While Li Tianchong and Zhang Jing hashed out their plan to retake Jiaxing over a simple meal, a significant transaction was unfolding at the Zhejiang Governor’s prison. Wang San, the head jailer of the Futai Yamen’s dungeon, welcomed a wealthy-looking steward into the guardroom.
Wang San hailed from a minor branch of the prominent local Wang clan—distant enough that it barely counted. Through the main family’s connections and some silver greased into the hands of the yamen’s punishment clerk, he’d landed the job of head jailer.
Don’t underestimate this role. It might seem lowly, but inside the prison, he was half a king. Every inmate depended on his whims, and the opportunities for profit were endless, the kickbacks far exceeding imagination.
Take a simple example: when you’re thrown into prison, isn’t it customary to get a beating with the “intimidation rod”?
If you paid enough silver, you could claim “illness” and skip the thrashing. Pay a little, but not enough, and the blows might lighten depending on your contribution. Pay nothing? Sorry, then it’s by the book—a full, merciless beating.
Then there’s the matter of your cell. Some had small windows letting in a sliver of sunlight; others were damp and dark; the worst were crawling with ants, bugs, rats, and scorpions. Cough up some silver, and you’d get a decent cell. Refuse, and you’d rot in the worst.
And so on—the ways to squeeze money were plentiful.
In his six months as head jailer, Wang San had already recouped every coin he’d spent greasing palms, top to bottom, inside and out, with plenty left over.
You could tell just by looking at his cushy setup in the guardroom: legs crossed, humming a trendy tune from the pleasure houses, sipping from a jug of aged wine, with four appetizers on the table—vinegar peanuts, braised tofu, pig’s head meat, and fried small fish. Life couldn’t get much sweeter.
A junior jailer stood by, attending to him.
“Head Jailer Wang, I’m here on Zhang Mazi’s introduction to pay my respects,” the steward said, entering the guardroom under another jailer’s guidance. He bowed with a smile, greeting Wang San warmly.
Wang San took another sip of wine, then turned to size up the steward. New satin padded jacket, tortoise-shell buttons—this guy clearly wasn’t short on cash. With a slight smile, he replied, “Oh, you’re here through that kid Zhang Mazi, huh? He’s usually sharp enough. Since he sent you, whatever it is, we can work it out.”
“Head Jailer Wang, I’ve come with a request,” the steward said, clasping his fists with a fawning grin.
No kidding, why else would you be here? Wang San thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. But seeing the steward’s wealth, he kept up his half-hearted smile, “Zhang Mazi’s referral, huh? Sure, sure, we can talk.”
Truth be told, he had no clue who Zhang Mazi was.
But after six months as head jailer, dealing with all sorts from every walk of life, maybe he’d crossed paths with some Zhang Mazi before.
“So, someone from your household’s in the lockup, right? Since it’s Zhang Mazi’s intro, I won’t beat around the bush. You going for the ‘full package’? ‘Double-ended deal’? ‘Pay-as-you-go’? Or ‘one-sided favor’?” Wang San asked with a hiccup, grinning like a seasoned huckster.
Full package? Double-ended? Pay-as-you-go? One-sided? The steward blinked, clearly lost.
“Heh, let me break it down. The ‘full package’ means you pay off everyone from the gatekeepers to the prison overseer, plus the relevant yamen officials, tea room staff—the works. ‘Double-ended’ is just two ends: inside but not out, top but not bottom—not as cushy as the full deal. ‘Pay-as-you-go’ means every move the prisoner wants costs silver, paid on the spot. And ‘one-sided’ is just slipping some silver to me, the head jailer, and I’ll look after your guy inside—less pain, better cell, better grub,” Wang San explained, swaying as he laid out his menu of services.
“Got it, got it. Thanks for the rundown, Head Jailer Wang. Take a look—how far does this silver get me?” the steward said, pulling a bulging, heavy money pouch from his sleeve. With a toss, it jingled loudly.
“Enough, enough! Covers the full package, no problem,” Wang San said, eyes gleaming as he lunged forward, snatching the pouch with a grin.
A quick heft told him it held fifty taels.
Opening it confirmed it: ten five-tael silver ingots, each one a little treasure.
“This is just a token. Do me this favor, Head Jailer, and tomorrow I’ll bring another gift just as generous,” the steward said with a placating smile.
“No issue, no issue! Listen, brother, as long as you’re not springing the prisoner out, it’s all up to you,” Wang San replied, his enthusiasm soaring thanks to the silver.
“Thank you, Head Jailer Wang. To be honest, I’m the steward for Lord Zhao, the Jiaxing Prefect. My master left the city to seek reinforcements, but Governor Li mistook it for abandoning his post and locked him up without a trial. My lady’s beside herself with worry, so she sent me to check on him, bring a blanket, some clothes, and pass along a few words of concern,” the steward revealed, stating his purpose.
“Big shots’ business isn’t my concern. I just run this little patch of the prison. Same deal: no taking him out, and you can do as you like,” Wang San said carelessly.
He had his principles—take the money, do the job. Who the prisoner was or why they were there didn’t matter. Silver made everyone equal.
“Thank you, Head Jailer Wang,” the steward said gratefully.
“Alright, get in there. Little Hook, take him in, open Lord Zhao’s cell door, and keep your distance—don’t disturb them,” Wang San ordered the junior jailer at his side.
“Yes, Boss Wang,” the jailer replied with a bow, leading the steward into the prison.
“Thanks, little brother,” the steward said, following along. After turning a corner, he slipped a five-tael silver ingot into the jailer’s hand.
“Heh, no wonder you’re a big shot’s steward—smooth as silk,” the jailer said, grinning like a blooming flower.
As a lowly jailer, his yearly wage barely hit ten taels, and the real profits never trickled down to him—he just got the scraps after others feasted. Five taels was a fortune to him.
“Little brother, I’d like some alone time with my master later. My lady asked me to pass on some private words of concern—wouldn’t do for outsiders to hear, or she’d lose face,” the steward said with a coaxing smile.
“Heh, no problem. I’ll move the other prisoners from nearby cells temporarily—give you some privacy,” the jailer replied with a chuckle.
“Thank you, thank you, little brother,” the steward said, brimming with gratitude.
