Chapter 1746: Household Census
From reading "Australian Military Science" magazines like War History Research, Zhang Yu and his friends knew that Australians valued the "soldier's sense of honor" above almost all else. They critiqued the "valuing civil over military" philosophy and the practice of "controlling military with civil" that had prevailed since the Song Dynasty, reserving particular criticism for the Great Ming's extreme depreciation of military officers' status—a sentiment that even resonated with Li Ziyu.
"Only soldiers with a sense of honor can form an invincible army." This sentence had impressed Zhang Yu deeply when he first read it, though he'd had no concept of what constituted a "sense of honor." Now, observing these Senate soldiers, he finally understood.
The posture of the Fubo Army—standing like pines, sitting like bells. The way they walked in orderly lines of two or columns of three. Their crisp, clean appearance and attire. All of it projected a powerful sense of deterrence, something completely different from the fear inspired by veteran soldiers who relied on ruthlessness and brute force.
Despite this formidable bearing, they spoke kindly to common people and demanded nothing. Zhang Yu's family had watched half their shop eaten empty by the Chaozhou Braves who came to "assist defense" a few years ago. His parents had knelt on the ground, kowtowing and begging bitterly, before the petty officer finally threw down a string of inferior coins—the kind that would shatter into eight pieces if dropped on the ground—and left with a casual pat of his buttocks.
The world has truly changed. Zhang Yu sighed inwardly.
Taking advantage of his delivery runs, he sought out his friends. Zeng Juan's situation now mirrored his own: working at home, sometimes going out to deliver goods. But Li Ziyu's gate was firmly shut. Zhang Yu knocked for a long time without answer. Zeng Juan thought the family might have fled to the countryside—the Australians had posted notices requiring military households of the various guards to report for roll call and reorganization. Many guard officers had fled.
"Why run? What use are those few soldiers in the guards?" Zhang Yu knew guard soldiers were useless. The Australians wouldn't go so far as to slaughter them outright, nor would they necessarily conscript them—besides, even soldiering for the Australians wouldn't be so bad. At least they paid wages on time.
"Ordinary military households are basically commoners. Nothing to fear there," Zeng Juan said. "But Li Ziyu's family are hereditary military officers... The Australians have been rectifying the clerks and runners at the yamen, allowing commoners to file complaints and reports. Those with public notoriety and blood debts have all been taken down and are now being tortured in the prison to confess their ill-gotten gains..."
"So what? They're military households, not yamen clerks." Zhang Yu still didn't understand.
"My young master, how can you not see it? Military officers feast well year-round. Military households labor and serve them endlessly—beaten and cursed, eventually reduced to selling sons and daughters. Some even freeze or starve to death. With this reorganization and roll call, what do you think will happen?"
"Ah! Now I understand." Realization dawned. "So that means..."
"Exactly. I hear that surrendered troops have been concentrated at the parade ground these past days, with officers being reported by soldiers and military households alike. Many have already been arrested." Zeng Juan shook his head. "Can Li Ziyu's family not run?"
"Ziyu's family should have nothing—" Zhang Yu wanted to say "nothing wrong," but then reconsidered. Li Ziyu had mentioned that his uncle was very wealthy. That money hadn't come from exploiting military households. But whether his uncle carried blood debts—that was beyond their knowledge.
Thinking of this, he couldn't help sighing. "I wonder where Ziyu has gone now."
"I don't think we'll see him again. Maybe he's already headed north." Zeng Juan sighed too. Regardless of Li Ziyu's young master airs, they had been good friends, and he had been the "financier" of their little group. Everyone had benefited from his generosity. This sudden sense of loss left them both deflated.
Returning from deliveries that day, Zhang Yu entered the shop to find several strangers. The leaders wore black uniform coats—"Australians"—flanked by "assistants" in brass basin-shaped hats. He had seen these men recently, checking pedestrians and patrolling streets. Word was they were the "Australian Constabulary"—the Australian term was "Police."
Why would the Australian constables come to his house? Zhang Yu felt his heart lurch. Looking again, he spotted someone familiar: the local Jia Chief, Old Daddy He.
Seeing an acquaintance calmed him somewhat. His mother noticed his return and hurried over. "Yu'er, come quickly and pay respects to these gentlemen!"
Zhang Yu rushed forward to bow with clasped hands. The leading Australian said: "No need for formalities. Since the young man is back, let's get the forms filled out promptly. We have many more families to handle."
Zhang Yu then realized these police had come for "household registration." This wasn't unusual—every year Bao Chiefs and Jia Chiefs inevitably accompanied runners to "check the Paijia Registers." In practice, they checked nothing. They spoke a few phrases of stilted Mandarin, exchanged pleasantries, and when leaving, someone inevitably had to hand over a few hundred coins of "straw sandal money." His mother used to say, "One inspection, and the shop works for nothing that day."
