There is nothing to be surprised about; it is a long-standing tradition that government offices do not renovate their own buildings. Besides, the Tax Bureau of Ganquan County is only a "section-level" unit under the jurisdiction of the Ganquan County government; it would hardly do for it to be more imposing than the Magistrate’s own office.
The sparrow may be small, but it has all the vital organs. Though the Tax Bureau did not cover much ground, every one of the dozen rooms Zhao An saw—from the registry room near the main gate to the study, the accounting office, the detention room used by the patrol guards, the Archive and Treasury for storing tax silver, and even the internal canteen, the carriage house, and the Commissioner's office—was fully utilized.
"Old Wang, here early today!"
As they stepped through the main gate, someone hailed Wang Defa. The man was in his thirties, with a decent appearance and the air of a government official, much like the civil servants Zhao An had known in his previous life.
Wang Defa nodded in greeting and then asked, "Has Commissioner Ding arrived?"
"Just arrived. He’s in his office."
The middle-aged man held several thick account books and looked like someone from the accounting office. As he passed Wang Defa and his nephew, he glanced at Zhao An with curiosity and asked the smiling Wang Defa, "Is this the nephew from Xinghua you mentioned?"
"That’s him." Wang Defa gave a pat to Zhao An, who was standing there with the look of an honest man. "This is Mr. Zhang from the accounting office. Hurry up and greet him."
"Yes!" Zhao An quickly bowed to Mr. Zhang and said with great respect, "Uncle Zhang!"
The gesture was correct; both bowing and cupping one’s hands were common etiquette of the era, both serving to show humility and respect toward the other person.
"Good." Mr. Zhang smiled. Knowing that Wang Defa was in a hurry to take his nephew to see Commissioner Ding, he didn't indulge in further pleasantries and walked straight toward the accounting office with his books.
Once he was out of earshot, Wang Defa whispered to Zhao An, "This Mr. Zhang is Zhang Quan, the manager of the accounting office. Once you join the bureau, you will be working under him, so don't offend him."
"Don't worry, Great Uncle. I won't lose face for you, nor will I cause you any trouble." Zhao An was quite smooth-tongued, though he wondered to himself: if Mr. Zhang was at the level of a section chief, why did his uncle, who was also a staffer, seem so indifferent to him?
He didn't realize that Zhang Quan, the manager, didn't actually hold a formal civil service position. He was only in charge of the accounting office because the current Commissioner appreciated him; if a different Commissioner were in charge, Zhang Quan might not hold that position at all.
Wang Defa, on the other hand, had been working at the Tax Bureau since the twentieth year of the Qianlong reign. He was a veteran with deep qualifications and extensive experience. Whoever became the Commissioner or took charge of the study had to show Wang Defa a certain level of respect. Essentially, there was no hierarchy between Wang Defa and Zhang Quan. If Commissioner Ding were in a good mood and assigned Wang Defa to manage the study or the accounting office, Zhang Quan would be the one indifferent toward him.
They occupied similar roles and had no conflicting interests. Besides, Wang Defa had sought this position for his nephew through Commissioner Ding, not through Zhang Quan, so there was no need for anything more than standard politeness.
"Just remember that," Wang Defa said, nodding. He glanced toward a room in the southwest corner of the courtyard. "Come, follow me to see Commissioner Ding."
Zhao An hurried after him. A moment later, they arrived outside Commissioner Ding's office. Wang Defa signaled his nephew to wait outside and went in alone.
Commissioner Ding, whose full name was Ding Zhenglong, was a native of Yangzhou. For generations, his ancestors had served in the County Yamen—neither quite officials nor quite clerks. By his generation, through unknown connections, he had secured a clerkship and later, through further influence at the prefectural level, had been promoted to Commissioner of the Tax Bureau.
While the Tax Bureau Commissioner was an unranked clerk, he was a figure of great authority in Ganquan County. None of the merchants under the county's jurisdiction dared to address him as anything less than "Lord Ding." During holidays, the line of merchants waiting to present gifts would block the alleyway in front of the Ding family home.
