Chapter 52: Treading on Grass (Part 3)
Yin Ye Si.
An old man, his white hair and beard stained with blood, hung suspended from ropes in the center of the torture chamber. His torn clothes revealed bloody wounds inflicted by the barbed whip. He trembled, his dry lips moving. “I… confess.”
“Speak,” Zhou Ting said, tossing the blood-soaked whip aside, sending droplets of reddish water splashing across the floor.
“The needles in my master’s head… I did it,” the old man said, his voice hoarse and raspy. “I had no choice. They had my grandson!”
“Who are ‘they’?” Zhou Ting asked, adjusting his wrist guard and flexing his stiff wrist.
“I don’t know…” the old man mumbled, his eyes vacant. “They found me. They promised to return my grandson and reward me handsomely.”
Zhou Ting was about to question him further when he heard hurried footsteps approaching. He turned and saw Chao Yi Song rushing down the steps towards the torture chamber.
“Commander Zhou, we searched the Wu residence and the old servant’s house again, but we only found these,” Chao Yi Song said, holding out a thick stack of banknotes.
Zhou Ting walked over. The torture chamber was dimly lit, but a nearby brazier glowed brightly. He took a banknote and glanced at it.
“And this,” Chao Yi Song said, opening his other hand to reveal an abacus bead.
Banknotes weren’t uncommon. About sixteen years ago, banks had begun issuing them as a convenient alternative to heavy copper coins. People deposited their coins and received banknotes in exchange. Now, banknotes were widely used in the marketplace.
The abacus bead in Chao Yi Song’s hand was smooth and polished, made of fine wood, its hole inlaid with a jade ring. But the inscription was faded from years of use.
Zhou Ting picked up the bead and turned to the old man. “Tell me about this.”
“One of them dropped it,” the old man gasped, struggling to breathe.
Zhou Ting examined the inscription in the firelight. “Manyu.”
He immediately thought of Manyu Bank. Although not the first bank in the Great Qi, Manyu was one of the most prominent, having expanded from Daizhou and established a near monopoly on banknote issuance in the surrounding regions.
Zhou Ting looked at the jade ring. “Only Manyu could afford such an abacus bead.”
That night, Yin Ye Si officers raided Manyu Bank, but they didn’t find the manager, who had recently returned to Yun Jing.
The next day, they searched the city, finally finding a decomposing body in the entertainment district.
“The bank clerks identified the body. They insist it’s Manager Hu Li from the Yun Jing branch,” Zhou Ting reported, his eyes bloodshot but his demeanor alert.
“The body was decomposed. How could they identify it?” Han Qing asked, putting down his teacup and snorting.
“From his clothes and belongings,” Zhou Ting replied.
“Whether he’s truly dead or not is irrelevant. He disappeared on the Lantern Festival. Even if he’s alive, he’ll be difficult to find,” Han Qing said, tapping his fingers on his knee. “The Emperor doesn’t care why Manyu Bank would target Wu Dai. He still has some fondness for Wu Dai, but only enough to spare his life. Whether he’s truly ill or not is of no concern. But today, the Emperor issued a decree ordering the Daizhou governor to question Cao Dong, the owner of Manyu Bank.”
“Zhou Ting, do you know why?”
“No, Director.”
Han Qing looked at him, a strange smile on his face. “How long has it been since you visited your family? Your father’s memorial has reached the palace. Your family must have received a letter by now.”
Zhou Ting was startled at the mention of his father. “Director, may I ask what my father’s memorial concerns?”
“Zhou Wen Zheng, the Transport Commissioner of Wanjiang, has petitioned the Emperor to nationalize banknote issuance to fund military expenditures, prohibiting private banks from issuing new banknotes and recalling all existing banknotes, establishing a government monopoly.”
Although Han Qing rarely attended court, his godfather, the Chief Eunuch, kept him informed.
“The Emperor… intends to use this to target Manyu Bank?” Zhou Ting realized.
“As you know, banditry is rampant, and although there’s a truce with Danqiu, tensions remain. We must maintain a strong army, but the military expenditures are straining the national treasury. Your father’s memorial is timely for the Emperor, but for you… it’s detrimental. You understand this, don’t you?” Han Qing said, his tone meaningful.
“I do,” Zhou Ting replied calmly.
His father’s memorial threatened the interests of officials who colluded with private banks like Manyu Bank to control banknote issuance.
His father, far away in Wanjiang, would face repercussions, and he himself might face retaliation in the capital.
“Your father doesn’t seem to care about his own safety, or even yours. Aren’t you angry with him?” Han Qing asked, curious.
“My father acted in the best interests of the nation. How can I be angry?” Zhou Ting shook his head. “Director, you know my father wanted me to become a civil official. I disobeyed him already. Now I must show him that I didn’t choose the wrong path.”
“Then be careful. Don’t let those who are angry with your father use you as a pawn,” Han Qing said, patting his shoulder.
“Yes, Director,” Zhou Ting replied.
Transport Commissioner Zhou Wen Zheng’s memorial was read aloud in court by Chief Eunuch Liang Shen Fu, causing an uproar. But the Emperor didn’t issue a decree immediately, instead asking for his officials’ opinions.
Some agreed, some opposed. The Emperor, dressed in a red robe, sat on his throne, listening silently to their arguments.
“Minister Zhang, what are your thoughts?” the Emperor finally asked, looking down at the elderly official in purple robes, his back slightly hunched, not using his cane.
Zhang Jing stepped forward and bowed. “Your Majesty, I believe nationalizing banknote issuance would benefit the nation.”
“So, you agree with Zhou Wen Zheng’s proposal?” the Emperor asked calmly.