But if you weren't careful and somehow offended these masters—if they accused you of "harboring bandits"—they'd chain you straight to the yamen. Then it wasn't a matter of a few hundred coins. Once a person entered the detention cell, there was no hope of release without real gold and silver. Shopkeeper Cao from the small carpentry shop had learned this lesson. He'd been locked next to the urine bucket all night without food or water, and was only released the next day after spending several taels of silver.
"This is your son?" a police officer asked.
"Yes, exactly—my worthless son," Zhang Yu's father answered hastily.
"You only have this one child?"
"There were originally more. Couldn't keep them..."
"Name?"
"Zhang Yu."
"How is it written? Can he read? Here—write it down." The officer handed over paper and brush.
Zhang Yu quickly wrote his name. The police officer examined it and passed it to a clerk-like colleague. "Record it," he instructed. "Name: Zhang Yu. Relationship to householder: son." Then: "Date of birth?"
"The ninth day of the third month, in the Wuwu year of Wanli."
"What year is that in the Gregorian calendar?" The scribe wrote it down and asked his questioning colleague.
"The Wuwu year of Wanli is the forty-sixth year of Wanli..." The officer consulted a book. "1618!"
The Zhang family had no idea what "1618" meant and didn't dare ask.
"Born here? Born to you and your current wife?"
In medieval society, maternal mortality rates were extremely high. Men with any economic means naturally remarried. Added to this were various complexities—children born to maids or concubines, wives pawned to other men. It wasn't rare for children not to be born by the household's mistress.
"Yes, exactly at home," Zhang Yu's father replied. "The boy is indeed born by my humble wife."
"Education level?" After asking, the officer seemed to feel the question was unclear and added: "Book learning?"
"Yes—my worthless son attends the community school..."
"Shopkeeper Zhang," the officer said, "let your son speak for himself."
Zhang Yu thought for a moment. "I have studied at the community school for seven years. I can read the Four Books and Five Classics, have already begun learning essay and poetry composition, and participated in the Tongzi Exam last year..."
However, his lengthy explanation earned only "Private School Intermediate" on the form.
Because traditional education levels were difficult for the Senate to measure precisely, household registration adopted a simplified system. Those with academic degrees had their level recorded according to the degree obtained. Those without degrees were divided into three tiers: studying at a private school for several years without starting Eight-legged Essay composition counted as "Private School Primary"; participation in the Tongzi Exam counted as Intermediate; participation in the Tongzi Exam twice or more counted as Advanced.
Since personnel lists for imperial examinations and every Tongzi Exam were archived at the government yamen, records could be cross-referenced to prevent people from over- or under-reporting.
"Can you use an abacus?"
This question had been added to address local needs. Those who could calculate with an abacus were considered professional talents in the seventeenth century—useful to the Senate. Thus, this skill also required registration.
"Yes." Zhang Yu wondered privately why they had to ask about abacus skills too.
"Married?"
Zhang Yu felt his face flush. "No."
"Done." The questioning officer nodded. "Next family!"
The group packed their things and rose to leave. Zhang Yu's father hurried forward with a string of coins, smiling broadly. "Gentlemen, you've worked hard! This is straw sandal money—a trifle, not worthy to be called thanks..."
Zhang Yu noticed several of the "assistants" eyes light up. But the black-coated police officers remained unmoved. The leader said: "Shopkeeper, under the Senate's rule, we don't do this! Cooperating with our work is the best help you can give. Keep your money. It's not easy earning a few coins running a small business."
Zhang Yu's father tried to press the coins again, but the police had already led their people out. Old Daddy He said: "Shopkeeper Zhang, truly—no need! This is the Senate's world now. That old practice isn't welcome anymore."
His father whispered: "Old Daddy He, you're not setting us up for trouble?"
Old Daddy He smiled. "I've accompanied them to six families today. None of the others handed over straw sandal money. Should your family be the exception? Shining silver moves the heart, no doubt. Better keep it and spend it yourself."
Hearing the Jia Chief say this, the whole family relaxed. Zhang Yu went to the door to look and saw the group had already entered the tofu shop. Two men were banging on the shop's lintel with hammers, startling him—until he looked closer and saw they were nailing up a wooden board with fire-branded characters. One side read "Huifu Street," the other displayed the "Arabic numerals" he'd seen in Australian Magazines, with Chinese characters marked alongside.
Looking up and down the street, every household they'd passed now bore one of these boards, each with a different number. His own family's door had one too. He thought privately that this Australian idea was brilliant! With every household numbered, finding addresses would become vastly easier. When he delivered goods, tea houses were simple enough—just look for the signboard. But deliveries to private residences were a nightmare. People only said "XX Street, the such-and-such household counting from the east," or perhaps added "there's a big tree at the gate" or "there's a well not far down the street" as markers.
(End of this chapter)