Chapter Forty-Eight: Does the Young Lord Wish to Rebel?

Chapter Forty-Eight: Does the Young Master Intend to Rebel?

A thunderstorm always comes swiftly and leaves just as quickly.

By the time Zijuan and Ren Quan returned to the main hall, each having changed into dry clothes, the thunder from outside had ceased. It seemed as if Heaven itself had finally calmed, or perhaps had given up all hope of dealing with some particular fiend, withdrawing its gales, torrential rain, and lightning, and now laying down its banners, content with silence.

As for Zhang Qian, who had earlier, with charcoal in hand, written in bold, sweeping strokes, he had long since settled back into his folding chair, lounging comfortably, sipping tea to sober up. The “Heavenly Book” he’d just worked on had been rolled up by his own hand and now rested quietly at the corner of the table, resembling a cocoon in hibernation—no telling when it might break free and become a butterfly.

Seeing that Zhang Qian’s color had returned to normal and feeling assured he wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire, Ren Quan, still sporting his damp bandages, stepped forward and ventured a greeting, “Young Master, are you finished with your work?”

“All done!” Zhang Qian, having just solved his very first problem since arriving in the Great Tang, was in high spirits. He straightened up, smiled, and gestured, “You’ve worked hard tonight. Come, have some tea.”

He even took the initiative to pour Ren Quan a cup.

“No, no, I wouldn’t dare! I’ll do it myself, I’ll do it myself. You’ll be the death of me, Young Master!” Their statuses were worlds apart—how could Ren Quan allow Zhang Qian to serve him tea? In a flurry, he rushed over and snatched up the cup before Zhang Qian could, clutching it to his chest and bowing deeply.

“This isn’t outside; there’s no need to be so formal,” Zhang Qian said, reacting a beat too slow—he hadn’t expected such a big reaction—so he just smiled and waved it off.

“It’s not about being formal, Young Master. To be granted tea by you is already the greatest honor. But I dare not let you serve me, or my own Young Master would surely give me a good scolding!” Ren Quan replied with a sheepish grin, holding the tea. Then, quickly steering the conversation back to business, he reported, “Young Master, as you instructed, I’ve asked Steward Cui about the matter. There are twenty-two tenant families farming your land, each with twenty to fifty mu, more or less. Of those, sixteen still owe you rent—at minimum, one dan of grain, at most, three and a half. Some also owe for the grain they borrowed from the estate during the summer famine. Steward Cui has all of it carefully recorded, and the accounts can be checked with Hu the bookkeeper at any time.”

“There are that many?” Zhang Qian blurted out in surprise, not expecting two-thirds of the tenants to be in arrears.

“That’s why the steward decided to make an example of the Wang family, who owe the most. Who would have thought it would end up embarrassing you, Young Master!” Ren Quan, who seemed on good terms with Steward Cui, took the opportunity to speak up for him. “The steward admits he acted rashly. He begs your pardon, and says he’s willing to go to the Wang family tomorrow, carrying brambles on his back, to apologize in person!”

“Carrying brambles to ask forgiveness? He’s not afraid the Wang family will actually thrash him to death!” Zhang Qian scoffed at this suggestion of self-punishment. “Forget it, we’ll talk about this later. Steward Ren, the total rent owed isn’t much—if we force it out of the tenants, it’ll only ruin our reputation. I want to let the tenants work to pay off their rents. What do you think?”

“You really mean it—work to pay off rent?” Fearing he’d misheard, Ren Quan’s eyes went wide. But seeing Zhang Qian wasn’t joking, he quickly set down his cup and offered a deep bow. “Young Master Zhang, you are truly a living Bodhisattva! Now those tenants will be lining up to kowtow to you!”

“No need for kowtows—if they’re not annoyed, I am!” Zhang Qian waved his hand, a little uninterested. “I mainly know they can’t pay if we force them. Better to give them a way out than make enemies.”

Every meal must be eaten bite by bite. To change all of the Great Tang at once was a fantasy! Zhang Qian knew his limits and had no desire to become a second Shang Yang, torn apart by chariots. So he could only find a suitable excuse to help his tenants gradually break free from their hand-to-mouth existence, and step by step guide them into his primitive workshops.

Even if his workshops were ten times cruder than the shabbiest ones in the twenty-first century, they would still represent a new mode of production for the Tang.

And though The Art of Slaying Dragons harshly criticized the primitive accumulation of capital, it also acknowledged the superior efficiency and wealth creation of industrial production over traditional agriculture.

In other words, even the “pigs” of an industrial society have more grain than the average person in a society of small peasant farmers. It’s an unflattering truth, but history bears it out.

