The Marketplace

Thud! Without Shao Shuyi noticing when he had returned, the scar-faced man dropped a hemp sack onto the ground. Shao Shuyi looked at him, bewildered. Paying him no mind, the man pulled twenty guan in paper notes from his robe and said, “For you. Keep it safe.” Shao Shuyi understood. So this was a “welcoming gift” for a new hand—or perhaps money to buy his life? Without a word, he took the banknotes and lifted the sack. “My name is Zheng Fan,” the scar-faced man said, following behind Shao Shuyi. Setting the sack down, Shao Shuyi bowed with hands clasped and said, “Why are you following me, sir? Is there something else?” “Afraid you’ll die.” Zheng Fan gave him a sidelong glance. “If you go back to your village like this, you’ll certainly be arrested.” “I never intended to return to the village. I only planned to find a jamchi, spend two guan to borrow some pots, bowls, and ladles, and get by for a few days,” Shao Shuyi replied. Zheng Fan could not help but regard him with fresh respect. Chuckling, he said, “You truly know your letters and sums—not stupid at all. Don’t bother with that hassle. You can stay at the boatyard for the next few days and help keep watch over the timber. First, come with me to buy a change of clothes.” A “jamchi” was a postal relay station, most of which were struggling to get by these days. So long as one gave them a little money, getting a spot in a woodshed was no problem, and one could even borrow pots, bowls, ladles, and basins to cook, returning them after use. When Shao Shuyi heard he could temporarily stay at the boatyard, he agreed at once. If for no other reason, two guan was still money. Counting what he had earned before, he had just over twenty-two guan in paper notes in all; saving whatever he could was the only sensible course. Leaving the boatyard, the two headed north along the Salt and Iron Creek until they reached Zhihe Creek. This was an east-west river running straight through Taicang’s urban core, intersecting the Salt and Iron Creek—which ran north-south through the city—at the town center. To the west of the junction stood a north-south bridge spanning Zhihe Creek, called Wuling Bridge. Across the bridge was the Qingyuan Maritime Trade Branch Office—as the name implied, the main bureau was in Qingyuan Route (Ningbo), while the office in Taicang was a branch. The area around Wuling Bridge bustled with activity. It was one of Taicang’s most vital distribution hubs for goods, and it held a market of considerable scale. Unlike the Thirty-Li Embankment outside the city walls, the market here was far more orderly. A rice market, flour market, firewood and fodder market, satin market, hat market, vegetable market, goose and duck market, book and rubbing market, paper stationery market, cart market, and more—save for foul-smelling livestock like sheep, horses, and cattle, or dirty commodities like coal and ironware, everything imaginable was on offer, missing nothing. Zheng Fan glanced left and right. “Wait here and don’t wander off. I’ll go ahead to make an inquiry.” Shao Shuyi gave an assent and looked around in boredom. “A rubbing of Chu of Henan’s Stele of Master Meng! Five guan! Only five guan!” “Haiyue Mi’s Rhapsody on Lofty Aspirations, one scroll, missing several lines in the middle, supplemented by Duke of Wei Zhao! Only three guan and fifty wen!” Right beside him stood a shop, its proprietor leaning by the doorway, shouting casually at the passing crowd. Shao Shuyi looked over and saw that it was a bookstall that also sold calligraphy copybooks, which instantly piqued his interest. In his past life, he had meticulously traced Zhao Mengfu’s calligraphy copybooks and even tried his hand at the Orchid Pavilion Preface. His skill had naturally been quite decent among modern people, but whether he could hold his own against the ancients of this era was something he lacked confidence in. After all, writing required muscle memory, which this body completely lacked; he would likely have to practice before he could slowly regain the feel for it. “A young lad like you knows how to read?” Seeing Shao Shuyi looking intently, the shopkeeper chuckled. “I can read, and write too,” Shao Shuyi said with a nod. “Who wrote that Rhapsody on Lofty Aspirations?” The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment before finally saying, “A Confucian household wrote it. What? Looking down on it? It’s more than good enough for you.” Shao Shuyi took no offense at his attitude and merely asked with curiosity, “A Confucian household?” The shopkeeper was taken aback. Still, his temper was surprisingly mild, and he gave a brief explanation: “Scholars registered in the Confucian rolls, that’s who. The court treats them extraordinarily well: before turning thirty, they sit in the academies to study, and the school provides their meals. After thirty, they are exempt from kechai levies and miscellaneous corvée duties, as well as court hiring and court purchases. Even if they open a bookshop like this, the commercial tax they pay is negligible.” Shao Shuyi was somewhat astonished. The Mongols treated Confucian scholars so well? All these preferential policies! “May I ask how one gets enrolled in the Confucian registry?” he asked instinctively. The shopkeeper laughed. “Stop daydreaming. Back in the thirteenth year of Zhiyuan (1276), the court sent officials to examine scholars, and only 3,890 households qualified. In the twenty-eighth year of Zhiyuan (1291), the former Song’s ‘men of genuine talent and erudition’ and ‘distinguished officials and grand masters’ were entered into the rolls, and there has barely been any change since. Today, there are no more than twenty thousand-odd Confucian households under heaven. The academy lands are already straining to support them; there is no way they will register newcomers unless you have connections that reach straight to the heavens.” “Furthermore—” He cleared his throat and added, “Actually, what I said just now wasn't entirely accurate. The court’s statutes are one thing, but reality is quite another. Confucian households are indeed exempt from miscellaneous corvée, but when kechai levies arrive, they often cannot escape paying money, so much so that propriety and righteousness are trampled underfoot—a truly lamentable