The Ganquan County Yamen is over three miles away from the Tax Bureau. As a mere clerk in the Accounting Office, Wang Tai is not entitled to an official carriage, so he walked with Zhao An in tow.
Along the way, shopkeepers from neighboring streets frequently greeted Wang Tai, the accountant from the "Tax Bureau," and Zhao An found himself nodding in acknowledgement quite often as well. This was the social standing of an official employee. Judging by Wang Tai’s relaxed demeanor, there was no urgent business; otherwise, he wouldn't have kept stopping to chat with acquaintances. During these conversations, Zhao An stood a little more than a step away, with a constant smile—neither crowding in nor appearing distant. Whenever Wang Tai mentioned some business regarding the Bureau, Zhao An would nod slightly, appearing as though everything his mentor said was perfectly reasonable.
The Ganquan County Yamen follows the classic layout of facing south, with a three-room frontage and dougong brackets under the eaves. The sides are flanked by blue-brick screen walls about one-and-a-half men high, occupying at least twice the area of the Tax Bureau. Having grown accustomed to modern luxury office buildings in his past life, Zhao An felt nothing despite the yamen being far more imposing than his workplace. To him, this place looked like nothing more than a local government compound in a remote, mountainous region.
There are no stone lions at the gate, only a guardroom where yamen runners stand watch. Noting a large drum near the guardroom, Zhao An asked Wang Tai curiously, "Sir, is that the petition drum?"
"The petition drum?" Wang Tai laughed and shook his head. He explained that this wasn't for petitions, but the hall drum used to signal the start and end of the workday—the same purpose as the bell at the Tax Bureau. When the morning drum sounds, work begins and commoners can enter to handle business; when the evening drum sounds, work ends, and anyone remaining must return the next day.
Zhao An was confused. "Then where is the petition drum? Back home, I heard that when commoners want to file a complaint at the yamen, they are supposed to beat it."
"The petition drum exists, but it’s not at local yamen like ours. It’s located at the Que Gate outside the imperial palace. The average person can’t go around beating that; there are few in this world who dare to file a complaint against the state. Don't listen to hearsay. If a commoner wants to file a complaint, they just go to the yamen to register and submit a petition. There’s no need to beat any drums."
As they spoke, Wang Tai led Zhao An to the guardroom. Having visited the yamen often, the guards recognized him, and they were ushered in without needing to register.
"Old Li," Wang Tai asked an acquaintance among the guards, "Is Master Ji at the Revenue Department?"
"He is. He just came from Secretary Lu’s place."
The "Secretary Lu" the guard referred to was Lu Qing, the County Registrar. Both the Assistant Magistrate and the Registrar are aides to the Magistrate, responsible for managing finances, grain, law enforcement, and water conservancy—these are the so-called junior officials. Usually, there are only three people in a county who hold official titles. The Assistant Magistrate is rank 8b, the Registrar is rank 9a, and both have their own dedicated offices connected to the yamen. Because the Registrar is also called a "secretary," people in the yamen refer to Lu Qing as Secretary Lu. To Zhao An, hearing the title "Secretary" was thunderous and jarring; he nearly shivered.
Like a bumpkin entering a grand manor, Zhao An stepped into the heart of the county government with immense curiosity. The first thing that caught his eye were two rows of adjoining rooms with signs like "Works," "War," "Justice," and "Revenue." These, he presumed, were the legendary Six Offices. Further inside was the main hall where the Magistrate presided over cases, and behind that, presumably, were the private quarters of the Magistrate's family, off-limits to the public.
"Wait here. I’ll call you when you’re needed," Wang Tai said after leading him to the Revenue Department. He gestured for Zhao An to sit on a bench under the corridor, but soon returned and plopped down beside him. "Master Ji and Manager Zhang are discussing matters. We have to wait a moment."
Zhao An nodded. He figured Manager Zhang must be the head of the Revenue Department. Wu Laoer had mentioned that the heads of the Six Offices were all chief clerks, on the same level—if not higher—than Ding Zhenglong at the Tax Bureau. The Tax Bureau seemed to answer to the Revenue Department; in other words, the Revenue Department was the superior agency, or the Tax Bureau was an executive branch of it.
