Ordinary folks usually had to bow and scrape when they saw someone like Mr. Sullivan, a bowman with no rank or title—how could they ever dream of speaking to a proper seventh-rank judge? Instantly terrified, their faces turned deathly pale as they hid behind the firewood gate, bowing frantically. Only after Mr. Sullivan and his little apprentice had walked far away did they spit fiercely on the ground and mutter under their breath, “What a show-off. Isn’t he just a bowman? And he got the job by selling his own sister! Who does he think he is? Just wait till the day I make it big…”

Halfway through cursing, he looked up at the ramshackle thatched hut before him and couldn’t help but sigh softly, “Ah—this world—”

This world really doesn’t let people live! First, the Yuan Dynasty had a prime minister named Bayan, who turned everything upside down, imposed harsh taxes, and squeezed the common people so hard they didn’t even have enough food for the next day. Finally, Bayan fell from power, replaced by his nephew Toqto’a, who came up with new ways to print money every day. The denominations kept getting bigger, but what you could buy with them kept getting less. Three years ago, one string of cash could buy twenty dou of rice; now, you can’t even get one dou. Yet the court turned a deaf ear to the people’s cries, printing new notes as soon as the old ones ran out.

Think about it: ordinary families worked themselves to the bone all year just to save a little money. But after all this back-and-forth from the government, their homes were stripped bare in an instant. Meanwhile, the officials, clerks, and even bowmen, white-collar workers, and jailers like Mr. Sullivan—who wormed their way into the bureaucracy—took advantage of every round of turmoil to fatten themselves up, their bellies full of grease. (Note 3)

No wonder people said that if you pulled anyone out of the yamen and stuffed a straw wick in their mouth, you could light them up and use them as a torch. Stick a pole up their rear and stand them at the crossroads in Xuzhou, and they’d keep the whole city lit for three or four months! Harsh as it sounds, it’s not far from the truth.

As for the ways officials made money, their tricks were endless. There was “festival money,” “flower money,” “birthday money,” “regular money,” “favor money,” “dispatch money,” “official business money”… Slicing meat off a heron’s leg, scraping oil from a mosquito’s belly.

Take the kitchen knives in ordinary households, for example! When Prime Minister Bayan was in power, he strictly forbade Han Chinese families from owning even an inch of metal. But people still had to cut vegetables and cook, right? So the “kind-hearted” registrar Mahama came up with a “solution” for the people: all knives in the city were confiscated by the government and engraved with serial numbers. People were allowed to rent them back for home use, with clear prices based on the knife’s age, size, and length—fair for all, young and old. Rent was collected monthly, called “knife-sharpening money.” Only loose copper coins were accepted—no large-denomination Zhizheng paper notes!

Just this one item brought the government 1,400 to 1,500 strings of copper coins every month from over 70,000 households in Xuzhou. The Mongol darughachi, the city’s top official, took thirty percent; the prefect, vice-prefect, judge, and other dignitaries took another thirty percent; then twenty percent was set aside for colleagues and hangers-on. In the end, registrar Mahama still pocketed over 280 strings—more than the official salary of a seventh-rank judge! And it was all in copper coins that wouldn’t depreciate, not worthless paper money.

As long as you were in government service, there was plenty of fat to be had. That’s why down-and-out scholars like Mr. Sullivan, though they felt it was beneath their dignity, still worked with great enthusiasm. But not every household let themselves be fleeced. At the second-to-last house on the street, a doorman in a long robe stepped out of a blue-brick courtyard, glared at Mr. Sullivan, and shouted, “What’s all this noise? Don’t you know how to keep it down? If you wake up our Third Young Master, you’ll be sorry!”

“Second Master, Second Master, what are you saying? How would I dare to deliberately disturb the Third Young Master!” Mr. Sullivan immediately changed his expression, wagging his tail like a lapdog as he sidled up, face full of smiles. “Isn’t it all that pauper Sesame Li’s fault? Instead of waiting quietly at home to die, he actually dared to incite a bunch of starving people to rebel! That’s why the judge ordered me…”

“I don’t care what your reason is, or who gave the order!” The doorman shot Mr. Sullivan a look from the corner of his eye and instructed with a curled lip, “Keep it down. The Third Young Master just fell asleep. If anyone wakes him up…”

“Wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t dare!” Before the doorman could finish, Mr. Sullivan had already, as if by magic, pulled a shiny silver bean from his sleeve and quickly slipped it into the doorman’s hand. “We commoners aren’t qualified to attend the Third Young Master’s full-moon banquet. But please, Second Master, help pass along this token of respect to Master Zhang. Just say…”

“All right, all right, all right!” The doorman deftly flicked his wrist, and the silver bean disappeared at once. “It’s not easy for you folks either. Just be more careful in the future! Hurry on to the next block—I’m busy here!”

With that, he turned and headed back inside. Seeing this, Mr. Sullivan quickly reached out and lightly tugged at the corner of his robe, “Second Master—”

“What, you want to confiscate our kitchen knife too?!” The doorman spun around, glaring angrily.

All the courage drained from Mr. Sullivan in an instant. He hunched over and explained loudly, “No, no, absolutely not! Second Master, you’ve misunderstood, really misunderstood. I just wanted to ask if there’s anything else we can do for your household. Like finding someone to clean the street, clear the drains—just say the word, Second Master…”