Huangming

Chapter 473 Spreading Rumors and Creating Chaos, a Sudden Change in Songfu
Songjiang Prefecture was undoubtedly the "heart of cotton weaving" in the Ming Dynasty, and had the reputation of "Songjiang cotton cloth cloths the world".

Inside and outside the city, the sound of looms from weavers echoed from dawn to late at night. Even in the villages on the outskirts of the city, one could see peasant women sitting under the eaves, using their feet to spin cotton into yarn on spinning wheels. As their fingers flew, the white cotton yarn flowed around the spindles like water.

Cotton weaving is no longer a "side business" here, but a pillar supporting 80% of the output value of handicrafts. Even three-year-old children know the livelihood rhyme: "Growing cotton is not as good as weaving cloth, and weaving cloth is not as good as selling cloth."

This grand occasion was no accident.

Songjiang is located on the alluvial plain of the Yangtze River Delta, and its soil is mostly loose sandy soil.

This type of soil has poor water retention, but it happens to suit the "temperament" of cotton. It is not easy for the seeds to rot when sown in spring, and the cotton bolls open up neatly when harvested in autumn.

In contrast, mulberry trees require fertile, heavy soil to take root, and they need specialized personnel to fertilize and prune them. It takes three years for them to mature, making them far less "worry-free" for farmers than cotton.

Not to mention, Songjiang accounts for 30% of the country's cotton production. Farmers can pick cotton bolls from their own land, dry and gin them, and then spin them into thread. The raw material cost is more than ten times lower than transporting raw silk from Huzhou.

The technological barrier is even more crucial.

A foot-operated spinning wheel for cotton weaving could be bought with just three taels of silver. After finishing their work in the fields, farm women could sit in front of the spinning wheel at night to earn some extra money for their household.

Although the "waist loom" for weaving cotton cloth is more complicated than the spinning wheel, it can be learned in half a month by following the neighbors. Ordinary farmers can easily take care of both agriculture and cotton weaving.

But silk weaving is different.

That jacquard loom was over ten feet long, had over a hundred parts, and cost twenty taels of silver, equivalent to half a year's income for a farmer.

Weavers need three to five years of training to master the warp and weft patterns on the weave book; ordinary families simply cannot afford to support such "professionals".

As a result, more than 90% of the weavers in Songjiang relied on cotton weaving for their livelihood.

Only a few professional weavers in Huating County and Shanghai County dared to get involved in the silk business.

They mostly gathered in commercial towns like Qibao, relying on raw silk provided by silk merchants to weave "cloud-patterned silk" for officials and gentry to enjoy; rural weavers rarely even saw it.

The local mulberry orchards number only 50,000 mu, less than one-twentieth of those in Huzhou. If weavers want to weave silk, they can only wait for Huizhou merchants and Dongting merchants to transport "Qili silk" from Huzhou and "Wu silk" from Suzhou.

After transporting raw silk to Songjiang, these merchant groups either wholesaled it to weavers or simply adopted a "lead weaving" model.

First, provide the weavers with enough raw silk. After weaving the silk, collect the raw silk and deduct the cost of the raw silk. What remains is the weaver's processing fee.

As for government-run textile workshops, they had already declined by the Zhengde period. The Songjiang "Weaving and Dyeing Bureau" was only one-tenth the size of the Suzhou Textile Bureau.

By the time of the Tianqi era, even their own silk supply had to be allocated from Suzhou, and the raw silk of private weavers was almost entirely controlled by large silk merchants like the Yan family.

After the flood, this vital silk industry became a sharp weapon in the hands of the Yan family.

The weavers were already struggling to make ends meet.

With farmland flooded and no harvest, people could only rely on weaving cloth to earn a living, but raw silk and cotton both cost money, so many had to ask the Yan family for "advance payments."
They received raw materials to weave cloth first, and the processing fee was deducted after the cloth was sold. Some even borrowed grain money from the Yan family, and were already tied to the Yan family's "profit ship".

