Chapter 209 - Homecoming (Part 2)

As soon as Fu Fu stepped onto the platform, someone asked him to read the train numbers and destinations on the wooden signs. Fu Fu read them out one by one, earning many thanks and envious glances, which made him feel a little shy.

One of the benefits of serving in the Army was that Fu Fu had passed the Class C diploma exam. Reading pamphlets and newspapers was no longer a difficult task for him. In the past, Fu Fu hadn’t seen the use of being literate, but after joining the army, he discovered that an illiterate person couldn’t even understand the basic soldier’s handbook, nor could they read the maps and explanations on the blackboard during training. He had to ask others about every order, announcement, and notice from the soldiers’ committee about food expense settlements. It was an awful feeling—it made him feel excluded from the group, which instantly motivated him to learn to read. Fu Fu joined the night school literacy class and quickly passed the literacy test. However, passing the Class C diploma exam took him a lot of effort—Fu Fu was terrible at math. Most natives had no concept of mathematics; many couldn’t even state their own age, let alone have any sense of time. Therefore, the math level for the Class C diploma was generally limited to basic number recognition, reading a calendar and clock, and mastering addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division within 100.

Because the clock industry had not yet achieved mass production, public timekeeping in Lin’gao still relied on traditional sound signals. Places with loudspeakers used a wired broadcast system to announce the time, while places without used factory whistles. As an important transportation hub, the Ma’niao Interchange Station was equipped with a wired broadcast system. Besides announcing the time, it also served to educate and spread propaganda to the waiting populace.

Right now, the loudspeaker was endlessly broadcasting the “spirit of the autumn tax work conference.” Having been exposed to the wired broadcast daily, the villagers could understand a little of the “New Language.” They knew it was about the collection of the autumn tax, and every one of them was listening intently.

Fu Fu didn’t own any land himself, so he didn’t care how much tax Fu Bu’er paid. He sat on a wooden bench, planning his trip and thinking about what extra gifts to buy for everyone after arriving at East Gate Market. Although he didn’t have deep feelings for Fu Bu’er and his wife, and he was no longer Fu Bu’er’s “household servant”—Fu Fu had already completed the “emancipation” procedure according to the “Measures for Handling the Pre-enlistment Civil Status of Soldiers” jointly issued by the General Staff’s Political Department and the People’s Committee for Civil Affairs—the Fu family was, after all, a sort of “home” for him.

Just as he was deep in thought, someone suddenly tapped his shoulder. Startled, Fu Fu turned to see a middle-aged man wearing a half-black silk cap, a local blue pleated robe, clean cloth socks, and blue cloth shoes, with a cloth “da bo” bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like a small landowner or merchant.

“Officer,” the middle-aged man whispered, “since you work for the Chiefs, you must understand the New Language they speak, right?”

“I understand it,” Fu Fu nodded. In the army, all orders, whether spoken or written, were in the New Language. Not understanding it was not an option. The Elders had no interest in creating a dialect showcase in their territory.

“Could you please tell me what this talking box is saying?” the middle-aged man pleaded. “I can’t understand the New Language, but everyone says it’s about this year’s autumn tax collection…”

“It is a joy to help others” and “the army and the people are one family” were concepts frequently instilled in soldiers during their training. Fu Fu’s head was full of them, so of course, he had to help a citizen in need.

The content of the broadcast was played on a loop, with a piece of music in between each repetition. Unfortunately, it contained too many unfamiliar words in the New Language. Luckily, the army had recently organized sessions for officers and soldiers to study the new tax system. Wei Aiwen hoped that soldiers going home on leave could act as volunteer propagandists and explainers.

“The talking box says that this year’s autumn tax is calculated based on the acreage of your land—” Fu Fu explained, using gestures to help convey the parts he understood. The new agricultural tax was calculated based on the standard number of mu of land each household was confirmed to own during last year’s land survey, with adjustments made for the fertility of the land. The general concept was a progressive system. The county’s agricultural tax was divided into five tiers based on the amount and fertility of the land. Families with more and more fertile land would have a higher tax rate.

“Isn’t this just robbing the rich…” the middle-aged man blurted out. He immediately realized he was talking to a government employee and stopped short, startled. He swallowed the rest of his sentence and looked at Fu Fu with alarm.

Fu Fu knew that according to the “Soldier’s Handbook,” explaining government policies to the people was an important duty. Moreover, they had specifically studied the documents and had some understanding of the Chiefs’ intentions.

“Judging by your appearance, sir, you must be a landowner, right?” Fu Fu said.

