"I don't want to pay the money, but I still want the goods. Is there any way to manage that?"
"Of course there is. Play them at their own game—start a rumor and pull a fast one."
The advice Zhao An offered was, without a doubt, innovative, proactive, and of high quality.
It was all about exploiting an information gap.
By spreading a fabricated rumor, he could maximize the County Magistrate’s personal interests.
It was a bit underhanded, but the results were undeniable.
There was no need for anxiety; this would solve the Magistrate’s pressing dilemma while simultaneously serving the public interest. After all, if the citizens didn't pay their property taxes today or tomorrow, they would have to pay them eventually.
Since the transfer of property was inevitable, they might as well seize this "clearance" window to get things done. The citizens would save money, the Magistrate would collect his dues, and the imperial court would get its military funding—everyone from top to bottom would be happy.
What kind of "cannon" was this?
A "peace cannon"!
It didn't matter if it was a rumor. Since the Magistrate was considerate of how hard it was for the common folk to earn a living, he was making an exception and turning a green light on—charging a little less was fine, as long as the people were satisfied.
In this line of work, flexibility was paramount; one couldn't get by holding onto old, rigid notions.
And nobody said you could only fire the cannon twice.
"This method...?"
Wang Tai looked at his young assistant Zhao An, then at Master Ji and Manager Zhang. He nodded slightly. "Doing it this way... it isn't impossible."
As for the reactions of Master Ji and Manager Zhang—to put it in Sichuan dialect, it was "spot on!"
But the final decision didn't rest with them, so after nodding to the young man from the Tax Bureau, they went off to report the matter to the Magistrate.
The subsequent developments were beyond Zhao An's control.
On the way back, Wang Tai didn't express any dissatisfaction with Zhao An for offering unauthorized advice. After all, this plan benefited every party involved. He even praised Zhao An, saying he had a sharp mind to suggest such a brilliant idea. If this succeeded, Master Ji would surely give Zhao An credit; perhaps he wouldn't even have to wait until the end of the year to be officially "confirmed" in his position at the bureau.
Once confirmed, Zhao An would not only be a formal accountant in the Accounting Office like Wang Tai, but his salary would also rise to over twenty taels a year. After putting in some years and gaining seniority, he would at least be someone of consequence in the bureau.
It was the exact same path taken by his uncle, Wang Defa.
While this path seemed commonplace, for the vast majority of people, it was a road they could never walk in their entire lives.
However, being confirmed wasn't Zhao An's ultimate goal; he wanted to go further. Otherwise, he wouldn't have suggested the "peace cannon" ruse to Master Ji and the others. Doing so was merely to leave a favorable impression on the county leadership.
It was a rare opportunity to get in touch with the county's top brass; if he didn't grasp it properly, he would be doing a disservice to the two months he had spent sweeping floors in the Accounting Office.
Back at the Tax Bureau, Wang Tai went to report to Commissioner Ding Zhenglong. Whether he mentioned that the idea for the "peace cannon" came from Zhao An, no one knew. Regardless, that very day, Ding Zhenglong summoned the heads of the four departments responsible for property transaction taxes to his office, presumably to ensure they were prepared so they wouldn't be overwhelmed when the citizens came to pay.
For the next few days, Zhao An and Liu Xiaolou joined Wang Tai in auditing the ledgers brought back from the Revenue Department—all dusty accounts from past years, meant to prepare for a potential major inspection by the Provincial Administration Commission.
Each year, there were spot checks from above—sometimes from the provincial level, sometimes from the prefecture—but most of the time it was just a formality, concluded with some wining and dining.
Yet, no matter how perfunctory the process was, Zhao An and his colleagues, as grassroots accountants, couldn't afford to be sloppy. The ledgers were so numerous that they worked themselves into a daze, even working overtime until late at night for two days, with no time to concern themselves with matters outside.
One afternoon, however, while Manager Zhang Quan of the Accounting Office was chatting with members of the Second Department, he mentioned the imperial court’s military campaign on the plateau. Zhao An, who was clicking away on his abacus, vaguely heard talk of "Lamas," "Gurkhas," and high-ranking officials being dismissed by the court.
He assumed it was from the *Di Bao* (Court Gazette).
The *Di Bao* was the official newspaper through which successive dynasties conveyed court documents. It was distributed down to the county level, not unlike the newspapers of Zhao An's past life.
Low-level clerks, the gentry, and the common folk had no other way to learn about major state events except through the *Di Bao*.
Officials, however, had other channels. Because the news in the *Di Bao* was too "generic" and its distribution was slow, it was difficult to capture effective information or grasp the latest shifts in the political landscape from it. Thus, as long as conditions permitted, officials would send personal retainers to the capital or provincial capitals to gather intelligence.
These retainers—often stationed in the capital, the province, or the prefecture—were usually the official’s most trusted confidants, as they were also burdened with the critical task of delivering bribes and private correspondence.
Could an official truly trust an outsider with that?
Piecing together the discussions from Zhang Quan and the others, Zhao An roughly guessed that the Qing court’s military campaign on the plateau was undoubtedly the final achievement of the so-called "Ten Great Campaigns" of the Qianlong Emperor—the "Sino-Nepalese War."
