The world of film and television starts from the flow of money

In the winter of the second year of Zhaowu, the official road outside the city of Beijing.

It was just daybreak and the stoves were already lit in the tea stalls beside the official road.

Old Zhou was hunched over, using tongs to fiddle with the coal in the stove. This new type of honeycomb coal lasted longer than firewood, and one piece could last half an hour. It was the "convenient coal" that the government had just promoted last month. He remembered clearly that at this time last year, he had to go to the forest to pick up dead branches before dawn, and his fingers were frozen stiff.

"Old Zhou, give me a cup of hot tea!"

A man carrying a load of firewood stopped in front of the tea stall. The cuffs of his cotton jacket were worn to a shine, but it was much thicker than the patched jacket he wore before. He stamped his feet. His new thousand-layer cloth shoes were covered with mud and snow, and the uppers were embroidered with a crooked "Fu" character - this was the embroidery thread his wife bought with the money from selling surplus grain after the autumn harvest this year.

"Hey, Zhang Er."

Old Zhou squinted his dim eyes and asked, "Why are you here so early today?"

Zhang Er put the firewood against the wall, took out two copper coins from his pocket and slapped them on the elm table. The copper coins spun twice with a clang, revealing four clear regular script characters "Zhaowu Tongbao".

Old Zhou rubbed the edge of the coin with his cracked thumb. At this time last year, the coins circulating in the market were still the rotten ones from the Wanli Dynasty. Some were so thin that light could penetrate them, and when he collected ten cents, the coins would always be one or two cents short.

"With or without caramel?"

Old Zhou opened the pottery jar and a sweet aroma wafted out immediately: "Freshly brewed, three cents a spoonful."

Zhang Er's Adam's apple moved, and his fingers rubbed the corner of his clothes unconsciously. Last winter, his daughter had a fever, and wanted to buy a piece of candy to soothe her throat, but she couldn't find any in the pharmacy. He gritted his teeth and took out a penny:

"Add half a spoonful. My daughter has a cough. Take it back and give it to her to sweeten her mouth."

The fire in the stove was crackling, casting a shadow on the faces of the two people. Old Zhou scooped half a spoonful of amber syrup and suddenly lowered his voice: "Have you heard? The rich man Liu on South Street..."

"The government copied it, didn't it?"

Zhang Er grinned, revealing his missing front tooth: @It's his fault! Who told him to raise the rent privately? It's written in black and white in the Great Edict: If the land rent exceeds 50%, the person will be caned 100 times! "

As he spoke, he patted his chest, with the newly replaced land deed tucked into his lapel - after the autumn harvest this year, the county government re-measured the land, and his family was allocated an additional acre and a half of riverside land.

The water in the iron pot was boiling, and Old Zhou grabbed a handful of tea leaves and sprinkled them in. The tea soup gradually turned brown and was much thicker than the willow leaf soup he had made last year.

"This Fujian tea powder was brought here with the sweet potato boat." Old Zhou stirred the bottom of the pot with a wooden spoon and asked with a smile, "How is your crop?"

"Thanks to the Emperor!"

Zhang Er's eyes lit up: "I planted three acres of potatoes and harvested eight baskets! Steamed and mixed with some salt, my daughter can eat half a bowl." He gestured the size of the baskets as he spoke: "It's better than planting wheat last year. At that time, one acre of land only produced a little more than one stone..."

Old Zhou nodded and took out a cloth bag from under the chopping board: "Look at this."

Lifting the corner of the cloth, a few yellow corn buns were revealed: "They are steamed with new grains, mixed with 30% corn flour, which is good for keeping you full."

Zhang Er took it and pinched it. The steamed bun was firm and elastic, unlike last year's sorghum bun that broke into pieces when broken. He suddenly lowered his voice and said, "Uncle Zhou, you said... these potatoes and corns are really the seeds that the emperor begged from heaven?"

"Shh-"

Old Zhou glanced nervously at the official road, where several officers were escorting a grain cart passing by. "Don't dare to say anything. Mr. Wang from the county school said that this is the crops from the Western Barbarians... No, they are from the West. The emperor sent a fleet to exchange them for them."

"Yes!"

The tea was boiling, and the steam blurred Old Zhou's face. He poured a full bowl for Zhang Er, and the syrup melted into golden threads at the bottom of the bowl.

"Is this winter...better?"

Zhang Er held the bowl to warm his hands. The chilblains on his knuckles had already scabbed over, but a smile appeared on his weathered face:
"That's right! The county sent craftsmen to build a kang, which can keep us warm for half the night after cooking a meal."

He took a sip of sweet tea and sighed contentedly, "At this time last year, my shabby thatched house was leaking, and the kids were so cold that they slept in a huddle..."

Suddenly, there was the sound of horse hooves on the official road. The two looked up and saw a team of postmen galloping past, with bulging mail bags on their horses' backs. The postman in front had a shining waist badge, and he was the new "Express Delivery Shop" errand boy.

"Every three days."

