Chapter 1380 - The People's Rice, The Official's Rice

Seeing the situation spiral out of control, Shopkeeper Liu bellowed, "Brothers, grab your weapons! Put up the door planks!" Even as he shouted, he had already snatched up a cudgel.

The clerks armed themselves with sticks and beat outward desperately. They were clerks only in name—in truth, they were enforcers with rich fighting experience. Sensing that disaster had arrived, they roused themselves to action, swinging their clubs wildly to drive back the mob.

But the crowd's fury only intensified. Days of accumulated anger and grief erupted like a mountain flood. Those struck down scrambled back to their feet. Heedless of bloodied heads, they charged forward, bare hands grabbing at the sticks to wrestle them away. These people—sallow, emaciated, half-dead from hunger—suddenly found strength no one knew they possessed. One after another, they pulled down the clerks.

Once a clerk fell, the crowd submerged him instantly. Fists and feet rained down, and screams were quickly drowned beneath the mob's frenzied roar.

Watching his clerks beaten down one by one, his defenders retreating step by step, more and more people swarming outside—Shopkeeper Liu was seized by panic. He had indeed provoked the masses today.

Normally, he would have fled to avoid immediate loss. But this was the family business he had built through years of effort. In the rice warehouse behind him sat seven or eight hundred shi of rice, over a thousand taels of silver, and countless valuables. If he ran, he would have nothing left.

Gritting his teeth, he drew a Burmese sword from a hidden compartment beneath the counter and shouted, "Brothers, show your blades! Charge together—"

Before he finished speaking, several packets of lime came flying from the crowd. One struck Shopkeeper Liu squarely in the face. Instantly the shop filled with white dust. The clerks caught by the lime could no longer worry about "real weapons"—howling, hands pressed to their faces, they stumbled blindly toward the back.

The rioting stream of people surged through like water bursting through a dam, flooding into the rice shop. The mob poured in like mercury spilling across a surface. Some chased the fleeing clerks with sticks. Others toppled rice bins and filled whatever bags they had. Bin after bin crashed over, white rice flowing like water. People threw themselves into this white "river," grabbing with abandon. Some used cloth bags; others stripped off their own clothes to wrap rice. The inner circle seized grain while the outer circle shoved desperately inward. A strong young man shouldered an entire straw sack—a full shi of rice—and ran out.

Among the mob, some ignored the rice entirely and instead headed straight for the backyard to intercept Shopkeeper Liu. Others smashed open the money chest directly, nimbly pouring silver and copper coins into prepared sacks. Anyone who approached hoping to share in the chaos was beaten back immediately.

Hao Yuan paid no attention to the money chest, nor did he take any rice. In three quick bounds, he leaped onto the counter and shouted, "Fellow villagers! Don't panic! Take turns, one by one—don't waste anything! This rice belongs to us common people!"

His voice was powerful and resonant. Even in this chaos, it instantly cut through the noise inside the shop. The common folk inside and outside froze for a moment, turning their gazes toward him.

"There's plenty of rice here—and even more in the warehouse behind! Don't let a single grain go to waste! There are still many poor people out there with nothing to eat. After you take your share, go out and spread the word—tell everyone nearby to come! All of this is our blood and sweat!"

Applause erupted from below. Hao Yuan jumped off the counter and hurried toward the back. In the courtyard, seven or eight rice shop clerks lay scattered; some still groaned, others were stiff and motionless.

Shopkeeper Liu, his face coated in white lime, was pinned beneath the eaves, still bellowing with impotent rage. His face had been beaten bloody. His hands and body were slick with crimson.

"Did he talk?"

"Everything." One of the young men smiled contemptuously. "Shopkeeper Liu boasted he was a tough nut who wouldn't break under beatings or death threats—but he spilled everything before we even finished cutting five fingers."

As he spoke, several others carried out small chests from the back rooms. Heavy as they were, they were obviously filled with wealth.

"Send Shopkeeper Liu on his way," Hao Yuan ordered. "Don't spill blood."

Before his voice faded, a burly man standing behind Shopkeeper Liu swung his club down hard on the back of his skull. Shopkeeper Liu went limp, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. He made no sound.

"Ignore the rice in the front shop. Now everyone—hold the warehouse door. No one takes rice without authorization. Line up. Distribute by headcount: one dou per person, adult or child, for everyone who comes!" Hao Yuan commanded.

Outside, common folk who had received word swarmed in. Though seven or eight yamen runners stationed in town served as local "peacekeepers," their specialty was bullying civilians on ordinary days. Facing an actual mob, they were useless. At the first sign of "civil uprising," they didn't dare show their faces, let alone attempt to restore order. A few simply fled to Lin'an County to report to the authorities.

Common people from the town and neighboring villages arrived one after another, carrying baskets and rice bags. Hao Yuan led his men in distributing rice by headcount at the warehouse door. In less than half a day, every grain was gone.

When news reached the Lin'an County Magistrate, he hastily dispatched the Jail Warden with mounted and foot constables to suppress the riot. But on the way, they discovered the bridge had been burned. Forced to take a lengthy detour, they arrived only to find the entire rice shop smashed and looted clean. Aside from catching a few stragglers wandering the empty hall hoping to find something more, nothing remained—not even winnowing baskets, reed mats, or door planks. Everything had been stripped away.

