Chapter 1098 - The Test
Zhang Pu said nothing. He made no commitment, merely cradling his teacup and sipping in utter silence, not even glancing at his guest. A flutter of unease passed through Zhao Yingong. Was his host using silence as rejection? Then understanding dawned—this was a test. China's power-holders, projecting inscrutability and exerting pressure, had long relished such psychological gambits.
The only counter was complete indifference: silence for silence.
After a protracted pause, Zhang Pu spoke again: "I hear you have a bookshop in Hangzhou?"
"Indeed. Wanbi Bookshop is my enterprise." This "speaking of other matters" was also a classic conversational technique. Zhao Yingong composed himself and replied evenly, betraying neither arrogance nor anxiety.
"I've heard Wanbi Bookshop is quite well managed. You must possess considerable skill in the art of Tao Zhu."
"My forebears traded for generations before building the family fortune. Though I have entered scholarly life, I dare not forget the toil of our ancestors carrying their wares to market." Zhao Yingong stood as he spoke, his manner one of utmost respect.
This bearing earned a nod from Zhang Pu. He had long heard from Sun Chun, Fang Yizhi, and other Revival Society members about this Master Zhao and his Wanbi Bookshop. Though Master Zhao cut an elegant, cultivated figure, his actual classical learning was sparse—among the canons, histories, masters, and collected works, aside from some familiarity with "history," he was practically ignorant. In discussions of Song dynasty events, he spoke with genuine depth and insight, clearly possessing extensive knowledge of that era's figures and affairs. Yet when confronted with the original texts of Zizhi Tongjian or the History of Song, he was largely at a loss. But when it came to "miscellaneous learning" and "investigation of things," others appeared utterly ignorant before him. Fang Yizhi's letter mentioning Zhao Yingong had expressed tremendous admiration for this miscellaneous erudition.
In sum, this Master Zhao's knowledge was peculiar indeed. The dubious origins of his xiucai credentials were all too apparent.
More intriguing still: the merchandise at Wanbi Bookshop was predominantly "Australian goods." As it happened, the current Taicang Prefect, Liu Shidou, was a native of Nanhai County. He and Zhang Pu had passed the same examination year and was a Revival Society member. Through Liu, Zhang Pu knew a great deal about the "Australians" in Guangdong and their various activities.
Zhao Yingong was evidently one of those Guangdong locals who had risen to prominence through the Australians—Zhang Pu had reached this conclusion long ago, and now he was more convinced than ever.
The question remained: why would someone with such deep Australian connections wish to rescue Sun Huodong's career? Sun Huodong might be devoted to Western learning, but there was no word of him having any dealings with the Australians.
"What do you seek to gain by rescuing Huodong from his predicament?" he asked directly.
Zhao Yingong was well prepared. He drew the sign of the cross on his chest. Zhang Pu nodded with understanding: "Ah—so you and Sun Huodong share the same faith."
He then shifted direction: "Since you possess the arts of Tao Zhu, you must be well-versed in matters of economics and practical governance."
Zhao Yingong found this digression difficult to follow, wondering where it led. "I have some modest knowledge," he replied.
"Taicang Prefecture was carved from portions of Kunshan, Changshu, and Jiading. Its terrain is elevated, and the common people mostly grow cotton with little rice cultivation. Every year when the autumn grain tax and white-grain levy come due, they must purchase grain from elsewhere to meet their obligations. Setting aside the hardships of transporting this tribute grain to the capital, each year when they sell cotton and buy grain, unscrupulous merchants obstruct traders from bringing in grain, hoarding to drive up prices. A single shi of rice can fetch one tael and three or four qian. The suffering of the people beggars description—many are utterly ruined by this burden. I wonder what solution you might propose?"
Zhao Yingong started. Was this a test of his economic acumen? He thought for a moment and understood—Zhang Pu had likely already decided to grant his request, but wanted to assess whether this visitor was worth cultivating.
Once this was clear, the situation no longer surprised him. The phenomenon of depressed cotton prices and inflated grain prices was not unfamiliar. Wherever cash crops predominated, similar problems arose—Leizhou had them too. But Taicang's circumstances differed from Leizhou's. Jiangnan was a heavily-taxed region under the Ming, with substantial grain levies. The "white grain transport to Beijing" imposed an especially crushing burden on locals.
The so-called white grain transport was the tribute dispatched from the twenty-four counties and one prefecture of five Nanzhi prefectures—Suzhou, Changzhou, Songjiang, Jiaxing, and Huzhou—to supply the capital's granaries, the Imperial Household, the Wine-Vinegar-and-Flour Bureau, the Imperial Clan Court, and officials' salaries. The annual quota exceeded 210,000 shi, comprising premium varieties such as polished fine rice, polished round-rice, and polished glutinous rice. Since this grain was destined for imperial and official consumption, quality standards were exacting, and official exchange rates valued white grain far above common rice. Furthermore, the surcharges for white grain transport exceeded all other categories of tribute. Every prefectural and county gazetteer of the five prefectures unanimously declared that whoever served as a white grain transport headman was destined for bankruptcy. After the Wanli era, the situation only worsened. Transport costs grew so enormous that only wealthy households could possibly shoulder the headman role, yet throughout the Ming, this corvée remained the nightmare of local landlords and gentry.