Just as the weavers were hoping to recoup their losses by weaving a few bolts of silk, the Yan family quietly unleashed their "killer move."

First, they used "fake notices" to mislead the public.

Outside the workshops and dye houses where weavers gathered, the Yan family posted a forged "government notice" on yellow paper with black characters that read, "In order to raise funds for disaster relief, an extra two cents of 'disaster relief donation' must be paid for each bolt of cloth. Those who fail to pay by the deadline will have their looms dismantled and their family members detained."

The brokers even took the notices and read them aloud from house to house, deliberately emphasizing the words "detaining family members." When they saw timid weavers, they would add, "The other day, the weaver Wang from the west of the city didn't pay his tax, and the officials just took away his spinning wheel. His wife and children were crying and begging for mercy."

The weavers were already afraid of the government, and when they heard that they would have to pay additional taxes and have their machines dismantled, they panicked.

Aunt Zhang clutched the freshly spun cotton yarn, tears welling in her eyes:
"This two-tenths donation isn't even enough to earn back the money we've spent on weaving three bolts of cloth. How are we supposed to make a living like this?"

The eldest brother of the Li family was so angry that he slammed his hand on the loom:
"The government didn't give us much relief during the flood, and now they're trying to steal our life-saving money!"

The Yan family wanted this resentment.

Immediately afterwards, rumors about the "Disaster Relief Department surveying land" began to circulate.

What should have been a good thing—verifying disaster damage and providing fair relief—became, in the mouths of the Yan family, a case of "the government wanting to take away the weavers' 'weaving fields'."

The Yan family steward would "casually" mention it in the teahouse:
“Yesterday I saw the disaster relief officials with blueprints, saying that the weavers’ fields were ‘privately occupied government land’ and would be confiscated to be used by Master Wang to plant mulberry trees. In the future, the weavers will not even have a place to put their looms and will only be able to work as laborers in government-run workshops, working twelve hours a day and not even being able to get enough to eat!”

To make the rumors more believable, the Yan family even hired "plants".

A bankrupt weaver, bribed into service, wept daily at a tea stall in the market, cradling a crying, hungry child in his arms.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my family's three-tenths of a loom field was seized by the disaster relief department yesterday, who said it was to be used as a mulberry orchard for Master Wang!"
"Now there's nowhere to put the loom, and I haven't paid back the grain money I owe the Yan family. My whole family is going to starve to death!"

As he spoke, he pulled out a crumpled "land deed," which drew sympathy from the surrounding weavers, and their voices cursing the government grew louder and louder.

The imperial court required weavers to register "the number of looms and output" with the Disaster Relief Department, which was originally intended to obtain production data and allocate raw materials rationally. However, the Yan family misinterpreted this as "turning weavers into government slaves."

The brokers would huddle up to the weaver and whisper:
"You think registering looms is a good thing?"

That's the government putting 'shackles' on you!
From now on, what kind of cloth to weave and how much to weave will all be determined by the government. If you weave too slowly, you'll be beaten; if you weave badly, you'll have to pay compensation, just like the "craftsmen" during the Hongwu era—your descendants will be trapped in this fate!

They also deliberately brought up the "Sun Long Tax Commissioner Case" from the Wanli era, saying:
“Back then, Sun Long collected a ‘loom tax’ in Suzhou. Each loom was taxed at three qian of silver. Those who couldn’t pay would have their looms smashed and people arrested. Countless loom owners were ruined and their families destroyed!”
The current policy is even harsher than it was back then.

They're even taking away your fields!

These words struck a nerve with the weavers. Many of the older weavers who had lived through that period couldn't help but tear up when they recalled the tragic scenes of that time.
"We can't take it anymore! If we keep going, we'll all starve to death!"

After their emotions were stirred up, the Yan family used both soft and hard tactics to firmly bind the weavers to the "chariot" of resistance.

The soft approach is "bribery".

The Yan family steward will notify each household:

"As long as we all go to Nanjing together to 'beg the government' and force them to lift the ban on smuggling and stop the land survey, we can still do our smuggled silk orders. At that time, we will double your processing fees, and all the grain and material fees we owe will be waived!"