Old Zhou squinted at the dust and said, "Last year, there was no postman for half a month. I heard that now all counties have postal routes, and military reports and family letters are clearly separated."

Zhang Er took out a crumpled letter from his bosom: "My brother is a soldier in Jizhen. He sent a letter last month saying that he had received three years' salary..."

He suddenly lowered his voice: "More than one hundred taels! All of it is in that...that..."

"Huimin Bank."

Old Zhou replied, "My son works in Tongzhou, and his wages are deposited there. He can withdraw money with a ticket, so he doesn't have to worry about being robbed."

The two drank tea in silence. In the distance came the sound of "ding-dong-dong", the laborers who were repairing the official road were pounding stones. Last year, laborers had to bring their own dry food, but now the government provides two meals, and the lunch can even have meat.

"correct."

Zhang Er suddenly remembered something and pulled out an oil-paper bag from the firewood pole: "I have some dried sweet potatoes from my own garden. I'll serve them with your tea."

Old Zhou took it and looked at it. The orange-red potato chips were covered with icing sugar, which was thicker than any other year he remembered. He broke off a small piece and put it in his mouth. The sweetness slowly melted and warmed his stomach.

"Sweet?"

Zhang Erhan smiled and said, "This year we have a good harvest of sweet potatoes. We have 20 baskets stored in the cellar. The county magistrate said that he will teach us how to make...how to make...in the spring of next year..."

"starch."

Old Zhou said, "My nephew has studied it in Daxing County. He said it can be stored for three years without going bad."

"Speaking of our emperor..."

After a pause, Old Zhou said with emotion: "Since I ascended the throne, life has been getting better day by day..."

"you do not say!"

Zhang Er added: "Your Majesty reduced taxes, promoted new grains, and rectified the administration of officials..." He suddenly lowered his voice: "I heard that the emperor reviewed memorials until three o'clock every day, just so that we ordinary people can live a good life..."

Old Zhou stood in awe and bowed deeply towards the direction of the imperial city.

As the sun gradually rose higher, more people came to the official road. There was a man pushing a wheelbarrow selling coal briquettes, with a small flag of "official coal" on the front of the wheelbarrow; there was a peasant woman carrying fresh vegetables, with rare winter bamboo shoots in her basket; there was also a peddler shaking a rattle, with a few pairs of woolen socks hanging on his shoulder pole - this year's new fashion for keeping warm.

Zhang Er finished his last sip of tea and licked the sugar residue clean. He took out a small bag made of coarse cloth:

"Uncle Zhou, here's this for you."

"what?"

Old Zhou untied the knot and poured out a few plump seeds.

"New potato varieties."

Zhang Er rubbed his hands and smiled innocently, "The yield is 20% higher than last year. You can plant some in the backyard and eat it in the spring."

"Thanks!"

Old Zhou didn't hesitate and just added a handful of maltose to the jar on the road.

The coal in the stove was burning brightly, and the steam in the teapot was rising. Old Zhou looked at the endless stream of people on the official road, and suddenly felt that this winter didn't seem so hard to endure. ……………

Tongzhou.

At the time of Si, the sun had already climbed over the flagpole of the grain market. Chen San stood in front of his own grain shop, pressing the account book with his left hand and fiddling with the abacus with his right hand.

The abacus beads made crisp sounds when they collided against each other, and he wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb every time he moved them. This was a habit he had developed over the years, for he was afraid that his saliva would splash onto the account book.

There were three open sacks in front of the shop. The bag of old rice on the left was grayish yellow, with tiny pieces of bran mixed in between the rice grains; the bag of new wheat in the middle was golden, with wheat awns still covered with dust from the drying yard; the small half bag of Siamese rice on the right was neatly stacked, with each grain about the size of a little fingernail.

A farmer in shorts squatted in front of a sack, picking up a few grains of new wheat with his rough fingers. There was still black mud between his fingernails, and his knuckles were as thick as tree knots, which showed that he had been digging for food in the fields all year round.

"What's the price of new wheat?"

When the farmer spoke, his dark front teeth were exposed and his voice was hoarse.

Chen San didn't even raise his eyelids, and continued to use the abacus with his right hand: "One tael, two coins, one stone."

He paused, and finally looked up at the farmer's patched trouser legs: "If you want to exchange it for old grain, it will be discounted by nine cents."

The farmer's Adam's apple rolled up and down, and the veins on his neck bulged. At this time last year, the new wheat was sold for 250 grams per stone, and half a piece of coarse cloth was also required.

He untied the cloth bag at his waist, which was made from old trouser legs, with crooked stitches. Five silver coins were poured out, jingling on the wooden board. The largest one was as big as a thumb, and the smallest was only the size of a green bean.

Chen San put down his abacus and took out a silver touch stone from under the counter. The stone was shiny black, and the surface was polished to a mirror-like luster. He scratched the silver one by one, and he would get closer to see the marks after each scratch. Last month, Lao Wang from the grain shop next door was fooled and accepted silver filled with lead, which cost him half a month's income.

"It's in good condition."

Chen San threw the silver into the copper plate and shook it: "Are they all Taicang silver?"

