Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 4: Stockpiling Grain

The 7th day of the 9th month, Year 30 of the Republic In this era, most people along the border were struggling just to make ends meet, so naturally, there was little in the way of entertainment. Ou Yang, currently a bachelor in both lifetimes, had nothing to do at night but sleep, so he naturally spent the night following an exceptionally healthy routine of going to bed early and rising early. However, his so-called “early rise” was only relative to his previous lifestyle. Sunrises in the Western Regions come late; if people followed a schedule of working from sunrise to sunset, most commoners and slaves would have starved to death long ago. Therefore, by the time Ou Yang crawled out of his warm bed, the other villagers of Section 8 in Anxi Garrison had already been at work for nearly an hour. In the morning, the men’s main tasks were to feed the communal livestock with stored hay and to repair their own thatched sheds and farming tools. Those with wives and children could return home for a meal after completing these tasks and prepare for the work ahead. As for the bachelors, they had no choice but to go home and cook for themselves. Originally, they were supposed to spend the rest of the day chopping firewood and felling trees; winters here arrived early and were bitterly cold,firewood is a necessity for daily life. If they had any to spare, they could carry it to town to trade for grain. In the past, without the protection of the Pai army, the Yi people dared not venture into town at will, so they had no choice but to sell their surplus at a low price to Hu Lanshan, the farm manager. During the winter, Old Hu would periodically hitch the village’s only sled to a horse and head to town to sell the collected firewood, then buy cloth, grain, and daily necessities to resell to the villagers at a higher price. The timber they cut had to wait for a convoy dispatched by Lingxi Road to haul it away. The oak here was excellent material for shipbuilding and, like most slaves, was the property of the imperial family. Ou Yang’s primary duty was to manage these assets on behalf of the emperor and periodically turn them into cash in the form of timber. In a sense, Ou Yang was an employee seconded by the Huaxia Imperial Family Corporation; commoners were temporary workers, while slaves could only be considered tools of production. To put it another way, Ou Yang was like Guangtou Qiang—without the meddling of Xiong Xiong and without having to do the actual work himself. Originally, Hu Lanshan was the last to get up in this village. This old man Hu was nearing 50; in his youth, he had been a leper who once tried to seduce a girl from a respectable family and was beaten half to death as a result. Coincidentally, as the imperial court had been emphasizing exile as a form of punishment in recent decades to expand the borders, he was demoted to commoner status and banished to the Western Regions. Previously, he was the only Han Chinese male in the village, serving as the agricultural supervisor for both villages. Relying solely on collecting and selling the villagers’ firewood, renting out farm tools, and various forms of under-the-table income, he had managed to largely free himself from manual labor—and even kept two non-Han wives. Without a “pai jia” designation, Old Hu was the top dog in the village—which was precisely why, as the agricultural supervisor for both villages, he had chosen to live in Section 8. The villagers of Section 7 would never sell the firewood they chopped to him. However, Hu Lanshan’s good times were now coming to an end. As long as they completed their logging quotas on time, the village head was a local tyrant in this small border village. Even commoners with certain civil rights could be arbitrarily charged with a fabricated crime and executed by the village head—no one would care about their fate. Even if the village head couldn’t be bothered to fabricate a charge, he’d merely face a fine of grain and money and a lower score during performance evaluations. So, since Ou Yang had assigned him a task yesterday, Hu Lanshan had no choice but to wait outside Ou Yang’s door early this morning. As soon as he saw Ou Yang get up, he hurried forward to report: “Sir, every household just harvested a crop in July, so they should still have some grain in storage.” “How much grain is left?” Ou Yang was highly dissatisfied with his report. The barbarians of this world seemed to be in slightly better physical condition than ancient Earthlings, but no matter how robust or resilient they were to hunger, a man in his prime still needed at least one and a half jin of grain a day. Not to mention that he was going out on a hunting expedition—and in this context, “hunting” was essentially synonymous with a small-scale military raid, as the various Di and Yi tribes themselves were the primary targets. If his entourage wasn’t even well-fed, Ou Yang certainly didn’t want his own expedition to become a laughingstock—a mission meant to capture slaves that instead ended with his own people being enslaved. Hu Lanshan stammered and couldn’t give a straight answer. He knew that each household’s grain reserves would only last until spring. But he had no idea exactly how much each family had, and they certainly wouldn’t tell him for fear he’d use it as an excuse to plunder them. Ou Yang had no choice but to inspect each household himself. Old Hu, having failed to complete his task, didn’t dare return home just yet, so he had no choice but to tag along. The village’s grain supply came primarily from Lingxi Road; the crops the villagers cultivated on their own cleared land were mostly millet, which could only be grown once a year. Moreover, since the Yi people’s farming techniques were so poor, the harvest depended entirely on the whims of the weather, and the Empire levied taxes on top of that. Even if they sold firewood mixed with grass seeds and wild vegetables, it would only sustain them for half a year. This left Ou Yang feeling a sense of helplessness. He inspected several households, but none could scrape together enough provisions to last ten days. The Lingxi Road would likely deliver a shipment of grain and haul away timber before the New Year—this would be the last major windfall for most people this year. But the grain was scarce, and it would be very difficult to make it last until the next harvest. The next household was the Heheli family’s. As commoners, the Hehelis’ house was clearly of much better quality than the surrounding slave dwellings, but in Ou