Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 6: A Trip to Town

Back in his hometown in Qi Province, Ou Yang’s family circumstances were nothing to write home about. But since he held the title of Xiu Cai, the doors of higher education had always been open to him. Therefore, his decision to come to Lingxi to serve on the frontier caused quite a stir back home. Although his parents opposed it, their opposition wasn’t firm. Moreover, since Ou Yang had an older brother, he couldn’t be considered an only son joining the military. These days, the imperial court paid no heed to the proverb “A good man should not serve in the army.” Military benefits had been steadily improving over the past few years, and ambitious young men like Ou Yang, who had traded their pens for military service, were highly sought after. Consequently, even though Ou Yang was merely a garrison soldier, he was promoted directly to the rank of “Pai Jia”—a junior non-commissioned officer—and enjoyed additional benefits such as civil service privileges and bonus points on civil service exams. In addition to political benefits, the financial compensation was substantial. He received fifty yuan as a settlement allowance. As an officer, the state also provided him with a horse. Together with his weapons and uniform, the total value amounted to as much as one hundred yuan. Ou Yang left thirty yuan in cash for his parents. He carried only twenty yuan in banknotes—officially known as Imperial Central Silver Reserve Notes, each worth one liang of silver. In reality, Ou Yang had privately weighed a one-yuan silver coin; it weighed only about twenty-five grams, whereas he estimated that a true “liang” according to the Imperial system of weights and measures would be over thirty grams. And when you factor in purity issues, the Empire’s coinage tax was quite steep. Nevertheless, the purchasing power of this currency remained quite high. The Empire was in the early stages of its First Industrial Revolution, with relatively advanced productivity. Furthermore, the surrounding Di Yi tribes had long been subdued, and within the sphere of its cultural influence—including even the Di Yi tribes still in the primitive stage—the Empire’s currency was highly valued. In this regard, the Empire bore a strong resemblance to the United States of his past life, which used its aircraft carrier fleets to circulate the U. S. dollar. One yuan was equal to one thousand wen; there were no intermediate units such as jiao or fen. As a citizen, Ou Yang could purchase as much coarse grain as he wanted at ten wen per jin. Although he didn’t eat it himself, he had no trouble feeding the Di Yi tribesmen under his command. According to the law, the minimum price for commoners to purchase mixed grains was fifteen wen per jin, and twenty wen for slaves. However, the law did not prohibit citizens or commoners from “giving” the mixed grains they purchased to commoners or slaves, nor did it prohibit slaves who received grain from reciprocating the favor to citizens. In the border regions, many people engaged in this type of grain trade that exploited legal loopholes, earning an average of three to eight wen per jin of grain. The 10th day of the 9th month, Year 30 of the Republic Today, Ou Yang is heading to town to buy provisions for the hunting expedition. He had originally selected only twenty people, but the villagers were all envious of this opportunity, so he had no choice but to relax the criteria and allow ten more to join the party—though it was agreed in advance that these individuals would not share in the group’s catch. To earn any income, they could only keep the portion they hunted themselves. This brought the total to thirty-two people, including Ou Yang himself and Old Hu, who was in charge of driving the sled. Ou Yang had to pay for the provisions for everyone except Old Hu. Estimating that the trip would take more than ten days, he needed to prepare seven or eight hundred jin of grain—even just transporting it was a hassle. The village previously owned a mule, five oxen, and a sled—all communal property, though managed by Old Man Hu’s household. Ou Yang could use these resources freely, as long as he didn’t interfere with timber transport or farming. Ou Yang hoped to buy a few more handcarts. In the village, only Old Man Hu knew how to drive the sled, but any able-bodied man could use a handcart, which would save a lot of physical effort. Ou Yang tucked the money into the inner pocket of his cotton coat. This coat was the garrison troops’ winter uniform, lined with a layer of cowhide—essentially a kind of cotton armor. In the eyes of the Di Yi tribes along the border, it was a treasure, providing both warmth and decent protection. He took another careful look at the items at his side: the broadsword—yes, a Tang-style broadsword with a steel inlay. The blade was steel, but the spine was iron. Many in the Empire mocked this type of sword as “fake steel”; the regular army had long since stopped using it, but it remained standard issue for the garrison troops. A