They would also give a peck of rice and twenty coins to the weavers who were willing to participate on the spot, saying:
"This is a 'deposit'; more will be paid after the deal is done."

Then you can buy new clothes for the kids and a new piece of cloth for your wife!

For weavers who lacked food and clothing, a peck of rice could feed the whole family for several days, and twenty coins could buy two pounds of salt.

The doubling of processing fees gave them even more hope.

The hard part is the "threat".

For those weavers who hesitated, the Yan family simply cut off their supplies.

Originally, ten catties of raw silk were to be delivered to a certain weaver, but only two catties were deliberately delivered, and the manager would even make a threatening remark:

"Want more raw silk? You'll have to go to the government office with everyone to 'reason' with them!"
Otherwise, we won't send you raw materials anymore.

Your wife and children are waiting to be fed; without raw materials to weave cloth, they'll starve to death!

One weaver family, hoping for the best, said they would wait a little longer. However, the next day they did not receive any raw silk, and their children were crying from hunger. With no other option, they went to the manager to "apologize" and agreed to participate in the riot.

Finally, the Yan family also found a "leader".

They bribed the "weaving head" (an organizer who led dozens of weaving households) and the brokers.

He promised the head weaver "after the job is done, you will be the manager of the 'government-run weaving workshop' and you won't have to weave cloth yourself anymore," and promised the broker a "five-year exemption from processing fees."

These people already had prestige and connections, and they quickly united thousands of weaving households, and even secretly devised a "rebellion plan":
First, they gathered in front of the Songjiang Prefectural Government Office to petition, and then they went to smash the office of the Disaster Relief Department.

The next day.

As dawn broke and the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten, the area in front of the Songjiang Prefecture government office was already packed with people.

There was a weaver dressed in patched short clothes, with a cold, hard cornbread tucked into his arms.

There were refugees leaning on canes, their trouser legs still covered in mud from the flood.

There were even women holding children, the children curled up in their arms from the cold, sobbing softly.

At the very front of the crowd stood a man in a blue cloth robe, Zhao Jie, the head weaver whom the Yan family had bribed in advance.

He clenched his fist and held up a tattered cloth with five crooked characters written on it in charcoal ash: “Give me back my loom field.”

"Everyone, shout it out! Let the authorities hear our grievances!"

He glanced back at the crowd, and seeing some people hesitate, he raised his voice again.

“The floods have inundated our fields, and we rely on weaving cloth to survive! The government wants to confiscate our cloth and seize our land; they are forcing us to our deaths!”

"We beg the government to uphold justice for us!"

Some people in the crowd shouted along. At first, the voices were scattered, but gradually they gathered into a powerful force, shaking the morning mist as if it were swaying.

"Don't compete with the people for profit! Give me back my land!"

"If the government is unfair, we'll smash up the disaster relief office!"

The cries of children, the sobs of women, and the roars of men mingled together, like a pot of boiling water, surging towards the vermilion gates of the government office.

Inside the government office, the candles in the second hall were still lit.

Xu Zengyu, the Assistant Magistrate of Songjiang Prefecture, paced back and forth on the blue brick floor with his hands behind his back.

His brows were furrowed so deeply they could trap a mosquito, and he kept muttering to himself:
"And of all times! The Prefect went to Nanjing to hold a proclamation meeting, leaving me to take the blame all by myself!"

Last night, he received a letter from Yan's informant saying that some weavers were causing trouble today. He thought it was just a minor disturbance, but when he was woken up by the yamen runners this morning, there were already thousands of people gathered outside the yamen.

This is a huge matter, and he, as the second-in-command, dares not take responsibility.

If it's done well, it's the prefect's credit; if it's done poorly, it's his fault.

After thinking for a moment, he quickly sent someone to summon the prefect, judge, clerk, and police officer, so that they could all make a decision together and share the responsibility.

Before half an incense stick had burned, several officials rushed over.

