Back home, Liang Qu emptied out the rice vat, boiled some water, poured it in, and stirred it around. After checking the temperature with his hand, he climbed in, soaped up, and had a thorough, satisfying wash.
It was true he went into the water often enough, but without soap something always felt missing. At fifteen or sixteen a body burns through everything fast; his hair was always greasy, and training martial arts all day left him soaked in sweat — he never had that clean, crisp feeling.
While washing, he also discovered a clever use for his water control: once he'd soaped up, he could send part of the water streaming over himself to rinse clean and then let it flow away, with no need to change the water at all.
That night Liang Qu spread out the new bedding he'd bought and slept soundly and comfortably.
For the next several days he took the boat out, trained on board while Ah Fei caught fish, and then headed back at dusk pretending he'd been fishing all day. During this time he also began slipping more expensive species into his catches, and set aside another six qian of silver.
Perhaps because he was sleeping well, he had more energy for training, and his efficiency clearly improved.
"Ugh, this cursed weather gets colder every day."
That day Liang Qu hugged his quilt, unwilling to leave the bed, wanting only to sleep a while longer.
Reality really was different from novels. He used to read about protagonists who trained tirelessly day and night, as though it were their daily bread, but in reality, unless you were a machine, no one could keep at it without pause. Three shichen of training in a row was already impressive; push much past that and a person would break down.
"Autumn tax! Autumn tax is being collected! Everyone get your grain down to the wharf!"
Just as he was about to doze off again, Liang Qu heard the shouting outside and jolted wide awake.
The day of the autumn tax wasn't fixed; it fell within a few days either way, and which day exactly was up to the tax clerk.
He hurried into his clothes and went out, and found every household already hauling grain toward the wharf.
"Damn it, wouldn't paying silver be fine? No, it has to be polished rice, and I have to haul two hundred-odd jin of it myself."
Unfortunately he could only grumble in private; the work still had to be done.
A hundred-odd jin of rice couldn't be moved in one trip, and it wasn't easy to carry besides. Luckily he spotted Li Libo's family at the wharf, so Liang Qu asked them to keep an eye on his load while he ran back for a second trip before it was all moved.
"So how's it going? What have you gotten to at the martial hall lately?"
Li Libo sighed. "Ah, I just finished Ape Fist and started on Tiger Fist. I've only just caught up with you."
Liang Qu patted his shoulder, not knowing how to comfort him.
"By the way, why haven't you been at the hall these past few days?"
"Because of the autumn tax," said Liang Qu. "I've got no one to help me handle it."
"Oh."
"Ah Shui, my boy's slow. You'll have to help him along." The old man standing nearby spoke up — Li Libo's father, Li Dakang. He had heard from Li Libo about Liang Qu's excellent aptitude, and he had heard even more about how Liang Qu had sent the Wang brothers fleeing for their lives a few days earlier.
"Of course, of course."
Liang Qu felt the scene oddly resembled his own school days in his past life. Truly, pity the hearts of parents the world over.
"Next! Chen Jiechang!"
In front of the wharf, the village head held the household register and called out names one by one. Beside him the household chief and the village clerk sat at a table with brushes in hand, keeping the records, while a tax clerk kicked at the official grain measure used for weighing. Every kick sent some of the leveled grain sliding down and spilling out, a sight that made a man's heart jump.
One hotheaded young man tried to pick up the grain from the ground, but the tax clerk shouted at him: "Don't pick that up — that's wastage! Hey, I'm talking to you! Still picking?"
The tax clerk kicked the man on the ground, sending him sprawling flat on his back.
This was the famous heaped-measure kick. The grain had to be piled into a cone, so a portion always rose above the rim of the measure; one kick there could knock loose a good deal of rice, and once the kick was done, it was still the common folk who had to make up the loss.
Put plainly, how much loss there ought to be was impossible to pin down — transport carried every kind of risk. The heaped-measure kick was simply the officials shifting the risk of transport onto the people. If the real losses in transit were small, they pocketed the difference, so the harder they kicked, the better.
"They don't look easy to deal with this year. Good thing we prepared plenty." Li Libo was still shaken, then sighed. "If only I could become a martial master. You get a tax-exempt quota, and you draw pay besides — you'd be nearly the equal of a provincial graduate. So grand!"
"Pingyang Town collected its tax yesterday. Ah Shui, you should have seen it — a few martial practitioners who'd broken through the barrier walked by, and that clerk didn't dare kick a single measure. He was grinning so wide his wrinkles spread apart."
Li Libo was snickering as he said it, but before he could finish, his father gave him a hard kick. "You brat! Is there anything you won't say out loud? Shut your mouth!"
