Chapter 565: A Mountain of Debt

Gao Mabian looked up, eyes splitting with rage, and was about to speak in his own defense when Wang Dagang's bloodstained cudgel came smashing down. One blow, and the man was sprawled flat on the ground.

Unlike Wang Dagang, who had hesitated, his dozen or so companions already hated these two cart-gang men to the bone. The killing of Zhang Yunxian's crew just moments before had already roused their ferocity. Hearing Wang Dagang's words, they no longer cared about truth or falsehood. Red-eyed, they swung their cudgels and followed suit. Amid a chorus of wretched screams and wails, Gao Mabian and the men around him were all lying in pools of blood.

After striking, Wang Dagang let out a long breath. This time he did not wipe the blood from his face and looked again toward Zhao Jin, who merely smiled and nodded.

Ji Xiang, spear in hand, came to Zhao Jin's side. He had witnessed Wang Dagang's earlier behavior and thought very little of him. He simply muttered under his breath, "No wonder, with skills like that, he's still just driving carts in Qingjiangpu."

"Lacking ambition isn't so bad. At the very least, he might live a bit longer," Zhao Jin replied with a smile.

Ambition or not in the past, once the Zhao Character Camp arrived here, having ambition would be a death wish. Wang Dagang might not fully grasp that now, but Zhao Jin and his men had long since considered it.

Several thousand people kneeling on the ground made for a truly vast expanse. Charging and jostling in a crowd was one thing — you could squeeze in however you liked — but kneeling required far more space. The nearby streets were packed full.

So many people knelt there, yet an eerie silence reigned. Only those wounded by the bamboo spears still cried out and moaned in pain. By now, not even hushed whispers stirred among the crowd, and a faint, unpleasant odor hung in the air.

Those kneeling in the back could not see, but those in front saw clearly. During the slaughter, it was manageable — everyone's blood was up. But now that they had surrendered, watching the two cart-gang leaders and the powerful foremen beside them beaten to death before their very eyes, a bone-deep chill ran through them. Hearts trembling with terror, each man feared he would be next.

Those who had been silently cursing Cloud Mountain Cart Company, counting on the authorities to settle accounts later, could no longer spare a thought for that notion. Would the bailiffs come? With so many dead, they surely would — but certainly not right now. Where did these Xuzhou savages get such murderous ferocity? Killing men as casually as slaughtering chickens. They absolutely could not afford to get caught up in this. Even their discarded weapons had already been collected and taken away. They truly had not a shred of resistance left.

However, no further killing followed. More men came forward, but this time they were not burly fellows with faces full of hatred. Instead, they were clerks and account-book types. The leaders of the various factions in Qingjiangpu and the surviving foremen of the cart gangs knelt trembling at the very front, still ignorant of what fate awaited them. But now, it was no longer theirs to decide.

"... Zhang Qi, head of the guards at the Singing Jade Quarter, in the eighth month of last year borrowed five thousand taels of silver from Cloud Mountain Company at a monthly interest of three-point-five percent, with interest compounding on interest. To this day, not a single coin has been repaid. He shall be sent to the estate to labor in repayment..."

One of the account clerks announced this in a drawn-out, sing-song tone. Those kneeling in the back could not hear clearly, but those in front all caught every word. That single sentence struck even more terror than the killings moments before. The crowd instantly erupted, the words passed from front to back.

The Singing Jade Quarter was a famous large establishment in the Qingjiangpu area. It housed elegant pavilions for entertaining high officials and distinguished scholars, as well as large communal bunks for the transport soldiers and grain-barge crews. It kept several hundred women of every description. Beyond managing these women, they also had to quell jealous brawls and settle underworld disputes. For this, they employed several dozen guards — several dozen men who could fight and kill. With Zhang Qi's own martial skills added to the mix, he was considered a figure of some standing in Qingjiangpu.

Yet this so-called figure, after a full year's work — including what he could skim off food and wages — could only pocket about two hundred taels of silver. How could he possibly have borrowed five thousand?

Five thousand taels, at three-point-five percent monthly interest, meant one hundred seventy-five taels in interest each month, and two thousand one hundred taels a year. And that was only if calculated by the agreed monthly rate. If compounded — interest rolling into interest — it went without saying.

The man whose name had been called had not been at the front of the charge, nor had he been wounded. He knelt up front, rigid with tension. The moment he heard that sum, it was as if five thunderbolts had struck him from above. He froze, stupefied, and then erupted. Not daring to move a muscle, he shrieked like a pig being butchered, "Sirs, could there be a mistake? Even if you sold me, I wouldn't be worth five thousand taels! Is there a mistake? Is there—"

Halfway through, he dared not speak another word. A blade gleaming with cold light was already pressed against his neck. The account clerk, his face a little pale — clearly terrified by such a scene — nonetheless spread open a debt acknowledgment covered in writing and handed over the ink-paste, forcing himself to speak with composure: "Make up the missing note. Sign your mark and press your thumbprint."

Most martial men of this sort could not read a single character and could not write. They could only draw their mark and press a thumbprint. Even in the yamen courts, this was accepted as valid.

Zhang Qi did not recognize a single character on the debt note, but the numerals — the "five thousand" and such — were starkly clear. Thousands of taels of debt conjured out of thin air, with thousands more in yearly interest crashing down on his head. How could he bear it? For a moment, he felt it would have been better to have been skewered to death by the bamboo spears earlier and be done with it.

Seeing his hesitation, the blade against his neck pressed a fraction harder, instantly snapping Zhang Qi back to his senses. His life mattered most. Staying alive was better than anything else. This strapping seven-foot man, a hero who ordinarily would not furrow his brow at the sight of blood, was now weeping, tears and snot streaming down his face, trembling all over. The hand he used to draw his mark and press his thumbprint seemed weighted with a thousand catties. Inevitably, a few of the Zhao Character Camp's household troops stepped forward to lend him a hand.

