Returning home, Liang Qu cleaned out his rice jar, heated some water, and poured it in to mix.
After ensuring the water was just right, he jumped in, scrubbed with soap, and relished a thorough bath.
Although he often swam, the absence of soap left him feeling incomplete.
At fifteen or sixteen, his metabolism was vigorous, leaving his hair constantly greasy from martial practice, longing for a refreshing cleanse.
During the process, Liang Qu discovered a clever trick with water flow.
After soaping himself, he controlled the water to rinse away the suds, eliminating the need to change the water, conserving both effort and time.
At night, he laid down on newly purchased bedding and slept soundly.
For several days, his routine remained unchanged.
He’d head out on the boat, practice martial arts, rely on Fatty Catfish to catch fish, and return by evening pretending to have fished all day while secretly amassing another six silver coins through valuable catches.
Perhaps the restful sleep aided him.
His martial practice had become more energetic and his efficiency noticeably improved.
"This blasted cold weather keeps getting worse," Liang Qu grumbled, snuggling deeper into his quilt, reluctant to leave his bed.
Reality differed starkly from stories where protagonists trained tirelessly.
In truth, unless one was a machine, weariness was inevitable—just training for three hours was admirable, exhausting even the best.
"The autumn tax is here! Everyone, head to the dock to deliver your grains!"
Just as Liang Qu was contemplating further sleep, a voice from outside jolted him awake.
The exact day of the tax wasn’t fixed—government officials decided within a few days’ range.
Hastily dressing, Liang Qu stepped outside to witness people from every household transporting grain to the dock.
“Why not just collect silver? Now I have to carry over two hundred pounds of rice myself,” he muttered, resigning himself to the task.
Shuttling back and forth, he carried his share in stages.
Luckily, at the dock, he spotted Li Libo’s family and asked them to oversee his grain, before making another trip to fetch the rest.
“How’s your progress in the martial hall?” Liang Qu asked, looking at Li Libo.
Sighing, Li Libo responded, “Just started learning Tiger Fist after Ape Fist. Barely keeping up with you.”
Liang Qu patted his shoulder, uncertain of how to console him.
“Why haven’t you been coming these days?” Li Libo queried.
“Preparing for the autumn tax. There’s no one else to help me,” he explained.
“Oh.”
“Ah Shui, please look after my boy,” an elderly man, Li Dakang, interjected.
Li Libo had shared tales of Liang Qu’s martial prowess and roots, as well as his victory over the Wang brothers.
“Of course, I will,” Liang Qu assured him, the scene feeling eerily similar to moments from his school days.
"Next up! Chen Jiechang!"
At the dock, the village chief called names from a household register.
Next to him, the township clerk sat poised, jotting notes with a brush.
Nearby officials kicked the grain scales, causing precise amounts of grain to spill over, alarming the farmers.
One naïve soul tried to collect the fallen grains, only to be reprimanded. “Leave it! It’s unavoidable wastage!” The official kicked him aside, dismissing him.
This brutal act, known as "Waste Kicking," involved stacking grain in a pointed pile, ensuring some spilled over when officials kicked it, leaving the villagers to cover any shortfall.
Essentially, it shifted transport risks to the people, allowing officials to embezzle if losses were minimal.
“Seems worse this year, good thing we prepared extra,” Li Libo remarked nervously, adding, “Becoming a Martial Master would solve our problems; not only is there a tax exemption, but you can earn money, nearly rivaling an honored scholar.”
“Yesterday in Peaceful Sun Town, with several martial artists present, not a single official dared kick them,” he laughed discreetly.
But before finishing, his father landed a swift kick on him. “Watch your mouth! Be quiet!” Li Libo shut his mouth, meekly.
The long line inched forward, interspersed with cries from people unable to pay, only to face whipping and conscription into forced labor eventually.
Witnessing the grim scene, Liang Qu felt helpless.
All his savings amounted to a mere six silver coins and one and a half stones of rice.
Silently waiting his turn, he promptly handed over his grain, seeing a sizable kick reduce it.
Quietly, he brought more to compensate.
Liang Qu wasn’t foolish enough to bring all two hundred pounds at once; seeing the shortage and supplying more fueled official avarice rather than praise for efficiency.
Once his dues were settled, he relaxed a bit seeing the register marked next to his name.
Thankfully, the officials didn’t count his deceased "father" into the numbers, as expected.
Collecting his belongings, Liang Qu pushed through the crowd to return home.
But halfway through, a cry stopped him, accompanied by the crack of a whip.
"Lousy fool! You've smeared my legs with your snot!"
Assuming it was another unfortunate soul, Liang Qu turned to see the victim was Chen Qingjiang’s father, Chen Renxing!
Something was amiss.
Hadn't Uncle Chen brought enough grain earlier? That should have sufficed.
Urgently, Liang Qu tugged at Li Libo, “Brother Li, fetch the remaining three dou of rice from my home.”
Startled but understanding the urgency, Li Libo nodded and quickly headed back.
Meanwhile, Chen Qingjiang shielded his father, pleading for leniency. “It’s not that we refuse to pay, but circumstances left us penniless. My youngest hasn’t even turned seven!”
Earlier judgment errors had forced Chen Qingjiang’s family to bring two stones and six dou of rice for five family members.
But the aggressive kick left them with a seven-dou shortfall and even counted his six-year-old as eligible for tax—a mere three dou, but still crucial.
Chen Qingjiang had anticipated some discrepancy, preparing three dou extra, yet the impossibility of covering the entire deficit loomed.
“Are you calling me unjust?” the official sneered.
“No, not at all! Just asking for a few more days. We'll make up the difference!” Chen Qingjiang grovelled, his son Chen Shun crying beside him.
Spectators remained silent, none daring to intervene; who could afford such generosity?
Annoyed by Chen Shun’s cries, the official threatened to whip him again.
Liang Qu dashed forward, pulling the child behind him, and placated, “Be calm, sir. Uncle Chen just forgot about some rice at home. We'll fetch it now.”
Li Libo promptly arrived, hauling a rice sack, and emptied three dou into the scale.
Sneering, the official demanded, “Still short by four dou.”
Liang Qu presented his six silver coins, smiling apologetically. “We’re truly pressed for time, unable to buy more rice. Consider these an offering.”
Seeing no real loss of grain but a face-saving opportunity, the official accepted, “Fine, but don’t let it happen again.”
“Absolutely. Thank you for your leniency.”
Liang Qu sighed in relief, assisting Chen Qingjiang in supporting his father and holding Chen Shun’s hand as they departed under the scrutinizing eye of the official.
(End of Chapter)