Chapter Forty-Five: Suzhou's Resistance to Taxation (I)

Above is heaven, below are Suzhou and Hangzhou. The Eastern Depot’s Suzhou Branch, Southern Directly Governed District.

On this particular night, Cao Huachun and Fang Zhenghua were drinking together. Cao Huachun had once been a trusted confidant of Wang An, and after Wang An's downfall, he had leveraged his old brotherhood with Wei Zhongxian to secure a position in the Eastern Depot, where he now oversaw all affairs of the Southern Directly Governed District. Fang Zhenghua, meanwhile, was the head of the Suzhou branch of the Eastern Depot. Though the two were superior and subordinate, they were also brothers-in-arms, and had always enjoyed a close relationship, often sharing drinks whether or not there was any real occasion.

After taking a sip of wine, Fang Zhenghua smacked his lips in satisfaction and said, “Elder brother, do you really think His Majesty’s order for us in the Eastern Depot to supervise tax collection everywhere is necessary? Is there truly anyone bold enough to resist paying taxes?”

Cao Huachun popped a peanut into his mouth, laid down his chopsticks, and smiled. “You’re still young, little brother. Back in the days of the Wanli Emperor, there were even cases where tax supervisors were beaten to death. It never hurts to be cautious.”

Fang Zhenghua protested, “You’ve told me this before, but that was when eunuchs collected taxes for the inner treasury, and they often extorted taxes at will. Back then, resisting taxes made sense. Now, though, the Ministry of Revenue collects the taxes for the national treasury. I don’t believe anyone would dare defy them.”

Raising his cup, Cao Huachun said, “Come, let’s have a drink, brother.” The two downed their drinks together. Fang Zhenghua quickly refilled his elder brother’s cup, his eyes fixed on Cao Huachun.

Cao Huachun laughed, pointing at him. “You’re too impatient. You need to work on that. You’ve heard the saying ‘money moves the heart,’ haven’t you? There’s another one—‘cutting off a man’s fortune is like killing his parents.’ Most people regard wealth as dear as life itself. Now that the emperor is imposing a commercial tax, isn’t he cutting off some people’s livelihoods? Do you think they’ll just pay up quietly? Even if they don’t dare act openly, can you be sure they won’t scheme in secret? The Chief Overseer especially warned us: the Southern Directly Governed District is the most likely place for trouble, and Suzhou is the very heart of it. You should know, Suzhou people have never been fond of the imperial court. With just a little provocation, things could spin out of control.”

These words shifted Fang Zhenghua’s focus. He asked, “Brother, why is it that people in Suzhou dislike the court?”

Cao Huachun smiled with pride. “It’s an old story now, really, but back in the day when the Grand Ancestor rose up, Suzhou was under Zhang Shicheng’s control. They resisted the Grand Ancestor fiercely and for a long time. So, after our dynasty was founded, Suzhou was heavily taxed, and naturally its people grew resentful of the court.”

Fang Zhenghua found a flaw in the logic. “But Suzhou is rich in goods and high in prices. Isn’t it only natural to tax them more? His Majesty said taxation is about taking from those with more to help those with less. If we don’t tax Suzhou heavily, should we squeeze the poor souls in Shaanxi?”

Cao Huachun gave a wry smile. “That’s true in principle, but do you think anyone likes paying more taxes than others? If you had to pay more while others paid less, would you be happy about it?”

Fang Zhenghua pondered this and said, “If I had more money than others, I wouldn’t mind paying extra taxes. The court needs funds, and the poor have none to spare—too much tax and they might starve. The wealthy have surplus; paying more won’t really hurt them.”

Cao Huachun, sipping his wine, was caught off guard by this and coughed violently. When he recovered, he pointed at Fang Zhenghua and said, “You’re a true simpleton, just as I’ve always said. Not everyone sees things as reasonably as you do. Few are willing to part with wealth easily.”

At that moment, someone called from outside, “Sirs, Chief Archivist Chen has a report.”

Fang Zhenghua immediately rose. “Let him in.”

A sturdy man in his thirties entered, saluted, and whispered, “My men have discovered a secret gathering. It seems to be targeting the tax bureau.”

Fang Zhenghua’s expression darkened. “What do you mean, ‘it seems’? His Majesty has said we must not use ambiguous words. Our line of work demands precise information.”

Cao Huachun quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Chief Chen, is it because your men couldn’t get into the meeting, so you’re not sure?”

Chief Chen, grateful, replied, “Exactly. They’re very strict—only locals are admitted. That’s why I suspect it’s related to the tax bureau.”

Fang Zhenghua said, “Then I blamed you unfairly. Keep investigating. Report any developments immediately, no matter what I’m doing. Also, tell Li Yibing to be ready, so we’re not caught off guard.”

At the same time, in Taibai Pavilion, the most famous establishment in Suzhou, a gathering of the city’s wealthiest merchants was underway. They greeted each other with smiles and easy manners, as though it was nothing more than an ordinary social event.

Once everyone had arrived, the proprietor locked the doors and entered the hall, nodding to Shen Cuili. Shen Cuili cleared his throat, and immediately the noisy room fell silent.

All eyes turned to Shen Cuili, who first gave a formal bow, then spoke. “I have gathered you all today because the court intends to collect a so-called commercial tax. As merchants, you know how hard it is to do business—up before dawn, to bed late, goods intercepted by officials, payments delayed by debtors. To be honest, every coin we earn is hard-earned.”

“That’s right, Third Master Shen speaks the truth. Look at me, Fat Lin—every day I run myself ragged, I’m half the man I used to be, just scraping by. If they really impose this commercial tax, I’ll be forced to beg on the streets!” The speaker was a large, heavyset man—at least two hundred pounds—none other than Lin Xincheng, Suzhou’s biggest salt merchant.

The room burst into laughter, even Shen Cuili grinning as he scolded, “Fat Lin, if you’re reduced to begging, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

But then his expression grew serious. “Enough with the jokes. Our money doesn’t fall from the sky. They want to tax us? Not a chance! We’re all here to come up with a plan to handle this so-called commercial tax.”

Lin Xincheng asked cautiously, “Third Master, why is the court suddenly pushing this tax? There are so many officials—how did such a heartless idea get through without opposition?”

“It’s all that cursed Gazette’s fault. They dug up everything Minister Li ever did, and then there’s that Yang Lian, who showed no loyalty to our cause, exposing Minister Li’s family fortune to the world. That gave the Zhejiang, Qi, and Chu factions the upper hand, while we, the Donglin, were left speechless by Minister Li’s scandal and had no choice but to agree to the commercial tax.” He spoke of Yang Lian by name, without an ounce of respect.

“Yang Lian is nothing but a treacherous dog from Chu, never truly one of us Donglin. I fear he’s always been out to undermine us. Such a man deserves death!” This came from Zhang Zhenghuan, a wealthy merchant of Suzhou.

Shen Cuili quickly intervened. “Brother Zhang, don’t say such things. Donglin is not defined by region; anyone who serves the nation and the people can be one of us. Still, Yang Lian’s actions were indeed regrettable. Well, someone will have to answer for this in time. For now, let’s focus on the matter at hand: how do we deal with the tax bureau?”