flintlock smoothbore pistol—no problem. Fifteen-millimeter caliber; essentially second-rate equipment for the garrison troops, since the regular army had already switched to mercury-雷-primed rifled muskets firing Minie bullets. Still, it had its advantages: the bullets were simply small lead balls, so they could even manufacture some themselves. A leather cartridge pouch, slung from the belt. It holds sixty pre-loaded cartridges wrapped in paper. A canvas shoulder bag. It held some emergency rations, sugar cubes, a small packet of salt, a bamboo tube with chopsticks and a mess knife inserted, a small pouch containing a flint, tinder, and a fire striker, a small cotton pouch with basic medical tools and common medicines, a notebook with a pencil, and a small copper flask filled with strong liquor. In the surrounding Di Yi tribes, this set of gear from Ou Yang would be enough to exchange for a chieftain’s daughter. In the Empire, however—even in the poorest border regions—it was merely the standard issue for a low-ranking officer in a second-rate unit. Hu Lanshan, Heheli, and five others were waiting outside the door. Today, they were accompanying Ou Yang to town, serving both as bodyguards and as laborers to load the cart. They would also have to push the handcart Ou Yang intended to buy back. Heheli was in particularly high spirits today. The day before yesterday, the military commission had awarded him a used cotton jacket—a genuine one, with two layers of cotton fabric bearing only a few patches and stuffed full of fluffy, thick cotton. Thanks to the warmth of the jacket, Heheli’s runny nose had even subsided considerably. He had thought of cutting up the coat to make clothes for his two kids, but his wife wouldn’t agree, saying that the clothes bestowed by Pai Jia were meant for Heheli to wear on hunting trips—besides, the children stayed indoors all winter and wouldn’t get cold with the hearth. Everyone was envious of Heheli’s “new” cotton coat; in comparison, the rags they wore could hardly be called clothes. This sparked a sense of ambition in them: since the chief had rewarded Heheli as soon as he arrived, he clearly wasn’t a stingy man. If they performed well on this hunting trip, they were sure to get their share of the spoils. The snow kept falling—though it would be strange if it didn’t snow in this godforsaken place. Old Hu was driving a mule-drawn sled piled high with furs. Ou Yang took a look; they were mostly sheepskins and rabbit pelts, not worth much. The bulk of the load was firewood, which was even cheaper, but the 8th Company didn’t have anything better to sell anyway. Ou Yang rode on horseback, carrying nothing but his own gear and money. The other six—the commoner Heheli, the slave Wukeshan, Batu, Sali, Geshitu, and Daha—were all non-Han men in their thirties. A harsh life, a fierce temperament, and bodies in their prime had forged these hunters into formidable warriors. Yet each of them carried nothing more than a woodcutting axe, a soft bow, and a quiver of arrows; to describe their equipment as “poor” would be an understatement. Ou Yang had personally inspected their gear. The axes were fine—they could be used for chopping and smashing in close combat. As for the flexible bows and bone arrows, when facing animals larger than foxes, they could only be used to shoot for the eyes. In reality, his team’s only long-range firepower was Ou Yang’s own pistol, which seemed far too meager. He decided to buy a few iron arrows for his strongest members to bolster their capabilities for this expedition. The forest was full of dangerous animals and savages, so this was not a place to skimp on expenses. However, he couldn’t afford a good bow just yet; whether he could get better gear would depend on the outcome of this expedition. The journey wasn’t particularly long. Setting out in the morning, they’d catch sight of the town’s low city walls in three and a half hours, arriving just as the moonlight faded to spend the night in town. Anxi Garrison lay in the Empire’s westernmost territory. It had been conquered and established only recently, so there were very few Han Chinese, and the defensive walls appeared somewhat makeshift. However, Anxi Garrison was now a garrison town; aside from merchants and their families, almost everyone carried weapons. Moreover, with the regular army stationed along the Lingxi Road as a backup, in the event of an emergency, regular cavalry could arrive within five days at most. Coupled with the fact that no one currently dared to attack the Empire, there was no need to worry about the town’s defenses. Winter days in Lingxi are exceptionally short, but fortunately, the city gates had not yet been closed when Ou Yang arrived. As a scholar, Ou Yang could go directly to the local school superintendent to request lodging. Old Hu, meanwhile, led the others to a sheltered corner by the city wall to make do for the night. By this time, a large crowd had already gathered at the foot of the city walls. Most were commoners and slaves brought by Han merchants from nearby