Although Ian Song did not personally appear, every official present knew that the reason they were receiving their salaries was thanks to Lord Ian leading the team to raid York Manor Fort.
Frostmarch Garrison Town.
Hugh Harris had already learned about Ian Song's raid on York Manor Fort, and the seizure of a huge amount of grain and over two hundred thousand taels of silver.
For a moment, his eyes turned slightly red.
So—
Hugh Harris gathered his generals to discuss the matter, informing his officers of what had happened.
When they heard that the prefectural yamen had acquired over half a million catties of grain and more than two hundred thousand taels of silver, every officer present was green with envy.
One officer suggested, "General, why don't we go raid a few clans ourselves?"
"Foolish! If I really did that, Bruce Summers would be the first to impeach me!" Hugh Harris snapped.
"Why is it that the prefectural yamen can raid and wipe out entire clans, but we can't?"
That officer protested, unconvinced.
Hugh Harris sneered, "Because they're civil officials, and we're soldiers! Even though my rank is the same as Bruce Summers's, I still have to answer to him. Unless the prefectural governor gives the order, I can't mobilize the army. If I move troops without authorization, Bruce Summers will impeach me without hesitation!"
"So we just have to watch the yamen feast while we can't even get a taste of the soup?"
Another officer said, unwilling to accept it.
Hugh Harris replied, "Who says they get to eat meat while we don't even get soup? Send people out quietly to spread the word that the prefectural yamen plans to raid all the fortified clans. Ian Song only managed to seize York Manor Fort because he caught them off guard! As long as those families are on alert, he won't be able to raid the others so easily. If they put up a tough fight, the yamen will have to ask us for help—then our chance will come!"
With Hugh Harris deliberately fueling the rumor, it took less than a day for word to spread that Ian Song planned to raid every family in Frostmarch Prefecture. Suddenly, all the clans were on edge, mobilizing their private soldiers and tightening their defenses.
But over the next few days, Ian Song made no further moves.
Instead, Bruce Summers personally tried the York case, convicting the family of treason.
On this day—
Ian Song once again summoned the officials inside the yamen.
Ian Song directly assigned tasks, sending officials to collect overdue grain and silver taxes from the indebted families.
The raid on the York clan not only solved the immediate crisis for the prefectural yamen, but also sent Ian Song's reputation as vice-prefect soaring. Unlike the first time, when everyone scrambled for excuses to dodge tax collection—
This time, the officials were all eager to volunteer.
Each official was sent to a different family, accompanied by three Imperial Constables or yamen runners.
Ian Song demanded that they collect not only the overdue taxes, but also an extra ten percent as interest. Imperial grain and silver aren't meant to be owed for free, especially not for so many years.
That night, all the officials sent out to collect taxes returned to the prefectural city with carts full of grain and silver. The people escorting the carts were from those very families.
They'd expected Ian Song to treat them as harshly as he did the Yorks, but to their surprise, he only collected what was legitimately owed. Even with the ten percent interest, the terms were still acceptable.
So, in just one day, all the major tax-delinquent households paid up their back taxes.
When Hugh Harris heard the news, he smashed a teacup in frustration—his get-rich-quick scheme had fallen through, because Ian Song refused to play by the usual script.
With the big households' taxes settled,
Ian Song began sorting out the taxes owed by ordinary people.
However, instead of sending people out rashly, he personally led a team to inspect the countryside.
Now that he had reached the Golden Core stage, his divine sense allowed him to immediately tell whether a village was rich or poor.
Over three days, Ian Song visited nearly a hundred villages, only to find that life was hard everywhere; most households barely had enough grain to survive the winter, let alone pay taxes.
So, he stopped the rural survey.
Instead, he turned his attention to the shops in the city. According to his knowledge, Frostmarch city had hundreds of shops, yet annual commercial tax revenue was just over two thousand taels of silver.
And even collecting those two thousand taels was a struggle.
After calling in the official in charge of commercial tax for questioning, Ian Song finally learned the reason.
It turned out that nearly all the profitable businesses in Frostmarch belonged to Hugh Harris. Even if a shop wasn’t his at first, he’d find a way to make it his. Out of hundreds of shops, Hugh Harris personally owned a hundred and nine.
And as the general commanding five thousand troops, who would dare try to tax him?
Some crafty shopkeepers had cultivated connections with Hugh Harris's brother-in-law Vince Lang. Just by hanging a Frostmarch Garrison banner outside, they could dodge taxes altogether.
Ian Song checked the account book: this year's commercial tax revenue barely reached two hundred taels.
First, let's talk about the structure and expenditures of the prefectural yamen.
Frostmarch Prefecture had a little over a hundred officials, and with the yamen runners and Imperial Constables, the total staff numbered around two hundred sixty.
In addition, there were three hundred city guards.
The city guards' pay and rations were all provided by the prefectural yamen.
Three hundred city guards required about four hundred taels plus grain per month. The hundred-plus officials cost another four hundred taels or so. Bruce Summers, the governor, drew twelve taels a month; Ian Song, the vice-prefect, got ten taels, plus grain, of course.
