Chapter 208: Nalao Village

Chapter 208: Nalao Stockade

It was great that he could speak Chinese. Song Tingzhou saw that he could communicate fluently, obviously much better than his Zhuang, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Indeed, although the Zhuang people were the race among the three tribes that had the most contact with the Han people, in reality most Zhuang people still remained trapped in their stockades their entire lives, finding it extremely difficult to go outside.

What trapped them was the terrain, the customs passed down through generations, and their own hearts.

Song Tingzhou explained his purpose to the headman and showed him the official documents and his own token as Assistant Prefect.

The headman said, "I know there are assistant prefects in the prefectural city, but I'm illiterate and can't tell if it's real. You can go with me to Nalao Stockade to find our tribal elder."

Because the Zhuang stockades were connected one after another, by carriage, it took about half an hour to reach Nalao Stockade.

Nalao Stockade was located at the very center of the entire Zhuang stockade complex, nearly twice as large as Hibiscus Stockade. With such a size, one would expect more people and liveliness, but the people moving about outside were all elderly.

The tribal elder was a very old man, his face covered in deep furrows, with even more on his forehead. After hearing Song Tingzhou's purpose, he spoke slowly, his voice aged but calm: "If the lord wishes to investigate, go ahead, but please don't disturb the elderly resting in the stockade."

Song Tingzhou said in a calm voice, "Of course, please rest assured, Tribal Elder." He wanted to win the hearts of the people in these stockades to the imperial court; using force was a last resort, and a gentle approach was the purpose of this trip.

The Zhuang stockade complex was made up of hundreds of mountain stockades, so Song Tingzhou's census work would take a long time. The tribal elder arranged three stilted wooden houses for them on the edge of Nalao Stockade.

Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou stayed on the second floor of one three-story wooden house; Xue Sheng and Chu Ci stayed next door; on the third floor there was a small room for A Xun; the other yamen runners, clerks, and Chief Clerk Qiao occupied the other two wooden houses.

The carriages and horses were tied to nearby trees. They only took daily necessities and valuables upstairs, leaving the rest of the luggage in the carriages, which was still convenient to retrieve.

This bamboo house was probably covered in dust from being uninhabited for so long. Meng Wan opened all the windows in the house and used water brought back by Xue Sheng to wipe down the furniture. After getting his subordinates settled, Song Tingzhou returned and helped.

The space in the wooden house was not large; the bedroom they stayed in contained only a wooden bed, a bamboo-woven storage chest, a table woven from bamboo strips, and two bamboo chairs.

The two worked quickly and soon had the place tidy. Meng Wan placed a small cushion on the bamboo chair and sat down, very satisfied. "This chair would be just right for A Yan if it were two sizes smaller. Let's ask the stockade people if they have one for sale when we go back."

The people of the Zhuang stockade were very clever and skillful, with exquisite wood carvings on doors and windows. Meng Wan ran his hand over the back of the bamboo chair, neatly woven without a single stray fiber, and said thoughtfully, "Once the fruit preserves are done, we can seal them in glass jars and put them in bamboo-woven boxes. Bamboo is softer and more flexible than wood, which will cushion the jars during transport, and most importantly, it looks very attractive."

The more Meng Wan spoke, the more satisfied he became. Throughout Xi Wu Prefecture, there were many villages growing oranges, and he believed there would be more in the future. He wasn't short of the Murcott tangerines from the Zhuang stockade. But if he could develop the Zhuang stockade's handicrafts, that would be their inherent talent—every household in the stockade could weave and carve.

Song Tingzhou sat down next to Meng Wan, caught his wrist, smooth as white jade, and held it in his hand, letting out a satisfied sigh. "It's been hard on Wan'er, planning all this for me."

They had been married for many years and could understand each other with almost just a glance. Song Tingzhou had never asked Meng Wan how a xiaoge who should have known nothing knew so much; he understood almost instantly that Meng Wan was deliberately helping him strengthen ties with the Zhuang stockade people.

The two looked at each other in silence. The cold wind blew in from outside, lifting a few strands of hair by Meng Wan's ear. He was still wearing that Xiangyun hairpin, and the gaze he returned to Song Tingzhou was full of tender affection.

He understood him—

and he understood him too.

In the afternoon, the aroma of cooking wafted from the stockade, and their party had been hungry for a while. Surprisingly, Chief Clerk Qiao could cook too.

"Back in the day, I was forced out by Tong Ping at the county office; my family couldn't even keep food on the table. At that time, who cared whether men or women cooked?" Chief Clerk Qiao said freely to Meng Wan.