Li Libo's face fell and he said no more.
The endless line crept slowly forward. Every so often someone who couldn't pay would fall to his knees, weeping and wailing, but all he got was a whipping and being dragged off to one side; in the end his only fate was corvée labor.
Liang Qu watched the cruelty and could do nothing. His entire savings came to only six qian of silver and a dan and a half of rice, so he could only wait quietly in line. When his turn came, he handed over his grain briskly, watched the clerk's kick leave a large shortfall, then went back for more rice to make it up.
Liang Qu was not foolish enough to haul over all two hundred-odd jin of rice he had prepared in advance and top up the measure the moment he saw a gap. That would not earn him praise for efficiency; it would only make the clerk worse.
When the collection was done, Liang Qu saw the village head put a check mark by his name in the register, and only then did he breathe easy.
Thankfully the clerk had not been so black-hearted as to count his dead "father" as well — the man had been gone less than two months. Give it a little longer, and this lot would absolutely do it.
Liang Qu gathered up his cloth sacks and headed back against the flow of the crowd. He hadn't gone halfway before he heard pleading voices behind him again, and the terrifying crack of a whip.
"You filthy wretch! You've smeared snot all over my leg!"
Liang Qu assumed it was another poor soul who couldn't pay, but when he turned to look, he was startled to see that the man who had taken the whip was Chen Qingjiang's father, Chen Renxing!
What was going on? He had seen Uncle Chen bring grain earlier, and the amount should have been enough!
Something was wrong. Liang Qu quickly tugged at Li Libo. "Brother Li, run to my house and get rice — there's three dou left."
Li Libo was astonished, but he understood it was no time for questions. He lowered his head and hurried out of the crowd.
Meanwhile Chen Qingjiang was shielding his father, begging the clerk for a few days' grace.
"It isn't that I don't want to pay, truly, but there's no way. A few days ago my little boy caught a chill, and paying for his treatment has left the family with no savings at all. And besides, my boy really is only six — he isn't seven yet!"
So it turned out Chen Qingjiang had not brought too little after all. His household had five people — two men, one woman, and two children — and should have paid two dan six dou of rice.
But the clerk had kicked hard, opening a shortfall of a full seven dou. And that was not all: he had flatly counted Chen Qingjiang's eldest son, just over six, as seven!
At seven, a male counted toward the tax rolls — that crossed the threshold for paying tax!
Only, being young, his share was smaller than an adult's, just three dou of rice. Even so, the shortfall came to nearly a whole dan!
Chen Qingjiang had expected a gap and had prepared three dou of rice against it, but seven dou more — there was no way on earth he could make that up.
The clerk snorted. "Are you saying I've wronged you?"
"I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare. I only beg the honorable sir to grant me a few days' grace — I will surely make it up!" Chen Qingjiang knelt on the ground, kowtowing and pleading, while six-year-old Chen Shun beside him wailed at the top of his lungs.
The onlookers held their breath; not one dared make a sound, and no one stepped forward to help.
That was seven dou of rice!
Seven hundred-odd wen in copper coin — what family would be so generous as to hand that over?
The child's crying frayed the clerk's nerves. "If you can't pay the tax, what am I supposed to do? But never mind, it doesn't matter — Lan Prefecture happens to be digging a canal, and they're short of hands..."
Liang Qu's heart lurched. Who knew how many men died digging canals? If you went, could you ever come back?
Seeing that Chen Shun's crying had put the clerk in a foul mood, the man raised his whip to strike again.
Liang Qu rushed forward and pulled little Shun behind him, rubbing his hands together and bowing low with an apologetic smile. "Please calm yourself, sir. Uncle Chen was muddled — he forgot he still has rice at home. It'll be fetched for you right away."
As he spoke, Li Libo came dashing up, shouting for people to make way, and tipped the sack he was carrying into the measure — exactly three dou.
The clerk sneered. "Only three dou? Where's the other four?"
Liang Qu produced the six qian of silver he had just saved and smiled apologetically. "There's really no helping it — I've been too busy lately to buy rice. Please accept this six qian as a token of respect."
There had never been any real shortfall; it was only an excuse for extortion. Six qian of silver could buy six or seven dou of rice. Counting the three dou already delivered, that came to nine dou in all — two dou more than the shortfall.
The clerk weighed the silver in his hand and pocketed it without a flicker of expression. "Fine. Don't let it happen again."
"Yes, yes — thank you, sir."
Liang Qu wiped his sweat, hurried to help Chen Qingjiang support his father, took little Shun by the hand, and walked away under the clerk's watchful gaze.
Chapter 20