My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 12: The Labor Ledger

The Accounts Room sat on the sheltered side of the slope, built of stacked stone slabs with three big rocks holding down the roof. The door panel stood open. Inside, it was darker than outside and smelled of stone dust and damp. There was one long table, and on it a register, its blue cloth corners frayed from wear.

Zheng Tie sat behind the table, a string of copper coins in his hand, halfway through counting. At his feet, a wooden box lay open, rows of coin strings stacked neatly, all the rope ends facing the same way.

He glanced up.

”Who are you looking for?”

”Xu Yan, Qingya Sect.”

”Qingya.” Zheng Tie set the coin string back in the box and wound the rope end around twice to hold it down. ”That Qingya up in town. The one about to fall apart.”

”Yes.”

”You the accountant?”

”The Sect Master.”

Zheng Tie looked him up and down. He laughed, though not at him exactly: ”Qingya still has a Sect Master.”

Xu Yan let that pass.

”How much does Shi Po owe the yard?”

”Three hundred wen.”

”What three hundred wen?”

”He eats and sleeps on the yard. Three meals a day, and the man eats for three. Last month he broke a chisel, and a new chisel costs money to forge.”

”How much for one chisel?”

”A hundred wen.”

”He broke it.”

”His hand slipped.” Zheng Tie pushed his sleeves up. ”A chisel takes three heats before itʼs forged. A hundred wen isnʼt much.”

”The food.”

”Three months, two hundred wen.”

”Taken out of his wages.”

”Taken out of his wages.” Zheng Tie leaned against the tableʼs edge. ”Put down three hundred wen and take the man with you. Qingya needs people, and so does my slope. I wonʼt stop you.”

”Iʼm not paying his three hundred wen.”

Zheng Tieʼs eyes narrowed. ”Then what do you want?”

”I want to see the labor ledger.”

”What?”

”The one on the table.”

Zheng Tie laid his hand over it, his palm covering half the cover. ”Thatʼs the yardʼs ledger.”

”I want to see it.”

”Who do you think you are?”

Xu Yan didnʼt ask twice. He moved his back basket to the wall and stood there.

Seeing he wasnʼt leaving, Zheng Tie found more to say: ”That ledger records the people and money of this yard. Iʼm the steward. Who sees it is my call.”

”How are wages recorded?” Xu Yan asked.

”By the workday. Five wen a day.”

”How many workdays does Shi Po get?”

Zheng Tie paused. ”One.”

”The old man keeping tally up on the slope said the yard records him for two.”

”The old man scratches his marks. I keep my own records.”

”What does the ledger say?”

”The ledger says what I write.”

”Then I want to see it.”

Zheng Tie slid the register half an inch toward himself, his hand still on it. ”Qingyaʼs about to fall apart, and here you are settling other peopleʼs accounts. Youʼd do better to settle your own sectʼs books.”

”Iʼve already settled my own.”

The doorway darkened. Shi Po went past outside, a stone slab on his back, shoulders pushed forward, the rope ends gripped in his hands. As he crossed the threshold, he turned his head, saw Xu Yan, and didnʼt stop. The slabʼs edge scraped along the doorframe, leaving a streak of white dust.

Xu Yan stepped back half a pace to let him pass.

The room went quiet for a moment.

”On the sixth, you sat at the base of the slope all day. Today youʼre back.” Zheng Tie said. ”Thirty-some workers here, and you donʼt ask about a single one. You just watch.”

”I watched him carry thirty-one loads up the slope in one day.”

”Thirty-one loads, then he must be eating three extra meals.” Zheng Tie laughed. ”If you really wanted to help him, youʼd tell him to eat less.”

Xu Yan looked at him, said nothing, and left the Accounts Room.

At the top of the slope, the sun was white and blinding. The tally-keeping old man sat on an overturned stone trough, bamboo slips spread across his knees, his thumbnail scraping down the surface of one.

”These past three months, has he missed a day?”

The old man thought it over. ”No. Even in the rain, he comes. Hauling stone.”

”How many workdays a day?”

”The yard records him for two. He carries a whole slab by himself—takes two men to lift the same thing.”