The ground floor of the wooden house was the kitchen. Right now, Meng Wan, Chief Clerk Qiao, and Tao Eleven were all busy in there.

They had brought three iron pots and various grains themselves, and conveniently each wooden house had a stove set up on the ground floor.

"Chief Clerk Qiao not only knows how to cook, but his cooking tastes better than mine," Tao Eleven said in a relaxed tone. He was the youngest of his brothers at home, with a lively personality and youthful energy. In contrast, Chu Ci, who was only a year younger than him, was mature beyond his years.

Meng Wan glanced at Tao Eleven a few more times, put the washed rice into the pot, then looked into the distance at Chu Ci, who was drying clothes with A Xun.

Chu Ci was fifteen this year, no longer the little Taoist priest who had once saved Meng Wan.

Now he was already a bit taller than Meng Wan, and his eyes were no longer as dead and lifeless as when he was a child. As he listened to A Xun, he would occasionally gesture with one hand, or just smile and watch him.

As if noticing Meng Wan looking at him, Chu Ci gestured a couple of times to A Xun, then picked up an empty basin and came over to Meng Wan.

"What's wrong?" He made a gesture.

Meng Wan smiled and shook his head. "Nothing. Once the clothes are dry, go play with A Xun. I'll call you when it's time to eat."

Seeing that someone was helping Meng Wan in the kitchen, Chu Ci nodded, placed the empty basin on the wooden rack, and walked out.

There were many of them, and most were strong, able-bodied men. The three of them busy in the kitchen first cooked three large pots of thick rice porridge. After ladling it out, Meng Wan then baked three pans of flatbreads.

In the meantime, the pickled bamboo shoots prepared by Chief Clerk Qiao and Tao Eleven served as a simple side dish. When traveling, having enough to eat was already good enough; even the Assistant Prefect's family ate the same, so no one had any complaints.

Moreover, all the rice, flour, vegetables, and oil were brought by Meng Wan—the rice was polished, the flour was fine. It was a private subsidy for the yamen staff's meals, and everyone felt indebted to Meng Wan.

At night, everyone ate and drank their fill and rested. Early the next morning, Song Tingzhou left two yamen runners to accompany Chu Ci and A Xun up the mountain to gather herbs, while he took Chief Clerk Qiao and the others to find the tribal elder.

Next, he would go from stockade to stockade conducting a census. If any had died, they would be removed from the rolls; those not registered would be recorded and a new registry created. It was a very tedious task.

Meng Wan also had his own matters to attend to. He hired a Zhuang person who could speak Chinese as an interpreter in Nalao Stockade. After asking for directions to Nagan Stockade, he had Xue Sheng drive the carriage to take him and the interpreter there.

The location of Nagan Stockade was somewhat remote. Xue Sheng drove the horse for one and a half hours before finally finding the right place. Along the way, Meng Wan noticed that most of the Zhuang stockade people walking outside were elderly.

He asked the interpreter about this and learned that at this season, the grain in the stockade had already been harvested, and the able-bodied young men had all gone hunting in the mountain forests, so they rarely stayed at home during the day.

As for the women and xiaoge, they all stayed at home weaving cloth.

"All of them?" Meng Wan was quite surprised.

The interpreter was named Wei Kai, forty years old. In his youth, he had been a skilled hunter and farmer in the stockade, but unfortunately a wild animal had bitten off one of his legs.

He touched the empty trouser leg on his left side and said with a tone full of gratitude, "Yes, a Secretariat Director came out from Nagan Stockade. Thanks to him, the women and xiaoge in our stockade can supplement their families, and in recent years, there have been far fewer children dying of starvation in the stockade."

From his words, Meng Wan learned that the plight of the mountain stockades was far greater than that of the Han villagers outside.

They lived by the mountains and relied on them for sustenance. Although they had been forcibly annexed by the Yu Kingdom and learned to grow rice, the mountainous terrain with dense forests made it difficult to achieve large-scale harvests.

Adding to that, the imperial court levied various taxes every year. It could be said that their current life was not as good as before they were subjugated by the Han, which was why they had always harbored hostility toward the Han.

From this perspective, this Master Tan was indeed a great benefactor who did not forget his hometown and, after becoming prosperous, still knew how to help his own people.

As a merchant who had started from nothing and now achieved some success, Meng Wan casually asked, "How many wen does Master Tan pay per bolt of cloth collected from the stockade?"

Wei Kai had not been in contact with outsiders for many years; upon hearing the question, he said without any caution, "Eighty wen per bolt of cloth!"

Meng Wan mentally calculated: the most common coarse cotton cloth sold at outside cloth shops for around 150 to 200 wen per bolt. Buying at 80 wen was still a fair price. Ordinary people weaved at different speeds; taking a middle value, it took about ten to fifteen days or so.

