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An ox cart swayed and rocked as it traveled along the official road, escorted front and rear by a dozen or so guards.
Since the intent was simply to "take a look," then one should merely look. Making a grand, ostentatious show of it would most likely result in seeing nothing at all. Thus, the only way was to come quietly and observe. Clever people often trust only themselves. What they see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears—that alone they count as truth. As for the words of others, those mostly serve only as supplementary information. Most of the time, they prefer only to listen more and watch more, and very seldom express any opinions. In their hearts, they even suspect that the vast majority of affairs harbor some hidden conspiracy.
"How strange!" Inside the ox cart, a middle-aged scholar, who had been reclining at an angle, suddenly called for the cart to halt. He lifted the curtain and peered down at the road beneath.
A remarkably smooth and even roadway stretched from beneath his feet into the far distance.
The scholar stepped down from the cart and walked to the roadside. His slender eyes swept left and right, taking in the scene. The official road had clearly been freshly leveled. Although it was not paved with grey bricks, it was exceptionally solid—likely having been pounded firm, then graded, rolled, and pounded firm once more. The past few days had been relatively dry, and when he stepped down, only a faint puff of dust rose, unlike most other roads where a single light step would send clouds of dust swirling into the air. No wonder the cart's movement had been far less jolting than expected. And the width of this official road...
The scholar narrowed his eyes until they were almost slits, gazing at the road as it stretched into the distance, and fell into a contemplative silence.
The width of the official road surface was at least close to forty paces! This was truly beyond expectation. Roads this wide had become a rarity nowadays.
The destructive power of war is the greatest of all, and even roads could not escape its calamity. This place had once been the Shang Commandery Road of the Qin dynasty. Setting out from Xianyang, it passed through Shang Commandery and directly connected to You Province. After reaching Liaodong, it turned southwest and finally ended at Lelang. It was a vital artery linking the central government, the Hetao region, and the Liaodong area during the Qin dynasty. On such imperial speedways, cavalry traveling six hundred li in a single day and night was considered the basic standard; in emergencies, they could cover eight hundred li. Originally, it should have been fifty paces wide, but the successive wars at the end of the Qin dynasty had inflicted tremendous damage, and even up to the present day, little had been done to restore it.
During the early Han, the economic conditions and the state's financial strength were far too weak. In fact, because of the severe shortage of horses in that period, even the Han Emperor lacked the ability to equip his own imperial carriage with horses of matching color, and many generals and ministers had to ride in ox carts. The Han economy did not recover until long afterward, and having long practiced the policy of non-interference, the state had never mobilized labor on a grand scale to rebuild the roads. During this interval, many stretches of road had been plowed under and converted into farmland—narrowed, or even entirely obliterated.
Furthermore, the enfeoffment system of the early Han had weakened the function of these roads. Imperial speedways were clearly designed for long-distance transport, for shifting troops and horses. Yet under the Han, the feudal lords long held sway over their respective territories with scant interaction between them. The common people across different fiefdoms had no need for large-scale, long-distance haulage of goods; transportation lines shortened, and thus, the necessity of refurbishing the speedways was lost. Of course, as the economy gradually recovered and the Han dynasty's finances grew more prosperous, that grandly ambitious figure, Emperor Wu of Han, poured all of it right back into the war against the Xiongnu. The extensive deployment of large cavalry forces also reduced the demand for carts and wagons, and thus, little money was ever allocated to restoring the roads.
A broad and level road was, naturally, exceedingly convenient for rapidly shifting military forces and transporting supplies between the areas on either side of it, and even between cities. But to repair and restore a road like this to such a state would require mobilizing a massive amount of civilian labor. To undertake a corvée project of such magnitude—was there no fear of sparking a popular uprising?
The scholar noticed several farmers weeding in the fields beside the road. He slowly walked over to the edge of the field, cupped his hands toward one of the older farmers, and asked, "May I venture to ask, venerable elder, what are the taxes and levies like in this region, and how are the labor services?"
The old farmer lifted his head and looked the scholar over. Gauging that he seemed to be someone of official standing, he did not hold much back and replied, "This year, because we used the government's oxen and horses to break new ground, we have to hand over an extra share of grain. So the land rent is five-tenths, and the tax is one-tenth... During the slack farming seasons of summer and winter, we owe one month of labor service each."
"Six-tenths in rent and tax combined—does the remaining grain suffice for a household's needs?" the scholar asked. The rent and tax were somewhat heavy, but for tenant farming, that was about the norm. The labor services, however, were comparatively light.
The Han dynasty's corvée system was quite complex. For an ordinary farming household, rent and tax were only collected once a year and were based on a fixed proportion of the field's output—in truth, not excessively burdensome. But corvée labor was a different matter; it often became a primary cause for farming households to go bankrupt. Under the Han system of civilian conscription, first came the state military service. In the first year, one served in the local commandery or county forces, responsible for public order and receiving training. In the second year, according to state assignment, one had to go to another region to perform military service—generally in areas that were relatively dangerous. Of course, the state military service was required only once in a man's lifetime. However, if war broke out, one still had to obey any subsequent conscription and could not resist. Garrison service meant serving on the frontier for a term of one year, though this could be commuted by a payment of silver cash.
The above were still relatively fixed corvée obligations. The non-fixed obligations—temporary labor assignments issued by the local commandery or county—included but were not limited to civil engineering projects, bridge-building and road repair, dredging river channels, and transporting grain by water. These were called "rotational labor," and they too could be offset by silver cash. In addition, the Han exempted certain people from corvée entirely: members of the imperial clan, the nobility, high-ranking officials with noble titles and their relatives; county and township Three Elders, and those selected as Paragons of Filial Piety and Fraternal Duty or Diligent Farmers; Erudite Disciples, those who had mastered one classic, and those granted special imperial decrees of exemption; those who had recently given birth to a son, or were in mourning; those temporarily exempted due to natural disasters or military calamities; those who had rendered meritorious service in river control, or the inhabitants of areas through which the Emperor had passed on an inspection tour, who were also granted temporary exemption. Great merchants or gentry clans could also purchase commoner noble ranks with silver cash, and by virtue of those ranks, be exempted from corvée. In this way, the burden of corvée in the Han dynasty fell entirely upon the farming households below the middle-income stratum. And then, of course, the vermin-like clerks and doggish runners at the grassroots level could manipulate things at will.
Hearing the scholar's question, the old farmer looked at the crops growing fairly well in the field. A smile spread across his deeply wrinkled face. "If the Old Man in the Sky is willing to look after us a bit, it should be manageable..."
"And this road... does it not require corvée labor?"
The old farmer gave a hearty laugh and said, "This was built by Xianbei slaves!" His expression carried a certain air of smug satisfaction. For so many years, they had constantly been raided, burned, killed, and plundered by the Hu. Now, to see the once fierce and overbearing Xianbei reduced to hard labor—ah, in his heart, he naturally felt a faint, gratified pleasure.
"And those Xianbei slaves actually obey?" the scholar asked. To actually be using Xianbei people to build roads! The Hu were known for their savagery, their ignorance of reason, their refusal to be transformed by civilization or submit to discipline. Was there no resistance?
The old farmer chuckled slyly. "The Hu are people too. They all have one head and one mouth... Sir, if you travel a bit further ahead, you'll see for yourself..."
The scholar gave an acknowledging murmur, then drew out a few Wuzhu coins from his bosom and placed them at the edge of the field. "Thank you, old sir, for resolving my uncertainties. I take my leave."
The old farmer watched the scholar walk away, then glanced at the Wuzhu coins left by the edge of the field. He shook his head, casually scooped the few coins into his own robe, and muttered something under his breath.