32. Killing the Chicken to Frighten the Monkeys, the Crowd Stands in Order

Upon hearing that the authorities had reached an agreement with the Zhang family, the local officials from across the county flocked to the Zhuxia Villa. They came to pay their respects to Zhang Xun and to negotiate the procedures for the collection of this year’s autumn taxes.

Zhang Xun certainly carried the aura of a young, arrogant scion of the feudal ruling class. He lounged on a recliner at the entrance of the main hall, a servant holding a soup bowl for him while another fanned him; all that was missing was a maid to knead his legs.

Last year, these matters had been handled by his elder brother, Zhang Cheng, leaving Zhang Xun unfamiliar with many of the finer details. For instance, it had been the custom since the late Tang Dynasty for government offices to levy an additional two dou of "rat and sparrow wastage" for every hu of grain collected. When collecting money or other goods, they would add "head money."

Similar to the "spilling and kicking" practices of the Ming and Qing dynasties, the Song Dynasty required that when grain was paid, it had to be heaped into a "mountain" atop the measuring container until it was overflowing; only then was the tax considered settled. The grain inside the container was the state’s official tax, while the excess heap was the illicit profit for the officials and clerks. Fortunately, the technique of "kicking the container so the grain doesn't fall" hadn't been perfected yet, or they would have been forced to pour even more in.

Did it end there? Of course not. During the reign of Emperor Ningzong, the Grand Councilor Zhen Dexiu discovered while serving as the Governor of Tanzhou that, every tax season, local clerks would issue a document to taxpayers requiring them to declare the amount of tax they owed. While this was ostensibly a way to streamline administration, the document was not free. Depending on one’s household status—from the first to the fifth rank—citizens had to pay anywhere from seventy to ninety coins just to receive this tax form, known as "record money."

Then, when it came time to pay, it was customary for the taxpayer’s declaration to be deemed "filled out incorrectly." To correct it, one had to pay another fee to the clerk, called "filing money." Only after this bribe was paid would the form be accepted and the taxes officially settled.

All of these intricacies required someone to brief him; otherwise, Zhang Xun would remain in the dark. Even though these clerks and officials were bustling about the Zhang family gate, they were individuals with their own interests. Every bit they could withhold from the Zhang family was a bit more for their own pockets. The slipperiness of such clerks had been a constant throughout history. These local officials, having inherited their positions from the late Tang era, were cunning to the core. If Zhang Xun were not sharp, he would surely be deceived.

Should he try to intimidate them? No. Zhang Xun hadn't even arrested anyone on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, let alone killed anyone on the first. Furthermore, these men had not yet committed an error; there was no pretext for a show of force.

There was no other way. Even though the weather remained sweltering, Zhang Xun had a tiger-skin rug—intended for his mother to use in winter—spread across his recliner. Though it was now just a mat, the majesty of the fierce beast remained. Upon entering, two of the clerks were visibly startled.

Humans naturally harbor a primal fear of such ferocious wild beasts.

As the men arrived one after another, Zhang Xun ignored them, focusing instead on archery. He wasn't shooting at targets, but at pheasants. As his servant tossed the birds into the air, Zhang Xun would strike them down. It was barely a moving target, and likely the limit of his archery skills—any more difficult, and he might have missed.

With every arrow, blood splattered the ground.

At first, the officials and clerks had offered cheers and applause out of habit, but Zhang Xun ignored them, continuing his grim display until the steady stream of blood and arrows cowed the group into silence.

He was killing chickens, but the message was meant for the "monkeys." In the eyes of the feudal ruling class, these men were little different from monkeys. To Zhang Xun, crushing them would be as easy as crushing an ant. If he were to have them beaten to death and they expired at home, the authorities would simply record it as a sudden illness. Would anyone dare investigate Zhang Xun for murder? Impossible.

When the timing felt right, Zhang Xun finally set aside his bow. Wiping his face, he smiled and addressed the officials. By now, they were standing perfectly straight, listening intently to his "instruction."

"I, Zhang Er, am a rough man. I used to enjoy bullying the common folk, but I grew bored of that, so I went and killed the tiger of the Southern Mountain and the dragon of the Northern Harbor instead."

"I hope you will all put your hearts into helping me settle this matter smoothly and perfectly. If you do, we shall all be well, and things will proceed as they have before."

"I am not as easy to talk to as my brother, Zhang Da. He is a scholar, destined to be a Grand Councilor. I, however, am mainly here in Changzhou to look after our family’s small plot of land. From now on, we shall be seeing quite a lot of each other."

"Hmph..."

Zhang Xun finished wiping his face and let out a soft chuckle. The group immediately bowed deeply, declaring that they would follow young Master Zhang's every command and ensure the autumn taxes were handled perfectly.

"Fine. You may go."

"Follow the old procedures—let the past be the guide—but do not dream of deceiving me. My family has all the past ledgers; every single entry is clear."

The display had been terrifying, leaving the courtyard stained with blood, but the effect was satisfactory. At the very least, the clerks now understood that Zhang Xun was not a brainless brute. He understood the gears of the summer and autumn tax systems well enough that he could not be easily deceived.

While Zhang Xun could not concern himself with every single village or individual taxpayer, he had a firm grasp of the big picture. Whether the final sum handed to him was a hundred thousand or eighty thousand, it could not be less than his investment. As long as they used the Zhang family’s authority to squeeze the locals without being so excessive as to cause a public outcry, Zhang Xun did not care.

In a man-eating society, even a benevolent emperor could not save everyone. The economic foundation dictated that the ruling class must feed upon the lower orders; if the pie could not be enlarged, someone was bound to be devoured. No matter how civilized the pretense, it remained man-eating, and that was a reality no one could change.

Perhaps it was Zhang Xun’s tactics that kept the clerks in check; at any rate, there were no major disturbances or tragedies that year. As far as Zhang Xun was concerned, if no one reported a suicide or a desperate act, then the world was at peace.

In the end, he received over ninety thousand hu of grain—a number that satisfied him. Since he only owed Governor Shi seventy thousand, there was plenty of profit to be made.

The other counties followed a similar pattern. Governor Shi, having received a respectable tax yield, stepped down from his post with satisfaction. Taking advantage of the Governor’s departure to the capital to await a new appointment, Zhang Xun entrusted him with a letter for Lu Xiufu.

The war of words between Li Tingzhi and Fan Wenhu regarding the defeat at Xiangyang had been dragging on for nearly a month. Even if there was no clear outcome, there should have been some indication of the situation, yet there was still no reply from Lu Xiufu.