Civilization in a Packet of Salt
Summer at the Salt Ponds
In the summer of the forty-second year of the Qianlong reign, the waters of the Yuncheng salt ponds lost their usual emerald hue, exposing layers of glaring salt crusts, as if the earth were shedding its old skin under the scorching sun.
Cao Dehai stood at the entrance of the salt yard by the pond. As he watched his workers carrying baskets of salt into the warehouse, his heart felt as parched as the pond water. The next day was the deadline for the Salt Transportation Commission to demand payment of the salt tax. Without that half-foot-long salt ticket, all his salt, no matter how abundant, would be considered contraband—unable to pass through checkpoints or leave Yuncheng.
In the world of the salt ponds, the salt ticket was a passport, a key to wealth, and also a shackle imposed by the government. Made of yellow hemp paper and stamped with the vermilion official seal of the “Hedong Salt Transportation Commission,” the ticket listed the merchant’s name, the quantity, and the tax silver on the reverse. Seemingly lightweight, it represented the thin line between life and death for salt merchants for an entire year.
Historical records indicate that the Yuncheng salt ponds produced nearly five million dan of salt annually, accounting for approximately one-tenth of the national total. The Hedong salt tax constituted thirty percent of Shanxi Province’s fiscal revenue (Collected Historical Materials on Qing Dynasty Salt Administration, Volume 5). The salt from these ponds was not merely a condiment for commoners’ tables; it was military pay for the government and the lifeline of the dynasty.
Qian Mu wrote in Introduction to the History of Chinese Culture: “The Yuncheng salt ponds had long been a target contested jointly by various tribes in the Central Plains.” More than 4,700 years ago, after defeating Chi You, the Yellow Emperor moved the capital to near the Anyi salt ponds, initiating the development and utilization of pond salt and laying the first foundation for the Chinese civilization. Subsequently, Emperors Yao, Shun, and Yu established their capitals there. During the Spring and Autumn period, it was called “Yanyi” (Salt City); in the Warring States period, “Yanshi”; in the Han Dynasty, “Siyan Cheng” (Salt Supervision City) or “Yanjian Cheng”; in the Yuan Dynasty, “Fenghuang Cheng” (Phoenix City); and in the Ming Dynasty, “Yunsi Cheng” (Salt Transportation Commission City). It is the only city in China established specifically for salt transportation.
Cao Dehai remembered his father’s dying words: “We are not in the salt business; we are in the salt ticket business. Without salt tickets, carrying any amount of salt is akin to carrying knives.”
The Inversion of Salt Tickets
The establishment of salt tickets can be traced back to the “Kaizhong Fa” (Open Middle Method) during the Hongwu reign of the Ming Dynasty. Since then, the state has held the wealth of the salt ponds in its hands through a single sheet of salt ticket.
The salt ticket served both as a certificate for circulation and as a receipt for the imperial salt tax, forming the lifeline of national finance. However, during the Qianlong reign, with the rise of piaohao (draft banks) and the prosperity of postal roads, the nature of salt tickets subtly changed: they were no longer merely vouchers for redeeming salt but also became objects of speculative resale by merchants.
Salt merchants learned a new trade: upon obtaining salt tickets, they would not rush to redeem salt but instead resell them to others to profit from the price difference. Through practices such as “daoyin” (reselling quotas), “pinyin” (combining quotas), and resale, salt tickets were traded back and forth in teahouses and taverns, becoming another type of “financial instrument” operating in a gray area.
The Collected Historical Materials on Qing Dynasty Salt Administration records: “The practice of merchants reselling quotas has become deeply entrenched, to the extent that silver notes and salt tickets are exchanged for each other, resulting in repeated losses of official tax revenue.” Originally a tool for the government to control the salt ponds, salt tickets sprouted branches within the cracks of the market. In the thirty-seventh year of the Qianlong reign, a major case of quota resale erupted at the Yuncheng salt ponds, implicating officials of the Salt Transportation Commission. The memorial to the throne stated: “The case of quota resale has implicated dozens of officials and hundreds of merchants, causing a cessation of salt tax revenue and a deficit in treasury silver.” (Compiled Archives of Qing Dynasty Salt Administration, Volume 32)
Yet the government’s calculations never ceased.
