Chapter 80: Interrogating Prisoners (Part 2)
"This humble one is named Zhang Xingjiao, formerly a tongsheng." The man knelt trembling on the ground. Guo Yi and his team had no intention of applying their equality ideals to these prisoners—unequal pressure, they had found, worked decidedly in their favor.
"Tongsheng?" Mu Min frowned. "A virgin? He practices some kind of celibacy kungfu?"
Xiong Buyou nearly burst out laughing. "A tongsheng is a scholar who hasn't passed the xiucai examination."
Looking more carefully at the prisoner, she noticed that despite his rags and sun-darkened skin, his hands and feet lacked the roughness of someone born to hard labor.
Catching their faint smiles, Zhang Xingjiao sighed with self-deprecation. "This humble one failed at his studies—a joke to you gentlemen, I'm sure. My family are natives of this place, farmers for generations, with a few inherited mu of land. Our village has a major surname, Gou, and since their clan produced several wealthy households with connections to government clerks, they lorded it over everyone else. My father couldn't stomach it. He supported my studies, hoping I'd pass the examinations and shield our household from their bullying." His voice fell. "But I proved useless. I could never pass."
Shame colored his face. "Studies cost money. The family sold off a few mu to fund them. Our finances were already tight when our ox suddenly died. Everyone said the Gou family was responsible, but we had no proof and no power to bring suit. Father fell gravely ill from fury and worry. Farming families have no savings. In desperation, we sold our remaining four mu by contract. We should have gotten far more, but the Gou family used their connections with government clerks to block other buyers, forcing the price down to less than half its proper value."
"A forced sale," Mu Min said, nodding sympathetically.
"The land was sold, but when Father learned what had happened, his condition worsened. A few months later, after the money ran out, he died as well." Zhang Xingjiao wiped at his tears. "And that wasn't the end of it. The Gou family, evil-hearted as they are, conspired with the tax-managing clerk to ensure the land's tax burden was never transferred. Though we'd sold the property, we still had to pay summer and autumn grain taxes on those four mu. How can such injustice exist in this world?"
Everyone was shocked. This actually happens? In the mid-to-late Ming, it was in fact distressingly common: property would change hands while the tax burden remained with the seller, leaving buyers to pay nothing. It had driven countless peasants who lost their land into exile.
"These past years, court taxes have been crushing—and now the Liaodong surcharge on top of it. This is torture for small households like ours! I asked the buyer why the tax hadn't been transferred when our contract clearly required it. The Gou family head simply said he'd already spoken to the tax clerks, and it wasn't his concern if the transfer hadn't gone through. I made several trips to the city to seek redress, only to be scolded as a troublemaker."
The tent fell silent. The other prisoners sitting on the ground, waiting their turn to be processed, were visibly moved. Most harbored similar grievances. Hearing his tragedy laid bare, some wept silently while others bit their lips, their own suffering surfacing in their minds, hearts burning with the memory of injustice.
"Though the land was sold, they still demanded grain taxes from us. When deadlines came, yamen runners arrived with warrants, clubs, chains, and handcuffs—descending like wolves. They burst into our home, beating without question, smashing pots and bowls, then dragged me to the county seat for interrogation. Every three days brought another beating until I was flayed raw. Then they cangued me for public display." His voice cracked. "I nearly died. Fortunately, some classmates from my study days—a few had advanced to the county school—begged their instructors to intercede on my behalf, barely saving my life. But when I returned home, I discovered the Gou family had conspired with the runners, claiming to have paid my taxes. They used forged contracts to seize our remaining home plot and our ancestral graveyard. My family's graves, tended for generations—all dug up." At this, he prostrated himself fully and wailed.
This time, when the call went out to march against the newcomers, the village's wealthy families had looked at Zhang Xingjiao—a man with nothing left, no family, no property—and figured his death wouldn't matter. They'd bound him with three others and sent them to the city as militia conscripts. He had been in the Bopu attack column, and being weak and slow, he had been among the first captured.
They questioned several more conscripts after him, all with similar stories. Every one of them had been driven beyond endurance by wealthy households and corrupt officials. Every one of them carried blood feuds. Every listener felt the weight of their sympathy.
"We should raise this with the Committee." Mu Min wiped her reddened eyes. "The common people are suffering too much. Land reform is essential."
Guo Yi felt sympathy too, but he had no interest in land reform. He murmured agreement with Mu Min's sighs—lest he appear cold-blooded—while saying nothing about reform itself. Who knows what leadership actually thinks? New arrivals had to speak cautiously. But from all of this, an idea had begun to take shape in his mind. Combined with what he'd heard from Shao Zong about the content of last night's post-battle review, he thought it had excellent chances of being adopted.