Once the mark was drawn and the thumbprint pressed, men came forward to bind him tightly and herd him to one side. Everyone present was dealt with in the same manner. Each man, in the year before last or last year, had signed for a colossal debt of five thousand to ten thousand taels from Cloud Mountain Company. To this day, not a single coin had been repaid. After making up the missing debt notes, they were to be sent to the Xuzhou and Pizhou regions to labor in repayment.

The bloody slaughter earlier had been a rout at the first clash, yet everyone had still carried themselves with ferocious bravado, their breath roaring like thunder — not quite true heroic spirit. But now, all pretense was abandoned. A chorus of wailing rose up. Some men collapsed limp on the ground, impossible to drag upright no matter how hard one pulled, behaving exactly like shrewish women throwing a tantrum.

A single coin can thwart a hero, let alone a mountain of debt worth thousands or tens of thousands of taels crashing down upon a man. Though the blade at their throats forced them to accept it, they felt their entire lives were utterly ruined. When they had watched the cart-gang leaders beaten to death before their eyes, no one had dared resist. Yet now, some men kept leaping up, flailing and snarling, shouting, "I'll take you with me!" — all desperate, mutually destructive lunges. But unfortunately, with no weapons in their hands now, they were simply beaten down again. They could only weep and rage as they signed the debt notes, saddling themselves with this burden of debt.

Fortunately, Cloud Mountain Cart Company did not push things to the absolute extreme. They added one line: "So long as your family takes action, this debt has nothing to do with them." Hearing this brought the men some small measure of peace. If this colossal debt were to implicate their families, it would truly be a calamity akin to the extermination of their entire clan.

While the group kneeling at the front endured this, the large body of men kneeling off to the other side merely watched the spectacle. These usually high-and-mighty heroes, who normally barked orders at everyone, were now weeping to the heavens, kowtowing, and begging for mercy. On one hand, the onlookers felt fear; on the other, they found it rather entertaining. Besides, after kneeling so long and being terrified so long, they could also see that Cloud Mountain Cart Company was not particularly targeting the rank and file. Everyone began to relax a little.

"Three-point-five percent monthly interest. This Cloud Mountain Cart Company actually has a conscience."

"Doesn't it just! Old Zhou at the rice shop lends money at eight percent monthly interest, and he's considered a charitable man!"

"I came from Shandong. If you borrow from the Kong estate — even if you know someone in the household — you borrow ten taels, and when you repay a month later, there's four taels of interest."

A buzzing murmur of discussion rose from below, all agreeing that Cloud Mountain Cart Company's interest rate was calculated with a conscience. Zhao Jin, spear in hand, paced back and forth and caught quite a bit of the talk. It left him with a very peculiar expression. Three-point-five percent monthly interest — over forty percent annual interest. Such usury was actually considered conscientious? What then was the normal rate on the market?

But since this mountain of debt was fabricated out of thin air, there was no need to quibble over such details.

The morning's great battle — though calling it a "great battle" was a stretch — was followed by the settling of accounts. Several dozen were beaten to death on the spot, and then the debt extortion began. By the time the sun slanted westward, these matters were largely concluded.

Those wounded in the fighting had been left unattended the entire time. Their cries of agony had grown fainter and fainter, and now their breaths came few and far between. Still, no one paid them any heed.

When the very last debt note was processed, the previously trembling clerks and account scribes were now all flushed with excitement, utterly exhilarated. Never since entering the trade had they done anything so satisfying. Thousands, tens of thousands of taels of silver — sums that ordinary men, even ordinary wealthy merchants, could not earn in several lifetimes — were conjured from nothing and pinned onto others just like that. With so many men processed, Cloud Mountain Company now held in its hands a debt worth hundreds of thousands, nearly a million taels.

Though these debts could never possibly be honored — even if these indebted underworld bravos worked themselves to death like oxen and horses, they could never earn that much — simply to have taken part in sums so vast was a shared honor, a thing they could boast about for the rest of their lives.

With all matters brought to a temporary close, every man saddled with colossal debt was trussed up tightly and led aside, placed under special guard. The clamor of discussion also died down. The remaining large body of men in Qingjiangpu knew that the moment for their own sentencing had arrived.

Zhao Jin glanced at Ji Xiang and Liu Yong, smiled and nodded, then leaped onto a cart in a single bound. He swept his gaze over the kneeling crowd below. Watching their terrified, uneasy expressions, Zhao Jin's mood was quite good. He raised his voice and declared, "I am Zhao Jin, from Xuzhou."

Silence fell below. Zhao Jin's official speech, though carrying a trace of a Xuzhou accent, was still fairly standard, and everyone heard him clearly. But announcing one's name was never so simple. One had to state not only one's name, but also one's origin and affiliation. Some even had to recite the names of their fathers and grandfathers. This young master was refreshingly brief: a name, and a place.

"Zhao Jin?" Someone below finally reacted. The Zhao Character Camp had broken through in Xuzhou and fought major battles in Pizhou and Grass Nest. The Pizhou and Haizhou region was just north of Huai'an Prefecture. Affairs and news from there could not possibly be unknown in Qingjiangpu, in the southern part of Huai'an Prefecture.

Moreover, the bloody tragedy at the Feng family of Yangzhou had shaken the entire region north of the Yangtze. Everyone had naturally heard of that affair, and they knew it was connected to that Zhao Character Camp.

There are only three days until the end of the month. Everyone, take a look at your accounts — you should have monthly tickets by now. How about casting them for Great Ming Warrior? Thank you, everyone.

Old Bai's WeChat public account — please search on the WeChat subscription channel for: zhentebiebai. All questions answered there.