Chapter 356: He Means to Destroy the Tax Tribute System

Turn the screen, circle the back hall, enter the courtyard.

Jia Bai, the County Magistrate of Qili, traveled extensively and later carried a wooden box out from the back residence.

Before he could return to the front courtyard tea pavilion, Tang the Shopkeeper, waiting at the tea pavilion’s entrance, reached out and took the box.

“Now perhaps Tang the Shopkeeper can rest easy?”

“Magistrate Jia, you flatter me too much. In truth, I knew much about you before arriving—I knew you were no man who breaks his word. But my employer demanded this, and even if it’s merely a formality, we who carry out duties must follow procedure.”

After hearing this, Jia Bai nodded, picked up his brush, and methodically filled the inkstone.

Then, he signed the contract with elegant strokes: eighty percent of farmland output to Ji Zhai, the remaining twenty percent retained by the county.

As for Tang the Shopkeeper, he sat on the opposite armchair, opened the wooden box, and removed the thick register stamped with the seals of the Seven Immortal Sects.

The Xia Law states: Under heaven, all land belongs to the Son of Heaven.

The “Son of Heaven” here refers to the brilliant founding emperor of Great Xia.

Though Great Xia later declined, annually supplying countless grain to sustain immortals’ cultivation—reduced to little more than a tool, no longer worthy of an imperial dynasty’s dignity—these lands still belong to Great Xia.

For human history records that Great Xia once unified the Nine Provinces by instituting a system of mass tribute to summon reclusive immortal sects to aid them.

Great Xia sought territory; the cultivators sought sustenance. This was the orthodox path of human history, long compiled into the annals and passed down generation after generation.

In other words, this is the origin of the immortal world’s unified belief that commoners must support cultivators—and why cultivators, despite exploiting all beings, can still maintain a clear Dao-heart.

For this promise was universally acknowledged.

And the so-called Fish Scale Register originates from this.

Legend says that when Great Xia pacified the Nine Provinces, the immortal sects no longer remained reclusive and began accepting disciples widely.

Thus, both sides jointly issued Fish Scale Registers to local governments to determine tax and tribute quotas.

It was called the Fish Scale Register because farmlands and ponds were arranged in sequence, their boundaries shaped like overlapping fish scales.

What Tang the Shopkeeper needed this trip was Jia’s signed contract and this thick stack of registers.

Moments later, Jia finished signing the documents, habitually held the paper aloft, letting the air dry the ink visibly, then pressed his seal—made of cinnabar and oil paste—onto it, and handed it to Tang the Shopkeeper.

“Magistrate Jia is indeed swift and decisive,” Tang the Shopkeeper said, closing the box and bowing with clasped fists.

Jia Bai gently stroked his long beard: “Land matters are land matters, but please convey to your employer that next year, the tax and tribute from those who signed labor contracts must be delivered on time and in full—it’s offerings to the immortals, not to be taken lightly, or no one can save us.”

There is a vast information gap between the immortal world and the mortal realm, especially for lowly county magistrates.

Just as earlier, when the corpse tide surged and the sky shattered for months, the people speculated wildly, yet still do not know why.

Even this county magistrate did not understand the immortal world’s hierarchy or power—he spoke, half-warning, half-threatening.

“Magistrate Jia speaks wisely. I will faithfully relay your words to my employer.”

“Then I am at ease,” Jia Bai said, his expression serene.

All the people of Qili County were enrolled under Fengzhou, earning their tax quota through labor for the immortal lords—he no longer had to worry, as in past years, about failing to collect enough tribute and losing his head.

He even profited two-tenths of the land’s output through leasing—purely boundless wealth. How could he not be serene?

Tang the Shopkeeper packed his belongings into the box, and seeing Jia’s joy, spoke: “This matter is known only to heaven and earth—best you say nothing of today’s events.”

“Why not reveal it?”

“Merely to avoid unnecessary trouble.”

Tang the Shopkeeper said: “It matters little to us, but if others learn you traded public land for personal gain, next year we may not even be able to slip the profits directly into your pocket.”

Jia Bai’s face darkened: “Indeed, indeed—your warning came just in time.”

Land belongs to Great Xia; even if uncultivated and leased, income must be recorded in state finances.

If this secret were exposed, Jia Bai might gain not a single copper.

Seeing Jia understood the stakes, Tang the Shopkeeper rose, clutching the box: “Then I shall not trouble you further. Farewell.”

“Please see Tang the Shopkeeper off!” Jia Bai rose to escort him.

“Magistrate, no need for such courtesy—please stay.”

“No—I must go see my grain.”

Jia Bai, who had been calm moments before, replied, then sprinted toward the three grain carts Tang had brought, calling for servants to unload them.

Tang the Shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed, then signaled to his men; a dozen others drove the remaining carts away.

“Master.”

“What is it?”

As they headed toward the next county, a subordinate couldn’t help asking: “Jia Bai is famous throughout the surrounding villages for his loose tongue and foolishness—won’t he blab about today?”

Tang the Shopkeeper, seated on the cart’s bench, shook his head: “All these local officials are foolish, true—but they’re also greedy, and they know well that if this leaks, they’ll gain nothing. They won’t invite trouble.”

As they spoke, the Wulü Company’s caravan pressed deeper into Qingzhou.