state of affairs. Even court purchases and hiring are unavoidable much of the time; it all depends on whether the officials show any pity.” At this point, a sorrowful look crossed the shopkeeper’s face. Though a merchant, he dealt in cultural goods and felt a deep sympathy for the plight of Confucian households, sighing repeatedly for a moment. Shao Shuyi clasped his hands in thanks and asked no more. The path of leeching meals off schooling was clearly not open to ordinary people. Looking further ahead, he saw a group of sallow-faced women clutching children, squatting in the corner of a wall, with touts hawking nearby... Ah. These were commodities too. Shao Shuyi could not resist walking a few steps closer to look carefully. “The lad hasn't even grown all his hair, yet he’s already lusting after women?” A middle-aged man in brocade robes stood not far off, his tone flippant and casual, drawing a burst of laughter from the bystanders. Shao Shuyi looked up and recognized him—it was none other than the “Young Master Zhou” he had seen on the Thirty-Li Embankment two days ago. Could this fellow be a human trafficker? “Is the young lad really interested?” A tout eyed Shao Shuyi skeptically and said, “These are all women of decent family, clean as can be. If you buy one to take home, she can wash clothes, cook, warm your bed, and sleep with you. Obedient as anything.” Young Master Zhou had already turned and walked away. A figure like him clearly had no interest in lingering here; that he had come in person at all was rare enough. Rather than waste time here, wouldn’t it be far more delightful to go dally with that newly acquired woman? “Women of decent family?” Shao Shuyi cast a glance. “Neither zhelan nor bondsmen, but fishing households under our master, along with the wives and daughters of military households entrusted to him by his friends.” The tout had made no sales all day and felt the pressure. Though he severely doubted that Shao Shuyi, dressed in tatters, possessed any financial means, he shared a few more words in the spirit of thrashing every branch on the off chance a date might fall. Fishing households? This Shao Shuyi understood. Taicang was situated in the watery plains of Jiangnan, bordering both river and sea, so fishing households were naturally plentiful. Catching fish was subject to taxation, called the “river and lake tax,” one of the various miscellaneous levies. Unlike certain ancient dynasties that closed off mountains and marshes, the Great Yuan Dynasty threw them wide open for anyone to fish, even encouraging the practice. Fishery officials provided boats and tackle, then collected taxes: “Taking ten parts as the rate, the fishing household receives three, and the government takes seven.” It sounded barely tolerable, but in practice lurked an enormous trap: because the court pressed aggressively for tax revenue, fishery officials demanded the river and lake tax a year in advance. Fishing households had no money, so how could they pay taxes in advance? Consequently, fishery officials collaborated with wealthy coastal elites. The latter paid the taxes on their behalf, secured the contract management rights for rivers, lakes, and marshes, and then brought a swathe of fishing households under their control to catch fish and crabs for them, while reeds, firewood, and grass were also sold for coin. The departed Young Master Zhou was probably one of these wealthy, powerful local men. His exploitation of fishing households was so brutal that they were driven to pawn and sell their wives and daughters to repay debts. Tragic! Truly tragic! Yet had military households fallen to the same wretched state as fishing households? If so, did they have any morale or fighting capacity left? “Military households—” Shao Shuyi began. “Why do you have so much nonsense to say?” The tout lost his patience, or perhaps realized Shao Shuyi truly had no coin. His attitude turned nasty, and he yelled, “How many military households aren't buried in lamb interest? If you’re not buying, get lost!” Shao Shuyi fell silent. “Lamb interest” was a Mongolian term, but in truth it was usurious compound interest: a principal of one ding, rolled over for ten years, became a principal and interest of 1,024 ding. Compounding endlessly without stop, it was called lamb interest. Going by what the tout said, countless military households across the realm were indebted to usurers and routinely pawned their wives and daughters. In that case, the Yuan army’s combat strength was exceedingly doubtful. This Great Yuan dynasty was truly bizarre, discriminating against everyone with equal measure. Shao Shuyi had earlier heard an anecdote at the Zheng family worksite: over by Liujiagang, a Mongol soldier had pawned his wife to borrow money, only for her belly to be swollen when he redeemed her. It left one speechless. There were fully three hundred thousand military households in Jiangnan, mostly comprised of the Newly Adhered Army and their descendants, along with a small number of Mongol, Tammachi, and Han military households. “Scram, scram, scram! Don’t let me see you again! Not a copper in your pocket, yet you ask about this and that.” Having made no sales all day, the tout was in a foul mood and rolled up his sleeves as if ready to strike. Shao Shuyi shook his head and walked away at an unhurried pace. His mood was none too bright either. Although managing to protect oneself in times like these was already fortunate, witnessing such misery firsthand still brought a wave of sorrowful sighs. Before long, Zheng Fan returned. He pulled Shao Shuyi along to a cloth shop that also tailored ready-made garments. After careful measurements, the shopkeeper produced a navy-blue two-piece suit, a pair of boots, and even brought out a half-new boli hat, though whether it was something a previous customer had ordered and abandoned was anyone’s guess. For this single outfit, Zheng Fan paid fifty guan, supposedly a discounted price, leaving Shao Shuyi inwardly gasping. “Don’t go dying easily, now.” After paying, Zheng Fan made Shao Shuyi change into the clothes on the spot, then patted his shoulder, speaking with a genial smile. Shao Shuyi felt a chill in his heart. This was the second time Zheng Fan had said those words. There was bound to be a reason.