”Who records the wages?”

”The Accounts Room.” The old man squared the bamboo slips. ”I just scratch marks.”

At noon he ate flatbread at the base of the slope. The thin craftsman from the hauling crew squatted down, laid his carrying pole across his knees, and studied him for a while.

”You know how to do accounts?”

”A little.”

”In the third month, I took two days of leave. I was on the yard both days, but they still docked my pay.”

”How many days did they dock?”

”Two. But I was right here on the slope both days.” The thin craftsman wiped his hands on his trousers. ”I went to ask the steward, and he said the ledger says so.”

”Did you look at it?”

”I canʼt read.”

Xu Yan took a bite of flatbread and chewed slowly.

”Which days in the third month were you here?”

”The twenty-second and twenty-third. My old woman came by to drop off shoes.”

Xu Yan pulled paper and brush from his back basket and wrote the two days down. The thin craftsman watched him write, his throat working.

”Is writing that down any use?”

”Tomorrow, be on the yard.” Xu Yan said. ”Iʼll read the ledger, and you stand there and listen.”

In the Monkey hour, he started back. The road between Mountain Gate and the quarry was familiar now after two trips, and the soles of his shoes had worn thin. He got back before dark. Qian Duoduo stood at the kitchen door with a bowl of soup, asked if he was going down the mountain again tomorrow. He said yes. Qian Duoduo said, Iʼll make you some dry rations in the morning.

In the Accounts Room, he lit the lamp and kept his usual accounts: expenditure—extra lamp oil two wen, soup one bowl. In the margin, he added the saved coppers together: twenty wen, eight wen, two wen, two wen—thirty-two wen, followed by the same note as before: ”not yet one tael, holding.”

On a new line, he wrote: Sixth Month, Day 7, Labor Ledger.

Beneath it: One workday, five wen. Two workdays per day.

The brush stopped there. The next figures couldnʼt be worked out without the ledger, and the ledger was in someone elseʼs hands.

At the end of the line, he added: In front of witnesses.

On the eighth, he arrived earlier than the day before. The slope hadnʼt yet sent out its first cart of stone. A dozen or so craftsmen squatted in front of the stone shed, wrapping ropes and padding shoulder poles, the steam from the cook pots still hanging in the air. Shi Po was threading rope at the stone stack, not yet up the slope.

Xu Yan walked to the open ground in front of the shed, set down his back basket, and stepped up onto an overturned stone trough.

”Yesterday I asked Steward Zheng for the labor ledger. He wouldnʼt give it to me.”

The craftsmen looked up.

”A workday on this yard pays five wen. Steward Zheng says Shi Po is on one workday a day. The tally-keeper on the slope says two. I want to read the ledger out loud, in front of all of you, to see whatʼs actually written.”

”If any of you has wages that donʼt add up, stand here and listen. Iʼm not charging.”

A young man squatting by the wall grinned. ”Not charging?”

”Not charging.”

Zheng Tie came out of the Accounts Room, face dark. ”What are you all gathered for? Get to work.”

Nobody moved.

”You again.” He pointed at Xu Yan.

”The ledger.”

”I already told you yesterday.”

”You said who sees the ledger is your call.” Xu Yan said. ”Iʼm not asking to see it. Iʼm asking you to read a section out loud, in front of everyone. Read it and I leave.”

Zheng Tie stood still.

”Are you afraid Iʼll read it wrong, or afraid Iʼll read it right?”

The young man by the wall spoke first: ”Read it.” The man next to him joined in: ”Read it!”

Ten-some craftsmen found their voices all at once, and the slope echoed. Shi Po slung the rope ends over his shoulder and turned around.

Zheng Tie swept his eyes across their faces. He turned into the Accounts Room, came back out, and slapped the register down on the stone trough. ”Read. Get one figure wrong, and Iʼll throw you off this yard.”

The register wasnʼt thick. One page per day, one line per man, with columns across: name, workdays, wages. Xu Yan squatted, opened the register flat on the trough, and flipped through page by page. He didnʼt go over anything twice. Each page turned, a line came out.

”Second month, twenty-eighth. Shi Po. Two workdays. Five wen.”

