6. Always Remember to Serve Lord Zhao Faithfully

A trivial matter, Zhang Xun summoned a steward from home and asked him to notify the county office. Sixty guan was a bit excessive—two guan was two guan; paying taxes according to the regulations should be acceptable.

Zhang Xi was overjoyed upon hearing this.

He had originally intended to borrow sixty guan from Zhang Xun, to be repaid over two or three years, without interest. Perhaps after a few years, Zhang Xun might even forget about the debt and forgive it.

Now, it was even better—no taxes to pay, no debt to bear.

His joy was evident on his face. Rising from his seat, Zhang Xi repeatedly cupped his hands in thanks to Zhang Xun. Unlike Zhang Xun’s family, his own father had once held an official post, but now he was just a commoner. He had failed the provincial exams and could not become a scholar-official, making it difficult to preserve the family estate.

Having settled this matter and sent Zhang Xi on his way, Zhang Xun inquired about other household affairs. Reports came in: the family's reed fields needed to begin early firewood storage to prepare for the rainy season; the neighboring county’s old master of the Gu family was having a birthday, so a congratulatory gift had to be arranged; a tenant had died drinking brine water, and there was overdue interest—had his children been sold off to cover the debts?

Wait a moment?

Ah, right. I am in the Southern Song now. Indeed, repaying debts is the natural order of things. No money? Then use your children to settle the debt.

To be frank, now that summer taxes were levied, selling sons and daughters beyond Guanghua Gate was common. Marked with a straw tag, cheap ones cost only a few guan—less than the price of a horse.

Even if one wanted to save them, it was impossible. Zhang Xun simply asked if the tenant’s family had other members. Yes, there were brothers. But even with siblings, it was the same: in these times, if he didn’t sell this year, he would next year.

So be it. Zhang Xun could only close his eyes.

You might ask why not take them into the mansion as servants? The household servants had multiplied several times over; there was no need to buy from outside. Besides, children couldn’t be servants or do heavy labor.

Saving one wouldn’t save thousands. If the tenant’s brothers could bear the burden, so be it; if not, and they sold their own nephews or nieces, that was their problem.

All Zhang Xun could do was waive the interest—nine parts out of thirteen returned, settled every half year. The past interest was forgiven; that was all.

Having dealt with the major and minor matters, Zhang Xun felt an inexplicable irritation—not because of the tasks themselves, but because all the news pointed to a disastrously bad year.

No wonder many people, usually reserved and sincere, chose to die for the emperor when the time came. Watching the nation’s affairs decay day by day, powerless to do anything, anxiety turned to despair. It was easier to give up, indulge in drinking, gambling, and women, and for the desperate, take some opium. Life seemed meaningless; better to enjoy some pleasure and then die quickly.

At least in death, one could preserve some honor, a small comfort.

Around then, Zhang Xun had finished attending to all the matters, and Zhang’s mother returned from the rear hall. She first had a maid serve Zhang Xun a cup of light floral dew—he didn’t know what flower it was made from, but after drinking it, his mouth felt moist and refreshed.

After steadying himself, Zhang’s mother inquired about how he had handled the household affairs. During the Eastern Jin’s southern migration and again during the Southern Song’s, the Jiangdong region had become a major commercial hub.

Take Changzhou, for example, which had about 150,000 main client households and nearly 600,000 people—a figure from the time when the imperial court was still in place.

The land was fully cultivated, with people building terraces on the hillsides—and that was when tigers began preying on humans. Swamps and lakes were filled in, attracting crocodiles that terrorized the populace.

In such densely populated areas, fuel was scarce; Zhang Xun’s family reed fields were a key local source of firewood. Along Taihu Lake, there must be dozens of thousands of loads of firewood, cut and stored since last autumn, now ready to be transported into the city.

When it came to delivery and regulations, Zhang Xun explained matters fairly accurately. Fortunately, his family was a major household with plenty of skilled labor. If necessary, they could even subsume the entire Changzhou bureaucratic apparatus to maintain local order.

For the congratulatory gift to Old Master Gu in Pingjiang, Wuxian, Zhang Xun instructed sending a pair of golden longevity peaches and jars, along with customary cakes, pastries, paper, couplets, and lamps. This old Gu family was surely the ancestors of Suzhou’s Gu Yanwu and his kin.

By this reckoning, Gu Yanwu’s forebears were probably collaborators.

Those who did not collaborate were sure to be beheaded by Boyan. Boyan and Ashu’s policies were blunt: surrender and you receive official rank regardless of competence or sincerity; refuse and you are executed.

Even Fan Wenhu was made Commander-in-Chief of the Two Zhe Provinces and deputy marshal in the war against Japan—proof enough.

After hearing the gift list, Zhang’s mother nodded slightly and then asked about the tenant family. She seemed to detect Zhang Xun’s sympathy, but not complete compassion. As a mother, she was somewhat curious.

Yet only somewhat, for Zhang Xun had older brothers and sisters, and even two brothers who had died young. In all, Zhang’s mother bore six children between her late teens and early thirties. With so many children and one brilliant son who had passed the imperial exams, naturally, less attention was given to the others.

Zhang Xun’s thoughts were only half of what Old Master Qin from the Teahouse play imagined.

Qin wanted to save the nation through industry and help all the common people, so he refused aid to beggars and those selling off their children. Zhang Xun, though unwilling to save this declining Song, also understood clearly that saving one or two poor people was useless.

Moreover, enslaving people as servants was hardly a rescue, for they were lowly and degraded.

“My son does not see it this way. Fate and misfortune are predestined; even the state may not survive, let alone individuals,” Zhang Xun grumbled, exhausted from the morning’s affairs and speaking without restraint.

“Hmm?” Zhang’s mother, who had never before seen such talk from her son, showed surprise.

“I misspoke,” Zhang Xun hastily waved his hand. What use was it to say such things to an old lady?

“Our Zhang family has long benefited from the state, receiving Zhao salaries for two hundred years. If you wish to repay the country, you should become an official,” she earnestly encouraged.

“Haha, mother, you jest. What official could I be? A constable in Bennu? Or a patrol officer in Mashan? With my kind of character, how could I become the fifth prepared general of Changzhou, rushing to the bloody pools of Xiangyang?”

“Sigh…” Zhang’s mother, born into the Li family of Wuxi, a notable family of the Three Wu regions, was well versed in worldly affairs and knew the outside world was already boiling.

As for Zhang Xun now, he was merely a dissipated official’s son, lacking the means to lead thousands to relieve Xiangyang. He didn’t even possess the capacity to defend mountain passes or repel invaders at the gates.

“My elder brother serves with great zeal and ambition; I am but a trivial person, how could I compare?”

“Then all the more reason to strive and study diligently. If matters are slow, you can tend the family lands. If urgent, you must serve the king,” Zhang’s mother clearly disagreed with Zhang Xun’s words.

For now, there was nothing pressing; a casual chat between mother and son was fine. But if trouble came, as descendants of the Zhang family, they must be loyal and serve the nation faithfully.