The door to the Revenue Department was closed. The sound of conversation drifted out, though the words were unclear. People entered and left the various offices, ignoring the two of them waiting outside. The sun hung high, and feeling the heat, Zhao An moved into the shade and asked curiously, "Sir, what does Master Ji do here?"
"Master Ji is the 'tax-levy consultant.' He specifically manages the Revenue Department for the Magistrate," Wang Tai replied, his voice dropping slightly. "He also oversees our Tax Bureau."
This confirmed Zhao An's suspicion. He then asked what a "tax-levy consultant" actually meant.
"It means he’s the consultant responsible for collecting taxes on behalf of the Magistrate. You understand what a consultant is, right?" Perhaps bored, Wang Tai offered more detail. He explained that there were several types of consultants: those responsible for law (Justice), grain and funds (Finance), tax collection (Levy), registration (Registry), and drafting letters and notices (Secretarial).
"I see," Zhao An nodded, thinking to himself that these were essentially legal, financial, engineering, and tax advisors hired by the County Magistrate.
"The Justice, Finance, and Levy consultants are the 'senior' positions," Wang Tai continued. "Registry and Secretarial are 'junior' ones. When the Magistrate has business, he hands it to them. They carry the most weight in the county. Even our Commissioner Ding has to be very polite when he sees Master Ji."
"Sir, they must make a lot of money, then?" Zhao An asked, feeling a bit gossipy.
"Indeed. The senior ones make three hundred taels a year; the junior ones, two hundred." Wang Tai’s face showed clear envy. And why wouldn't he? A senior consultant’s annual salary was worth several years of his own, and they didn't live on salary alone—plenty of people sent them "gifts."
Zhao An suddenly had a thought. "By the way, sir, I heard these consultants are all from Shaoxing. Is that true?"
Wang Tai nodded. "That's right. Master Ji and Master Jiang are both from Shaoxing."
"Can’t people from other places be consultants?" Zhao An found this quite interesting.
Wang Tai gave a soft laugh. "It’s not that they can’t, but… if the Governor’s consultant is from Shaoxing, and the Prefect’s consultant is from Shaoxing, but the Magistrate’s consultant is from somewhere else, do you think that’s good for the Magistrate?"
"I understand now. It’s definitely not good." Zhao An really did understand. The logic wasn't complex: if the higher-ups' inner circles were all Shaoxing men, and you, a subordinate, brought in an outsider, how could you ever join their inner circle or make a good impression? Leaders relied on their consultants—a single word from one of them was worth a hundred from anyone else. It dawned on him that these Shaoxing consultants were the true, behind-the-scenes rulers of the Qing Dynasty.
Just as he was contemplating this, the Revenue Department door opened and someone called for Wang Tai. As he stood up, Wang Tai reminded him, "Follow me in, keep your head down, and do exactly as you're told."
"Yes, sir," Zhao An replied quietly, following him inside.
The room held several tables stacked high with documents, with only two left empty. It looked much like a school teacher’s office.
"Wang Tai, the accounts your Tax Bureau submitted last time have already been reported to the Prefecture. The Magistrate is going to the Prefecture the day after tomorrow to reconcile the books. If there’s an error, the Magistrate will lose face in a big way." The speaker was Manager Zhang, a man in his forties with a stern expression. Master Ji sat at the table in the back, holding a teacup and watching the two of them with a smile.
Wang Tai chuckled as he stepped forward. "Don't worry, Manager. We’ve checked the accounts several times; there’s absolutely no problem. This is Zhao An, a new recruit at the Bureau. He’s diligent and sharp." He gave Zhao An a look. "Well? Greet Master Ji and Manager Zhang!"
Zhao An quickly stepped forward and bowed. "Student Zhao An pays his respects to you both!"