“My family has a few acres,” the middle-aged man said, his expression growing more uneasy. “Life isn’t exactly easy…”

“Sir, there’s no need to plead poverty,” Fu Fu said, finding it a bit amusing. The man looked as if Fu Fu were about to extort him. “Even if you’re in the highest bracket, it’s only one-tenth. How big of a burden can that be? Now, when the Australians collect taxes, there are no ‘floating surcharges’ or ‘extra levies.’ When the tax collectors come to the countryside, you don’t have to pay for their travel expenses; they cover their own food and lodging. In the past, the official tax was low, but the extra levies were high, and the unofficial fees were even higher. The local authorities would also come asking for ‘donations’ and ‘granary contributions.’ Now, you just pay the official tax, and that’s it. You can calculate it yourself, sir. Are you paying more or less than before?”

The middle-aged man nodded thoughtfully. “You have a point, young man.”

“Besides, all the taxes the Chiefs collect are spent on us, the common people. Look at this road, so smooth and wide, and this bullock cart station. In the past, the government took so much money and grain from everyone every year, but we didn’t even have a decent road to walk on. If we wanted to build a wooden bridge, we had to pool our own money. The difference is like night and day.”

These were all things the Chiefs had said during their political study sessions. Fu Fu found them reasonable and convincing, so he decided to use what he had learned.

Most country folk, even small and medium landowners, were generally taciturn. After Fu Fu’s speech, the man was left speechless; Fu Fu’s reasoning was sound. Although he was a bit reluctant to accept that having more land meant paying more taxes, his bellyful of complaints now seemed “unjustified.” The country people lacked deep philosophical reasoning, but they had a very clear understanding of their own interests. By comparing the past and present, Fu Fu immediately made him see who had harmed his interests more and who had benefited him more.

“The 12:30 bullock cart to Bopu is now boarding!” a local staff member shouted through a sheet-metal megaphone on the platform. Another worker ran over and used a long pole to flip the plaques on the hanging timetable, which displayed the destination and departure time.

Fu Fu quickly grabbed his backpack and got in line to board. The army had taught him discipline, but this level of public etiquette had clearly not yet taken root among the general populace. As a result, Fu Fu became an excellent example for the station staff to point to.

“Look at the Fubo Army soldier, he’s lining up properly! And you gentlemen are elders—you should be setting an example for the young!” The local staff were generally well-trained in public speaking, and the rattan canes in their hands were quite persuasive. Order was restored in a moment.

The four-wheeled bullock cart looked heavy, but the body itself wasn’t massive. This was thanks to the extensive use of steel parts, which significantly reduced weight while maintaining structural strength. Inside the cart, there were six rows of seats, with three people per row, accommodating 18 passengers. Additionally, one person could sit next to the driver and another next to the conductor, bringing the total capacity to 20 people. Luggage was hung on the outside of the cart, which was pulled by four bulls.

“Young man, have a seat next to me,” the conductor said, patting the wooden seat beside him.

“Thanks.” Fu Fu tossed his duffel bag onto the cart and climbed aboard. The conductor’s seat was at the front, offering an excellent view. He was a man in his thirties, wearing a gray two-pocket “work uniform” with a cloth badge on his chest that read “Highway Passenger Transport.” This was the standard uniform for all government employees.

The conductor took out a pack of cigarettes. “Have one, young man?”

“I don’t smoke,” Fu Fu replied, declining. He wasn’t used to the pungent smell. “You go ahead.”

The conductor lit one for himself. The driver cracked his whip, and the cart lurched forward, sending everyone stumbling. Fu Fu quickly steadied himself by grabbing a handrail.

“Going home on leave, young man?”

“Yes, on leave. We just got back from the front.”

“It’s a good thing to come back in one piece,” the conductor said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Was the fighting fierce?”

“Mostly patrols and bandit suppression. A lot of walking and climbing mountains. We didn’t see much action against the regular army—our cannons scared them off.”

The conductor looked at his uniform. “What does the ‘I’ on your collar insignia mean?”

“It stands for the 1st Infantry Battalion.”

“Ah, back in my day, we were still called the Peacekeeping Corps.”

“It was called that when I enlisted, too. My village was conscripted, and I was the one who went,” Fu Fu said. “You were a soldier too, big brother?”

“I was,” the conductor nodded. “I retired after getting injured.” He shifted his leg. “Lost a foot during the bandit suppression campaign in the county.”

Fu Fu looked down and saw a wooden leg protruding from his trouser cuff. Then he noticed the red ribbon for a Grade 1 combat injury pinned to the sleeve of his work uniform, and a sense of respect washed over him.

“So you’re a veteran,” Fu Fu said. “Why don’t you wear your medals…?” Fu Fu had also participated in the Lin’gao bandit suppression campaign and had received a commemorative medal for it.

“Wearing that thing won’t bring my leg back,” the conductor said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “But we got rid of the bandits, and the people of the county are better off for it. I consider it a good deed, so I’ve made my peace with it.”