Chapter 1745: Household Survey
The beggars were involved in nearly every aspect of daily municipal operations: watching streets, beating the night watch, collecting corpses from the roads, firefighting and water-carrying for fire brigades, opening and closing canal gates, clearing ditches and dredging silt. If the upper echelons and Big Bones of the Guan Di Temple people weren't thoroughly overthrown, these jobs would remain nothing more than tools for exploiting citizens and the beggars themselves.
"If we prioritize simplicity and economy in governance, the Guan Di Temple people are remarkably useful," Lin Baiguang observed. "They require not a single penny of government funding, yet they perform countless tasks that should rightfully fall to the government. It's practically perfected socialized management..."
"But there's always a price," Mu Min said.
"Correct. And that price is borne by the common people." Lin Baiguang nodded. "The government pays a price too. The Guan Di Temple people's centuries of seizing by force and trickery, their shielding of criminals and exploitation of citizens—all of it represents the government ceding taxation rights and public security authority in exchange for services. The inevitable result is damaged credibility and weakened authority. From a governance perspective, it's a poor bargain."
Mu Min nodded but offered no deeper opinion on the matter. "Director Lin, what do you propose?"
"Let's not rush. First we investigate their organization thoroughly. Then we catch them all in one net."
The composition of beggar groups was complex, with numerous members including large numbers of disabled individuals, elderly, and children incapable of labor. Without first understanding the details and formulating proper resettlement plans, it would be easy enough to strike down the leaders and Big Bones at various levels—but the scattered personnel would still constitute a social problem.
"Agreed." Mu Min nodded. To investigate thoroughly meant starting with improved grassroots organization. She resolved to personally oversee the household census and use the survey to probe the background of the Guan Di Temple people.
Mu Min immediately began organizing teams. Over the past few days she had established the basic police structure and filled the personnel slots. But these measures had focused primarily on "maintaining public security"—they remained far from achieving actual governance.
She understood that the Senate's philosophy on police affairs and grassroots governance drew heavily from the first thirty years of the PRC, much of it inherited from the old Japanese police system. Thus police work carried a strong tendency toward "police administration"—the police organ was not merely a law enforcement body but also undertook grassroots administrative governance.
Meeting this demand required enriching grassroots strength as quickly as possible. Fully trained police officers couldn't be conjured overnight, so the old Baojia system would have to serve.
She summoned Meng Gongchang and ordered him to immediately send word convening a meeting of all Bao Chiefs from throughout the city and its suburban gates.
Guangzhou's traditional Baojia system had been established according to methods proposed by Wang Shouren and Hai Rui: ten households per Jia, several Jia per Bao. The "Paijia Registers" preserved in prefecture and county yamen archives recorded all residents—regardless of status or gender—who were over fifteen years old and held permanent household registration. Their accuracy far exceeded the Yellow Registers. The system already resembled modern household registration.
But the Paijia Registers were imperfect. First, they recorded only men and women over fifteen. Second, their tracking of population changes was inadequate. Regulations for floating population registration existed, but without police stations in the Ming Dynasty, compliance depended entirely on whether the Jia Chief was diligent. These records could serve only as references.
Several thousand Jia Chiefs lived throughout Guangzhou. Mu Min couldn't possibly convene them all—even summoning only Bao Chiefs meant several hundred people.
The Bao Chiefs arrived cautiously at the Lingao Circuit Yamen. By proper custom, Bao Chiefs seeing officials would normally go to the prefectural or county yamen. This time they had been summoned to the Australian "Chief Constable Yamen," and the newly appointed "Head of the Constabulary" was a woman! Female bandit chiefs and female pirates were occasionally heard of, but a woman serving as chief constable was truly unprecedented. Everything the Australians did revealed novelty.
Perhaps due to sheer curiosity, the Bao Chiefs arrived in remarkable numbers. Except for a few missing and those genuinely too ill to move, nearly every Bao Chief in the city came. So many attended that seated bodies filled not just the main hall of the Lingao Circuit Yamen but also the courtyard and every inch beneath the eaves—a dense mass of humanity.
When Mu Min appeared wearing the black uniform of a senior police officer, a commotion rippled through the crowd. The well-tailored black jacket, black skirt, and tall boots—this heroic, capable "Australian attire"—made eyes widen throughout the assembly. This female Short Hair is extraordinary! Chiefs in the back rows rose to their feet, craning their necks for a better view.
The only female Short Hair most of them knew was Pei Lixiu, but she usually wore Great Ming women's clothing or sometimes "improved Hanfu" styles—roughly within their cognitive range. Mu Min's completely modern uniform delivered an immediate, staggering impact. Everyone stared in stunned silence.
Mu Min was accustomed to such reactions from the natives, but today's crowd of "onlookers" was larger than usual—somewhat embarrassing.
Several runners recognized the gathering chaos and hurried forward, shouting "Mighty—!" in unison, pressing the agitated Bao Chiefs back into order.
