Chapter Twenty-Five: One Ounce of Rice, Two Ounces of Bran Cakes

Handing the bowl back to the man, Gao Buyi asked, “Is this the standard for every household?”

“Yes, everyone gets one portion at a time—an ounce of rice and two ounces of bran cakes!”

“What are bran cakes?” Gao Buyi guessed they were made from wheat husks.

Bran—the husk of wheat. In later rural times, it was mostly fed to pigs, yet now it was considered people’s food.

“Are there any bran cakes left? May I see one?”

“Honored guest, you must be hungry. Please wait a moment, I’ll fetch one right away.”

The man stepped into the thatched hut where his family lived. There was a murmur of voices from within, and after some time, he emerged holding a small, blackened cake—about the size of a modern biscuit that could be eaten in a single bite.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but this is the only one left. Please soak it in water and share it among yourselves.”

Gao Buyi took the bran cake with trembling hands and tried to bite into it, but his teeth wouldn’t sink in. When he finally used more force, he nearly loosened his teeth.

“My lord—” Knowing she couldn’t dissuade him, Shangguan Peihui called out in concern, hoping he would stop, but Gao Buyi silenced her with a cold glare.

Despite his efforts, he couldn’t bite off a piece—only scraped off a bit of the hard crust with his teeth. It was rock hard.

The man smiled. “My lord, that’s not how you eat a bran cake. If you ate it like that, even a pound wouldn’t be enough. You have to soak it in well water.”

At that moment, Gao Buyi regained his composure and handed the cake to the man holding a bowl of well water. The man carefully placed the cake into the water.

Then he smiled at Gao Buyi. “Please wait a little, honored guest—it’ll be ready to eat soon.”

Li Bai quietly approached Gao Buyi. “My lord, you won’t be able to eat this bran cake. I have plenty of provisions with me. If you’re hungry, please have some.”

At these words, Gao Buyi stared at Li Bai like a starving wolf, making him shudder. “Hui’er, take out all the provisions we’re carrying and leave them for this family.”

“No, no, we can’t accept that!” the man refused immediately.

Gao Buyi smiled. “We’ll reach Chang’an tomorrow. Carrying these provisions would only burden us. If you don’t accept them, I won’t dare eat the bran cake.”

The man hesitated, but Gao Buyi said, “Don’t worry, let’s consider it a gift for your child. It’s only fair to exchange gifts.”

Seeing Gao Buyi’s insistence, the man could only accept with a bitter smile. He planned to hand the food to the clan leader the next day—after all, the entire village survived by supporting each other.

When the bran cake had soaked enough, Gao Buyi lifted the bowl and took a large gulp. It scratched his throat and tasted strange, but he forced himself to swallow the entire bowl, frowning all the while.

“Where are your local officials? Why aren’t they here handing out relief grain?” Gao Buyi inquired.

“They do, but the officials distribute it at the county and town centers. The village head then leads people to collect it at set locations and distributes it among the villages. You can’t wander from village to village—if you’re not on the list, you get nothing. The ones who starved to death the other day weren’t on the list and missed the relief grain.”

“I see.”

“Thank you for your hospitality. It’s late—we’ll rest now.”

“Of course, please make yourselves comfortable.”

In the main room, Gao Buyi sat on the earthen kang. The only thing between him and the hard surface was a straw mat—nothing else.

“Hui’er, when the people suffer like this, what a failed emperor I am. I used to think only of pleasure in those years, but now the thought chills me to the bone.”

Shangguan Peihui saw it differently. “Your Majesty, these are already good times. When disaster strikes, people needn’t flee, and families can stay together without starving. In the past, such fortune was unimaginable.”

Hearing this, Gao Buyi shook his head with a sigh. He knew she wasn’t exaggerating. The history books rarely recorded the hardships of the people, but poets preserved the truth in vivid detail. Du Fu’s “The Officer at Stone Moat Village” was a prime example. Though it was written in the era of the An Lushan Rebellion, the years before, under Emperor Xuanzong’s endless wars, were little better for the people.

The next morning, the host invited the clan leader to send Gao Buyi and his group off. “Forgive us for not offering better hospitality. If you pass this way again in a good year, please stay with us.”

“Thank you—we will! Farewell!”

Leaving the small village, Gao Buyi visited several more. The situation was much the same everywhere; the relief grain allotted was nearly identical. When he found the village head, he confirmed that the rations distributed were indeed the same.

“What kind of prosperous age is this, when people have to forage to survive, and even the cattle and horses are all skin and bones? They dare call this a golden era?”

“Your Majesty, the so-called golden age is only in Chang’an,” Li Bai interjected.

“Indeed! Well said, Master Li. Cui Yuan, have you ever witnessed such hardship?”

“To my shame, though my family is average, compared to the common folk, we’re well-off.”

“That’s why one mustn’t spend all one’s time behind closed doors reading. You have to see the people’s lives to know where policy should focus. Governing a city is very different from governing the countryside—the policies cannot be the same.”

“Your Majesty’s instruction is well noted.”

Soon, they reached a nearby town. There was a government relief station, but by midday, it was already deserted. Gao Buyi and his companions approached a yawning bailiff.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

“We’re out of grain for today. Come back tomorrow.”

“What if I haven’t received my grain yet?”

“Tough luck. Missing a meal won’t kill you.”

“Why don’t you try missing one?”

“Damn it, are you looking for trouble? Boys, come out—someone’s stirring up the place.” The bailiff, annoyed by Li Bai’s persistence, called for reinforcements.

From the shed emerged five or six men of varying builds and yellowed faces. “Who’s making trouble, Chief Ren?”

“It’s him—” He stopped short, seeing that Li Bai’s hair was already white and he looked well past sixty, while Gao Buyi appeared even older. As for the cross-dressing Shangguan Peihui and Cui Yuan, they were dismissed as mere attendants.

“Chief, it’s just two old men. Why not give them a cake and send them on their way?”

“Well, Ma Wu, I didn’t expect you to be so compassionate. Fine—then your household can skip receiving grain tomorrow.”

“Don’t, Chief Ren. Gentlemen, there really is no more grain today. Try again early tomorrow. Everyone, disperse!” Ma Wu shouted at the onlookers.

Judging by his attire, Ma Wu seemed to be a disaster-stricken commoner himself—his hemp clothes were washed pale, patched in many places.

Gao Buyi and his companions didn’t press the matter further. Instead, they drew Ma Wu aside and asked, “Brother, you seem to be from a poor family too. Is there truly no more grain?”

“I’m just a townsman, but I know Chief Ren, so I got this job helping out. It’s a blessing to eat enough in a famine year. But really, there’s no more grain—the daily supply is strictly rationed. You look like outsiders. If you want a meal, have patience and go to the county seat. There’s a porridge station there—not enough to fill you, but better than starving. Head there as soon as you can.”

“Thank you, brother. I see many here who haven’t received their grain either.”

“They’re outsiders too, just like you. Some rascals collect grain in their own village, and when it’s not enough, they come here trying their luck. In times like these, who has spare food for strangers?”

“Some of them don’t look like that, though.”

“Sir, you’d best move along. Some matters are beyond you and me. Just go.” With that, Ma Wu returned to his spot behind the shed to nap.