Chapter 18: The Currency of Grain

Breakfast was quite simple, actually. Instead of the yogurt I usually had, I decided to cook rice porridge, accompanied by salted meat and two peculiar eggs. These eggs were brightly colored, resembling candies, yet their taste was perfectly acceptable, much like ordinary chicken eggs.

I placed breakfast on the table. Enticed by the aroma, even Lia reluctantly took a seat opposite Vilya. I, however, did not sit immediately. Instead, I walked to the window, gazing outside.

From this vantage point, the town itself wasn’t visible, but the vast expanse of the sky certainly was.

“What are you looking at, Papa?”

Lia, bowl in hand, ran to my side, peering out with the same bewildered expression as she questioned me. To her, the view was merely a desolate flowerbed, but to my eyes, it was far more than barren land.

No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that the true desolation wasn’t on the ground at all; it was in the sky. At this moment, the sky itself was the veritable wasteland.

“I’m looking at the cooking smoke, Lia.”

I crouched down, pointing towards the sky as I spoke softly. “Lia, this is the time when people typically begin their day’s work. By now, there should be cooking smoke rising from various homes into the sky. Yet, look, apart from us, not a single chimney is smoking.”

“What does this signify? It means the people below have little to no food left to cook, nor even enough firewood to start a fire. In essence, without our provisions, they might not survive this winter.”

“Then distribute it.”

Vilya gently set her bowl on the table, speaking with a calm demeanor. “Let’s divide it equally. We’ll keep our share, and the rest will be given out.”

“An equal distribution isn’t necessarily the best solution.”

I shook my head, turning back to face her. “People aren’t inherently equal in their circumstances. Some families had abundant harvests and successful hunts this year, while others, with less land, yielded far less. Some households are large, others small. A simple equal split would be unfair to many.”

While an equal distribution might seem like the most straightforward approach in this situation, it would inevitably breed resentment. It’s unfair to those who worked diligently for a good harvest, only to receive a small portion, while others who initially had no food gain some simply through this measure.

Though they are currently impoverished enough to be grateful for any food, once their immediate hunger is sated, complaints will surely begin. This method of equal division would only offer a temporary fix. For a lord, the people’s long-term evaluation is paramount.

‘If only there were a ledger,’ I thought. Yet, I doubted those deserters would have bothered with such a thing. Therefore, without knowing how many people received goods, the distribution needed to be handled in a way that everyone could accept with peace of mind, without complaints.

Furthermore, I intended to find people to repair this place. The great hall, at the very least, needed to be cleaned thoroughly, and the rooms on the second floor required tidying. The stairs and floorboards also needed attention.

It appeared no one had been here in a long time. While a complete renovation was impossible in winter, essential repairs to ensure we could endure the season were imperative.

“…Then you figure it out.”

Vilya decisively abandoned all thought, delegating the entire task to me. I sighed, truly powerless to object, for I was merely a s*ave.

****

Just then, a sudden knock echoed at our door. Vilya instinctively rose, her hand resting on her sword hilt. I walked to the door and pulled it open.

Standing outside was a gaunt man, dressed in a grey robe and wrapped in a thin red scarf. His trousers were riddled with holes, and his shoes were tattered. His nose, red from the cold, sniffed intermittently, and his grey eyes appeared listless.

Upon seeing me, he spoke respectfully, “Greetings, my Lord. I am the record keeper here.”

“No, no, no, I am not the lord. The lord is this lady, Vilya, the Hero who slew the Demon King, and today, the lord of this town and the surrounding villages.”

I shook my head, turning to gesture towards Vilya. She eyed the man before her cautiously, seemingly relaxing only after scrutinizing him to ensure he posed no threat, though her hand remained on her sword hilt.

The man, however, stared at Vilya with profound shock, rubbing his hands together before offering an awkward laugh. “This, this… Hero, no, my Lord! Um, I am the record keeper of this town…”

“Speak to him.”

Vilya showed no inclination to engage with him. She simply sat back down and continued eating her porridge, her appetite robust even for a plain, watery broth. I offered a wry smile, turning to the record keeper.

“Very well, then, speak with me,” I said. “You are responsible for keeping records for this town, correct? In that case, you should be aware of the situation with these provisions.”

“Ah, I am aware.”

The record keeper sniffed, his gaze drifting enviously towards the burlap sacks. “Those deserters stole all the grain. It was our town’s entire harvest for the year. Fortunately, we still have plenty of fruit beans and some other food that wasn’t taken. We can survive the winter.”

“No, no, no, no, I wasn’t asking if you could survive the winter.”

I looked at the record keeper with a sense of bewilderment. His statement was peculiar. They had clearly been robbed of their grain, so why was he claiming they could still make it through winter? Shouldn’t he be asking me to return these provisions?

Yet, at this moment, the record keeper seemed not to believe these provisions belonged to the townspeople, showing no intention of reclaiming them.

“Then what do you mean, sir?”

“Shouldn’t this grain be returned? These provisions were stolen by those soldiers. We are not brigands; we are your lords.”

