Chapter Forty-Five: Perpetual Tenancy

Buying land in Laomiao Village.

Perhaps for most people of this era, this was perfectly normal.

Laomiao Village had land but no people; whether by the river or not, fields of all kinds totaling over five thousand mu, with only a dozen or so villagers left to decide the fate of the clan’s land. The irrigation and sowing were nearly complete—buy the land, wait for the harvest.

Besides, seizing the opportunity when others are desperate, striking when the village has been looted clean and the survivors have no choices left—offering a little grain would surely win the land in the end.

A golden opportunity, a stroke of fortune about to fall on the heads of those with grain. At this juncture, who else has grain? In the northern countryside of the prefecture, who but them could muster nearly a hundred shi of rice among a handful of people?

Yet to Liu Chengzong, the idea sounded strange. Farming in northern Shaanxi at the end of the Ming? It sounded fantastical!

But as Cao Yao explained, it seemed there really was room for maneuver.

“Think about it—when else could one shi of millet buy twenty or thirty mu of land? Only now. Buy these fields, rent them back out, and if we can farm just two hundred mu and harvest in a few months, we break even—anything more is profit.”

“You say the situation is unstable, that buying land is pointless, but where else could we go? We don’t want to join Wang Zuoguai, nor do we care for that Heaven-shaking King or whatever he’s called. Heilong Mountain has already fortified itself; we’re bound to stay here a year or two more. Why not buy this land now?”

“Besides, this is charity, Lion! Look at Lu Bin—these people need at least fifty shi of grain to make it to the harvest. Fifty shi, Lion! Who else around here can spare fifty shi to help them?”

Cao Yao grew more impassioned as he spoke, thumping his chest. “Only us brothers!”

This was true, yet something still puzzled Liu Chengzong. He raised a hand to halt Cao Yao’s flattering words. To him, this wasn’t charity—it was taking advantage of others’ misfortune, though admittedly, it was tempting.

Even if they could only farm the land for a year, it would be worth it.

Just days ago, his family had debated going to Shanxi or the prefectural city to buy grain, hoping to weather the difficult months ahead. With this stretch of riverside land, any hardship seemed surmountable.

He asked, “Big Brother Cao, why did you come to me?”

Upon hearing the question, Cao Yao grinned broadly.

“Let me put it this way: I can only spare thirty shi of grain. You have grain; and besides, we’re all registered as soldiers—only you have a civilian registration. You saved my life north of the border. If we buy the land, I trust you.”

With that, Liu Chengzong said no more. The two quickly agreed: Cao Yao would negotiate with Lu Bin from Laomiao Village, and Liu Chengzong would return to Heilong Mountain to discuss with his father and elder brother.

That afternoon, with Liu Xiangyu and Liu Chengzu, he explained the matter at home. The family agreed at once to buy the riverside fields in Laomiao Village. How much land and what price would depend on the landowners; all they could decide was how much grain to offer.

Fifty shi.

His father and brother saw no moral dilemma in this decision—it wasn’t a forced sale. If the survivors of Laomiao Village refused, they would simply let it go; no one would force them at knifepoint.

It was, to some extent, taking advantage of misfortune, but they too were driven to desperation by hunger; their own stores would barely last until late summer or fall.

With the decision made, the family began busily calculating the autumn harvest from the new fields, cheerful at the prospect.

Cao Yao handled negotiations with Lu Bin, and by noon the next day, Lu Bin and the only surviving elder of his village were brought to Heilong Mountain.

“To be honest, at first my family didn’t want to sell the clan land,” Lu Bin said openly, “but there’s truly no other way. Even if Master Cao hadn’t approached me, I would have come to Heilong Mountain today—if not to sell, then to borrow. Now I come to sell.”

“The villagers have decided: the price can be low—eighty shi of grain for two thousand seven hundred mu by the river, just enough for us to survive. But we ask for seven hundred mu to be held in permanent tenancy for our seven households. This year, the land can’t be fully sown; we’ll pay one-tenth rent now, three-tenths every year thereafter, dried and delivered with a lamb to Heilong Mountain.”

“If you agree, from now on Laomiao Village will be called Liu Family Village. The Second Master will be our landlord.”

Lu Bin was forthright—it didn’t sound so much like Liu Chengzong was buying land to become a great landlord, but more like he was forming a partnership with Lu Bin and these seven families to weather hardship together.

In the Ming dynasty, there was a system of perpetual tenancy; once land was put into such tenancy, the landlord could sell or mortgage the land, but could not evict tenants at will. Even if the land was transferred, what was sold was the right to the land and to the rent.

As long as tenants paid their rent, they could farm the land forever, and could even pass down, sell, mortgage, or sublet their tenancy rights.

Under this system, tenants bore responsibility for rent, land tax, and miscellaneous levies.

In short, the survivors of Laomiao Village were carving out their own share from the landholdings. In truth, all seven families together likely never had as much as seven hundred mu before.

Cao Yao felt his side was losing out and interjected, “Fifty mu per household is plenty; a hundred mu is more than you can manage.”

But Liu Chengzong saw no issue. In his eyes, all land in northern Shaanxi would be hard to retain its value amidst the coming chaos; these three hundred mu would likely be out of their hands anyway.

There was no need to push too hard; he smiled at Cao Yao, “We’re here to help each other. I think we can agree—we won’t be able to farm all this land this year, anyway.”

Even in the coming months, whether they could farm all two thousand seven hundred mu depended on finding forty households of refugees and enough oxen and mules.

Otherwise, the land would lie fallow.

With the land agreed upon, witnessed by the village elders, the deal was essentially done. The Liu family rejoiced; the patriarch even fetched some millet wine, pouring a cup for each.

Yet one step remained: they had to register the transfer at the yamen to make it legal.

Without delay, the Liu brothers, Cao Yao, and Lu Bin—five in all—set off for the prefectural city of Yan’an that same day, leading their horses.

Because the land sale was subject to many constraints—though the traditional requirement to consult all neighbors was gone, the conversion of clan land to private holdings still posed problems. To ensure a smooth process, cousin Chengyun came along to ask his father-in-law to draft the petition.

This was Liu Chengzong’s first return to the prefectural city since coming back from Yuhe Fort. The county yamen in Yan’an was as orderly as ever, not as frightening as Ansai.

Yet the refugee tents and porridge stations outside the city made the threat of famine palpable.

On the main road north of the city, armored men on fine horses rode by in groups of three or five; the retainers of wealthy clans openly wore armor in defiance of the law, the bailiffs outside the city powerless to intervene. Seven or eight soldiers from the garrison were searching through refugees’ bundles, tossing aside what they didn’t want.

The law of the jungle had become the norm.

Of course, to others, Liu Chengzong and his party—with their militia badges, hidden armor, and sabers at their sides—looked just the same.