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墨書 Inktalez
Cui Xiaoman looked at him as if he were a fool. "Do you really need the water used for washing pots?"
"Yes!" Lin Dahe rushed over to catch the splashed water, murky liquid floating with a few vegetable leaves and oil droplets. "Is there more?"
Cui Xiaoman's expression shifted from disdain to caution. "Have you gone mad?"
In the end, Lin Dahe used the ridiculous excuse of "treating athlete's foot" to exchange for kitchen waste from three households. As dusk fell, he squatted in his backyard digging a pit, layering the collected food scraps and wood ash. Just as he was busy, a hurried sound of a gong echoed from the village entrance.
"The county magistrate has sent tax collectors! Everyone gather at the ancestral hall!"
The wooden spoon in Lin Dahe's hand clattered to the ground—this warning came a full three days earlier than expected!
When the gong sounded for the third time, Lin Dahe grabbed a somewhat decent blue cloth long gown from the corner. He hesitated for a moment before scooping some wood ash from the stove to smear on his face—this beggar-like appearance might help him pay less tax.
Pushing open the creaking fence gate, he nearly stepped on a foraging hen. The pile of kitchen waste in the yard was still fermenting, bubbling with an eerie green foam and emitting a sour smell of decay. Lin Dahe poked it with a stick; when the bubbles burst, a few drops of sticky liquid splattered out, scorching the weeds beneath.
"Can this stuff really be used as fertilizer?" he muttered as he covered it with dirt, suddenly hearing the sound of hooves approaching from afar.
Four Yard Officers in dark uniforms surrounded a tax collector wearing a square scarf, knocking on doors one by one. The leading tax collector, around forty years old, had an iron ruler hanging from his waist and thrust his ledger almost into the villagers' noses. "Three coins for head tax, five coins for land tax, two coins for suppression fees—those who can't produce grain must pay in silver at market price!"
Lin Dahe's heart sank. According to information provided by the system, taxes during the Chongzhen era had tripled compared to those in the Wanli era. He quietly retreated to the backyard and pried open a hidden money pouch from between the wall cracks—inside were only a dozen copper coins and a small piece of broken silver, which was gratitude for "treating" Aunt Wang's child just days ago.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang at the front door.
"Where is Lin Dahe?"
Steeling himself, he stepped outside and saw the tax collector poking at the compost pit he hadn't managed to bury yet. The green liquid stuck to the iron ruler, emitting wisps of white smoke.
"What gall! Are you secretly refining poison?" The tax collector's face changed dramatically as three Yard Officers immediately drew their clubs and surrounded him.
"Your Honor, please see! This... this is a method from the Western Regions for fertilizing fields!" Lin Dahe exclaimed, sweating profusely as he pointed at the corner where newly sprouted potatoes were emerging. "Look at this crop..."
The tax collector squatted down to inspect the seedlings and suddenly sneered. "Are you trying to fool me? This grass isn't even a hand's breadth tall; how will you pay your autumn taxes?" He flipped through his ledger noisily. "According to law, those without grain must use their land deed as collateral—"
"Wait!"
A clear female voice came from outside the fence. Cui Xiaoman strode over with a bundle of firewood on her back, her hair still sprinkled with grass clippings. Without saying a word, she stood in front of Lin Dahe and pulled out a string of copper coins tied with red thread from her bosom. "This land is leased to him by my family; here’s the tax money."
The tax collector weighed the coins in his hand and scrutinized both of them suspiciously. "Where’s your lease agreement?"
"It’s stored at the county office," Cui Xiaoman replied without flinching. "My father personally handled it last year in December; if you don’t believe me, you can go check right now."
Lin Dahe noticed that her right hand was pressed firmly against her waist where her sickle was sheathed, her knuckles turning white. The tax collector seemed to sense the threat as well; with a grunt, he tucked away the copper coins into his sleeve pocket. "Noted: Cui family tenant Lin Dahe owes eight coins in taxes!"
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