"Earning eighty wen in ten-odd days is acceptable," Meng Wan said, playing with his jade pendant. He somewhat approved of Master Tan's practice.

Since he knew how to help his fellow clansmen, his character must be decent. Meng Wan wanted to open up commerce in Xi Wu Prefecture and needed to join forces with local merchants to plan; after the New Year, he could approach the Tan family.

Just as he thought that, he saw Wei Kai shake his head. "Ten days? It's not that easy. My elder brother's daughter takes fifty days to weave one bolt of cloth!"

"Fifty days for one bolt of cloth?" Meng Wan couldn't help raising his voice, which startled Wei Kai, who asked cautiously, "What's wrong with fifty days per bolt?"

"Nothing." Meng Wan suppressed his doubts. The Zhuang stockade people were self-sufficient; they wove and made their own clothes. Surely their weaving speed was not slower than that of female weavers? Why would it take so long to weave a bolt of cloth?

Fearing that asking too deeply might alert Wei Kai, he did not continue questioning and only kept this matter in mind, planning to inquire among different people when he returned to Nalao Stockade.

It was easy to tell the Nagān Stockaded Village apart from the others, as both sides of its main gate were planted with groves of orange trees. The Murcott oranges would not fully ripen until the second month of the following year, so they were still small and had not yet developed a layer of white frost.

Seeing the promising oranges on the trees, Meng Wan couldn't help feeling happy, like a landlord seeing his wheat heavy in the fields.

"Who are you people!" There was no one guarding the gate of the Nagān Stockaded Village, but nearby there were Zhuang people from the village. They rarely left the village for decades at a time, so they were both curious and wary of strangers.

Wei Kai jumped off the cart, walked over, and spoke to them in Zhuang. After a while, he called out to Xue Sheng to drive the cart inside and follow them.

As soon as they entered the Nagān Stockaded Village, several men with white cloth wrapped around their waists were going door to door knocking.

Meng Wan couldn't understand what they were saying, but he saw each of them carrying a bamboo basket. When they knocked on someone's door, they'd exchange a few words with the homeowner, then take out paper money from the basket and hand it over. The homeowner would ask a few questions in return, then fetch a white cloth strip from inside the house and place it in the basket.

Wei Kai looked annoyed. He rattled off something to their guide, almost scolding him.

The guy looked confused, mumbled a defense, and ran off.

Confused, Meng Wan asked Wei Kai, "Did you find out where Dalun lives?"

Wei Kai grimaced. "I found out, but we've walked right into their mourning period. Now we'll have to stay in the Nagān Stockaded Village for at least four days."

This meant someone had died in the village. According to Zhuang custom, if you entered the village during a period of mourning and saw the announcement bearers, you have to give them a white cloth and stay for the whole funeral before you can leave. Otherwise, it's considered disrespectful to the dead.

Meng Wan was stunned. What a coincidence—they'd barely entered the village and someone had died.

But Wei Kai probably wasn't lying. As they spoke, two announcers spotted the cart and came over stone-faced. They grabbed a handful of spirit money from their baskets and gave it to Wei Kai and Xue Sheng, who were nearest.

After asking Wei Kai a couple of questions, they also offered a handful to Meng Wan in the carriage.

"Meng Fulang, you got any white cloth? If not, I can buy some from a neighbor to give to the announcers," Wei Kai said cautiously to Meng Wan.

He was working for Meng Wan. Who'd have guessed they'd run into this? Folks are already superstitious about death announcers, even more so merchants.

Meng Wan's cart had several crates with all kinds of odds and ends. He opened one and found a few plain white handkerchiefs. He asked Wei Kai through the window, "Will these work?"

Wei Kai sighed with relief. Better to avoid borrowing or buying mourning cloth. "As long as there's no other color."

They didn't. Most of Meng Wan's handkerchiefs were plain, rarely embroidered. When Bi Yun was alive, she'd embroider sometimes, but now that he's married, the household is run by Huang Ye, who definitely doesn't have that skill.

Meng Wan passed cloths to Wei Kai and Xue Sheng. Following what they'd seen earlier, each placed a cloth into the announcers' baskets.

The guy took their mourning cloth, said something to Wei Kai expressionlessly, and moved on to the next house.

"Meng Fulang, what did you say the person's name was?" After the announcement bearers left, Wei Kai suddenly asked.

A bad feeling crept over Meng Wan. "Nagān Stockaded Village, Dalun," he repeated.

Wei Kai swallowed hard. "The announcer just said that the one who died in their house is Dalun."