"Enough," Manager Zhang said, pointing to a pile of messy documents on a table to his left. "Sort these out, categorize them by year, and take them back to your Bureau. I want the final calculations on my desk in five days at the latest."
Wang Tai nodded. His goal in coming was to retrieve these books. Because there were too many for one person to carry, he had brought Zhao An along. Zhao An didn't dare speak; he honestly began to organize the papers.
Manager Zhang gestured for Wang Tai to sit by Master Ji. As soon as he sat down, Master Ji complained, "Your Tax Bureau is getting bold. You know the Magistrate is short on funds, yet you don't know how to share his burdens. Don't tell me you're waiting for him to beg you?"
"Master Ji, how could we dare delay the Magistrate’s business? But you know how it is—Commissioner Ding runs the Bureau. I’m just a clerk…" Wang Tai couldn't be too blunt, and he knew Master Ji wasn't really aiming this at him, so he left it there. The implication: *Go talk to Ding Zhenglong if you have a problem; don't pick on me.*
"I won't waste words with you. Go back and tell Ding Zhenglong: the Imperial Court is launching a campaign on the plateau, and that requires silver. The Ministry of Revenue has issued an order to the province, and the province has assigned a quota to the Prefecture. Our Ganquan County must raise fifty thousand taels. Your Tax Bureau must find a way to make up this amount." Master Ji’s tone was absolute. As the spokesman for the Magistrate, he had the authority to brook no dissent.
"Fifty thousand taels?" Wang Tai was stunned by the figure. He looked troubled. "To be honest, Master Ji, we’ve already asked the merchants to donate for the miscellaneous taxes three times this year. If we push them again, there will be an uproar, and that will cause even more trouble."
Manager Zhang glanced at Wang Tai, knowing he was a local speaking for locals, not wanting them to be bled dry. As a local himself, he didn't want it either, but in his position at the Revenue Department, his hands were tied. He sighed and coughed. "Is there truly no other way? This money is for the Court; we cannot delay. Think of a way. We can’t let fifty thousand taels derail the Court's major affairs."
Wang Tai smiled bitterly. "What other way is there? The Magistrate has been in office for over a year; he can't 'fire the cannon' again."
*Firing the cannon?* Zhao An, busy with the papers, was intrigued by the phrase.
Master Ji shook his head. "We can't fire the cannon. When the Magistrate took office, he had your Bureau discount the taxes on the sale of fields and houses and collected over forty thousand taels. That was only last year; there's no justification to do it again this year." He looked helpless. "If we fire the cannon now, he won't be able to fire it again when he leaves office."
Zhao An pieced it together. This had to do with the office responsible for land and property sales taxes. By law, the transfer of a deed required a high tax. When a Magistrate burdened with loans took office, they would "discount" these taxes to encourage transfers, securing their "first pot of gold." Similarly, they would use the same tactic when leaving office. A Magistrate could collect tens of thousands of taels this way. The money didn't go to the official treasury; it went straight into the official's pocket.
The Magistrate here had already "fired the cannon" upon taking office; he needed to save the second shot for when he left. If he used it now, he could raise the money, but that money had to be handed over to the Prefecture for military pay—a massive loss for the Magistrate. It was like taking money out of his own pocket to give to the Court. Who would be happy about that? Certainly not Master Ji, who likely received a share of that "cannon fire" revenue.
Master Ji didn't mention the firing of the cannon, only ordering Wang Tai to take the message back to Ding Zhenglong. The spirit of the order was: *If there are difficulties, overcome them; if there are no difficulties, create them.*
Wang Tai had no choice but to comply. Just as he was about to rise to leave, the small assistant Zhao An spoke up from behind the documents: "Master Ji, Manager Zhang, this student thinks… the commoners don't know when the Magistrate is leaving office. Why not spread the word that the Magistrate is getting a promotion and wants to give the people a final favor by lowering the tax on land and property transfers one last time? The people will rush to pay."
After a pause, he added carefully, "Afterward, we can just say it was a rumor spread by malicious people. Surely the commoners wouldn't be able to demand their money back from the yamen, would they?"