Chapter 1548 - The Immigrant Naturalization Orientation

The next day, the police station did indeed send officers to verify their documents. The household registration forms had already been filled out, and as was standard procedure, officers came to cross-check each registration one by one. Since they currently had no fixed residence, they were registered under the inn's temporary household roster. Each person then received a temporary identification card.

Zhuo Yifan and the others had rather hoped to see that formidable, sharp-tongued female officer again. To their surprise, she did not come at all. Instead, several delicately pretty young policewomen arrived. But having learned from their previous experience, no one was foolish enough to test their luck. Throughout the courtyards with guests, doors remained firmly shut—idlers had wisely retreated inside.

Although the registration forms were already quite detailed, these household registration officers still asked a great many questions with tireless thoroughness: Where had they come from? Were any family members left behind? What trades did they practice? Did anyone in the family hold office or possess scholarly titles? Every minute detail was ascertained.

Despite the sheer number of questions—enough to provoke irritation—the smiling faces of these officers bore an expression that brooked no refusal. Li Xiaoliu had warned them beforehand: during household registration, one must never refuse to answer. Failure to register meant no temporary identification card, and without that, one could not remain in Lingao.

Fortunately, they had read Notes on Pacifying the Shorthairs and already knew the protocols. They had long since prepared their backstories. Zhuo Yifan was confident they had betrayed no flaws.

Registration complete, identification cards received, the officers took their leave. Wan Lifeng escorted them out with great courtesy, then returned and exhaled in involuntary relief.

"That went smoothly enough!"

"Thank heavens for Notes on Pacifying the Shorthairs!" Meng Bofei's expression was solemn. "The Shorthairs' method of vetting newcomers is truly fearsome. Without preparation, we would certainly have given ourselves away."

Though their roles in the team were subordinate, their jianghu experience far exceeded Zhuo Yifan's. This business of registering and issuing documents—ordinary folk would think nothing of it, finding it merely tedious at worst. But for a team like theirs, cobbled together from various sources, it was an exceedingly dangerous trap. If even one or two members told stories that contradicted the others, their cover would be blown immediately.

Zhuo Yifan, however, had no time for reflection. He needed to slip out at once and place the "safe arrival" signal so that he could make contact with Sima Qiudao.

Sending the signal was simple enough: he merely had to place a stone on the wall of the public latrine in the lane where the inn was located.

The signal had been placed, but a response had not yet come when Li Xiaoliu arrived to invite him to the orientation seminar.

The clientele of Qiong'an Inn consisted almost entirely of landlords and moneyed gentry intending to "take refuge" in Lingao. Some had fled because disasters had made their homelands uninhabitable—they had sold their lands and houses, packing up entire households. Others, sensing that the mandate of the Great Ming was waning and the realm might soon descend into chaos, had dispatched sons or nephews to Lingao to purchase property as a bolt-hole—a cunning fox with three burrows.

Whatever their motivation, these newcomers all carried substantial capital and intended to establish themselves here. Lingao might be a peaceful place, but its social management system was entirely modernized. Never mind provincial rustics—even landlords from the capital or Jiangnan might not immediately adapt to local customs and regulations.

To prevent new arrivals from running afoul of the whip or landing in the sand quarries within days of arrival, Li Xiaopeng had arranged a special "Immigrant Naturalization Orientation" for incoming clients.

The inn itself served as host. The program began with a cadre from the Lingao County Office of the People's Council delivering an introduction to local laws and policies. Li Xiaopeng had even paid out of his own pocket to have small instructional booklets printed for the clients. Afterward came promotional briefings on relevant investment opportunities.

Being the "Young Master," Zhuo Yifan naturally could not decline—he had, after all, arrived under the guise of a household intending to purchase property and migrate.

The seminar was held in one of the inn's garden pavilions. To cater to the clients' desire for a "Great Ming-style lifestyle," Qiong'an Inn had set aside a courtyard within its grounds, complete with a reception hall and a small stage for theatrical performances—allowing the moneyed gentry to host banquets and watch operas to dispel their loneliness.

Seats in the flower hall were already largely filled. Those who had recently arrived in Lingao included silver-bearded elders, elegant young men, and portly middle-aged gentlemen—all bedecked in silks and satins, though their expressions betrayed a mixture of apprehension and unease. Word had spread that Lingao was an earthly paradise, but this place was no longer under the Great Ming's jurisdiction. From the moment they had entered Qiongzhou, the inn's attendants sent to greet them had repeatedly reminded them: rules here differed from the Great Ming—one must not presume upon one's status.

Many of these families had brought everyone along; even those who had only dispatched sons or nephews had brought large sums of wealth. In this unfamiliar land, the slightest misstep could spell ruin for the entire clan.