Looting rice shops was much like "eating from rich households" during famine years—hardly unusual. But this time, several people had died. Lin'an County dared not neglect the matter and hurriedly reported upward.

Yet the rice riots spread like plague across all of Northern Zhejiang.

Throughout the several prefectures of Northern Zhejiang, popular discontent had already built to the breaking point—a stack of dry kindling soaked in oil. The Dongguan Town rice-grab was the spark dropped atop it. Over the following ten-plus days, commoners in counties under Hangzhou, Huzhou, and Jiaxing Prefectures in Northern Zhejiang—as well as places like Wujiang in Suzhou Prefecture of Southern Zhili—rose up one after another, destroying or looting over two hundred rice shops. The entire Jiangnan region was shaken.

The Merchants Bureau ships transporting grain to Liaodong had already set sail in late July. Wu Zhixiang had delivered thirty thousand shi of rice as promised, which made Zhao Yingong view him in an entirely new light. On this particular day, Zhao Yingong hosted a banquet for him at the Shanghai headquarters—ostensibly to settle accounts, but actually to probe further into his intentions for cooperation.

The wine and dishes were, naturally, all Wu Zhixiang's favorites: "Australian style" preparations and Cantonese flavors, including the famous Wuzhou specialty "Paper-Wrapped Chicken"—though of course that dish didn't actually exist in Wuzhou yet. This greatly whetted the appetite of Young Master Wu, who had lingered in Jiangnan for over half a year.

When they were half-drunk, Zhao Yingong asked how he wished to receive payment—a single bank draft, or split into several.

"I have a list here." Wu Zhixiang produced a slip of paper from his robe. Written on it were numerous "Hall Names"—So-and-So Hall—with different figures in Suzhou numerals beneath each. Some as small as three hundred, others as large as ten thousand.

Zhao Yingong understood immediately: this was the roster of Ministry of Revenue officials participating in the grain resale. A rough count showed about twenty names. Those with larger amounts were likely senior officials; those with smaller shares were probably minor functionaries like Warehouse Ambassadors at Qingjiangpu.

"Very well. Shall I issue these as Delong drafts, or...?"

"Delong drafts for all of them. Delong drafts are elegant and presentable—much better than the ratty paper those Shanxi houses use." Wu Zhixiang was in excellent spirits after completing such significant "business." "Also, prepare another thousand taels in cash silver."

"Very well." Zhao Yingong immediately summoned a secretary specializing in financial matters to issue drafts one by one according to the list, then had someone bring out a chest containing one thousand taels of silver.

With all drafts issued and cash prepared, the total came to only fifty thousand taels. Zhao Yingong was somewhat puzzled.

"And the remaining silver? Should I prepare cash, or...?"

"Count the remainder as my capital." Wu Zhixiang smiled. "Put me down for a share in the Merchants Bureau."

Zhao Yingong nodded. "Easily arranged. But your esteemed father..."

"That doesn't matter." Wu Zhixiang shook his head. "I can make this decision myself." He added with a joking tone, "I can't invest in the Purple-character shares just yet—so letting me buy into the Merchants Bureau should be reasonable, don't you think?"

Zhao Yingong gave a dry laugh but didn't take the bait. Though he knew his true identity wouldn't remain secret to someone like Wu Zhixiang, who had dealt with Guangzhou Station for so long, hearing it stated so baldly felt rather reckless.

Still, accepting the investment made sense—the Merchants Bureau was currently strapped for funds. Receiving ten thousand taels less upfront was actually a good thing. He immediately expressed willingness to take on the investment.

Wu Zhixiang was in high spirits. He drank several more cups, and his tongue inevitably loosened. With a knowing smile, he said:

"Speaking of which, Brother Zhao's success in raising so much grain this time was partly thanks to a certain grandee."

Zhao Yingong's interest sharpened. Drunken words often contained valuable intelligence. So he said nothing, simply smiling and drinking along.

Sure enough, Wu Zhixiang rambled on, revealing much. It turned out this batch of grain had moved so smoothly not merely because Ministry of Revenue and Canal Transport officials shared in the profits, but because even the Nanjing Provincial Administration Commission yamen was involved. In fact, it was people there who had specifically leaked word that the Merchants Bureau was seeking to purchase large quantities of rice.

"Otherwise, how would I—hardly Zhuge Liang—have divined with such accuracy that you, older brother, wanted to buy so much rice?"

Zhao Yingong was secretly alarmed. This was exactly the pattern of "eating the plaintiff, then eating the defendant"! On one hand, choking off supply by refusing to release grain and insisting on cash equivalents; on the other, arranging for intermediaries to sell black-market rice at inflated prices. The methods these officials used to amass wealth were truly ruthless.

No doubt a considerable portion of the rice Wu Zhixiang had transported came directly from the Nanjing provincial treasury—grain and pay that should have been allocated to Guan-Ning in the first place.

(End of this chapter)