An Official Notice Demanding Payment

When Zi Bofeng was busy sorting through all kinds of materials, Yan Lao Wu was squatting beneath the great locust tree at the village entrance, puffing away at his dry tobacco. He remembered that when he was young, the people in the village had not farmed at all. Even hunting had merely been a byproduct of searching for jade. But as the jade in the mountains grew scarcer and the animals fewer, more and more people had no choice but to clear mountain fields and learn from the people below the mountains, farming to make a living.

Yan Lao Wu remembered how, in those days, his grandfather would always smoke his pipe as he squatted at the northern edge of the village, where the road led up the mountain, watching the young people set out early and return late.

But now, Yan Lao Wu was squatting on the southern side of the village, facing the road to Meng City, watching the villagers tilling their meager fields on the slopes and at the foot of the mountain.

Figures rose and fell amid the barren fields, like trees ravaged by a violent wind—falling, rising, then falling again.

Along the path winding through those chaotic, impoverished mountain fields, a middle-aged man in black clothes approached in great strides, leading a horse. A short blade hung at his waist, and he was short and stocky, barely taller than the horse's legs. The horse bore an official brand, its coat sleek and shining black, magnificent and spirited.

White vapor streamed from the horse's nostrils, and sweat covered its entire body. It seemed to have traveled a very long way at a gallop.

Yan Lao Wu tapped out his pipe, rose to his feet, and went forward in surprise. "Lao Si, what brings you here?"

This man's surname was also Yan. Born in Yan Village, he was of the same clan as Yan Lao Wu. By seniority, he was a generation below Yan Lao Wu, and as the fourth in line, people called him Lao Si. He had not grown taller, only sharper. When he was young, he had found himself a post in Meng City as a runner in the Household Bureau's Tax Office.

The Household Bureau held considerable authority, and the Tax Office under it was specifically responsible for summer taxes and autumn grain. Though Lao Si was merely an ordinary runner, he bore the duty of supervising tax collection and thus held a measure of power. Wherever he went, people hastened to curry favor with him, serving fine wine and good food.

Yet in truth, no one liked seeing a tax collector. The moment Yan Lao Wu saw him, his heart skipped a beat, though he could not let it show.

Lao Si waved his hand. Rather than immediately answer Yan Lao Wu's question, he walked up beside him, shook his head, and said, "Fifth Uncle, Lower Yan Village has landed in serious trouble!"

"What happened?" Yan Lao Wu was startled. Lao Si was being far too alarmist.

"What happened? See for yourself..." Lao Si took out a document from his hand. Yan Lao Wu reddened and said, "Lao Si, are you making fun of your Fifth Uncle? If I could read the words in there, would I still be Yan Lao Wu?"

Lao Si shook his head and explained that the Prefect had decided to clear up the outstanding taxes and had ordered them to come down and press for collection.

"Three years of unpaid taxes?" Yan Lao Wu's face immediately turned pale.

No one knew Lower Yan Village's assets better than Yan Lao Wu.

Lower Yan Village had mined jade for generations, and most of its people owned no farmland. Thus, it used a poll tax: one was taxed upon reaching adulthood, at a fixed rate, though various goods could be used in payment. In earlier years, payments had mostly been uniform silver coin, but when times grew bad, all sorts of things had been handed over instead.

Collecting taxes in the countryside was considered a miserable assignment. Often, an entire village did not have a single literate person capable of writing or calculating, while among the tax collectors, few were skilled at accounting. How much was demanded, how much was actually paid, and how much ultimately reached the coffers—it was all a tangled mess.

In the end, the Prefect would have someone calculate the total tax collected. As long as the overall sum was more or less right, the matter would be allowed to pass. To truly sort out every last detail would take so much effort that it simply was not worth it.

In such circumstances, if it was said that a village had paid too little tax, the villagers could only accept it. They could hardly go reason with the Prefect. Since ancient times, commoners did not fight officials; this was the wisdom small folk used to survive.

"Fifth Uncle, do you think these taxes can be collected, or not?" Lao Si asked.

"Difficult..." Yan Lao Wu did not need to think to know the taxes could not possibly be collected. When Lower Yan Village's tax rate had first been set, it had been based on the village-wide average, at one part in thirty. That was considered a relatively low rate, because every thirty years there was also a Jade Tax, an additional levy imposed only on jade-producing villages. Most other villages paid one part in fifteen.

In recent years, the villagers' income had plummeted to scarcely one-fifth of what it had once been. By the old standard of one part in thirty, they might barely scrape it together. But to pay three years of taxes at once would amount to more than half a year's harvest for a household.

It would be stranger if they could collect it.

"I think it'll be difficult too..." Lao Si nodded. Seeing Yan Lao Wu's sorrowful face, however, he smiled. "Fifth Uncle, why put on such a long face? I know your family has substantial means. Three years of taxes should be nothing to you. Don't tell me you can't pay."

Yan Lao Wu shook his head. "If we tightened our belts for half a year, we could pay it. But most of the people in this village simply can't pay these taxes..."

Yan Lao Wu worried that if he failed to collect the taxes and was punished by the Prefect, what then? He understood the saying that the law did not punish the multitude, but he also remembered another saying: kill the chicken to scare the monkeys.