"No!"

The farmer suddenly straightened his back and grinned, "The village head took me to the county government office to get it."

His rough fingers pointed at the stamp on the silver: "It is said that the emperor has newly issued something... Yes, it is written in the Great Edict that taxes are not allowed to be burned."

A new notice was posted on the back wall of the grain store. The paste had not yet dried, and the corners were slightly raised. The handwriting on the notice was neat, and the third item was circled in cinnabar: "Anyone who collects one cent more than the grain tax will be punished with eighty strokes of the cane."

On the lower right corner of the notice was the seal of Shuntian Prefecture, the ink was blindingly red.

When Chen San turned around to get the measuring bucket, he noticed that the farmer was staring at the notice. The man's eyes were narrowed into slits, and his lips were moving silently, as if he was silently reciting the words on the notice.

"Learn to read?" Chen San was a little surprised.

"A new free school has been established in the county."

The farmer rubbed his hands in embarrassment and said, "I went to listen to Mr. Wang's lecture on the Great Edict tonight and learned a few words."

He pointed to the notice and said, "I recognize the three words 'Eighty Canes'."

Chen San paused as he measured the wheat. He remembered that at this time last year, nine out of ten farmers who came to buy grain were illiterate and had to put their fingerprints on the receipts. Now, the inkstones in the grain shop need to be refilled three times a month.

"Eight dou, one liang."

Chen San poured the wheat from the measuring bucket into the cloth bag the farmer brought: "If you want Siamese rice, you have to pay extra."

The farmer shook his head and carefully tied the bag tightly. When he bent over, a scar appeared on the back of his neck. It was caused by the whip of the yamen runners last year when he could not pay taxes.

"Let's wait until next year."

He patted the bulging cloth bag and said, "This year I planted new grain seeds given by the emperor. When the harvest is good, I will replace them with better ones."

The grain market suddenly became agitated. A few officers in black boots were escorting a man wearing a wooden yoke. On the man's chest was a sign with the word "adulteration" scrawled on it.

"They are mixing sand into the grain again."

Chen San sneered: "This is the third one this month."

The farmer subconsciously hugged the grain bag tightly, his Adam's apple moving again: "What does the Great Edict say?"

"Those who adulterate the goods will be put in the shackles for three days."

Chen San pointed to the notice: "Further offense will lead to exile."

The two of them looked at the high platform in the center of the grain market. There was a new flagpole there, with a black flag embroidered with the four characters "Fair Trade". Under the flagpole was a case, and two clerks were recording today's grain prices.

"Do you want food stamps?"

Chen San suddenly asked, "This is newly printed by the government. If you take this to the canal wharf to buy salt, you can save 10%."

The farmer hesitated for a moment, then took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. On the paper was a red seal from the county government, with the words "Grain Payment Certificate" written on it.

"Is this okay?"

Chen San took it, looked at it carefully, and nodded, "It's worth twenty cents."

He turned and took out a small wooden sign from the counter: "Take this to the salt shop."

The farmer took the wooden sign and turned it over and over. The words "official salt" were embossed on the sign, and the edges were polished to a smooth surface. He suddenly lowered his voice:

"Manager Chen, I heard...I heard that the emperor is going to inspect the granary?"

Chen San's hands trembled, and the measuring cup almost fell to the ground. He looked around and whispered, "Where did you hear that?"

"I heard what Mr. Wang said yesterday at the charity school."

The farmer lowered his voice: "They said that according to the new regulations of the Great Edict, all prefectures, counties and cities must investigate..."

Chen San looked towards the west end of the grain market - that was where the government warehouse was located, with more than a dozen pointed grain storages standing behind the high blue brick walls. Usually at this time, the grain-carrying carriages would have lined up in a long queue, but today it was deserted, with only a few runners hanging around the door.

Chen San suddenly felt a chill on his back. He remembered the merchant who came to buy grain the day before yesterday. He asked for 300 dan of grain right away, and he paid with newly minted official silver...

"Your wheat." Chen San handed the bag to the farmer, and his voice unconsciously became a little more gentle: "Goodbye."

The farmer picked up the grain bag and glanced at the notice on the wall before leaving. The sunlight shone on the words circled in cinnabar, which looked so red that they seemed to be dripping with blood.

.....................

Three quarters past four in the morning, Wanping County Government Office.

The blue brick floor of the county government's main hall was polished to a shine by the black boots of the policemen. Dust accumulated over the years in the cracks between the bricks, but not a single fallen leaf was seen. In front of the hall, six red lacquered pillars supported the eaves, and the pillar bases were carved with Bi'an patterns. The fangs of the mythical beast had been mostly worn down by the corners of the clothes of the people passing by.

The ebony desk in the center is six feet long and three feet wide. On the desk is a tin pen holder with three wolf-hair brushes hanging on it. The end of the pen tube is engraved with the small words "Made by the government in the first year of Zhaowu". The inkstone is made of ordinary bluestone, with a crack on the right side, which was cleverly repaired by the craftsman with copper nails.

(End of this chapter)