Chapter 1982 - Clues

"Excel in learning to become an official." The ancient dictum mocked Zeng Juan whenever it crossed his mind. He'd long abandoned hope of achieving anything through the imperial examination system—his scholarly efforts had yielded nothing but disappointment. Yet here he was, having somehow "excelled in learning to become an official" under the Australians. The irony wasn't lost on him.

These days, he worked with a fervor that surprised even himself. The old saying went that "a thousand-li horse is common, but a Bole is rare." Ever since assuming his current position, Zeng Juan had felt a peculiar transformation—as though he'd evolved from that perpetually struggling student who could barely pass the elementary examinations into something resembling that fabled thousand-li horse. And his Bole? The three bureau chiefs—no, the entire Australian Senate. Another adage came to mind: "Treat one as a scholar-bureaucrat, and one repays as a scholar-bureaucrat." Though he knew himself to be leagues away from such elevated status, he'd taken to repeating this maxim silently, like a private mantra.

The intensity of his work life had escalated considerably since Director Zhang Xiaoqi returned to Lingao shortly after the first quarter's collection period concluded. Chief Wang, left in charge, had embraced his pedagogical duties with nearly manic enthusiasm. The evening lectures—already demanding at two hours daily—expanded to three, focused entirely on Australian foundational culture courses. Most nights they weren't dismissed until nine or ten o'clock, stumbling home beneath the stars. The older married men grumbled privately that they barely had energy left to "warm the kang with their wives"—was Chief Wang determined to sabotage conjugal happiness? As if the grueling schedule weren't enough, a white wooden placard had materialized outside the classroom at the month's beginning, its characters rendered in bold Song typeface: "Great Song Finance and Tax Bureau Cadre Training School."

Better to be a single dog, Zeng Juan thought, swiping at the sweat on his brow. He'd picked up that particular phrase from Director Ai and found it inexplicably delightful. The memory of accidentally deploying it during a conversation with Director Nan still made him wince—she'd gone silent for an uncomfortably long stretch, the awkwardness palpable.

Speaking of Director Nan—now there was a formidable woman. Just days ago, two intoxicated idlers had wandered into the hall. The staff had only recently changed into their linen short-sleeved summer uniforms, and while the men drew little attention, the female cadres at the windows presented quite a sight. As someone had put it in that colorful Lingao slang, "a row of white arms could blind your krypton dog eyes." Even naturalized citizens' hearts would skip a beat at the view, let alone these two drunkards. Unable to reach the elevated counters, they'd latched onto Liu Cuihua at the tax guidance desk by the entrance, pawing at her hands and arms within moments. Before anyone could fully process what was happening, Director Nan had materialized from behind the counter and dispatched both men with surgical precision—one kicked sprawling beneath a table, the other pinned flat against its surface. The on-duty security police had them in handcuffs before they could catch their breath. Word of Director Nan's martial prowess spread through the bureau like wildfire. "A true heroine," everyone agreed.

Despite Zhang Xiaoqi's absence, the Finance and Tax Bureau's second quarter collection had concluded without incident. The women staffing the Tax Hall had proven themselves admirably. After half a year's experience, they'd genuinely assumed the bearing of professional cadres, handling the nearly doubled taxpayer load—expansion had broadened their collection scope considerably—with methodical competence. Nan Wan'er, in particular, had distinguished herself as Tax Hall Director. Many matters reached "final judgment" at her desk, and she handled them with a deft combination of gentleness and principle that impressed even veterans like Ai Zhixin and Wang Qiyi. That this "heroine" had been a struggling martial arts student and nearly relegated to kitchen service just years ago made her transformation all the more remarkable.

But it was also Nan Wan'er who'd set Zeng Juan on today's investigative path. The proverb held true: birds of a feather flock together. Zhang Xiaoqi possessed an extraordinary memory, and Nan Wan'er—whom she'd taken under her wing—shared that gift. The Finance and Tax Bureau's protocols mandated separation of collection, management, and inspection functions, but information was shared through duplicate ledgers each week. When Zeng Juan had collected the declaration duplicates for taxpayers under his team's jurisdiction the previous week, Nan Wan'er had flagged something unusual: Noble Gathering had suddenly self-declared a Stamp Tax at the collection period's end, and the amount showed a significant discrepancy compared to the two quarters' paid totals.

Noble Gathering—the Luo family's establishment—had been included in the first quarter tax roster as what might be called a "supplementary player," ranking prominently among Guangzhou's medium-sized merchants. When the second quarter collection commenced, Advisor Liao of Noble Gathering had paid their Property Tax and Circulation Tax on the second day without incident. Everything appeared routine. Until the Stamp Tax.

After receiving the duplicate registers, Zeng Juan had studied Noble Gathering's declared amounts across both quarters with meticulous care. The pattern seemed straightforward enough: over 200 yuan in Property Tax each quarter, over 100 yuan in Circulation Tax. But then came that Stamp Tax—a full 15 yuan. Given the 0.05% tax rate, the underlying transaction couldn't be less than 30,000 yuan. That was extraordinary for a medium merchant. Though Zeng Juan knew his taxpayers' situations intimately, prudence demanded verification. He'd retrieved Noble Gathering's registration materials from the census archives.