"Strike the big households?" Wen Desi looked at Xiao Zishan with some surprise.
"Precisely." Xiao Zishan nodded. "Strike local tyrants and evil gentry."
"Zishan, we've discussed this. No land reform."
"We're not doing land reform—just striking the big households. To put it plainly: 'dispensing justice on Heaven's behalf.' Robbing the rich to help the poor." Xiao Zishan produced several pages. "This is Guo Yi's proposal, along with materials from the prisoner interrogations. Using the interrogation data, we target households with documented public grievances. First, it wins hearts and warns local diehards against resisting us. Second, it supplies us with large quantities of grain and provisions."
The pages recorded detailed intelligence on notorious wealthy households, all drawn from prisoner testimony: population, defenses, landholdings, property—extremely thorough. Some entries even listed how many pigs and cattle they kept, and where gold and silver might be hidden. A meticulous robbery guide. Following it, the transmigrators could easily make their fortunes.
Of course, "robbing the rich to help the poor" had historically meant helping one's own poor. But for common folk, the appeal was immense. Even if they gained little materially, the chance to overturn the daily oppressive order—to watch the high-and-mighty come crashing down—held tremendous allure.
The Committee discussed the proposal at length. The progressives gave it strong support. For the moderates, the original "Hunting" plan had sought targets at random, potentially killing the wrong people and harming the wrong interests, creating problems for future administration. This new proposal gave "Hunting" clear, justified targets, combined with slogans that could attract and inspire the common people: "Eliminating evil, protecting good; robbing the rich, helping the poor." It was the finishing touch both sides had been waiting for. Comrade Guo Yi earned new respect.
"We really do need to hit some big households to replenish our supplies." Wu Nanhai, in his capacity as Agriculture and Cafeteria Director, lowered his voice. "I've been meaning to raise the grain issue."
He opened a notebook. "Our grain reserves were planned at one kilogram per person per day for sixty continuous days—thirty-five tons of rice and flour total. After D-Day, most people actually received only six to eight hundred grams in daily rations, since we could supplement with considerable protein and fat from canned goods, instant foods, and fish, reducing our carbohydrate needs. Daily grain consumption ran about 350 kilograms, so our reserves lasted longer than expected—roughly fifteen extra days." He paused. "But this doesn't account for prisoners.
"Wu De reported today that we have 138 prisoners. At 300 grams per person daily—and if they're doing heavy labor, even that ration is insufficient—starting tomorrow, that's an extra forty kilograms daily. Not a small number. We need to develop food sources quickly."
"What about our crop-planting plans?" Xiao Zishan knew Wu Nanhai's Agriculture Group had brought countless modern agricultural essentials through the crossing.
"Before, we had no manpower. Now with more prisoners, it's manageable. Twenty-first century Hainan can triple-crop annually. But during the Little Ice Age, I have no idea how cold Hainan gets. We'll need to consult the prisoners before deciding what to plant."
"Ming-era Hainan even had snow, if I recall correctly."
"That should be exceptional. But temperatures several degrees lower than our time is certain. Double-cropping at minimum." He sighed. "I'm hoping for more prisoners, frankly. I don't trust the homebodies to farm."
Xiao Zishan noted his request.
"There's also the matter of salt. We need to secure a source or begin self-production soon. The Agriculture Group has one ton of salt—sufficient for now, but we're making many preserved foods and consuming it fast. Other departments keep requesting from us, and it puts me in a difficult position."
"Salt shouldn't be hard to come by, should it?" Xiao Zishan asked. "Hainan, if I recall, was one of China's earliest large-scale solar-salt producers. There are salt fields all along the Beibu Gulf and Qiongzhou Strait."
"We need to build a salt field soon."
"Easy enough." Wang Luobin spoke with confidence. "As a kid in Guangxi, I often visited the coastal salt fields. I know how solar evaporation works." Then he frowned. "But salt production is hard, labor-intensive work. With mechanization, it's fine. With manual labor, our current workforce isn't nearly enough."
"No need to bother with that—we can simply raid for it." Yu Eshui opened a book of local records. "According to the county annals, Ma'ao Peninsula—not far from here—has a government salt field. It should have more than enough for our needs."
"Then let's raid for salt. The Chemistry Department needs it badly, and we'll allocate the manpower."
"First, let's sort out which projects need fulfillment most urgently. Then we can discuss manpower allocation."
(End of Chapter)