Chapter 377
Fang Zichen had theory but no experience; Zhang Fan had experience but no theory. One talked while the other worked. Though they used different materials, they ultimately reached the same goal by different paths.
Zhang Fan threw himself into the paper mill with single-minded devotion, forgetting to eat or sleep, his heart fired with the passion of research. Fang Zichen, on the other hand, disappeared the moment mealtime arrived. After thirteen days, they produced toilet paper.
On the fifteenth day, they produced xuan paper—uniform in thickness and even in texture.
But bamboo couldn't be used for papermaking right after cutting. It had to go through a soaking process first. The same went for rice straw—the best straw came from rice grown in red-soil fields. After being steamed with additives, it also required lengthy sun-drying. That was why, earlier that year when Fang Zichen came to Anping County to survey the Jing River and related documents, he had dispatched Zhang Jiahui to start preparations. He'd stayed in Anping County for many days just for this; otherwise, reviewing the documents alone would have taken him only a day or two at his reading speed.
By now, the bamboo that Zhang Jiahui had harvested from Guang'an Village and the straw he'd laid out to dry had all been transported over.
Fang Zichen brought a stack of toilet paper home. It was soft to the touch and pure white. Zhao Ger's heart raced just looking at it. "Are we really supposed to use this toilet paper in the outhouse?"
He felt it was a terrible waste. This paper was even whiter than the kind people used for writing!
"Mhm." Fang Zichen sighed. "But it's not as good as what I used before. Still, it's much better than sticks. It should sell, right?"
Zhao Ger wanted to roll his eyes.
How could it not sell?
This toilet paper was even better than the cotton-linen cloth the wealthy used—and even that was rough on the skin. Besides, it was made from bamboo, which was no trouble at all. Every jin of bamboo produced about eight liang to one jin of paper—and bamboo grew extremely fast, usually reaching up several meters in just one year.
If they priced it too high, it might not sell. But if they kept it affordable, plenty of people would fight to buy it.
Zhao Ger thought the toilet paper was wonderful.
He grabbed two sheets and headed to the outhouse. Guaizai, eyes twinkling, also took two sheets and ran outside the outhouse to wait.
Fang Zichen: "..."
Are they really that desperate?
When Zhao Ger emerged from the outhouse, he looked refreshed and his eyes sparkled. He gazed at Fang Zichen with undisguised envy.
This man had been using this kind of paper to wipe himself all along? How fortunate. Even with a bit of force, it wouldn't chafe.
Guaizai loved it too. Fang Zichen ruffled his hair. "Son, is it good?"
Guaizai answered cheerfully, "Good! Wiping with paper—bum no hurt."
Of course it wouldn't hurt.
Back in Xiaohe Village, Guaizai had used whatever wooden sticks or leaves he could find. Once, a branch was too tough to break and split in two, leaving a sharp edge. His tender little bottom was no match for it—it was a scene of "chrysanthemum wreckage and ground full of wounds." He'd come out of the outhouse in tears, holding his little bottom. Fang Zichen had checked his bottom and felt both amused and heartbroken.
Now at last, he'd never have to worry about his son's "chrysanthemum" again.
With Zhang Fan now up and running, Fang Zichen looked at the remaining silver and decided it was time to move conscription onto the agenda.
By now, the common people's impression of officials had improved only in Anping County and a few villages under Anhe County's jurisdiction. Recruiting in these areas would be easier. But in neighboring counties—though close to Anping and the others—the villagers rarely visited relatives except on the second day of the Lunar New Year, since visiting meant bringing gifts. People in those counties, and even more so in remote villages, probably had no idea he was an upright and honest official.
[The second day of the Lunar New Year is the traditional day for a married daughter to visit her parents' home]
If the south was like this, then the north of Hezhou was even worse. He'd been here nearly a year and still hadn't had time to visit the north. News there was slow. If he sent conscription notices down now, not only would he fail to recruit anyone—the people might even rise up against him: "First you tax us to death, and now you're dragging our men away too? You're leaving us no way out!" They'd ambush him, throw a sack over his head, and drag him into the woods.
He'd have to start recruiting here first. Get whatever he could—because having no garrison troops in any of the counties was simply improper, and Fang Zichen didn't feel safe either.
Winter had already arrived, and the year was drawing to a close. The New Year would come in the first lunar month. When autumn tax collection time came, Fang Zichen sent men down with orders to collect according to the new rules. The villagers, having been informed by their village chiefs that the officials would come for grain, had prepared early.
Old Madam Jia's household had harvested over six hundred jin of rice from the two growing seasons. Now her sons carried it all to the threshing ground. When Fang Zichen arrived with Guaizai, he saw sack after sack of grain standing in the yard.
This task shouldn't have required Fang Zichen's personal attention—Why use an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken? But since Anhe County's yamen had no staff, he'd sent most of Anping County's yamen runners over there to handle the collection. The soldiers couldn't handle this work, and since he lived in the village, he came in person—and brought Guaizai along to learn.
The village chief handed him a ledger. Fang Zichen couldn't make heads or tails of it. He questioned everyone for a long time, found out how much each household had harvested, and then looked at the grain everyone had brought. He was speechless.
Fang Zichen restated the tax rates and told everyone to re-divide their grain and re-weigh it.
If they'd collected taxes the way the previous prefect had, they'd have taken nearly half—six hundred jin would mean handing over more than two hundred. No wonder people starved year after year.
With five or six hundred jin of grain, the officials only took a few dozen jin????
The villagers stood stunned for a long moment, then burst into joy.
That morning, as they'd carried their grain to the threshing ground and waited for the yamen runners, they'd all been gloomy and miserable, not in the mood to chat. Who wouldn't be heartbroken, handing over most of the grain they'd toiled all year to grow?
Now they were overjoyed.
They carried their grain back home, thinking they'd have a good New Year this time. But little did they know—after the autumn tax collection, several dozen soldiers received orders from Fang Zichen and galloped off to every village below.
County notices were also posted.
For the people of Daxia, conscription meant separation and death—even harder to accept than heavy taxes.
In the past, they'd have beaten the soldiers delivering the notice without a second thought. But now, they fell silent.
The village chief stepped forward. "Sir, why the sudden conscription?"
The soldier delivering the notice, following Fang Zichen's instructions, told the truth: "To defend Daxia's security." Seeing the villagers' confusion, he put it plainly.
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