Prefect Li Mo was a frail scholar who wiped his sweat as he entered the room and asked in a low voice:

"Master, what's going on outside... with all this commotion outside? Won't it cause trouble?"

Judge Zhou Ning also frowned.

Wang San, the clerk in charge of arrests and prisons, entered the room, sat down with an air of superiority, picked up the bowl of cold tea on the table, took a swig, slammed the bowl down, and spoke with obvious impatience:

"What kind of chaos is this! A bunch of lowly commoners are causing trouble in front of the government office, what kind of behavior is this!"

He patted the badge at his waist, his eyes fierce.

"In my opinion, we should take the yamen runners and drive them away! If they dare to cause trouble again, they should be treated as 'treason'."

Kill a few of the ringleaders, and see if they dare to cause trouble again!

Police officer Zhang Wu, who was in charge of maintaining order, immediately chimed in. He had dealt with street thugs for many years and believed most strongly in the adage "Spare the rod and spoil the child."
“Wang Dianli is right! These people are bullies who prey on the weak and fear the strong!”

If we back down, they'll become even more arrogant. If we don't suppress them today, the people of Songjiang will dare to challenge the government from now on!

Seeing the two speak with such certainty, Xu Zengyu felt less flustered.

He was inherently timid, and seeing that both of these "experienced" old officials advocated a hardline approach, he nodded, his tone carrying a hint of admonition:

"Then let's do as you two suggest and drive the people away."

Remember, whatever you do, don't let anyone die.

"The prefect isn't here; let's not make things too complicated."

"Don't worry, Second Master!"

Wang Dianli patted his chest in agreement and got up to walk out.

"I guarantee I'll beat them so badly they'll cry for their parents and never dare to cause trouble again!"

Soon, the side door of the government office creaked open.

Wang Dianli led more than fifty yamen runners, each carrying a five-colored stick painted red, with iron chains hanging from their waists, their faces fierce and menacing.

More than two hundred militiamen followed behind. Wang, the clerk, walked to the front of the crowd, hands on his hips, squinted at them, and spoke with a contemptuous tone:

"Get out of here, all of you! The Prefect has gone to Nanjing. He'll give you an explanation when he gets back! Now get home and stop getting in my way!"

His dismissive attitude instantly ignited the crowd's anger.

Zhao Jie stepped forward, pointed at Wang Dianli's nose, and shouted:

"Explanation? We've waited for hours, and all we get is your bullshit of protecting each other!"

"Did you take money from the Yan family and deliberately help them pressure us?"

These words struck a nerve with Wang Dianli, whose face darkened and he said sternly:
"You dare to slander an official of the imperial court! If you don't leave now, you're committing treason!"

"rebellion?"

Someone in the crowd had tears in their eyes and pushed forward.

"The government won't give us a way to survive, so what if we rebel!"

"We beg Your Honor to uphold justice!"

The shouts started again, even fiercer than before.

Wang Dianli narrowed his eyes, cursing inwardly, "They're courting death!" He turned and shouted at the yamen runners and militiamen:

"Beat them! Arrest the ringleaders first!"

Upon receiving the order, the constables immediately rushed forward, their five-colored sticks whistling as they swung them at the crowd.

Most of the weavers and refugees were unarmed; how could they withstand five blows in a second?
Some people covered their heads and backed away, while others were hit on the back with sticks and screamed in pain.

The woman holding the child was pushed to the ground, and the child cried loudly in fright. She got up and tried to protect the child, but was pushed and stumbled by a yamen runner.

Zhao Jie appeared to be charging ahead, but in reality, he kept his feet moving backward. When he saw the constables rushing over, he deliberately tripped and fell, taking advantage of the chaos to shrink back into the crowd.

He accepted the money from the Yan family, intending to make a big scene, but he didn't really plan to get beaten up.

Before a meal was finished, the crowd in front of the government office was dispersed, and broken shoes and a tattered cloth with the words "Return my loom field" written on it were scattered on the ground.