The Imperial Constables and yamen runners together added nearly five hundred taels in monthly salaries.
So the prefectural yamen’s monthly payroll came to about fifteen hundred taels.
Plus, the garrison needed fifteen thousand taels a year—about 1,250 taels a month. And then there was the annual remittance to the court: two thousand taels of silver and fifty thousand catties of grain.
Add it all up, and the monthly expenses approached three thousand taels.
Because Frostmarch was on the frontier and frequently raided by barbarians, only about thirty percent of the expected agricultural tax could actually be collected each year.
After remitting the court’s share, the yamen couldn’t even cover its own expenses.
No wonder Bruce Summers was so eager to hand everything over to Ian Song—this broken yamen really was at the end of its rope.
Don’t be fooled by this year’s massive haul from the Yorks and the other big households; that was years of back taxes all at once, and it won’t happen again.
Next year, even getting a hundred thousand catties of grain and a few thousand taels from these families would be considered lucky—nowhere near enough to keep the yamen running.
So, commercial tax was a must.
The Valeguard Empire didn’t tax commerce heavily; shops were divided into three tiers.
Lower-tier shops paid two taels a year.
Mid-tier shops paid five taels a year.
Upper-tier shops paid ten taels a year.
In Frostmarch city, there were 225 lower-tier shops. If all commercial taxes were collected, that would mean 450 taels.
There were 80 mid-tier shops, for a total of 400 taels.
There were 120 upper-tier shops. If all taxes were collected, that would be 1,200 taels.
Altogether, commercial tax should come to more than 2,200 taels.
With the year’s end approaching, it was time to collect commercial taxes. Ian Song decided to send people out the next day to resurvey all shops, since the yamen’s records were five years old.
In five years, some shops had gone under, others had grown bigger.
So the old records weren’t reliable anymore.
Closing his account book, Ian Song prepared to head back to his inn.
He’d been in Frostmarch city for almost ten days now, but he still chose to stay at the inn rather than move into an official residence.
He didn’t take a carriage or ride a horse, just walked back on foot.
Halfway there, Ian Song suddenly stopped, his steps slowing as he called out, “Come out!”
“Vice-prefect Song, you have a sharp sense—so you noticed my presence!”
A shadow flickered, and a black-clad middle-aged man appeared several zhang away.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back, exuding the air of a top expert. His face was pale and beardless, yet strikingly handsome, and not a hint of qi leaked from his body.
But Ian Song could still see through his cultivation at a glance: mid-stage Grandmaster.
“Are you the Cult Leader of the Black Heaven Demonic Cult?”
Ian Song looked at him and asked.
“That's right. I am.” The black-clad man nodded.
“So the Cult Leader himself has come. What brings you here?”
"Vice-prefect Song, would you care to join me for a drink?"
The black-clad middle-aged man smiled slightly.
"Sure!"
Ian Song nodded.
Half a quarter of an hour later, the two of them were seated across from each other in a private room at a restaurant.
"Vice-prefect Song, I respect you!"
"Cheers!"
Ian Song nodded, picked up his cup, clinked it with the Cult Leader's, and downed his drink in one go.
After a few cups, the atmosphere between them seemed to relax considerably.
"Vice-prefect Song, I have a request."
Suddenly, the Cult Leader set down his cup and spoke.
"Go ahead," Ian Song nodded.
The Cult Leader said, "My disciple has previously offended you. May I ask you to give me some face and allow me to take her back for proper discipline?"
Ian Song looked at him and smiled, "With the Black Heaven Demonic Cult's reach, I'm sure you already know where Cindy Li is."
"I do," the Cult Leader nodded.
"Since you know, why not just take her away?" Ian Song pressed.
The Cult Leader replied, "To be honest, I did intend to do just that. But I was even more curious—who managed to capture my disciple so easily, and cripple so many of my cult's elites?"
"And now? Changed your mind?"
"Exactly! After meeting you, Vice-prefect Song, I've changed my mind."
"Come, Cult Leader, let me toast you!"
Ian Song raised his cup.
After another round, Ian Song set down his cup and said, "Your decision is wise. Good thing you didn’t try anything reckless—otherwise, not only would you fail to take your disciple, but you might have to stay in Frostmarch city as my guest!"
On hearing this, the Cult Leader's eyes narrowed, a flash of divine light flickering as he stared at Ian Song, as if trying to see through him. But after a long moment, he gave up.
"Vice-prefect Song, perhaps you’re right. I can’t see through your cultivation at all!"
"Alright, that’s enough for today," Ian Song said, rising to his feet. "Once I return, I’ll release Cindy Li."
"Thank you, Vice-prefect Song!"
The Cult Leader cupped his hands in gratitude.
Ian Song nodded, then left the restaurant with his hands behind his back.
Not long after, as Ian Song stepped into the small courtyard behind the inn, Lily hurried out to greet him, calling out, "Miss Sylvia, young master-in-law is back!"
Her voice was lively and cheerful, a light moment amid all the tense politics and cultivation drama.