who couldn’t afford to stay at inns. Everyone had lit bonfires, warming themselves while roasting multigrain flatbreads. The school supervisor was a fellow native of Qi Province, just like Ou Yang. Although the two had never met before, meeting a fellow townsman at this frontier post thousands of li away—and both being scholars—naturally made them feel much closer. Given the Empire’s current unspoken rules, Ou Yang and Murong, the School Supervisor, were already considered allies in the same camp. Murong Ming had come to the Western Regions eight years ago to serve in the frontier garrison. At the time, he had failed the provincial examination for the title of “Juren,” and his family could no longer afford to support his continued studies. However, since he at least held the qualification of “Xuicai,” he chose the path of taking a slightly higher-ranking official post in the Western Regions over starting from the bottom back home. In truth, he had been quite anxious about his choice at the time, but he never expected the Empire to soon issue new regulations granting preferential treatment in examinations to scholars stationed in the Western Regions for border defense. Two years ago, Murong had just earned his Juren degree, and because there were so few scholars in the Western Regions, he was even promoted directly to the position of town school supervisor. All the towns under the Lingxi Circuit were garrison towns, and the school supervisor was already the highest-ranking civil official in the town. Rumor had it that the position of Education Commissioner for the Lingxi Circuit had already been tentatively assigned to this senior classmate, Murong. Murong, the School Supervisor, was now approaching fifty, but he was in excellent spirits. He took great pride in the choice he’d made years ago and, by extension, greatly admired his fellow townsman Ou Yang for abandoning his pen for a military career. After offering Ou Yang some encouragement while maintaining the air of a superior and senior colleague, he even sent over two non-Han female private slaves to “make his bed.” In Ou Yang’s previous life, the internet was flooded with “otaku goddesses”—more numerous even than the otaku themselves. He had absolutely no interest in these two clumsy female slaves, who could only be considered beauties among the Yi people. Moreover, taking advantage of a host’s women while visiting their home—even though the host didn’t actually consider these two to be his own “women”—didn’t align with Ou Yang’s moral standards. He hadn’t been in this world long enough to fully adapt to this strange social structure—a mix of semi-slavery, semi-feudalism, and semi-capitalism—so he truly limited himself to having those two Yi women simply make his bed. This, in turn, left the two women deeply disappointed. Ou Yang was not unattractive; not only was he tall and well-built, but he was also a scholar—and a rising star favored by their master, Murong. Regardless of whether they could conceive a child in secret, spending the night with him would certainly elevate their status among the household’s private slaves. At that time, the empire was divided into four social classes. Han Chinese who had not been demoted for committing a crime were classified as commoners. Later, whether through passing exams, serving in the military, working as laborers, or even farming or engaging in commerce, they could be promoted to citizenship if they performed well. Below the commoners were the lower classes, consisting mostly of ethnic minorities conquered early on and Han Chinese who had committed crimes not punishable by death. Finally, there were slaves, divided into state-owned and privately owned slaves. The former belonged to the state and primarily performed heavy labor on state-owned farms, ranches, and mines. Privately owned slaves belonged to individuals; some, like these two non-Han women, served their masters as concubines, while others worked in private factories and on private farms. Strictly speaking, the eight-ji unit under Ou Yang’s command belonged to the imperial family as private slaves; however, since the imperial family’s assets were jointly managed by the Cabinet and the imperial household, these individuals were treated as state-owned slaves for operational purposes. The only true private slaves of the imperial family were the eunuchs—most of whom were now captured Di Yi youths, with only a handful of senior eunuchs remaining as Han Chinese left behind by previous emperors; however, these senior eunuchs already held very high status. Not even the palace maids were slaves—neither the Cabinet nor the imperial family wished to see the blood of the Di Yi peoples mixed with the empire’s most noble lineage. These women all came from commoner families; as Han Chinese, they could not possibly be slaves, and each held the rank of a court lady. After serving in the palace for five years, these court ladies were to be given a dowry and sent out of the palace; strictly speaking, they were white-collar employees of the imperial household.