Meanwhile, the dispatched carts turned back, racing toward the direction they’d come from, entering Fengzhou territory.

Creak, creak, creak—

Laden grain carts steadily penetrated the Six Provinces, moving through countryside and county offices.

Their movements were hidden, and since Qingyun’s commoners lived in remote, impoverished lands, no one noticed these caravans.

These traveling shopkeepers, through bribes and incentives, exchanged one Fish Scale Register after another, quietly delivering them to Fengzhou.

Those county officials who signed contracts and handed over the registers, bound by profit, revealed nothing.

As long as secrecy held, acquiring all signed Fish Scale Registers seemed no great challenge.

“Master Kuang.”

“Speak.”

The Private Secretary of Fengzhou bowed slightly before Kuangcheng: “The fifth granary is emptied. The company has sent word again—grain is running short.”

Hearing this, Kuangcheng held his breath, then spoke, adjusting his sleeve: “Open the sixth granary.”

“Master, those immortals are insatiable. If this continues, there will be no end. Five of nine granaries are empty; even Fengzhou’s people will suffer, forced to tighten their belts.”

“Open it. Ji Zhai won’t let anyone starve.”

“Yes!”

Seeing Kuangcheng’s resolve, the Private Secretary immediately bowed and departed; a large group left the fifth granary, heading for the sixth.

As the heavy gates swung open, grain was loaded sack by sack onto carts, sent in all directions.

He knew Fish Scale Registers from other provinces had been returned—meaning Ji’s plan was working.

At this critical moment, Fengzhou’s grain must not run out.

They must divert the gaze of noble families and immortal sects, keep the scheme moving, feed them until they willingly let some grain trickle down to the commoners for survival.

Fengzhou, nearly drained of all harvests, would suffer terribly; years of reserves would vanish. But the path ahead would surely become smooth.

Wei Rui had now arrived at the sixth granary from Ji Zhai.

In her hand she carried a lacquered box—food for her lover.

As she set down the box and removed the meals, the daughter of the Wei household stared at the workers bustling before the granary, puzzled.

Everyone knew Fengzhou was being bled dry.

Yet she could not understand why her lover opened the granaries so readily, without hesitation.

“Master, where did all this grain come from?”

In the county office of Songhe County, Yongzhou, Magistrate Pi Xian’s wife stared, stunned, at the three carts of grain.

Especially the two black pigs tied to the third cart—she felt dazed.

The corpse tide had caused total crop failure across Qingyun; not just commoners suffered—officials like them struggled too.

True, Great Xia still paid monthly salaries, but under current conditions, even doubled salaries could not buy enough grain.

For months, the Pi family had lived frugally, relying on last year’s embezzled tribute to survive winter—but the taste was bitter.

Who could have imagined that upon rising today, Madame Pi saw so much food in the courtyard? Her astonishment was inevitable.

Pi Xian frowned: “Don’t ask what’s none of your business. Order servants to unload one cart to the kitchen—grind it into flour, enough for months.”

“What of the other two carts?”

“Send them to Magistrate Min. Have him write a letter to Zhenbei Army, asking them to care for our son.”

As Pi Xian spoke, he ordered servants to fetch the rain-cloth used for tax collection, covering the two carts completely.

After Great Xia changed its era name to Taiyuan, military expansion began. Though military life was brutal, it offered opportunity for lower-ranking official families.

For Zhenbei Army could cultivate, and with enough military merit, even kin could enter immortal sects.

Thus, three springs ago, foresighted Pi Xian sent his son into the army.

This mirrored the thinking of Fang Zhongzheng, Magistrate of Yuyang County in Fengzhou, and the Kuang family—all hoping someone in their household would enter the immortal world.

But fate was cruel: they thought sending their sons to guard walls, serve a few years, then bribe officials with embezzled tribute would secure advancement—only to face the joint invasion of the Demon and Barbarian tribes.

Now, news of soldiers dying in You and Yun Provinces reached Pi Xian nightly—he could not sleep.

So he had long been pressuring his superior, Magistrate Min, to find a way to transfer his son from the front to logistics—naturally, gifts were required.

Rustling sounds filled the air as the carts were covered.

The county’s Private Secretary, seeing this, whispered: “Master, this is unwise.”

“Why?”

“Wulü Company’s men warned us not to reveal anything. If Magistrate Min learns the immortal tribute is borne by Fengzhou—and that you receive two-tenths from land leases—this benefit will vanish. We should wait until times improve.”

Pi Xian cut him off: “In a world starving, adding flowers to brocade is nothing compared to giving charcoal in snow. The frontlines are fierce—how many lives does my son have to wait?”

“This…” The Private Secretary fell silent.

“Stay home, care for the household. I shall return shortly.”

“Yes.”

Pi Xian boarded his cart, and under the driver’s whip, hurried away from Songhe County toward Yongzhou’s Youma Prefecture.

By the time Pi Xian arrived in Youma County, refugees were wandering aimlessly through the streets.

They drove their carts in endless detours, wasting several hours before finally reaching the residence of Governor Min.

But as soon as he entered the gate, the gatekeeper blocked him: “What is the purpose of your visit, County Magistrate Pi?”

“Your servant wishes to pay respects to Governor Min. Kindly inform the steward.”