Chapter 12 – The Collector’s Eye

Lu Fang had counted fourteen villages since the Lord of Qinghe’s new levy order had landed on the Prefect’s desk, and Hekou would be his fifteenth.

Fourteen villages meant fourteen negotiations that weren’t really negotiations because Lu Fang held the tablet and the tablet held the numbers. Villages that paid promptly earned a note of compliance on Lu Fang’s ledger. Villages that resisted earned a different kind of note, and when the cultivators came on the second visit, no one resisted twice.

Lu Fang had not yet needed the second visit. That was his record and he intended to keep it.

He rode at the front of the column. Six infantry, two pack horses, and one empty cart that would be full by the time they turned back to Meishan. His horse was the Prefect’s third best, which was an insult he catalogued alongside every other slight he’d endured in three years of service. The Prefect’s first and second horses went to military officers who didn’t hold the land together like he had.

What earned promotions was surplus. Collecting more than the quota. The Lord of Qinghe had doubled his war expenditure in a single season, which meant every collector who exceeded targets became visible to the men who decided careers.

Lu Fang intended to be very visible.

The northern road curved through farmland that looked unremarkable. Rice paddies, millet fields, the usual subsistence spread. But Lu Fang had learned to read villages, and what he saw as Hekou came into view made him sit straighter.

The fields were planted.

All of them.

Every village he’d passed through since Tongshan had shown gaps. Fallow plots, abandoned rows, and the visible scars of a labor force that had lost too many men. Hekou should have been the same. His records showed four men lost in the spring campaign. Four men dead meant four families struggling, which meant four plots underworked.

He didn’t see struggling.

A fence connected the outermost houses along the northern approach, with a gate standing open at the road. Pine posts with a rough construction meant a livestock barrier. The only difference from a dozen others he’d seen was that this one was new.

A young man stood inside the gate. Tall and broad with an inviting smile.

“Welcome to Hekou. I’m Pei Hao. We’ve prepared refreshments for you and your men.”

Lu Fang dismounted. The man was perhaps eighteen years old and built like an ox. He had a certain air about him…charismatic? Yes, that was the word. The kind of natural authority that made people follow without being asked.

He marked the boy. If the conscription quota wasn’t met in grain, this one filled a uniform nicely.

“Business first,” Lu Fang said.

“Of course. My brother handles our accounts.”

The brother was standing in the commons next to a set of open grain bins. He looked younger and paler, and he was perhaps fifteen years old at most with a thin frame. He didn’t smile when Lu Fang approached.

“Pei Liang,” The boy introduced himself. “I manage our village’s stores and labor coordination.”

“A fifteen-year-old manages stores and labor?” Lu Fang raised a brow.

“Our village head passed two winters ago. My brother leads the community. I keep the numbers.”

Lu Fang waved a hand at the bins. “Show me.”

The boy walked him through the stores. Each bin opened, contents displayed, quantities stated without hesitation. Rice, millet, sorghum, preserved vegetables. The numbers were consistent with a village of Hekou’s registered size. Forty-three households, approximately one hundred and ninety residents, operating at baseline productivity.

Exactly baseline.

Lu Fang had been doing this long enough to know what exact baseline looked like and when it occurred naturally, and what it looked like when it was staged. Natural baseline was messy. Uneven bins, some households overstocked, others depleted. This was even. Every bin at the same level.

Someone had gone household to household and equalized the grain stores before he arrived.

He looked at the boy. Pei Liang looked back and revealed nothing.

“Your quota for this cycle,” Lu Fang said, unrolling the tablet, “is twelve shi of grain or the equivalent in labor. Twenty percent of your registered working-age males, which by my records is eight men, or the grain equivalent.”

“Twelve shi. That’s higher than last cycle,” the boy observed.

“The Lord’s campaign requires increased contribution. The new rate is standardized.”

“We can do nine shi,” Pei Liang said.

Not a plea nor a protest, but a counter-offer.

“The quota is twelve,” Lu Fang reiterated.

“The quota assumes a full labor force. We lost four men in the spring campaign. Our effective working-age population is reduced by fifteen percent, which proportionally reduces our productive capacity. Nine shi represents our maximum sustainable contribution without compromising next season’s planting.”

He’s negotiating in yield projections, Lu Fang thought. A fifteen-year-old farm boy is projecting my revenue impact across multiple tax cycles.

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“Twelve shi. Not negotiable.”

“Ten, then. We absorb the shortfall from reserves. We eat less this winter.”

“The Lord’s campaigns are not funded by villages eating less. Twelve shi. Or I take the grain equivalent in men.”

The older brother shifted at the edge of the commons. Lu Fang felt the movement, a tension in the air that made his escort stiffen.

The younger brother raised his hand, and the older boy stopped in his tracks.

The younger one controls the older one, Lu Fang thought.

“Eleven shi,” Pei Liang said. “Plus supplementary livestock. Three chickens and two pigs, delivered to your cart within the hour.”

Lu Fang paused. Eleven shi was below quota, but the livestock closed the gap in material value. Chickens and pigs were worth more per unit weight than grain on the Meishan market, and unlike grain, they didn’t need storage. He could sell the livestock before reporting and pocket the surplus while recording the full twelve shi on his ledger.

The boy was watching him with those still, dark eyes.

“Eleven shi and the livestock,” Lu Fang said. “Within the hour.”

“Done.” The boy turned. “Hao, get the men started on the grain. I’ll handle the livestock.”