The establishment had been founded in the first year of Chongzhen—1628 by the Western calendar. Legal representative: Luo Zhixiang. Assessed assets: approximately 90,000 yuan. Business category: north-south bulk commodities. According to Great Song Finance and Tax Bureau regulations, documents involving property rights transfers and purchase contracts required stamps affixed in clearly visible locations to achieve legal validity. Yet traditional trading enterprises of this type rarely dealt in property transfers, and a purchase contract worth over 30,000 yuan seemed well beyond what this medium-sized firm should be handling. Moreover, the Stamp Tax declaration exploited a loophole in the current system's simplified tax categories, listing only a vague "sales document" as justification. The whole thing reeked of something hidden.

Following proper procedure, Zeng Juan had applied for a household inspection permit from the Management Division and set out to Master Luo's residence to discover exactly what this Stamp Tax represented.

The sun hung low near the horizon when Zeng Juan finally emerged from the Luo family compound. The resistance he'd encountered during the inspection had been unusually fierce. First, the household claimed Chief Accountant Advisor Liao was absent. Then they insisted he alone maintained the accounts—no one else could access them. After more than an hour of back-and-forth, with Zeng Juan adamantly insisting on viewing the stamped document and threatening to haul them to the Finance and Tax Bureau for questioning and fine them for deliberately destroying tax receipts, the Luo family had finally relented. The sales document materialized, and Advisor Liao conveniently "returned to the mansion" at precisely that moment.

The transaction itself, as documented, was straightforward enough. The Luo family had sold a parcel of land near Great World to... Zeng Juan's eyelid twitched. Zhang Family Father and Son Food Company?

Following Zhang Yu's separation from his father's business, the original establishment had become "Zhang Family Old Shop Food Company," while Zhang Yu's venture was styled "Zhang Family Father and Son Co., Ltd." The "Father and Son" addition served primarily to demonstrate that despite the business split, familial unity remained intact—forestalling any public gossip about discord.

Zeng Juan moistened his lips, set down the contract, and lifted the tea cup for a contemplative sip.

"Well then," he said mildly, "a simple enough contract. No irregularities that I can see. If everything's properly stamped, why all the resistance? It's just a land sale. We've wasted several hours over nothing."

"Yes, yes, truly no great matter." Advisor Liao refilled Zeng Juan's cup with obsequious efficiency. "Our master felt the property was too small for practical use—better to convert it to immediate capital, you understand. In the old days, everyone feared government officials. These young fellows have no experience with your Australian cadres—they assumed the old corruption still applied, feared being extorted regardless of facts, so they tried to conceal the transaction. Comrade Zeng, please don't take offense..."

"Advisor Liao, please—I hardly merit such formality." Zeng Juan collected his document case, stood, and straightened his uniform, signaling his team members. "We'll take our leave."

Walking through the streets afterward, Zeng Juan's head still swam with questions. Why did this investigation circle back to Zhang Yu? Probably nothing significant—just a simple land transaction. He tried to reassure himself. But instinct insisted otherwise. That substantial sum, combined with the Luo family's evasive behavior, suggested complications.

Wait—who was that figure ahead? Familiar somehow.

Huang Ping? Walking with Yao Yulan? Together?

Zeng Juan's instinct was to dodge the encounter, but they'd already drawn too close. Retreating now would appear deliberate, potentially creating misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings from ordinary colleagues were manageable. But Huang Ping and Yao Yulan were Lingao-transferred cadres—unlike those recruited through public examinations. A poorly chosen word from them in front of the bureau chiefs could spell trouble.

He arranged his features into a pleasantly surprised smile.

"Brother Huang! Sister Yulan!" Though the bureau officially encouraged everyone to use "Comrade," Zeng Juan couldn't quite make the transition, preferring the warmer familiarity of brotherly address. Fortunately, "Comrade" remained a "suggestion" rather than a "regulation."

"Ah Juan! It's been ages."

"Far too long. I haven't seen you since you transferred to the Inspection Division. I heard you went to Lingao for training—must be in line for a promotion." Zeng Juan delivered the pleasantries while observing both carefully. Huang Ping looked leaner but somehow more vital. Yao Yulan appeared unchanged except for a deeper tan.

"Hardly—we just attended some courses. Ask Yao Yulan if you don't believe me. I'll treat you soon and we can catch up properly." Huang Ping glanced at the sun's position. "But we're pressed for time today. Must run. Take care."

"Of course, I'm actually in a hurry myself. We'll talk soon—my treat." Zeng Juan smiled outwardly while thinking: Real business or invented excuse? Strange. Can Brother Huang really handle Miss Yao's temperament?

As the pair departed, a cool breeze offered brief respite from the oppressive heat. In that moment of clarity, Zeng Juan realized his critical error. The Luo family had profited from selling land—yet he'd been so fixated on Zhang Yu's involvement that he'd forgotten to verify how much they'd actually earned. A simple comparison with their second quarter Circulation Tax declaration would reveal whether they'd evaded taxes. Actually, no comparison was even necessary. Land worth 30,000 yuan? Even without formal training in Australian tax law, Zeng Juan's decades of common sense told him the profit couldn't possibly be covered by a mere 100 yuan in Circulation Tax. But household inspection permits were single-use documents—regulations prohibited a return visit to the Luo residence.

What to do?

Zhang Yu. Of course—Zhang Yu himself. If he couldn't question the seller, surely the buyer would have some sense of the transaction's profit margins. Unfortunately, the hour was late—visiting Great World now was impractical. He could only hope Zhang Yu had remained in the city for the night.

(End of Chapter)