While quota resale disrupted the market, it also served as a lubricant for fiscal operations. The “handling fees” from resale transactions and the profits shared by officials became an implicit source of local salt tax revenue. In a memorial submitted in the forty-second year of the Qianlong reign, the Hedong Salt Transportation Commissioner wrote: “Although quota resale is a malpractice, the tax silver can still be collected. Strict prohibition may lead to a cessation of revenue flow, and there is even greater fear that the use of salt quotas will be discontinued.”
Thus, the state and the market repeatedly tested each other under the red seal of the salt ticket. The state used salt tickets to sustain military pay and maintain the bureaucratic apparatus; salt merchants used quota resale and combination to turn red tickets into flowing silver. The creditworthiness of salt tickets ultimately relied on the authority of government officials and the prestige of the salt police; meanwhile, the power of the market always managed to navigate through the cracks of such authority.
Those porters and draft banks caught in the cracks of the salt ticket system perhaps understood this truth best: in this world, there is neither pure freedom nor absolute prohibition.
Co-opted Cryptocurrencies
Some say that cryptocurrency is decentralized and represents the ultimate challenge to the state’s monopoly on currency issuance. Algorithmic consensus, distributed ledgers, and anonymous wallets seem to allow wealth to break free from state shackles for the first time, flowing freely like the wind over the salt ponds.
However, the history of the salt ponds has already provided the answer. Quota resale, originally a disease disrupting the monopoly, became a lubricant in the government’s ledger; the red seal on the salt ticket was both a prohibition and a permit. Behind the ideal of decentralization, the tentacles and shadow of the state are always present.
People believed that cryptocurrency was the ultimate challenge to the state’s monopoly on currency issuance, but as the industry has evolved to its current stage, embracing regulation has become the main theme. Terms such as KYC (Know Your Customer), AML (Anti-Money Laundering), exchange compliance, and tax transparency have layered over the concept of “decentralization” like salt frost in the wind.
The state’s calculations can always incorporate ideals of freedom into the framework of institutions.
At the 2025 Bitcoin Conference, U.S. Vice President Vance spoke bluntly: “Bitcoin is a tool against bad policies, regardless of which party’s policies they are.” “The Chinese government does not like Bitcoin... Since China is moving away from Bitcoin, perhaps we in the United States should move toward Bitcoin.” “We have established a national Bitcoin reserve to make Bitcoin a strategic tool for the U.S. government.” “USD-pegged stablecoins will not weaken the dollar; rather, they are a multiplier of American economic strength.”
Just as salt tickets once controlled the circulation of salt in the ponds through red seals and official decrees, today’s regulatory authorities control the flow of wealth through compliance licenses and on-chain monitoring, holding it at their digital fingertips. While the state may have lost its monopoly over paper tickets, it has rebuilt an invisible wall using laws, licenses, and on-chain monitoring. Regulatory hands reach into every wallet address, and the transparency of on-chain data has ironically become a new weapon for the state.
The hand of the state has never truly loosened its grip on the reins of wealth.
A Game of Power
The story of the salt ponds has faded into history, and salt tickets have become yellowed pages in historical books. Yet, those sheets of aged hemp paper still bear the traces of collusion between the state and the market. The circulation of wealth has never been merely a simple exchange of commodities; it is a game between the state and the market, a contest of credit, and a scepter of institutional power.
The creditworthiness of salt tickets ultimately rested on the authority of the government; similarly, while the creditworthiness of cryptocurrencies appears decentralized, it actually lingers in the shadow of national laws. Without regulatory permission and tax channels, no matter how many nodes a cryptocurrency has, it can only operate in the gray areas.
Standing by the Yuncheng salt ponds, looking at the layers of dried salt frost, I seem to see the underlying color of wealth: half is the desire of the market, and half is the shackles of the system. Salt tickets, paper currency, and Bitcoin—their forms have changed, but the essence of power remains unchanged.
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