Mythical Three Kingdoms

Chen Xi had considered other household registration systems, but after much thought, his attention ultimately returned to that of the Ming Dynasty. This system could be deemed the most perfected from ancient times to the present. Although it had many discordant aspects, one could not deny that the Ming Dynasty’s household registration greatly benefited tax collection, population management, and corvée labor service!

Whether it was the household register, equivalent to the 21st-century residency booklet, or the way the registration was divided for management, it was simply too advanced.

Firstly, the household register not only recorded the names and origins of family members but also listed their property. Only the property recorded in the household register was socially recognized and legally protected. If it wasn’t listed, too bad—there would be no way to prove ownership if it was stolen, so this item was indeed quite useful.

Another aspect was the division of registries, mainly into civilian, military, and artisanal classifications, each managed by the Ministry of Revenue, the Ministry of War, and the Ministry of Works respectively. These classifications didn’t affect one’s ability to hold office; as long as you were capable, you could become an official. These registries were mainly for differentiation. Plus, since people generally followed in their parents’ footsteps in ancient times, such bound registries usually didn’t have a significant impact. At most, they forced a batch of idealists to face reality decisively. Given the era’s tradition of continuing the family trade, most elders were quite pleased with these registries...

Next came the Lijia system inherent in the civilian registry, which organized one hundred and ten households into one Lijia, with the ten most skilled at farming serving as the village chief. The remaining one hundred households were then evenly divided into ten groups.

So, during the corvée labor season each year, one village leader and one Armor Head, along with the people from their ten households designated for service, would fulfill the corvée duty.

Each group was responsible for one year, taking turns in what was called ”roster years.” This way, ninety percent of the common people wouldn’t be disturbed annually, preserving the agricultural production in rural areas and the normal order of life.

Of course, since the corvée labor was decided through roster years, the common people would naturally monitor their own Lijia to ensure no one was trying to slip away. Because once a group had served their corvée, it was as if they had done it for the whole Lijia for that year. If you hadn’t served and tried to evade your duty, you’d first have to get past those who had already served.

After a roster year cycle concluded, registrations could be reorganized, which also provided an opportunity to conduct a population census. If one felt inclined, the population structure could be analyzed, and when necessary, adjustments could be made to the gender ratios in different regions. In short, aside from binding all the civilian households to their place of residence, the other aspects were fairly acceptable.

As for how to handle this household registration system once the dynasty flourished, Chen Xi could only say they would cross that bridge when they came to it. Who knew what kind of registration system would be needed during displacement times? If it truly came to the point where there were no taxes on agriculture, then there would be no need to rely on the binding household registration to collect agricultural taxes.

After rambling to Lub Su and Liu Ye at length, and seeing the light of comprehension in their eyes without the slightest hint of confusion, Chen Xi felt a surge of joy. Indeed, they were competent officials recorded in history, fully grasping a system that far exceeded the standards of their time!

”These are basically the details. See if there are any loopholes; if not, then it’s over to you. If there are, find solutions—it shouldn’t be too big of a problem for you,” Chen Xi said after taking a sip of tea, sparing his mouth and tongue from further dryness.

”I can’t see any issues in the short term. This system is almost complete; I presume Zichuan must have put a lot of effort into it,” Lub Su didn’t lift his head as he asked, clearly insincere and unconcerned about whether Chen Xi was tired. As long as Chen Xi was still moving about, it meant his foundation wasn’t compromised.

”Alright then, the execution is up to you. I am rather exhausted. Oh, and how do you plan to handle the land issue? And have you thought of any solutions for the other parts of Qingzhou? We may have a reputation here, but we can’t just wait around. Fame and benevolence don’t feed the Yellow Turbans. Take Xuangao, for instance; in a few months, he will go to the Qingzhou Soldiers’ Camp, and aside from the commanders who have followed him to the end, hardly anyone else will recognize this Great Commander,” Chen Xi didn’t bother discussing issues with the system, shifting the topic instead.

”Ziyang thought of a method. There were some issues originally, but now with your household registration in place, there’s a foundation for implementation,” Lub Su spoke while writing.

”Ziyang, share your land proposal so I can consider it. And since you already have a land scheme, how do you plan to deal with agricultural taxes?” Chen Xi turned to Liu Ye, the planner who surely had his own insights. As for Lub Su, it was better not to waste his time.

”I plan to distribute land directly. Qingzhou and Mount Tai don’t really have established gentry families. The Yellow Turbans plundered and left Qingzhou empty, making it highly suitable for land distribution. The simplest method is to allocate land, but I do not recommend dividing it by household or individual,” Liu Ye said without hesitation.

”Originally, this approach had major flaws, but Zichuan’s Lijia system can fill that gap. I intend to allocate land according to the Lijia system, leaving the precise amount of land per Lijia undetermined for now, varying by region. The distribution to each Lijia will differ, and from there, the village chief can divide it among the Armor Heads, who will then allocate it to each household,” Liu Ye explained calmly.

”Such a plan…” Chen Xi felt an intense sense of déjà vu but had to admit that it effectively dispersed the conflict, no longer directing land issues straight to the central government.

”As for fairness, that’s beyond my control. I ensure fairness at the highest level; the provinces and counties ensure the middle layer; the counties and villages ensure the final layer. There may be issues, but I believe this system is much better compared to the current one,” Liu Ye said proudly.

Chen Xi furrowed his brows; he had noticed what was most rigorously demanded at the core of Liu Ye’s system. It wasn’t about ensuring that the people had land but about maintaining peace in the world. With the conflict spread thin, if problems did erupt, it wouldn’t lead to widespread uprisings, and even if uprisings occurred, they wouldn’t gain widespread support. This set-up greatly benefitted the stability of the Liu Clan’s rule.

”It’s acceptable; I’ve also roughly figured out what your tax system is about. I guess it’s also directly delegated to each Lijia?” Chen Xi, though somewhat dissatisfied with Liu Ye’s focus, recognized that a stable world was also greatly beneficial to the people. Thus, he didn’t voice further objections—after all, everyone has their biases.

”Yes, I indeed plan to collect taxes based on the entire Lijia. Annual tax will be based on the average grain production of the provinces and counties, calculating the average yield and using that figure as the tax standard,” Liu Ye nodded, his expression smug. After all, such ideas were not something just anyone could generate, and Liu Ye was confident his tax method was far better than the current farm tax.

Chen Xi gave a wry smile. Liu Ye’s focus was entirely on maintaining the rule of the Han Dynasty, without a thought to what could happen if someone, wishing to curry favor with higher-ups, altered a single figure—it could spell disaster for an entire province or county. (. Mobile users please visit to continue reading.)