Who were the Gurkhas? They were from what would later be known as Nepal, a tiny, tiny nation.
Yet, in the eyes of the Qing Dynasty, Nepal had become a great power on par with Britain or France, driving the Qing to their wits' end.
One had to say, that old codger Qianlong had it rough—in his sixty-year reign, he encountered nothing but formidable enemies that the Great Qing hadn't seen in centuries: the Jinchuan campaigns (a mix of Ming loyalists and plateau tribes), the Dzungar Khanate (whose population was decimated to a mere twenty or thirty percent by plague, leaving them unable to field an army), the brothers of the "Small and Large Khojas" who led about a thousand men, and then the "great powers" of Burma and Annam, who had routed the Qing armies in the south.
Add in the leader of the Heaven and Earth Society, Lin Shuangwen, who forced the Qing army to cross the sea to suppress him in Taiwan—these made up the so-called "Ten Great Campaigns."
At first glance, they sounded imposing, but a careful study led to one conclusion: the substance was lacking; it was more watered down than the sea.
The events on the plateau were a hundred and eight thousand *li* away, a concern for Qianlong and the high officials of the Qing court, and had nothing to do with Zhao An. So, he treated it as casual news and went back to burying his head in the ledgers.
Two days later, the bureau suddenly became lively. As soon as the doors opened in the morning, dozens of citizens rushed in, clamoring to process their transfers.
It was truly a case of "money in one hand, documents in the other." By the end of the day, there was still a huge line of citizens outside waiting to pay and transfer their deeds.
News of the County Magistrate's impending promotion to a new post spread throughout the Tax Bureau. Those in the know smiled without a word, while those who didn't were genuinely surprised, as this Magistrate had only been in Ganquan for a little over a year—a remarkably rapid ascent.
Zhao An, of course, understood what was happening, but he didn't tell anyone, including his uncle, Wang Defa.
Judging from the reactions of the four departments, the Tax Bureau had been rolling in money these past few days—a conservative estimate would be thirty to forty thousand taels.
The Yangzhou Prefecture had assigned Ganquan County a quota of fifty thousand taels; even if they couldn't meet the full amount, the County Yamen could surely scrape the rest together from elsewhere.
One day, while chatting with Wu Laoer at the gatehouse, someone from the Yamen came to inform Zhao An that he needed to go to the office. When Zhao An asked what it was about, the messenger said he didn't know.
Not daring to be slow, Zhao An mentioned it to Wang Tai. Wang Tai told him to go to the Yamen immediately to see what was going on and promised to explain his absence to Manager Zhang Quan.
Zhao An hurriedly thanked Wang Tai and headed toward the Yamen in quick strides. Upon reporting his name and purpose at the gate, perhaps because word had already come down, a bailiff pointed him toward the room of Master Ji Bochang and told him to go in himself.
So, it was Master Ji who had asked for him.
Zhao An suspected it might have to do with the "peace cannon" idea he had suggested. Upon arriving, he found his hunch was correct, and it was good news: Master Ji handed him a fifty-tael banknote, saying it was a reward from the County Magistrate.
It was within reason; if the Magistrate didn't know how to handle people, how could he expect his subordinates to help him shoulder his burdens?
Fifty taels was equivalent to three years of Zhao An's current salary. To Master Ji, it was a common sum, but to Zhao An, it was truly a massive fortune.
However, after a moment's thought, he pushed the banknote back toward Master Ji.
This move made Master Ji pause, his brow furrowing slightly. "What? Do you think it’s too little?"
Zhao An hurriedly replied respectfully, "I dare not, sir. It is not that I think it is too little, but I truly do not wish to take this money."
"You don't want the money?"
Master Ji began to laugh, never having expected there to be someone in this world who didn't love money. He looked up, carefully observing Zhao An, whose demeanor was incredibly earnest, and tapped the desk lightly. "Then what do you want? Speak. As long as it isn't too difficult, I, as Master, can help you arrange it."
He paused, struck by a thought, and exclaimed, "Ah, I see! You haven't been in the Tax Bureau long. Do you want me to speak to Commissioner Ding so you can receive your regular salary early? Even so, you must take this money. You must understand, this is a reward from the Magistrate, not from me, Ji Bochang."
With that, he pushed the banknote back toward Zhao An.
One thing was one thing. If it hadn't been for this kid's idea for the "peace cannon," where else would the Magistrate have found the fifty-thousand-tael deficit?
Merit deserves reward; faults deserve punishment. There must be principles in how one does things.
Ji Bochang wouldn't stoop to swallowing this fifty taels for himself.
Unexpectedly, Zhao An pushed the banknote back once more, his face turning red with slight embarrassment. "Sir, I am grateful for the Magistrate's goodwill, but I truly do not want this money, nor do I wish to trouble you for anything. I only wanted to... I wanted to..."
"Wanted to what?"
The young man's behavior sparked a great deal of interest in Ji Bochang. He stood up, patted the young man's shoulder, and encouraged him. "Speak boldly, it is fine."
"I wanted to learn a thing or two from you, sir."
Zhao An looked as if he had summoned every ounce of his courage.
So that was it. He had developed the ambition to move from the Tax Bureau to the government’s administrative office.
To use the path of a secondment to achieve a small leap forward.