“Young Master Zhang, you must let them kowtow—at least let them do it even if you don’t show yourself!” Ren Quan, after a little more thought, finally accepted Zhang Qian’s reasoning, but insisted, “Otherwise, they won’t feel at ease. Usually, when the landlord has tenants work, it’s good enough if they get fed—when have they ever been paid? Even if you’re just offsetting their rent, that’s a kindness they’ll remember for life. Otherwise, someone will forget in a few years and act like a real ingrate! However…”

He hesitated a moment, then carefully added, “If you do this, the tenants who don’t owe you rent will feel it’s unfair, even if they don’t say so.”

“Notify them as well—let them come work for the estate,” Zhang Qian replied briskly, already having a plan. “If they don’t owe me rent, I’ll pay them. For every day they work, I’ll pay them five coins and give them two meals, how about that?”

By modern standards, one Kaiyuan Tongbao coin was roughly equivalent to ten yuan in the twenty-first century. Fifty yuan a day plus two meals would be sneered at by day laborers in contemporary Xi’an. So Zhang Qian set the wage rather hesitantly, ready to adjust based on Ren Quan’s opinion.

To his surprise, Ren Quan immediately shook his head like a rattle-drum, “Too much, too much, Young Master! Not to overstep, but as the saying goes—a measure of rice is a favor, a bucket of rice breeds resentment. It’s good you want to give the tenants a way out in this famine year, but pay too much and they’ll think you’re a fool, and start asking for more. Normally, when the landlord gives tenants work out of season, it’s already a favor just to feed them. At the end, maybe give them a pair of shoes, but who’s ever handed out coins? Don’t shake your head—these folks’ stomachs aren’t like yours, satisfied with a bowl of noodle soup. If they really cut loose, each could eat a whole dou of rice at one meal!”

“Five coins is too much?” Zhang Qian’s eyes went round in disbelief that fifty yuan a day could be considered a high wage. He quickly decided to ignore Ren Quan’s advice. “If I don’t pay them, how will they pay off their rent? That’s settled—anyone who comes to work gets five coins a day, whether they owe rent or not. That way, everything balances out. I can’t have them work all winter and still not pay off their debts by New Year!”

“Some families really won’t be able to pay it back, Young Master!” Ren Quan persisted, mouth wide in protest. “Take the Wang family—they owe you grain and silver. Even if you pay five coins a day, their men would have to work half a year to pay it off. And right now, their men are still bedridden—who knows when they’ll be up again!”

“The Wang family’s debt has already been forgiven—my word is my bond!” Zhang Qian frowned, taking Ren Quan’s reminder to heart. “For others who owe more, let them send more people to work. I’ll pay by the head—not just men, but married women too, if they come to cook for the workers!”

“That’s wonderful, Young Master! On behalf of the tenants, I thank you!” Ren Quan took a half-step back and bowed again, full of admiration and gratitude.

“No need for thanks. If you think it’s a good and workable idea, get started tomorrow,” Zhang Qian said with a wave and a smile.

Though he hadn’t thought much of Ren Quan at first, over time he’d come to appreciate his many strengths—especially his competence and broad perspective, rare traits in a servant. He was happy to leave such matters in Ren Quan’s hands.

“Since Young Master trusts me, I’ll do my utmost!” Ren Quan replied sincerely, hands clasped to his chest with pride.

He then stepped forward and, with great solemnity, reminded, “It’s easy to gather people, and I know you’re kind-hearted and not concerned with the cost. But as for the work—these people are clumsy, what can they do? And your alchemy room must not be opened to just anyone!”

“That’s not an alchemy room—it’s a workshop!” Zhang Qian rolled his eyes at Ren Quan’s mystification of his distillation process, correcting him sternly. “Of course new hires can’t go into the workshop. And the sales of my floral cologne don’t require that many workers. For now, I want to build an earth wall around the estate, just to avoid meddling in my own affairs next time I come home.”

In his mind, the cologne would eventually go high-end, while the medicated oils would first ride a wave of “hunger marketing” before capacity expanded. For now, his production staff was sufficient; more would make secrecy harder.

The new hires would first do odd jobs, which would instill some organization and discipline. Only after weeding out the lazy could he use the rest as real industrial workers. By then, he’d find other profitable products, and build a second primitive “sweatshop.”

But as soon as he mentioned the idea, Ren Quan erupted in alarm, “What? Young Master, you want to build a wall around the estate? Enclose all the land inside? Impossible, absolutely impossible! You mustn’t act on impulse! Without a wall, it’s just an estate. With a wall, even an earth wall enclosing a thousand mu, it becomes a fortress! Build a fortress right outside Chang’an, and before the first section is finished, the cavalry will come charging in to accuse you of treason!”