Situation

The shipment of tribute grain continued until early March before it was finally completed. Shao Shuyi did not go straight home. Instead, he turned toward the Zheng family mansion west of Salt and Iron Creek to help handle timber. Many shipwrights were working there as well. In theory, they belonged to the Transport Office and were meant to build ships for the court. But just as boat households like Shao Shuyi were conscripted for odd jobs, shipwrights were often pressed into work as well—paying them wages was already decent enough; at least no one made them work for nothing. The place where they worked was actually the Zheng family’s private boatyard. It was small in scale and had few people. There were only a handful of skilled master craftsmen, each leading dozens of apprentices of varying skill. As for the most numerous odd-job men and coolies, they were of course hired temporarily. Shao Shuyi had no shipbuilding skill at all, nor did he even understand carpentry, so he could only do basic physical labor, such as pulling timber out of Salt and Iron Creek and piling it on the bank to dry in the shade. During breaks from work, he often found a chance to go over to the shipwrights and chat with them for a while to broaden his knowledge. “Little Tiger, you’ve got good luck. You weren’t picked for the sea grain run, and instead came to the Zheng family to work as a hired hand,” said the shipwright Li Zhuang with a sigh, as he used an adze to shave timber. He was a middle-aged man in his thirties, tall, with thick arms and broad knuckles covered in calluses. Perhaps because of years of stooped labor, Li Zhuang walked slightly hunched, but his steps were steady. He habitually narrowed his eyes when looking at people, as if inspecting the curve of a piece of timber. “My family doesn’t even have a boat. How could I go to sea?” Shao Shuyi said, carefully watching Li Zhuang’s movements. After searching his memory, he found that his family had once owned a boat, but it had been used for many years. The planks were covered with patches upon patches, until it could no longer be used and was scrapped. In this era, when ship planks were damaged, they were not replaced; the common practice was to patch them from the outside until they could no longer be patched. In other words, his family now had no boat. And after the original owner’s parents passed away, the funeral expenses had cost a great deal, nearly draining the last of the family’s savings. Of course, he was not the only boat household without a boat. More than sixty years had passed since Kublai Khan introduced sea transport. The boat households had grown increasingly destitute, and the court knew something of it. Therefore, when shipping tribute grain by sea, the court stipulated that five households, or even ten households, would provide one ship. It also conscripted many wealthy coastal households as new boat households, or directly requisitioned civilian ships to transport grain. All these measures were taken because the boat households were growing poorer and less capable of maintaining sea transport. But how to put it? Going to sea was still the best way for boat households to earn money; there was no other path. “Your family wasn’t chosen this time, but next time you won’t escape.” Li Zhuang looked with pity at the youth before him, who was only fourteen or fifteen. “The provincial administration and the Myriad Household Office have done all they could to get the court to exempt boat households from miscellaneous corvée duties. But now, with so many troubles about, there’s no guarantee they won’t be restored one day. When that happens, there will be sea voyages again, and official duties again. Who knows how many families will be ruined and how many lives lost.” As they spoke, his seven-year-old son Li Yu ran over, clutching half a persimmon cake in his hand. The child was thin as a monkey, with a big forehead like an overturned gourd, bright eyes, and a habit of tilting his head when looking at people. After circling Shao Shuyi once, he giggled and scurried off on his little legs. After gobbling down the rest of the persimmon cake in a few bites, he nimbly climbed aboard a half-built ship, drawing a scolding from Li Zhuang. “Daddy, there are twenty-four bottom planks here!” Li Yu shouted, running back and forth inside the ship’s hold. The craftsmen at work straightened up and looked at the little one with smiles. Those who knew him pinched Li Yu’s cheeks and teased him. Li Yu dodged away, giggling. Sometimes he grabbed a handful of wood shavings and scattered them; sometimes he sniffed the smell of fir wood; sometimes he squatted down and picked at a lump of fish glue, putting it in his mouth to taste. Li Zhuang shook his head and went back to narrowing his eyes at the timber. Shao Shuyi returned to the riverside and moved large timbers with the others, who were chanting work songs. The open ground on the bank was piled with huge logs that several people could barely encircle, stack after stack, extending toward the Zheng family mansion. He did not know where the Zheng family had bought so much wood. He only knew that these large logs, stripped of branches and bark, were stacked by year. When a ship was to be built, timber that had dried sufficiently in the shade would be taken out and processed into bottom planks, side planks, waist beams, wall posts, face beams, longitudinal beams, masts, and so on, used in one ship after another. The shipbuilding industry of Liujiagang and Taicang was prosperous, with countless official and private workshops. Their standards were among the best in the world, unsurpassed by other places. If war came, whoever controlled Liujiagang would control a considerable shipbuilding industry, and perhaps foreign trade as well. Whether high-quality ships could win a naval battle was another matter; there were examples of small ships defeating large ones. Half a day passed in a flash. As the sun sank in the west, the Zheng family’s servants delivered dinner punctually. This time it was porridge, and complaints rose among the crowd. The servants distributed rice porridge with expressionless faces, turning a deaf ear to the complaints of the craftsmen and hired hands. There