Several who were slower to run were chained by the yamen runners and escorted to the government prison, crying and shouting "Injustice!" all the way.

Wang, the clerk, stood in front of the government office, looking at the scattered crowd, spat on the ground, and snorted coldly:
“A commoner is a commoner; they won’t learn the rules until they’re beaten.”

He touched the thousand taels of silver notes given to him by the Yan family in his sleeve, feeling quite pleased with himself.

This job was done brilliantly; the people were driven away without anyone dying. The Yan family's money is secure, and they can even curry favor with Magistrate Xu later.

Inside the second hall of the government office, Xu Zengyu heard the sounds of fighting outside gradually subside. He breathed a sigh of relief, but also felt a vague unease.

He walked to the window, lifted the curtain, and saw that the square was in a mess, and several people were being led to the prison. He couldn't help but frown.

but.
"It's good that no one was killed..."

He comforted himself quietly, turned back to his desk, picked up his pen, and wanted to write this down in the documents, but hesitated for a long time and ultimately did not put pen to paper.

He always felt that this matter wouldn't end there.

the other side.

The weavers, scattered by the yamen runners during the day, returned home covered in bruises.

Old Zhang rubbed his back, which was swollen from being beaten with the five-colored stick, and looked at the half-sack of brown rice left on the kang (a heated brick bed), his throat choked with emotion.

That was the only food ration left after the flood. We didn't dare take it out during the day, for fear that it would be stolen by the soldiers.

"Dad, are we going again tomorrow?" Little Stone asked timidly, clutching a piece of cornbread that had been trampled and dirtied.

Old Zhang didn't speak, he just sighed heavily.

If you don't go, the government will confiscate your cloth and seize your land.

If I go, I'll get beaten up again.

Little did he know that in Songjiang that night, a scheme even more ruthless than the daytime beatings was just beginning.

Midnight watch.

Suddenly, a jumble of footsteps came from the alley entrance.

Dozens of men dressed in worn-out black clothes, with crooked "criminal" badges hanging from their waists and carrying iron chains, kicked open the door to Zhang Laoshuan's house.

"By order of the disaster relief commander, cotton cloth shall be requisitioned to offset disaster relief donations!"

The man at the head of the group had a loud voice. He yanked open the pile of cloth on the kang (a heated brick bed) and grabbed two bolts of freshly woven Songjiang cloth.

"This isn't enough cloth, get more! Or I'll arrest you and put you in jail!"

"This is the cloth we use to change the baby's food!"

Old Zhang lunged forward to grab it, but the man pushed him to the ground, causing him to hit the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) on the back of his head, making him see stars from the pain.

Another "errand boy" was even more ruthless; he grabbed a wooden mallet from the corner of the wall and smashed it onto the old loom with a loud bang.

The loom broke, and the yarn scattered all over the ground, like shattered hope.

"Dare to resist? If you cause any more trouble, we'll confiscate all your grain!"

The commotion in the yard woke up the neighbors.

Widow Li's door was also kicked open, and the silk she had just woven was stolen. Her three-year-old daughter was so frightened that she cried, but the "runner" laughed and threw the child's tiger-head shoes on the ground, stomping on them until they were ruined.

"What the government wants, do you have the right to refuse?"

These "runners" were all local thugs hired by the Yan family.

They specifically targeted villages where weavers lived, stealing cloth, smashing looms, and seizing grain. Every time they did this, they deliberately made sure it was known to everyone.

Soon, the alley was filled with weavers who had been awakened. Seeing the arrogant appearance of the "bureaucrats," the bruises from the beatings during the day were still painful, and now the despair of being robbed was added. The resentment in the crowd was like dry tinder, just waiting for a spark.

"Let's fight them! We won't let them bully us!"

Suddenly someone in the crowd shouted—it was Zhao Jie.

He had somehow blended into the crowd, clutching a carrying pole in his hand, his face covered in mud, pretending to be an "angry ordinary weaver."

The shout was like a spark falling into a pile of dry tinder, instantly igniting everyone's anger.

