The Great Ming in the Box-Chapter 61: We Gained the Shelter of Dao Xuan Deity
Once inside the city, they were safe.
The two sculptors spoke first: “Third Lady, we two plan to go to the market for a walk.”
“Hmm, go ahead,” he replied. “Early in the morning tomorrow, gather at the city gates. We will go back together. Absolutely do not go back on your own. How dangerous the road is, you have seen for yourselves.”
The two sculptors nodded quickly. On the way here, they had nearly been killed by bandits; how could they dare to return on their own.
The two said they begged pardon, then picked up their small bags and headed straight to the market.
At that time, there was a great drought across the land, and the people’s livelihood withered. There were not many merchants at the market; some sold various chaotic equipment daily items, but few sold food, especially all sorts of side dishes and seasonings, which were almost never available.
The two sculptors spread out their bags in a corner of the market. They took out some of the fine goods given by the Deity and displayed them.
Once displayed, an amazing thing happened. A large crowd surged over with a roar.
“This… this is sugar! Snow-white transparent sugar!”
The white sugar bestowed by the Deity had been very large lumps, like crystal chunks. But the two sculptors were no fools; at home, they had crushed the large white sugar blocks into a powdered form. Yet this sugar, made with “modern techniques,” was far whiter than that from ancient methods; it clearly wasn’t the same kind of product.
The two sculptors raised their faces and laughed: “Fine goods, eh?”
“Give me one qian.”
“I want two qian.”
“I’ll take one qian too.”
The city commoners were much richer than those in the villages, but they still didn’t dare buy much. Forget buying by the jin; they wouldn’t even consider purchasing by the liang. They could only buy one or two qian to satisfy their cravings.
While one sculptor sold sugar with great excitement, the other drew a circle of people: “This of yours… is it lard?”
The sculptor answered: “Yes, indeed, top-grade lard. Smell it—nice and fragrant?”
“What times are these anymore? How do you even have lard?”
“People have nothing to eat. How could your family manage to raise pigs? What kind of household is this?”
Of course, the city folk couldn’t raise pigs themselves. The lard they usually ate came from being sold into the city by villagers. But ever since the drought began, pig-farming households grew fewer and fewer, almost vanishing.
These people hadn’t tasted the flavor of lard in ages.
“This… I’ll take three qian.”
“Give me five qian.”
Each person bought little, as the items were too costly. But so many buyers came that all the goods brought by the two sculptors sold out completely in no time. They transformed into two large bags of pieces of silver.
The two sculptors weighed the silver in their purses, thrilled beyond words. They then exchanged glances and exclaimed: “Now we can pay the ‘artisan registration fee’!”
As it turned out, these two sculptors, like Li Da, held artisan registration.
The difference was that Li Da was called “permanent workers,” while the two sculptors went by “rotating workers.”
The permanent workers had to operate under a “duty system,” ing punctually for working in government workshops. Their personal freedom was severely constrained. Therefore, Li Da was eager to shed his artisan registration.
The rotating workers, though, enjoyed more liberty. Once every three to five years, they took alternating shifts in government workshops, typically working for three straight months. This could then grant them a rest period of three to five years, making them relatively freer.
In the forty-first year of Jiajing, the court reformed the artisan service system by allowing rotating workers to skip duty entirely. Instead, they must pay an “artisan registration fee” of four qian and five fen annually. The court then used these funds to hire others for the working.
Previously, the two sculptors couldn’t afford the money, so they dutifully took their rotating shifts. But recently, blessed by the Deity, they acquired many valuable items at home. This stirred them to exchange the items for silver and use it to cover the “artisan registration fee.”
For that reason, the two of them risked death to follow Thirty-Two on a trip to the county town.
Now that the money had been exchanged, the pockets of both were full, and they were brimming with confidence; they could go to pay for their freedom.
The two strode proudly, chests out, walking as if with the wind, heads held high, heading toward the official workshop.
Inside the workshop, walking through the hall, all along the way, they encountered various artisans: carpenters, sawyers, tilers, blacksmiths, tailors, painters, bamboo workers, tinsmiths, typesetters, founders, screen makers, embroiderers, double-line workers, stonemasons, silversmiths, drum makers, armorsmiths, ink-kiln workers, barrel makers, multicolored painters, engravers, tanners, perfumers, clay sculptors, paper makers, glassmakers…
The official workshop held countless talented individuals, all masterful and dexterous experts.
These were people who saw each other every day, so most knew one another.
Spotting the two sculptors, they waved and greeted, “Hey, it’s you two? I recall you both just had your rotation last year; you shouldn’t be needed this year, so why are you here?”
The two sculptors smiled arrogantly, “We’ve earned some money, come to pay the artisan registration fee, heh heh heh.”
As soon as they spoke those words, they drew stares filled with envy and resentment.
Who wouldn’t want to pay for freedom?
But few could afford it.
The artisan registration holders were each poorer and more miserable than the last; never mind finding cash for the artisan registration fee, most had to mortgage their children just to scrape by.
Hearing that the two sculptors had actually made money to pay the “artisan registration fee,” a group couldn’t help but gather: “Where did you two strike it rich? Got any connections? Do tell us as well; we’re dying to hand over the ‘artisan registration fee’ and just skip away without looking back.”
The two sculptors weren’t fools; this was something to whisper in private, not shout before a crowd, so they chuckled, “We’ve gained the protection of Dao Xuan Deity.”
After saying that, without another word, they walked straight into the inner hall and met the steward artisan master.
“Artisan Master, we’re here to pay the artisan registration fee,” they said.
The artisan master was an old leader; he snorted through his nose, “How many years’ worth are you aiming to pay in one go? I must remind you both, you’re rotating workers with a three-year cycle. If you plan to miss the next rotation, you’ll need to pay a full three years’ fee upfront—that’s thirteen qian five fen—and that’s no small sum.”
The old leader had just finished speaking.
The two sculptors replied at once, “We’re paying for thirty years, so we won’t need to show for ten cycles, Artisan Master. Chances are, you’ll never set eyes on either of us again.”
“Pah!”
The old leader nearly sprayed out his tea: “Thirty years? That’s eight liang five qian of silver! How could you two paupers ever lay hands on eight liang five qian?”
The two stood stiff-backed, wearing a smugly confident smile; they reached into their robes, pulled out two large sacks, and slammed them onto the table with a jingling clatter of silver.
Just hearing that noise, the old man knew the bags held good.
Opening them to look, sure enough, they brimmed with pieces of silver; weighing them by hand, he knew it was more than enough, and he could skim some kickback for himself.
The old man was convinced; he yanked out a thick ledger, flipped to the page for “clay sculptors,” located their names, wrote in the margin, “Artisan registration fee paid in full for thirty years,” then marked the date and circled it.
The two sculptors took the receipt and boasted haughtily, “Artisan Master, let’s bid farewell here; for the rest of our lives, no more meetings.”
The old man waved a hand, unsure what to say; he could only watch as they strode away briskly and vanished outside the official workshop.
…
Officially, during the Ming Dynasty, their profession was called “clay sculptor”; for readers’ ease, they are called sculptors in this book. Many comparable instances will appear later; readers should note the distinction.
Chapter 61: We Gained the Shelter of Dao Xuan Deity
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