jin, the little girl hurriedly ran over. With a hint of mystery on her small face, she said, "Brother Xiao Jin, will those bad men from yesterday come again today?"

"They will come, but they're coming to apologize," Zhao Jin said with a smile. The little girl paused, then beamed and nodded. She turned to the two sturdy young men and said, "You can go back now. Everything's fine here."