"Fifth Uncle, you're truly muddleheaded." Lao Si shook the document in his hand. "Before I came, I heard an official in the Prefect's residence say that Lower Yan Village had gained a new Village Chief. Would that be the Zi Bofeng whose words are so unpleasant?"

Yan Lao Wu suddenly saw the light. The responsibility for collecting taxes no longer belonged to Yan Lao Wu—it belonged to that Lord Village Chief. He slapped his hand sharply and laughed. "It is indeed that Zi Bofeng."

"Such a headache naturally ought to give him a headache. Fifth Uncle, your luck is really something!" Lao Si raised a thumb and gestured with it. Then he asked, "Where is this Village Chief now? I'll deliver this document to him."

"He's in the village Private School. Go on, then. I'll head home and prepare wine and food for you," Yan Lao Wu said.

He watched Lao Si lead his horse into the village. The smile at the corner of his mouth gradually faded, and he gently shook his head, his gaze too complicated for words.

Lower Yan Village Private School, beneath the great locust tree.

"The document has been delivered to Lord Village Chief. This humble man shall take his leave." Lao Si carefully tucked the slip bearing Zi Bofeng's seal, proof that the document had been handed over, into his robes. He clasped his hands, then led his horse away.

Zi Bofeng stood at the entrance to the Private School, watching him disappear around the corner. Only one thought remained in his mind: Damn it, Zi Bofeng, you've landed in serious trouble!

On only his second day in office, he had already run into the major matter of tax collection. This was truly putting him through the wringer.

Whether in his previous life or this one, Zi Bofeng had never dealt with tax collection. He racked his brains but had no idea where to begin or where to end. The document was perfectly clear—collect everything within fifteen days, and personnel from the Tax Office would come to take delivery.

What if it was not paid? What would happen if it was not paid? Write that down for me, damn it!

Zi Bofeng could not help roaring at the document.

At that moment, Zi Bofeng suddenly envied Yan Lao Wu. He truly wished he only recognized the single character "secret" and knew nothing else. What one did not know, one did not fear.

After sitting there and ransacking his brains for a long while, Zi Bofeng remained utterly lost. Could it be that he had to collect taxes household by household, door to door?

Only after a long while did Zi Bofeng make up his mind—he would go discuss it with Yan Lao Wu.

Yan Lao Wu's home was not far from the Private School. It took only a few steps to get there.

Yan Er was drawing water in the courtyard to wash the horse. When he saw Zi Bofeng arrive, he raised his voice and called out, "Xiucai is here!" As he spoke, he gave an awkward smile.

Zi Bofeng did not pay it any mind. Though he had fused the experiences of two lives, he was still only a youth in both. He did not yet understand much about the ways of the world. Assuming sweat had gotten into Yan Er's eyes, he clasped his hands and asked, "Second Uncle, is the old man home?"

"He's inside. He got drunk and just fell asleep," Yan Er hurriedly replied.

"Oh..." Zi Bofeng had the sensibilities of a modern man. Hearing faint snoring from within, he felt it would be impolite to disturb someone who was drunk. Disappointed, he said, "Then I'll come back later."

"Fine, Xiucai, take care..." Yan Er watched Zi Bofeng leave. After looking around for quite some time, he finally closed the front gate and went into the house.

"He left?" Yan Lao Wu had just thrown back the blanket and sat up. He had indeed been drinking, but he could hold his liquor well. The one truly drunk was Lao Si, who was snoring next door.

"He left. He said he'd come back later." Yan Er answered gloomily. Seeing that his father had nothing else to say, he turned and went back outside.

Yan Lao Wu sat on the edge of the bed, feeling rather uneasy.

As dusk fell, Zi Bofeng came again. Yan Er said, "He's still inside. Go see whether he's awake."

Yan Lao Wu, who had been drinking tea to sober up, was startled when he heard this. He hurriedly lay down fully clothed on the bed and pulled the blanket over himself. Zi Bofeng came in and called for the old man twice. Yan Lao Wu gave a couple of vague grunts, intending to muddle through.

Zi Bofeng pushed him a few more times, but he only pretended to sleep. Zi Bofeng stood beside him for a while. Seeing that he truly would not wake, he had no choice but to leave.

But as Zi Bofeng turned around, he saw the half-finished tea on the table, then noticed the damp trace at the corner of Yan Lao Wu's mouth that had not yet dried. At once, he understood.

Yan Lao Wu lay on the bed, not daring to move, until Yan Er came in and said, "He left again."

Yan Lao Wu sprang upright, then lay back down again, feeling utterly weak all over.

"That damned old man! He's driving me mad!" Zi Bofeng left Yan Lao Wu's house, so angry his lungs nearly burst. The man plainly did not want anything to do with this trouble.

But I have the memories of two lives. Could this matter really stump me?

Fine, then. You pretend not to know, and I'll start collecting from your family!

Zi Bofeng turned and headed back toward Yan Lao Wu's house. But after taking a few steps, he turned back again.

Two Zi Bofengs—one cold and upright, the other hot-blooded and unrestrained—had fused into one. It was as though the saying "think thrice before acting" had truly come to life, as if two people were genuinely thinking together.

By all reason, as Village Chief, he indeed ought to bear this responsibility. A Clan Elder was only a Clan Elder; he truly had no obligation to help him. Tax collection was only a temporary matter, and Zi Bofeng believed he would eventually find a solution. But if he directly fell out with Yan Lao Wu now, there would only be more trouble in the future.