I stated this plainly to the record keeper, then continued, “Do you have any ledgers? Aren’t you the record keeper? You might not have an income ledger, but surely you’ve recorded how much was collected? I intend to distribute these provisions based on past income.”

The record keeper looked at me awkwardly, offering a bitter smile. “You are truly kind… but there’s no problem if these provisions aren’t returned. In fact, people don’t want them back. Once eaten, they’re gone.”

“It would be better to use them for taxes instead,” he added. “These provisions could repay ten years of debt, couldn’t they?”

“What?”

I froze for a moment, then pointed at the sacks of grain, my voice rising in anger. “Are you telling me these townspeople owe ten years of taxes?! How does a town fall ten years behind on its taxes?! Ten years! A town that’s ten years in arrears on taxes would be utterly ruined!”

“No, it’s twenty years,” he corrected. “Everyone in this town has been in arrears for twenty years of taxes… Although they pay some tax each year, the amount never covers the interest and principal. This time, if you, my Lord, are willing to waive those twenty years of taxes, it would be a blessing.”

“Because if you insist on collecting, the debt will only continue to accumulate year after year…”

“Bring me the ledger.”

My scalp tingled with unease. I understood the situation in this town less and less. While a single year of poor harvest due to weather was plausible, a town failing to repay twenty years of taxes indicated a colossal problem.

Twenty years of tax arrears was deeply troubling. How could it have accumulated for so long? Owing a single year’s tax could be remedied by paying extra the next, but how does one fall behind by two decades?!

The man rummaged in his pocket and produced a tattered little notebook. I took it, flipping through the pages, and was utterly stunned by the annual tax rate of 40%. I would have believed it was a predatory loan shark company.

What could a town government hope to collect with such an exorbitant 40% interest rate? Even if the goal was to extract wealth, such a method was bound to cause problems. Only the most foolish lord would attempt to bleed the common folk dry. How much money could the people possibly have? How wealthy could one become by exploiting them?

“This has already become a lost cause.”

With a flick of my wrist, I tossed the ledger into the distant fireplace. I ran a hand through my hair in exasperation. “Are you truly unwilling to take back these provisions? Even if I destroy these records and have no intention of collecting further?”

“Then… what about this year’s taxes?” he stammered, staring at my actions in shock. “How much should be collected? And how should the previous taxes be calculated? Moreover, I don’t have any income ledgers… How… how can this be distributed?”

He stared at what I had done, utterly stunned, trembling too much to speak.

I scratched my head, then asked, “What’s the town’s financial situation now? Where is the money?”

“The money… it’s long gone…”

“Who are you trying to fool? Twenty years of poor harvests, yet taxes were still collected every year. Where did all that money go? Are you telling me you paid taxes with food and wood?”

“It was… it was taken long ago. No taxes were collected this year…”

“…Who exactly was your previous lord?”

“It was… it was the army… the army…”

I understood then. It seemed this place had once been a front line, and an army, far from the emperor’s reach, had plundered all the currency. This meant the town now faced a dire situation: the lord had no money, the people had no money, and the entire settlement was like stagnant water.

Forget attracting investment; merely conducting trade would be a challenge.

However, without currency, there could be no trade. Was I expected to resort to bartering? What would differentiate us from primitives then?

I needed to devise a way to create some form of money, and this currency had to possess absolute value. After all, coins themselves were merely metal and paper; their true worth lay in the power of the state behind them and the tangible value of goods.

So, for my current predicament, what could I use to compensate for the lack of currency?

Then, it struck me.

In a time of food scarcity, the most solid commodity was, unequivocally, food itself. With the current provisions stored within the lord’s house, it became clear that food represented the most reliable tangible value. Money was merely a carrier for this material economy—a carrier for these provisions.

A sudden realization dawned upon me.

Or rather, as a Chinese person, why hadn’t I thought of it sooner?

“Grain…”

I abruptly reached out and gripped the man’s shoulders, speaking loudly. “Tell me, tell me, how much flour does it take to make one loaf of bread? How many loaves does one person need per day to meet their basic requirements?”

“This… this… roughly… roughly… one person… five hundred ‘pu’, five hundred ‘pu’ per person per day should be fine…”

“Alright then.”

I clapped my hands. “Then you’ll come here for a while. And, call everyone… er… actually, never mind. Call them to the open ground near the town entrance. I have something I need to tell everyone. Understood?”

“Yes… I understand… Should I notify everyone?”

“Of course. This matter concerns your lives from now on.”

The man nodded, still looking puzzled, then promptly left the house. Meanwhile, I scoured the entire room, and when I couldn’t find what I needed, I simply tore a bedsheet.

Vilya and Lia watched me, puzzled. I cleared the table, then spread the bedsheet across it. Turning to them, I said, “Come, both of you. Unfortunately, I need two helpers. Please assist me in cutting this bedsheet into small strips of roughly equal size. Then, write the numbers 50 and 100 on them, and finally, use something of Vilya’s to leave a distinguishing mark.”

“What is this for…?”

Vilya asked, her expression perplexed.

I looked at her, a light chuckle escaping my lips. “This, my dear, is grain.”