Ling Guang Collection-41- "Wang Defa Pays Taxes"

Wang Defa was an honest man who paid his taxes whenever possible, always thinking of making a contribution.

Wang Defa heard of a place called "Fragrant County," where the tax rate was as low as free money. The announcement was enticing: "Nine exemptions, nine reductions, wealth hidden among the people." He moved there with all his belongings.

The first year was indeed peaceful. The county government office was as shabby as an abandoned temple, with only a note pasted at the entrance: "Self-reliance, build Fragrant County together."

In the spring of the second year, men in gray uniforms came knocking, their badges reading "Voluntary Co-construction Office." They handed him a bill with a smile: "Mr. Wang, road maintenance fee, charged by the length in front of your door. Yours is ten meters, 800 a year." Wang Defa was puzzled: "I haven’t seen anyone repairing the road?" The man pointed at two uneven tire tracks on the ground: "This is the road. You step on it every day, and it wears out every day."

In the summer, another group came, their chest badges reading "Air Circulation Management Bureau." "You breathe the air of our county, calculated by thoracic expansion volume, 50 per month. Look, our county’s air is so fresh—this price is a steal." Wang Defa opened his mouth but didn’t dare to take another breath.

Autumn brought the "Sunlight Adjustment Tax." "The sun is a shared resource for the entire county, but the sunlight shines on your roof three minutes longer than on your neighbor Li Si’s. You’ll be charged by the minute for the difference."

Winter was the worst. The "Cold Wave Resistance Donation" arrived. "Our county’s heating pipes aren’t connected yet, but the spiritual cold-resistance service has already started. Think about it—haven’t we always encouraged everyone to stay strong in spirit? This is more fundamental than heating. It’s 200 per head for the winter." As for the shed? Useless. Only the iron sheds provided by the county magistrate’s family had any cold-resistance effect—that’d cost extra. And don’t ask about that net from before.

Wang Defa wanted an explanation and went to the county office. Inside, only an old man was dozing off. Hearing his request for service, the man barely opened his eyes and pointed at a yellowed sign on the wall: "Not managing is managing. Not serving is the best service." Next to it was a smaller line: "Final interpretation rights belong to this county."

Later, Wang Defa heard that "Fragrant County" wasn’t originally called that—it used to be "Fishing County." Later still, he noticed that at the start of every month, a few households would move away in the dark, their doors marked with chalk circles. Soon after, new faces would arrive full of hope, their eyes gleaming at the low-tax notices.

Wang Defa decided to leave too. On the evening before his departure, the gray uniforms came again, this time with badges reading "Departure Care Bureau." "Mr. Wang, thank you for your contributions to building Fragrant County. According to the Emotional Value Conversion Regulations, the joys and sorrows you experienced while living here are intangible assets of this county. Now that you’re leaving, you must pay a Memory Separation Fee, one-time payment, no discounts."

Wang Defa finally laughed, tears streaming down his face. He emptied his last pocket.

At the county border, standing before a large stone monument, he looked back at Fragrant County in the twilight. On the back of the monument, someone had scrawled a line in charcoal, like a footnote from all those who’d left:

Everything here is free—except every breath you take, every step you tread, every ray of light you see, and that tiny unextinguished hope in your heart. Whether you pay or not, you might still get labeled. When disaster strikes, you save yourself. Afterward, you must say everything was their doing, and you must be grateful—otherwise, they’ll question your ideology.

Congratulations on arriving at the world’s happiest place. The above are all special services, no extra charge.

Later, Wang Defa moved to a place with higher taxes but found life easier: "Other places take 20 or 30 percent, but it’s fine. What’s can’t do is take 10 or 20 percent, give no service, and make the taxed serve you. Otherwise, you’ll only be left with a bunch of parasites who do nothing, and outside, only tax-evading immortals—then the place is finished."

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This story only illustrates that "you get what you pay for." Everything else is overinterpretation and has nothing to do with the author.