“Since you know this is the law of the land, you should also know that after serving your labor duty, you can offset next year’s summer tax. So, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Now that you’ve established your own household, I have no choice but to treat you as an adult.”

Old Reed grew anxious. Every winter there was corvée labor, and the work was always either hauling stones or carrying earth to reinforce the city—absolutely not something someone as small as Henry Clark could endure. Just as he was about to speak, he saw Chief Foster pull a thin ledger from his chest and hand it to Henry Clark, saying, “It’s inevitable that you’ll have to do labor; no one can help you with that. But as for what kind of work you do at the site, I can make some adjustments. Since you’re someone who’s studied, and our dynasty has always favored scholars—especially since Mianzhou is such a remote place with so few literate people—if you can check this ledger within an hour, I’ll have you manage the food accounts at the worksite. You won’t have to do manual labor, but it’ll still count as fulfilling your duty. What do you think?”

Henry Clark took the ledger from Chief Foster, flipped through it, and immediately felt at ease. He had thought it would be the legendary four-column account book, which would require knowing the old balances and new income, and only by subtracting expenses from the actual amounts would it be complete. But what he held was just a running account, full of errors like “three sevens are twenty-eight”—clear evidence of corruption. Henry Clark gave a slight chuckle and, under Old Reed’s anxious gaze, began to mentally calculate these simple accounts.

Chapter 9: The Accountant

“There’s a total expenditure of fifty-six strings and seven hundred thirty-five coins, with three mosquito nets, eleven hoes, three thousand jin of lime, four hundred jin of coarse charcoal, eighty jin of bamboo charcoal still in storage, as well as two jars of glutinous rice wine, two loads of brown rice, and twenty-five eggs. Chief Foster, that’s all this ledger records. I don’t know the unit prices of these items, so I can’t verify them. Please forgive me.”

Henry Clark closed the ledger and respectfully handed it back to Chief Foster with both hands. Old Reed was so overjoyed he could hardly sit still, while Chief Foster simply sipped his wine, paying no attention. Henry Clark remained bowed, waiting for Chief Foster to speak.

Not until he finished his bowl of wine did Chief Foster finally look up at Henry Clark and say, “Didn’t find any mistakes? We’re all rough men here; sometimes we make errors in the accounts. You’re a scholar—didn’t you notice anything wrong?”

Henry Clark refilled Chief Foster’s wine bowl and respectfully placed it before him, saying, “You only asked me to check this ledger, not to audit the accounts. If you want me to review the accounts, I’ll do it right away.”

The bearded Chief Foster burst out laughing, giving Old Reed a hearty slap on the shoulder. “You old dog, you’re lucky! A clever kid like this coming out of your village—no wonder your place is thriving.

I gave the same ledger to that Huo kid from Guangling Village, and he actually pointed out mistakes in my bookkeeping and wanted to help me redo the accounts. Damn it, I, Old Liu, have been a constable for two generations—would I not know that three sevens are twenty-one? If I didn’t write it as twenty-eight, where would the money for my men’s wine come from? Even the county magistrate wouldn’t question a ledger like this. Some barely literate fool dares to look down on me—he’s read himself stupid. Let him sober up by hauling stones in the rain.

A man in his twenties doesn’t understand the ways of the world as well as a little kid. Old Reed, I’m giving you face. It’s settled—the kid will take the job. Have him come find me at the worksite tomorrow; the bookkeeping is his. What’s his name again? Odd surname.”

Henry Clark cupped his hands again and said, “My surname is Yun, given name Zheng.”

Chief Foster stood up and put on his rain cape. The other officers followed suit, getting ready to leave. Old Reed did his best to persuade them to stay for dinner, but Chief Foster declined, saying it was late and he was worried about making it back to Dousha Pass.

At the door, he looked at Henry Clark meaningfully and said, “There’s not much to skim from the food accounts. After everyone takes their cut, there’s barely enough left to fill your belly. Kid, eat your fill, and it’s normal to bring a bite home for your siblings. But if your hands get dirty, beware of heaven’s thunder striking you.”

Henry Clark smiled, held out his hands to Chief Foster, and said, “Thank you for your advice, sir. Look at these hands—up to now, though I chop wood every day, they’ve never been stained with filth. I hope that when I die, they’ll still be this clean.”

Chief Foster took a lotus leaf bundle from his chest, placed it in Henry Clark’s hands, and said with a smile, “Interesting kid, not bad. Here’s half a chicken as a reward. Even the emperor doesn’t let his soldiers go hungry.”

Before Henry Clark could refuse, Chief Foster shouted, led the officers downstairs, mounted his ridiculous Yunnan pony, and disappeared into the misty drizzle.

Henry Clark supported Old Reed, saw Chief Foster off, and returned to the bamboo house. This time, the atmosphere inside was no longer as tense as before. Ethan Reed, Little Mouse, and three women all crowded around, chattering nonstop. Only Little Mouse stared at the lotus leaf bundle, drooling.

Henry Clark unwrapped the oiled paper, tore the half chicken apart, and handed the breast meat to Old Reed with both hands. Old Reed laughed heartily and took it to eat. Henry Clark tore off the drumstick, wrapped it in a lotus leaf to take back for Jack Clark, and gave all the remaining chicken to the impatient Little Mouse.