Yang’s eyes, it was still little more than a barn. Looking at the rickety wooden door, Ouyang felt he could kick it down with a single blow. If a large wild beast were to break into the village, he suspected that for most people, their only protection would be the axes in their own hands. Heheli had just returned from feeding the livestock and, upon seeing Pai Jia, hurried forward to greet him. Having once served Master Mouke back home, he assumed Master Pai Jia wouldn’t be any harder to deal with than Mouke, so he wasn’t the least bit afraid. Heheli lifted the door—woven from thin twigs and thatch—and set it aside. The interior was roughly 20 square in size, with a fire pit dug in the center of the room, over which hung an iron pot. Heheli’s wife was adding firewood to the pit to cook a meal. Ou Yang walked over, picked up the grain sack lying nearby, and asked with a frown, “Is this all?” “In reply to my master, this servant usually manages to hunt some small game, which is enough to last until the grain carts arrive at year’s end.” Heheli cast a furtive glance and then whispered, “It’s just that I’ll need some provisions for the hunting trip at the end of this month. I hope my master would be willing to lend me some in advance, and I’ll repay it all when I return…” Ou Yang had no intention of looking any further. Heheli was just a commoner after all, and his household had no surplus grain. Fortunately, Ou Yang himself was a scholar and the village head of a frontier settlement—a full-fledged citizen of the Empire—and could purchase miscellaneous grains without restriction at a price of 10 wen per jin. He just needed to make the trip himself and cover the cost upfront. “Go tell everyone to have their men prepare their weapons and come to my doorstep this afternoon for a drill. I, the official, will provide provisions for those selected to accompany me on this expedition.” Upon hearing this, Heheli nearly let out another howl, but just as he opened his mouth, his wife tugged at the hem of his robe from behind. Glancing up, he saw Ou Yang staring at him coldly; clearly, if he made a sound, he’d be in for at least twenty military canings. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down, then knelt once more and replied, “Yes, sir!” Ou Yang glanced at Heheli’s wife and said to Heheli, “Your wife is quite clever. From now on, answer with ‘yes.’ If you dare speak in a barbarian tongue again, I will not go easy on you.” Old Hu, who had been following them the whole time, said with a sycophantic smile, “Heheli’s wife is a Han woman. We Han people are simply more sensible than the barbarians.” “A Han woman?” Ou Yang, who had been about to leave, turned at those words and glared menacingly at Heheli’s family, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. “What’s going on? Did you kidnap her?” To this day, the Empire continues to launch attacks on the Jurchen tribes in Liaodong; captured able-bodied men and women are typically exiled to the frontier regions or sold as slaves and servants to nobles. According to imperial law, enslaving Han people was a capital offense, and the Di and Yi tribes were naturally no exception. However, some Di and Yi who had captured Han people as slaves often escaped punishment due to the negligence of officials responsible for investigating their crimes. The “Eight Jia”—those directly presented to the imperial family—were particularly vulnerable to this, as most officials were quite lax in scrutinizing the captives offered to the imperial household. However, once discovered, they would still be executed; otherwise, Ou Yang himself would face collective punishment. Heheli turned ashen-faced at this sharp rebuke, but he still mustered his courage, shielding his wife and children while shouting, “I married her through proper channels! I married her through proper channels!” His wife, meanwhile, spread her arms like a mother hen to embrace her two children, who were trembling with fear. It wasn’t just Heheli’s family who was intimidated by Ou Yang—Hu Lanshan, standing nearby, was as well. He realized he had spoken out of turn once again. Old Man Hu was merely a commoner himself; his sense of superiority over Heheli stemmed primarily from his lineage. In this remote frontier region, he actually didn’t dare to kill a commoner of Heheli’s kind—a barbarian. If a military officer randomly beheaded a commoner, the maximum penalty was one ox; for an accidental killing, the penalty would be even lighter. But as the instigator of this incident, Hu Lanshan knew he’d have no chance of survival if the officer held a grudge against him, so he steeled his nerves and stepped in to explain Heheli’s situation. Heheli was originally a Jurchen from Liaodong. His father had once saved the life of a ginseng merchant from Qi Province who had crossed the sea to collect ginseng and furs, and in return, the merchant betrothed one of his neglected daughters—born to a concubine—to Heheli. In the 18th year of the Republic, Imperial troops raided Heheli’s village, and the officer in charge of screening the villagers nearly executed him. Fortunately, his wife helped him explain the situation clearly, so although he was still exiled, his treatment improved significantly, and he was even granted commoner status. Early this year, the 8th Jia was established in the town, with over seventy households assigned from various locations—Heheli was among them. Hu Lanshan’s explanation was all over the place, but fortunately, he managed to make the situation clear. Ou Yang’s expression softened. He wasn’t naturally inclined toward violence, but after more than two years in this world, he had been subtly influenced—in the Empire, the Di Yi weren’t considered human. Even if he disliked killing, when his own safety was at risk, resolving the issue with the simplest means became his first choice. Now that he understood the situation, Ou Yang naturally saw no need to keep a stern face and call for bloodshed. Moreover, since she was a Han woman married to him in a legitimate ceremony, he would have to look out for Heheli in the future. The Empire currently had no specific regulations regarding mixed-race children with a non-Han father and a Han mother, but in traditional Imperial thinking, having Han ancestry meant one was “purer” than other non-Han peoples. If Heheli’s children grew up, there was certainly a possibility they could eventually become Imperial commoners or even citizens. “You’re really lucky,” Ou Yang finally said as he turned and walked away with Old Hu. “Come to my doorstep this afternoon to be considered for selection.”