Zhao An waited outside for only a few minutes before his uncle, Wang Defa, came out and told him to go in.
As soon as he entered the room, Zhao An followed his uncle’s prior instructions: he knelt down, kowtowed, and said respectfully, "Student Zhao An pays his respects to Lord Ding!"
"No need for such formality. Rise."
Everyone enjoys flattery, and Ding Zhenglong was no exception. As an unranked clerk, he didn't technically hold the rank of "Lord," but he dreamed of being one. Since his own academic status was only that of a Licentiate and he had no way to advance further, he particularly enjoyed being called "Lord" by those below him. It was a pure psychological indulgence.
Ding Zhenglong was greatly pleased by the title. After looking Zhao An over carefully, he nodded slightly to Wang Defa. "Your nephew is quite a fine young man. He looks much more energetic than you, his own great-uncle."
Wang Defa immediately chimed in, "Zhao An, his lordship is complimenting you. Don't you thank him?"
"Thank you for your praise, My Lord!" Zhao An was quick-witted; he knelt down immediately and kowtowed to Ding Zhenglong again.
Ding Zhenglong laughed heartily. "Fine. I assume you brought the academic certificate?"
"Yes, brought it, brought it," Zhao An said, quickly taking the academic proof Jiang En had obtained from his chest and offering it to Ding Zhenglong with both hands. The latter took a casual glance and returned the document to Zhao An, then waved his hand at Wang Defa. "That's fine. Take this boy to the accounting office to report for duty and have Zhang Quan handle the formalities."
*Huh?* Zhao An had expected them to at least verify the academic certificate; this was unexpectedly lax. He couldn't help but think that if verification were always this casual, he might as well find time to obtain certificates for the degrees of Provincial Graduate or even higher in the future. He absolutely could not let his future be hindered by his academic credentials. As for the Jinshi certificate, he didn't dare to dream that high—that was a different level of power entirely.
Just as he was leaving, Ding Zhenglong, who was only about thirty, said to Zhao An, "Young man, your great-uncle put a lot of effort into getting you this job. You must work hard and not disappoint his intentions, nor the efforts I am making in fostering you. Remember, one must endure the bitterness of the bitter to become the master of the master."
The words sounded fine, though they were a bit pretentious for his age. Zhao An nodded incessantly, wearing the look of a student receiving instruction.
Outside, the bureau was noticeably busier. Many rooms had been unlocked, and people were moving in and out. At the main gate, several men with the character "Ding" printed on their chests were harnessing a carriage; these were likely the tax guards specific to the bureau. Wang Defa had mentioned that these guards were essentially temporary workers, officially known as "patrol guards." Some inherited the job from family, some were hired temporarily, and others were conscripted through labor quotas. Their income was directly tied to the taxes they collected.
Feast when busy, famine when idle.
Yet, despite the instability, there were always people clamoring for the work—for no other reason than the fact that once you put on that uniform, everyone had to show you a bit of respect.
With Commissioner Ding's approval, there was no trouble at the accounting office. Manager Zhang Quan asked for Zhao An’s name, place of origin, and age, took a look at his Licentiate certificate, and registered him directly on the employment form. There was no need for human resources or financial departments to intervene, as Zhao An was now part of the accounting office, and everything was handled internally unless he decided to quit.
The process was remarkably simple. However, Zhao An’s Licentiate certificate was taken by Zhang Quan and locked away in the accounting office's archives, along with the yellow registration form, likely for administrative record-keeping.
Everything went smoothly, which made Zhao An secretly happy. The only pity was that there was no uniform; the only thing proving his identity was a wooden waist token hand-written by Zhang Quan. It read, "Accounting Thirteen."
For a long time, Zhao An didn't know what "Accounting Thirteen" meant, until he discovered there were exactly thirteen people in the entire accounting office, at which point he understood that he was simply "Number Thirteen of the Accounting Office."