Chapter 475 - Autumn Levy (Part 30)
Zhou Dongtian picked up the interrogation record. The man had revealed quite a lot—the information was substantial. But on the critical point—where were the actual account books for the autumn levy—Umbrella-Shop Little Hu hadn't given up the goods.
"Where are the account books for the villages you handled?" the interrogator demanded hoarsely.
"They're all with Eighth Master—no, with Chen Minggang." Little Hu shook his head in agony. "The account books had to be turned in."
"Looks like we need to add a bit more—"
"No! This lowly one really has told you everything!" Little Hu struggled uselessly in the chair, tears and snot running down his face. He looked completely like a man whose will had been broken through torture. After twenty-four straight hours of relentless questioning, he had reached the edge of collapse.
"Enough." Zhou Dongtian waved his hand. Looking at this dispirited wretch weeping uncontrollably, he said, "Tell me—how exactly were they turned in?"
"After every village's business was done, Eighth Master would send someone to collect the account books from us." Little Hu sobbed. "Chen Minggang kept a very tight grip on the account books. He didn't allow us to keep or copy them privately."
"What about the collection registers he gave you?"
"Same thing. As soon as one village was done, they had to be returned."
"Even if there were unpaid amounts, they still had to be returned?"
"Yes, no matter how many people were in arrears, they still had to be returned." Little Hu said weakly. "Eighth Master—he collected the registers for grain tallies daily."
"Aren't the grain tally registers at the Household Office?"
"Those are fake registers. Some people who paid grain still couldn't get one; some who didn't pay could get one anyway... The real register was in his own hands."
"So that's how it is!" Zhou Dongtian realized that if they could get this register, quite a few people in the county who had been fraudulently obtaining grain tallies to evade taxes could be exposed. With this in hand, they could discipline anyone they wanted—and do so openly and legitimately. After all, what they'd be pursuing was the Great Ming's imperial grain tax.
"Quick—tell me! What other double ledgers does he have?"
...
Zhou Dongtian asked many questions repeatedly, some of which Little Hu had already answered. This cross-examination technique was meant to check for inconsistencies in the details of his confessions.
Finally, he concluded there was no more oil to squeeze from Little Hu. He ordered him taken away.
"Shall we bring Chen Minggang for interrogation?"
"Not yet. First we need to break their morale." Zhou Dongtian shook his head. The "struggle session" was already nearly prepared.
Whenever "struggle" was involved, Du Wen always participated. This time was no exception. Though she wasn't part of the Leadership Group, she had invited herself as a "consultant" and done considerable preparation work and creative planning for the struggle session.
Mobilizing the masses through the liaisons turned out to be not difficult at all. Ordinary people thoroughly detested the clerks' abuses. Where once they could only bow and scrape, enduring humiliation and extortion in silence, now they could suddenly take open revenge. Passions immediately ran high. Before long, over two hundred people had been organized from villages across the county. Du Wen followed instructions, prioritizing those with high "grudge values"—those with blood debts were best.
Among the "masses" was also the indigenous propaganda performance artist Gou Buli. He would attend this struggle session presenting himself as someone driven to familial ruin by "flying apportionment." Of course, since quite a few people in the county seat recognized him, Gou Buli couldn't publicly recount his tragic history this time. He would have to blend into the crowd and work as an agitator.
He wasn't fighting alone. Mixed into the crowd were approximately thirty trainees destined for the Propaganda Department. They were there specifically to create momentum during the meeting. At prearranged signals from Du Wen, they would applaud, cheer, roar in anger, or shout designated slogans. These were the first batch of students from the propaganda and agitation crash course. The Propaganda Department was treating this struggle session as a valuable practical training opportunity.
The next day's struggle session was a great success. Under the agitation of Du Wen and the indigenous propagandists mixed into the crowd, the masses were soon worked into a frenzy. Old grudges and new hatreds erupted together. Led by Gou Buli, a mob surged onto the stage in a flurry of punches and kicks. Seven or eight clerks were beaten to death on the spot. The survivors were all injured, their souls shattered. For the clerks, execution grounds were routine—even lingering death by slicing wouldn't make them flinch.
But this mass frenzy was truly terrifying. Over a hundred people—men and women, old and young—gnashing their teeth and rushing forward with punches and kicks, tearing with their teeth, literally ripping limbs and flesh from living bodies...
In this atmosphere of terror, the group study sessions began. Participants were required to engage in "self-dissection" and "exposure" activities—talking not only about their own problems but also about others'. Besides the study class members, the clerks who had temporarily been retained in the yamen also took turns attending these "study" activities daily.
Du Wen hinted during the study sessions that whoever exposed and confessed the most—and the most thoroughly—might survive. Otherwise, they'd be dragged to a struggle session. In the days that followed, the study class was pervaded with an atmosphere of conspiracy and betrayal. For a time, everyone was on edge, every man in fear for himself. Soon Zhou Dongtian's desk was piled high with denunciation materials and "confessions." Not only actual incidents but fabricated ones were invented in abundance.