The only local person they could trust was the proprietor of Qiong'an Inn. Thus they took this orientation very seriously. Not only had the men of substance come, but bamboo blinds had been hung at the back row—evidently quite a few womenfolk were in attendance as well.

Before the seminar began, the flower hall hummed with muted conversation.

Zhuo Yifan, accompanied by his page boy and guided by Li Xiaoliu, took a seat at an empty table. Tea and a selection of fruits and pastries had already been laid out.

Li Xiaoliu murmured, "Young Master Zhuo, please make yourself comfortable. This is the Immigrant Naturalization Guide. The key points of the seminar are all in here. If you follow along as you listen, it'll be easier to understand."

When he had finished, he refilled the teacup before Zhuo Yifan and withdrew quietly.

Before long, Li Xiaopeng arrived, escorting a short-haired man in a gray four-pocket jacket—a "Fake Shorthair," as Zhuo Yifan knew such cadres were called. According to the Stone Elder, these Fake Shorthairs had all been dregs of the Great Ming—ne'er-do-wells unable to support themselves yet too stubborn to die. They had come crawling to the Shorthairs to act as their henchmen and lackeys. Many loyal subjects of the imperial court had met their end at the hands of these creatures.

Zhuo Yifan studied this "capable lackey" with interest. He saw merely an ordinary young man, perhaps thirty at most, with a plain face and swarthy complexion. His hair was cropped short like a monk's; his face was clean-shaven without a trace of stubble. He wore a gray cotton jacket with toggle buttons, its elbows patched—an altogether impoverished appearance. And yet the clothes were neat and clean, and the man exuded an air of crisp efficiency. Slung across his shoulder was a plain canvas satchel.

Li Xiaopeng opened with a few polite platitudes, then introduced the visitor as "an officer of the Civil Affairs Section, Office of the People's Council for Lingao County."

Zhuo Yifan did not recognize the title. It was probably something akin to a petty clerk, he thought—his heart filled with silent contempt.

The man stepped to the central table, set his satchel down, and swept his gaze across the hall. His eyes were calm and steady, nothing like the obsequious servility or sinister menace Zhuo Yifan had seen in Great Ming yamen runners.

He silently praised the man: The Shorthairs have some real talent.

The Fake Shorthair wasted no time on pleasantries. In a few brief sentences, he launched into an explanation of local policies and regulations.

Zhuo Yifan had thought he was merely here to make a token appearance. Now, however, he set aside his nonchalance and listened attentively.

The presentation covered several parts. First came the legal codes relevant to daily life: the Sanitation Regulations, the Public Appearance Regulations, the Public Order Law—all things one might encounter in the course of an ordinary day. A careless slip could easily mean a violation, especially for those newly arrived from the Great Ming whose old habits had not yet changed. For such folk, "breaking the law" could happen the moment they stepped into the street.

For gentlemen of means, certain regulations posed little concern. Spitting or relieving oneself in public, for instance—they traveled with servants carrying spittoons, and they knew enough of decorum to use a latrine when available. But the social privileges that gentry and landlords took for granted in the Great Ming—those were absolutely forbidden under the Yuan Laoyuan.

In other words, official bureaus could not be commanded by a visiting card from a gentleman. Nor would grain-paying households or degree-holders be treated as the "foundation of the state," granted face-saving courtesy and exemption from law at every turn.

The phrase "equality before the law" was startling—suddenly these landlords, accustomed to privilege, grew uneasy. What? Were they now to be on equal footing with the common rabble? Those same tenants who, even under threat of the magistrate's paddle and the standing cage, still dared to withhold rent and make trouble—if everyone was truly "equal," how could one possibly live?

More than a few among the audience now entertained second thoughts. Those who had already brought their entire families began to regret their haste.

"So-called equality before the law does not mean favoring the poor. Rather, it means basing judgments on facts and the law, administering justice impartially. Under our Yuan Laoyuan, no one will be favored or shielded on account of wealth, gender, place of origin, or any other factor." The cadre's voice was firm. "I imagine you are aware that certain Great Ming officials, claiming to be upright and incorruptible, would favor the poor over the rich in lawsuits, or favor scholars over merchants. Here, we have none of that!" He chopped his hand downward. "Whoever is in the right, whoever is within the law—we protect them. Whoever is in the wrong, whoever breaks the law—the law will not spare them!"

Zhuo Yifan inwardly sneered: Such empty platitudes! The Shorthairs truly have no shame. Never mind whether they actually favored the poor—throughout history, "the prince who breaks the law is punished as a commoner" was always preached, but who ever believed it? After all, "punishments do not reach up to the great officers"—the sages themselves had said so.

Sure enough, the landlords around him wore expressions of mingled belief and doubt.

The cadre seemed to know what they were thinking. "I know you won't believe me right away. But you'll be in Lingao for a good long while. In time, you can judge for yourselves whether what I've said today is true or false."

(End of Chapter)