Wu Xianglao's carriage rolled into Taoyuan Village once again.
Truth be told, he had no wish to come. But there was nothing to be done about it — the other two xianglao had ceded him a share of the benefits, and damn them, they had offered far too generously.
Besides, he was the only one who had ever set foot in Taoyuan Village, the only one who could claim even a thread of goodwill with the people here. Just how thin that thread actually was, only he himself knew.
Wu Xianglao gave his own thigh a hard slap. He never should have run his mouth so much when he got back that time.
He'd boasted too big, and then lost himself in the wide-eyed admiration of his listeners — and walked straight into a pit.
Standing before the village committee courtyard gate — which was neither grand nor imposing — Wu Xianglao's legs had begun to tremble.
Word had already spread that Old Master Zhao was an unfathomable figure. Word had also spread that a former fifth-rank official, a juren, had come to settle in this small village.
At least, it had spread among the better circles of Qingniu Town. How far beyond that it had traveled, and whether the county magistrate had caught wind of it, remained unknown.
"Wu Xianglao, you're here — let me go and announce you."
Wu Xianglao did not, and dared not, make things difficult for Dazhu. He arranged his aged face into a smile as brilliant as a chrysanthemum in full bloom.
"Good, I'll wait. Thank you for your trouble."
This was quite possibly the first time in Wu Xianglao's life that he had been so courteous to a doorkeeper.
Presently, Wu Xianglao followed Sun Dazhu alone into the compound and was shown to a reception room.
Upon entering, he saw that the seat of honor across from him was occupied by Jinyi. Jinxiu, Jinwen, and Jinyuan were seated on one side, while a handsome middle-aged man with a fine beard sat on the other.
Thud — Wu Xianglao dropped to his knees.
"This humble one, Wu Youcai, pays respects to the Prefect!"
"Rise." Lin Xuejin first bade Wu Xianglao stand, then, suppressing his irritation and knitting his brows, spoke as calmly as he could manage.
"I have long since ceased to be prefect. I hold only the rank of juren. Do not kneel before me in future."
"Yes, yes, of course — as the Pref— as the Juren Excellency says."
At this point Jinyi spoke up. "Wu Xianglao, I imagine you've come on official business. If it is official business, then we deputy village heads ought to discuss it together."
"Please, go ahead. What is it?"
Wu Xianglao opened and closed his mouth several times. At last he steeled himself and spoke quickly.
"Well, with spring here, it's time for the corvée. The higher authorities have issued orders that all males in the surrounding villages between the ages of seventeen and fifty-five, those without official rank or special circumstances, are to perform corvée labor — two months' service."
"I thought it must be something serious. The regulations of the court are naturally ours to follow." As Jinyi spoke, she stole a glance at Lin Xuejin. This fellow is a man of the court — I can't let him see what I'm thinking, or what the master is thinking.
Had Zhao Baihui known Jinyi's thought, he would have nearly spat blood. Who shares your thinking? I'm still too small and weak for thoughts like that — don't lump me in!
"But isn't there a provision that allows one to buy out of corvée service? What's the rate per person?"
Wu Xianglao gave a start. He snuck a glance at Lin Xuejin — and found himself meeting the man's eyes directly. He quickly looked down. "The rate is… one tael of silver."
"I know that corvée can be waived under special circumstances," Lin Xuejin said evenly. "But since when was it stipulated that it could simply be bought off?" Wu Xianglao broke into a cold sweat, feeling as though he might perish from dehydration on the spot.
Jinyi looked at Lin Xuejin with a flicker of sympathy. Just as the master had said — this Scholar Lin had spent several years as a muddled prefect.
He didn't even know this.
Or rather, his subordinates had kept him in the dark.
But that, perhaps, was exactly what made him a decent man and a decent official. Anyone else would have known full well — and each year stretched out a hand to scoop up a tidy sum, one of the choicest cuts at that.