“That’s not what I meant, Your Majesty,” Zhang Jing said, bowing his head.
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then what did you mean?”
“Without sufficient reserves, it will harm the nation’s foundation,” Zhang Jing said, his voice clear and strong in the silent hall.
Meng Yun Xian’s brow twitched. He looked up and saw the Emperor’s darkening expression. He sighed inwardly. Zhang Jing’s words meant that if the government didn’t have enough copper coins to back the banknotes, excessive issuance would lead to inflation, devaluing the currency and ultimately harming the people.
The “nation’s foundation” Zhang Jing referred to was the people.
Nationalizing banknote issuance could indeed benefit the people and alleviate the military’s financial burden.
Zhang Jing wasn’t opposing the proposal, but rather advising the Emperor against excessive issuance.
Meng Yun Xian frowned. Zhang Jing, usually pragmatic, seemed intent on provoking the Emperor today.
“Such concern for the nation and its people, Minister Zhang,” the Emperor said, his voice cold despite the smile on his face.
The Emperor didn’t make a decision, but everyone knew that nationalizing banknote issuance was inevitable.
“Chong Zhi, you never bothered with your own finances. You didn’t even have an abacus at home. Why are you so concerned about financial matters now?” Meng Yun Xian asked, approaching Zhang Jing before He Tong could.
He Tong, emerging from the hall a moment later, saw the two ministers talking as they descended the steps and followed them discreetly.
“I can be careless with my own finances, but not with the nation’s,” Zhang Jing said, slowly descending the steps, holding onto the white jade railing.
“Why did you provoke the Emperor today?” Meng Yun Xian asked, puzzled by his behavior. “You’ve been reviewing officials’ performance evaluations, but without a clear plan. Now you’re concerned about finances. You must have met with the Ministry of Revenue, haven’t you? I don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“Someone has to speak the unpleasant truths, not just for the Emperor’s ears, but also for the court officials. It’s good to have a few people who dare to speak the truth. And if not for them, then for the people. Someone has to tell them what’s right and wrong.”
“As for what I’m doing…” Zhang Jing paused, his knee aching, his hand gripping the railing. “I’m doing what I came back to do.”
An honest official’s duty wasn’t just to the Emperor.
***
Manyu Bank’s Yun Jing branch, built by its Daizhou-based owner, had a distinct Daizhou style, its four-story building surrounding a central courtyard, its walls adorned with colorful paintings.
Xu He Xue ascended the stairs, holding the lantern, Ni Su following closely behind. Although the Yin Ye Si had sealed the building, guards remained, so she tried to be as quiet as possible.
The lantern light illuminated a long ebony table with several abacuses, their beads smooth and round, their holes inlaid with jade rings. Ni Su scanned them. “None of them seem to be missing any beads.”
“They wouldn’t leave damaged abacuses on display,” Xu He Xue said, flicking a bead with his finger. The bead rotated, revealing the “Manyu” inscription and a unique pattern on the other side.
“This one is different from the one we found at the old servant’s house,” Ni Su said, walking over to examine the bead. “That one only had the inscription, no pattern.”
Before Chao Yi Song had searched the old servant’s house, Ni Su and Xu He Xue had already been there, finding the stack of banknotes and the abacus bead, then leaving them in place.
“That one is an older model, from before Manyu changed their design,” Xu He Xue said, looking at the ornate abacuses. “Ni Su, banknotes didn’t exist when I was alive. Do banks value abacuses highly?”
“Since they exchange banknotes for copper coins, accurate accounting is crucial. But smaller banks can’t afford such elaborate abacuses,” Ni Su said, flicking the beads playfully. “I heard Manyu Bank has a tradition of inlaying their abacus beads with gold and jade, a good luck charm for their business.”
“So, even damaged abacuses would be stored carefully,” Xu He Xue said, looking up at a wall where an abacus hung, its beads intricately carved from fruit pits, though lacking gold or jade inlays.
“Then let’s search,” Ni Su said, carefully opening a cabinet door, the faint creak making her pause and look around. Only she could see by the lantern light in the dim room.
Xu He Xue, a rare smile touching his lips beneath the veiled hat, stopped her from opening the cabinet further.
Ni Su looked up at him, puzzled, the double layers of gauze obscuring his face.
“Searching like this will take all night,” he whispered.
“Then what do we do?” she whispered back.
They stood there, their shadows almost merging, her fingers still on the copper handle, her knuckles red from gripping it. Xu He Xue gently removed her hand.
Ni Su’s back stiffened. She couldn’t see his face, and he didn’t breathe, but she heard her own quickening breath, her gaze fixed on her reddened knuckles.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, also looking at her hand.
Ni Su mumbled a reply.
Xu He Xue, not having heard her, leaned closer. Ni Su, looking at his ear, whispered, “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
He hadn’t expected her to be so close.
Her warm breath against his ear made him tremble. He straightened up. “We should find someone,” he said softly.
The young man who had been dozing by the stairs was now snoring loudly. Xu He Xue turned to mist, drifted downstairs, and, grabbing the young man by his collar, carried him upstairs.
The young man woke up, startled. Ni Su, afraid he would scream, grabbed something from a nearby porcelain jar.
Xu He Xue held his sword against the young man’s throat. The cold blade made him tremble. He saw the veiled woman holding a wriggling turtle and closed his eyes tightly, hoping she wouldn’t put it in his mouth.
“…Put it back,” Xu He Xue said, a hint of amusement in his voice, seeing her also startled by the turtle.
Ni Su sheepishly returned the turtle to the jar.
Xu He Xue turned to the terrified young man. “Answer my questions. If you scream, I’ll kill you.”
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