Meng Gongchang served as the Cantonese translator. Mu Min wasted no time on pleasantries and immediately assigned three tasks.
First: re-registration of all Bao and Jia Chiefs. Current chiefs must report and register at the Municipal Police Bureau within a fixed deadline. Those who failed to appear would be struck from the rolls. They would also submit a "Personal Autobiography," completed according to a provided template.
Second: Bao Chiefs would convey to their various Paijia that the Police Bureau was preparing to re-register the Paijia Registers. All Jia were ordered to cooperate fully.
Third: format templates would be distributed, and Bao Chiefs would complete a "Report on Basic Situation of XX Bao" on the spot.
Based on these reports, naturalized citizen staff marked each Bao's jurisdiction on the Guangzhou map to arrange the order of the census.
While census preparations proceeded at urgent pace, Mu Min mobilized personnel. Given the limited number of naturalized citizen cadres, most census team members would be drawn from old personnel. But Mu Min ensured that at least three Cantonese-speaking naturalized citizen cadres were assigned to each group for mutual supervision. Beyond the group leader, the clerk responsible for completing registration forms and household registers had to be a naturalized citizen—preventing retained clerks from playing tricks. For this purpose, not only were Cantonese-fluent cadres drafted from throughout the naturalized citizen ranks, but many Cantonese-speaking soldiers from both the National Army and Regular Army were seconded as well.
Zhang Yu hadn't attended the community school in days. Ever since the Australians entered the city, the school had closed its doors. Word was that the teacher had fled to the countryside and hadn't yet returned. With no one to teach, the school simply declared a holiday.
For most families, a closed school meant heartbreak. But the children themselves secretly rejoiced. In ancient times, whether at academies or private schools, holidays came only during New Year—just a few days all year round. Typically, unless the teacher had personal business and requested leave, there were never any breaks. Students could now skip school with complete legitimacy, each one like a monkey freed from its chain. They called friends and companions to explore "Australian scenery," tossing the teachers' warnings about "not wandering around" to the wind.
Zhang Yu was not so fortunate. He could normally sneak out to play under pretense of "going to school." Now that an official holiday had been declared, his family wanted him to work. After the Australians "recovered" Guangzhou, people from distant parts of the city came seeking this "Australian favorite" walnut cookie. Perhaps they hoped to establish connections with the Australians, or wished to understand their temperament and habits. Whatever the reason, his family's cookie business had suddenly multiplied several times over, leaving the already busy shop completely overwhelmed. Zhang Yu had no choice but to help at home.
He knew the work—he'd learned by watching since childhood. But being chained to the shop all day, kneading dough and shelling walnuts, was torture for someone who loved movement and craved novelty. Moreover, he'd done little physical labor in his life. After working all day, when he finally crawled into bed, every bone and muscle ached unbearably. He couldn't help but groan into his pillow.
Fortunately, when the family needed to deliver premium goods, they always sent him. At least that meant a chance to get out and stretch his legs.
Taking advantage of these delivery runs, Zhang Yu visited quite a few places around the city. If asked what difference the Australians had made, there seemed to be little visible change from Great Ming times—except that they had demolished the sheds on Chengxuan Street and cleared the road. They had also arrested and executed a batch of clerks. The "city foxes and social rats"—the petty criminals—had immediately become much more docile. As the tofu shop owner's wife put it: "Opening the door to fresh air at last."
The clerks still existed, but they now wore brass basin-shaped hats provided by the Australians, with armbands on their sleeves bearing the character Xie—"Assist." They patrolled the streets politely, without the old swagger of shouting and bullying, no longer trying to squeeze petty advantages from every shop along the way.
Australian soldiers were everywhere. Some wore blue-grey uniforms, others grey. Zhang Yu had read various "Australian Magazines" for years and knew that those in grey short jackets were called the "National Army"—Li Ziyu had explained that the formal title in the Great Song was Xiang Jun, the "Brigade Army." The other type must be the so-called "Forbidden Army," the imperial guards.
These Brigade Army and Forbidden Army soldiers were stationed at city gates, major temples, and government offices. Word was that many more occupied the parade grounds outside the city walls. They stood guard and patrolled throughout the city, uniforms immaculate, weapons excellent, spirits high. Compared to the government soldiers who had always been either sluggish and impoverished or crude and violent, even a commoner's eye could see these were two completely different armies.
Zhang Yu had never felt warmly toward soldiers—they only knew how to bully ordinary people. When water bandits and local gangs kidnapped, robbed, and murdered outside the city, the troops pretended to see nothing. Nor had he ever considered soldiering a glorious profession—that was work for desperate paupers with no other options. When he first read in Australian magazines that Australians considered "serving as a soldier an honor," he couldn't quite grasp the concept. At most he could connect it to the military merit nobility of the Qin and Han dynasties—as Wu Ming had once explained. But now, seeing the magnificent martial bearing of the Australians—whether Brigade Army or Forbidden Army—he suddenly understood a great deal more.
(End of this chapter)