Zhao Yingong recalled the materials he had studied. Historically, Zhang Pu had focused intensely on this issue—after all, it concerned his own homeland. His proposed solution was to divert Taicang's capital-bound tribute grain to supply the Taicang and Zhenhai Guards' military provisions locally, thereby eliminating the massive overhead of tribute transport and significantly reducing the people's burden. The proposal was practical and workable. From Zhang Pu's recommendation, Zhao Yingong could see that he had grasped the problem's essence.
On the surface, during the cotton-to-grain exchange, someone was manipulating grain supply channels to create cheap cotton and expensive grain, thereby exacerbating the people's burden—the logical solution would be to address grain circulation. But Zhang Pu understood that the root cause lay not in grain prices but in the enormous waste of the tribute transport system—especially the white grain.
White grain transport operated under a system of "government-supervised, civilian-operated" conveyance. Grain headmen hired vessels, prepared supplies, and shipped the grain by canal to Beijing. From receiving transport subsidies locally, through paying fees at every lock and gate along the route, to finally delivering the grain to the capital warehouses—every step involved endless fees and surcharges.
A grain headman transported less than five hundred shi of white grain, yet transport costs per shi averaged around three shi during the Xuande era, rising to three or four by Chenghua, four to five by Zhengde and Jiajing, and commonly five to six by Wanli—sometimes spiking to eight. By Chongzhen's reign, a single grain headman's expenses could reach 1,500 taels.
Between standard wastage and "gratuities," transport costs per shi of white grain ran several times to over ten times the actual tax. To meet their quotas, the common people had to prepare vast surpluses of grain, driving up demand for imported grain and further inflating prices.
Only by eliminating this excess "wastage" could the people's burden truly be lightened. To Zhao Yingong's mind, for someone of Zhang Pu's era, this represented the simplest and most effective solution within the existing framework.
But Zhao Yingong also knew that this eminently practical proposal ultimately failed in the face of opposition from entrenched transport interests. Not only that, but Prefect Liu Guangshi, who submitted the memorial, was demoted and transferred as punishment for his trouble.
At every dynasty's end, vested interests clung stubbornly to their privileges, blocking even the most modest reforms until the situation became irretrievable. Compared to the Qing dynasty's tribute transport organization—equally bloated, corrupt, and wasteful—the Qing had at least reformed to government collection and government transport, liberating Jiangnan's commoners from the misery of personally delivering tribute grain. In transport efficiency, it vastly surpassed the Ming system.
During his year in Hangzhou, beyond running Wanbi Bookshop, Zhao Yingong had extensively surveyed Jiangnan's economy and people's livelihoods. He had paid particular attention to the region's quite developed civilian shipping industry. Inland waterway transport had achieved considerable scale, and on the coastal routes, Jiangnan's maritime shipping flourished as well. In places like Shanghai County, large-scale shipowners had already emerged—owning a dozen to over a hundred sand-boats, sailing north to Shandong, Tianjin, even Liaodong, transporting goods between north and south. Of course, these shipowners were still relatively primitive: most were also cargo owners themselves, not yet pure shipping enterprises, merely handling freight incidentally while meeting their own trading needs. The famous sand-boat guilds of Qing-era Shanghai developed precisely from this foundation.
In Zhao Yingong's view, the Ming could entirely convert Grand Canal tribute to sea transport. This would not only save enormous transport costs and directly reduce the people's burden, but also eliminate the massive administrative overhead of maintaining the canal system. The comprehensive return on investment far exceeded the savings from disbanding the courier stations.
He had long been planning to establish a maritime shipping company for north-south freight. The Shanhai Five Routes' Dayou branch in Shanghai was already using local sand-boats for maritime trade with handsome profits. If he established his own shipping company using H800-class vessels built at Lingao, with their superior performance, the profits would simply pour in.
If he could also win contracts for Ming tribute transport—Zhao Yingong would laugh in his dreams. The profits would be staggering.
Of course, conducting major trade and great enterprise within the Ming required gentry backing. He had originally set his sights on the Xu Guangqi household; now, hearing Zhang Pu raise this topic, he immediately sensed opportunity.
If Zhang Pu and the Revival Society could recognize the benefits of converting from canal to sea transport, his plan to capture the tribute shipping business would have excellent prospects.
Zhao Yingong spoke deliberately: "In my view, cheap cotton and expensive grain are but minor symptoms. The festering sore lies in the tribute transport system itself."
For an instant, he caught a flash of admiration in Zhang Pu's eyes. Not merely because his insight was penetrating, but because it aligned perfectly with his host's own conclusions.
Zhao Yingong thought ruefully: How shameful—using cheat codes again!
He gathered his thoughts and began his exposition. Starting from the problems of Ming tribute transport, he moved to the various corrupt practices and extortions surrounding white grain, explaining how the people's burden lay not in the principal tax but in the endless "wastage surcharges." Seeing Zhang Pu listening intently, he gradually aimed his critique at the transport system itself.
Having long prepared to advocate "abolishing canal, adopting sea," his reservoir of criticism ran deep—pure ammunition—and now he laid it out point by point, painting Ming tribute transport as utterly irredeemable, harmful to both nation and people.
(End of Chapter)