Old Zhang scrambled to his feet, picked up the broken loom from the ground, and roared with red eyes:

"Let's fight! We're going to starve to death anyway, might as well fight them!"

"Let's go! Let's go to the government office to demand justice! Let them compensate us for our cloth and our loom!"

Someone shouted first, and more and more weavers poured out, some carrying hoes, some carrying wooden sticks, and some carrying kitchen knives.

They were no longer the unarmed petitioners of the daytime, but desperate fugitives whose means of survival had been cut off.

Zhao Jie ran in the lead, shouting as he ran:

"Don't panic, everyone! Let's go to the government office first and ask the officials for an explanation!"
They stole from us, so they have to pay for it!

He deliberately shouted the word "grab" very loudly, as if afraid that the people behind him wouldn't hear him.

At the fourth watch of the night, the tranquility of the daytime had long since vanished from the front of the Songjiang Prefectural Government Office.

Thousands of weavers, armed with weapons, blocked the vermilion gate, their shouts of battle shaking the door knocker.

"Open the door! Pay for our cloth!"

"Kill the corrupt official!"

Inside the government office, Wang San, the clerk, sat in the gatehouse, toying with the silver notes given to him by the Yan family, a cold smile on his lips.

He had received a letter from the Yan family long ago, knowing that there would be "stirring" tonight, and had already made arrangements for the yamen runners.

It's not about "calming things down," but about "escalating" them.

"Sir, there's a huge commotion outside, what should we do?" the head constable asked cautiously.

Wang San stuffed the silver note into his sleeve, stood up, and patted his clothes.

"What else can we do? Drive them away! Anyone who dares to break through, beat them to death!"
Especially the elderly, the weak, women, and children—show no mercy. The more ruthless, the better!

Upon receiving their orders, the constables carried fire and water sticks and whips and rushed out.

Before the weaver could speak, the whip lashed out.

Widow Li tried to dodge while holding her child, but a whip struck the child's arm, and the child cried out in heart-wrenching pain.

Old Zhang tried to protect the child, but was hit on the leg with a water-and-fire stick. With a "crack," the excruciating pain of his broken bone caused him to fall to the ground, drenched in cold sweat.

"The government won't let us live! Let's fight them!"

Seeing that the time was right, Zhao Jie suddenly raised his carrying pole and smashed it against the gate of the government office. With a loud crash, the door knocker was knocked off, and wood chips flew everywhere.

These words shattered the weavers' last shred of restraint.

Some people followed suit, banging on the door; some climbed over the wall and jumped into the government office; and others rushed into the adjacent government storeroom.

The Yan family thugs, who had been hiding in the crowd, finally revealed their true colors. They deliberately led the crowd straight toward the residence of Tongzhi Xu Zengyu.

"Second Master! Run!"

Xu Zengyu's personal servant rushed in in a panic, holding an unfinished document in his hand.

Just as Xu Zengyu was about to get up, the door was kicked open, and several weavers with flushed faces rushed in, swinging their hoes at him.

"You corrupt official! Pay me back for my cloth!"

Xu Zengyu wanted to shout, "I didn't steal your cloth," but before he could finish speaking, the hoe fell on his head.

In an instant, Xu Zengyu felt a sharp pain on the top of his head, followed by a gush of blood.

Then everything went black, and he collapsed to the ground, clearly dead.

Inside the government office.

Prefect Li Mo and Judge Zhou Ning were not spared either.

They hid in the warehouse, but were found by the weavers and beaten to death with sticks.

The timber in the government office was set ablaze, and the flames soared into the sky, illuminating half of Songjiang City.

Meanwhile, Wang San, the clerk, had already taken several trusted constables and hidden in a teahouse in the distance.

He looked at the firelight in the government office, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and a cruel smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't take the Yan family's money for nothing; the bigger the commotion, the safer he would be.

In the end, the investigation revealed that it was "a rebellion by rioters," and had nothing to do with him, the clerk who "did his best to suppress it."

. . .

PS:

There should be an extra chapter today.

(End of this chapter)