A week later, the clerks in the study class who had initially been whispering among themselves in their boredom no longer exchanged a single word. Many now made every effort to demonstrate an intense "desire to remake themselves." Their cooperation during transmigrator interrogations had improved markedly. They answered questions fully and even volunteered useful information.
But still no one knew the whereabouts of the fish-scale registers and collection accounts—"those things are kept by Chen Minggang himself," every grain runner answered in unison.
From Chen Minggang himself, they still couldn't extract anything. Since his arrest and confinement to the study class, he had not exchanged a word with any of his former subordinates. He maintained the demeanor of "Xu Shu entering Cao Cao's camp." Zhou Dongtian had sent his men to interrogate him once, with no result. Threats of being "struggled" at a public session he treated with utter indifference—Chen Minggang knew perfectly well what the transmigrators wanted. Until they got it, they would never actually kill him. He intended to use this leverage to protect his own life and his family's, and to accumulate bargaining capital for the future.
That night, Zhou Dongtian finally interrogated him personally. Chen Minggang's attitude remained defiant; he simply ignored Zhou Dongtian's questions. After a long pause, he finally spoke:
"The fish-scale register—yes, this lowly one has it. The collection account books—yes, I have those too." Chen Minggang looked at him sidelong. "But these are this lowly one's rice bowl. If I hand them to someone else, won't I have lost my livelihood? I beg Your Honor's mercy!"
"So—you've lost your livelihood, but have you thought about your wife and son's livelihood?" Zhou Dongtian asked, and noted with satisfaction that Chen Minggang's eyelid twitched. "And then there's Qiuhong?"
"What do you intend to do with them?" He was pleased to see Chen Minggang's expression grow tense.
"That depends on whether you cooperate." Zhou Dongtian blew a smoke ring. "What we want is simple. You have it. Hand it over."
"And after I hand it over?"
Good—he's ready to negotiate terms. Zhou Dongtian knew this was the opening.
"Very well. I guarantee the safety of you and your entire family—including Qiuhong. And I guarantee that your past deeds will not be held against you. Your eldest son, I hear, has quite a reputation in the county seat—I guarantee your family won't be sent to the labor reform camp."
"And what else?"
"Nothing else." Zhou Dongtian replied bluntly. In this timeline, he had virtually unlimited operational authority. There was no need to play games of "leniency for confession" to trick people into talking.
"I cannot comply!" Chen Minggang said.
So the old boy really intended to resist to the end. Zhou Dongtian spat out his cigarette butt and glanced at his men.
"Give Eighth Master some proper hospitality."
"Yes, Chief!" Several indigenous Political Security trainees had been itching to try out the "Australian torture device"—a mysterious little black box with a hand crank. Two wires extended from it, each ending in a copper clip.
Apart from demonstrations on rabbits and similar animals during training, no one had used this mysterious device on a human being. They were all curious to see how a person would react—whether, as Chief Zhou said, the subject would violently convulse.
Zhou Dongtian had no interest in watching copper clamps being attached to a man's nipples or other parts of his anatomy. He lit a cigarette, knowing his apprentices were at this moment connecting wires to the hand-cranked telephone. Without conductive gel available in this timeline, the effect would be somewhat diminished.
"You are the first personage of the Great Ming to receive this treatment," Zhou Dongtian murmured to himself.
Several minutes later, muffled screams could be heard from behind the closed door. Don't overdo it, Zhou Dongtian thought—if he dies, that would be awkward.
He finished his cigarette and walked back inside. Chen Minggang was strapped stark naked to the chair, face drenched in sweat, body still trembling uncontrollably.
"You see, this device is quite different from the torture instruments at the county yamen," Zhou Dongtian said mildly. "You won't die. You won't be maimed. If you're willing, you could live many more years, hale and hearty. And for all those years, I could treat you to this seventeen or eighteen times a day..."
He signaled again. His men immediately began cranking the telephone. Chen Minggang's body arched violently like a fish, went rigid for several seconds, then began jumping uncontrollably in the chair. A string of shrieks echoed through the room.
Zhou Dongtian signaled them to stop. "Tell me. Where are the fish-scale registers and collection accounts?"
Chen Minggang tried to feign unconsciousness, but this didn't fool Zhou Dongtian. Two more brief jolts forced him to "wake up."
"I'll talk. I'll talk." Chen Minggang finally broke.
"Good. Take your time." Zhou Dongtian signaled for the note-taker. An indigenous stenographer walked in from the adjacent room. She was a young woman. Seeing a half-naked, middle-aged man slumped in a chair with clamps and thin cords attached to various parts of his body—particularly that part—she froze in shock. The stenography clipboard clattered to the floor.
(End of Chapter)