was no work at night, and having porridge to drink was already good! Besides, this porridge was not thin; it was quite thick. After drinking it with pickled vegetables, their bellies would be warm and cozy, just right for sleep. After receiving his porridge, Shao Shuyi sat cross-legged on the grass and finished it in a few gulps. Li Zhuang sat beside him and gave a soft sigh. “The years are getting worse. It wasn’t like this in the past.” “How was it before?” Shao Shuyi asked, putting his bowl and chopsticks on the ground. “Is this your first time coming out to work for hire?” Li Zhuang asked, fingering the bead bracelet on his wrist. “Yes.” “How much are you paid?” Shao Shuyi answered without hesitation. “Ten guan in paper money.” “Zhongtong chao or Zhiyuan chao?” Li Zhuang pressed. “Zhongtong chao.” Li Zhuang gave a wry smile. “Among artisan households and boat households, few have fields. Many families can only buy rice with paper money. Now one dan of rice costs thirty guan in paper money. If you work for a month, you can only buy three dou of rice. Besides, this is not good work. A moment’s carelessness can easily lead to injury or illness. When you get older, you’ll know.” Shao Shuyi fell somewhat silent. Though he had not been in this world for long, he had already gotten a first taste of life’s hardships. The full name of the Zhiyuan chao was the Zhiyuan Tongxing Baochao. It was issued in the twenty-fourth year of the Zhiyuan era under Emperor Shizu of Yuan (1287). The full name of the Zhongtong chao was the Zhongtong Yuanbao Jiaochao. It was issued in the first year of the Zhongtong era under Emperor Shizu of Yuan (1260). Both notes circulated on the market. One Zhiyuan chao equaled five Zhongtong chao. The paper was made from mulberry bark, bearing Chinese characters and ’Phags-pa script, with denominations from five wen to two guan in eleven grades. At first, silk, silver, and copper coins served as the “note reserve” (reserve funds). It was stipulated that one guan of Zhongtong chao could be exchanged for one tael of silver at the treasuries of the various route currency offices. But as the court’s finances grew increasingly difficult and it recklessly issued more currency, the notes gradually became inconvertible. By now, even the route baochao administration had been abolished—where was anyone supposed to exchange them? At the court level, whether Zhongtong chao or Zhiyuan chao, the accounting unit was the ding, with fifty guan of paper money making one ding. At first, printing was restrained: as few as thirty thousand ding a year, as many as one hundred thousand ding, so the currency remained strong. Now the annual issuance had exceeded two million ding and was still growing year by year. The worst part was that as printing plates were lost, private counterfeiting became increasingly rampant, especially in Jiangxi. Someone once asserted that most of the paper money in circulation was counterfeit. With things in this state, runaway inflation was almost inevitable. After a month of hard labor, Shao Shuyi had earned ten guan in Zhongtong chao. It could now buy three dou of rice, but whether it would buy that much next year was uncertain. “If you go to sea, you’ll earn more, but these times are not like the old days.” Li Zhuang finished the last bite of porridge and looked at Shao Shuyi. “A zheyang sea ship carrying one thousand dan of coarse japonica rice earns eleven guan in freight money per dan. It looks like a lot, but there are many people on the ship; after splitting it, there isn’t much left. Besides—” Here Li Zhuang patted the timber. “Before going to sea, ships must be repaired and caulked, and all the required equipment must be added; the costs are considerable. The old-timers say that when the sea-transport system was first created in Emperor Shizu’s reign, the currency was valuable and prices were stable. In the rice-and-fish land of Jiangnan, one dan of rice cost no more than three taels of Zhongtong chao. For transporting one dan of grain, eight taels and five qian of freight money were paid, nearly three times the price of rice. The court also allocated good notes. With these, boat households bought supplies at the right time to repair and build sea ships. If building a ship of one thousand liao, labor and materials cost no more than one hundred ding. For transporting one thousand dan of grain, one received one hundred and seventy ding in freight money, so one trip recouped the cost. That’s why everyone raced to build ships and concentrate on transporting grain. And now—” Li Zhuang smiled bitterly. “Goods are expensive and paper money is cheap. The cost of labor and materials for building ships is ten times what it was then. Though the freight money has been raised to eleven guan per dan, prices keep climbing. There’s no profit left; it doesn’t even cover expenses.” Shao Shuyi did a quick mental calculation. From Kublai Khan’s time to the present, shipbuilding prices had risen more than tenfold. Maintenance and repair costs were probably similar, but freight had grown by less than thirty percent, completely failing to keep up with inflation. The total freight for one zheyang ship was two hundred and twenty ding. But the ship carried a chief manager (also called gangshou, the captain), a bu ling (boatswain), a huo zhang (also called zhou shi, the pilot), a da gong (helmsman), anchor hands (responsible for dropping and raising the anchor), yaban (sail handlers), shao gong (ordinary sailors), a zhi ku (storekeeper and armorer), and za shi (odd-job men). At the very least, there were always a dozen or so. If they formed a fleet, there was also a Chiliarch pilot, responsible for overall coordination. Repairs, sailors’ wages, provisions for the return journey, and short-haul transport after reaching the Zhigu wharf—added together, these were not a small sum. Most likely he would have to pay out of his own pocket to make up the difference. When he finished calculating, Shao Shuyi sighed. How could life be so hard? Then he thought: perhaps this was still a “good time.” In a few more years, would life become even harder? What a mess! The desire to survive forced him to calm down and think seriously about how to live through the days ahead.