”Second month, twenty-ninth. Two workdays. Five wen.”

By the time he got to the fourth month, the craftsmen had gone silent. Wind blew grit across the page, and he brushed it off with a fingertip and kept reading. The charcoal came from beside the stove firebox. He wrote the numbers on a nearby stone slab, and when one side filled up, he wiped it clean with his sleeve and started again.

The sun climbed to the top of the slope. He half-closed the register, pressed his hand into the seam, and looked up.

”The workday column: two workdays a day, not one missed. The wage column: five wen a day.”

”Two workdays is ten coins. Five wen short each day. Over these hundred days, Iʼve added the wage column three times. Five hundred wen. The workday column should pay out one thousand.”

”Five hundred wen unrecorded.”

Shi Po came down the slope with a stone slab on his back, the rope biting into his shoulder. As he neared the rock pile, his steps slowed. He glanced toward the gathering, then turned and went back up.

Zheng Tieʼs hand pressed against the seam of his trousers. ”Two workdays. Iʼm the one who records him for two. Thirty-some men on this slope, and I record him for two.”

”Two workdays recorded, one workdayʼs wages paid.” Xu Yan said. ”Put those two together on one line and they donʼt match. If one line doesnʼt match, the whole book doesnʼt match.”

”Board and food, three months, two hundred wen. The chisel, one hundred.” He went on. ”Those two charges, Iʼm not touching. Five hundred minus three hundred.”

”The yard owes him two hundred wen.”

No one in front of the stone shed spoke. Then someone let out a low breath. The old craftsman splitting rope rested the rope end across his knees.

”For the first three months, new men are on half-shifts,” Zheng Tie said. ”Yard rules.”

”Which page of the ledger is that written on?”

”...Rules donʼt need to be written.”

”My first three months were full shifts,” the old craftsman put in. Zheng Tie looked at him. He pressed his lips shut, lowered his head, and went back to splitting rope.

”Mineʼs wrong too.” The thin craftsman set his pole down, his voice not loud. ”Third month, twenty-second and twenty-third. I was on the yard. Two days docked.”

Zheng Tie snatched the register back, shut it, and hugged it to his chest.

Xu Yan didnʼt try to grab it. He pulled his own account book from inside his robe, spread it open on the stone trough, and wrote in charcoal: Day 8, Labor Ledger, five hundred wen unrecorded. On a new line: Three hundred wen deducted. Below that: Two hundred wen owed.

Finished, he closed the ledger and tucked it back inside his robe.

Zheng Tie came over and scrubbed the numbers off the stone slab with the sole of his shoe—two swipes, reducing them to a smear of grey.

”Wiped it.” Xu Yan said. ”The numbers are with me.”

Zheng Tie shouted toward the back of the slope. Two big men came over from the material yard, one carrying a pry bar, the other empty-handed with a rope tied at his waist.

”Get this man off the yard.”

Shi Po let the rope slack from his shoulder. The slab dropped to the ground, landing on the loose stone with a thud. He walked over and stood in front of Xu Yan, not saying a word.

The two big men stopped two paces short.

The one with the pry bar looked at Shi Poʼs shoulder. His shirt was worn through there, and the skin underneath showed strap marks layered one over the next, dark blue. No one on the slope said anything. The wind blew grit into peopleʼs faces.

The man with the pry bar looked back at Zheng Tie. Zheng Tieʼs hands were tucked into his sleeves. He didnʼt move.

The pry bar went back onto the manʼs shoulder, and the two big men turned and walked away.

The craftsmen slowly dispersed. Some bent to pick up rope; some swung poles onto their shoulders, loose stones crunching underfoot.

”Two hundred wen.” Zheng Tie said through his teeth. ”Tomorrow.”

”Iʼll come by tomorrow.” Xu Yan said.

Shi Po glanced back at him once, then turned away, bent down, threaded the hemp rope under the slab, cinched it around the bottom edge, straightened, and headed up the slope.

Zheng Tie stood in the doorway of the Accounts Room, the register still clutched in his hand, the blue cloth corners creased from his grip. The dull pounding from the slope started up again, one impact pressing on the next.