"Deputy Head Lin," Jinyi said, "this is a custom that every commoner knows. There is no need to make too much of it. A practice observed long enough eventually becomes a rule in its own right."
"Ha." Lin Xuejin gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Rules — how many more such rules are there, known to every commoner yet unknown to the officials?" He left it at that and said no more.
The officials in question, he supposed, referred only to a small handful of fools within officialdom. Himself, for instance.
"Wu Xianglao, if corvée can be commuted with silver, then let us commute it with silver."
"Deputy Head Lin, please tally the number of males in our village between seventeen and fifty-five who hold no official rank and have no disabilities."
Jinyi spoke to steer past the awkwardness, and Wu Xianglao finally stopped sweating. He nearly fell to his knees before Jinyi and kowtowed in gratitude.
Bless you, young miss — you've saved this old man's life.
"I recorded the population by age group at the start of the year. Let me look it up." Lin Xuejin carefully opened the small notebook before him.
It was office stationery Jinyi had brought over. Although she had said to use it freely, Lin Xuejin treated it with great care all the same. The paper was thin, smooth, and lustrous — of excellent quality. Paired with the ballpoint pen, writing was wonderfully convenient, far easier to carry than the four traditional implements of the scholar's studio. The first time it had come into his hands, he had fallen in love with it at once.
He had spent a lifetime writing with a brush, however, and the sudden switch to this rigid pen had felt deeply unnatural. At first his writing was slow and ungainly.
But after so many days, with the formidable calligraphic foundation he had built over a lifetime, he had long since managed to produce a flowing, elegant hand.
He had pressed Jinyi to tell him where the paper and pen were made, but she had deflected the question. He had wanted to ask Zhao Baihui directly, yet without any achievements to his name, he could hardly approach the man.
He turned carefully from the back toward the front. The pages were filled with important figures and notes. A few pages in, he found the population statistics, performed a quick mental addition, and announced, "There are two hundred and forty-six eligible males. Excluding myself and Scholar Zhao, that comes to two hundred and forty-four."
"Very well. Jinxiu, count out two hundred and forty-four taels of silver for Wu Xianglao to take back with him."
No one present thought to question whether Scholar Zhao held any official rank — even entertaining such a thought seemed somehow disrespectful. But in truth, he held none whatsoever.
Well then. One tael saved.
Jinxiu went to the office to write up a receipt, then returned shortly with a small attendant in tow. The attendant carried a large tray: twenty-four ten-tael silver ingots, plus four smaller ones.
Over twenty catties — quite a considerable weight.
Jinxiu walked ahead, muttering, "The paper currency the master came up with is so much better. This stuff is far too heavy."
"Wu Xianglao, please count it and make sure it's correct."
"No need, no need — I can hardly imagine Village Head Zhao would try to cheat me."
Lin Xuejin's temper had plainly not yet cooled. "When conducting the court's business, one must be exacting," he said stiffly. "How can you be so casual about it? Count it."
Wu Xianglao looked as though he might weep. "Yes, yes, counting it now, counting it right now."
Jinyi put in a gentle word. "Many of these matters were not of Wu Xianglao's making. There is no need to be too hard on him."
Wu Xianglao cast another grateful glance in her direction. Lin Xuejin drew a deep breath. "The fault is mine."
He acknowledged his error to Jinyi — but he would not apologize to Wu Xianglao.
With Jinyi and her people, he conducted himself by their ways and customs; he was a deputy village head, and when he made a mistake, he owned it.
With others, however, he operated by the rules of his own world. He was a juren of standing. Apologize to a village elder?
Not in this lifetime.
"All correct, all correct — I've counted it through. Village Head Zhao, this old man has no further business and will take his leave."
"Very well, Wu Xianglao. Allow me to see you out."
"No need, please, no need." Wu Xianglao hoisted the twenty-odd catties of silver and summoned a strength he had never before known, moving faster than a young man half his age.
As if fleeing the very gates of the underworld.