Chapter 27: A Newcomer Arrives
At the Nanxiong Prefecture wharf, boats of every size lay at anchor. This was Guangdong's critical north-south junction—merchants traveling from the south crossed Dayu Ridge from Nan'an in Jiangxi, then transferred to boats at Nanxiong for the long voyage down to Guangzhou.
Young Eunuch Yang—Yang Tianliang—had come from Beijing aboard two decorated barges. One carried him along with his attending servants and maidservants; the other bore his secretaries, stewards, retainers, and guards. Neither vessel displayed flags, plaques, or silk lanterns. Eunuch Yang was far from a palace favorite—he could barely secure his own position, and displaying insignia would only invite jealousy. Though certain officials might have wished to pay their respects, Young Eunuch Yang had always detested ceremonies of welcome and farewell. So whether traveling by sedan or by boat, arriving anywhere, they neither disturbed official relay stations nor sent calling cards. They simply moved in silence. Now, after a day's rest aboard ship, half the journey's fatigue had lifted. His retainers invited him to join them at cards, but he declined every invitation.
It wasn't that he disliked mahjong. The journey south had simply brought a particular bitterness to his heart.
Yang Tianliang had entered the palace late in the Wanli reign and been assigned under Eunuch Yang, who valued him enough to adopt him as a godson. Eunuch Yang was one of Gao Shiming's most trusted aides, and with these two great trees at his back, Yang Tianliang's future had once seemed bright. But when the "Nine Thousand Years" rose to power, everything changed. Senior Eunuch Gao retreated into retirement to protect himself. His godfather was either banished to dig at tomb-construction sites or kept idle within the palace walls. Yang Tianliang himself had gone years without a real assignment. Fortunately, old connections still held some weight, and he'd managed to secure a position overseeing the scripture-printing workshop.
Father and son rarely met anymore. Outside their official duties, they occupied themselves managing private properties. On matters of palace and court, they said nothing to one another, striving always to avoid suspicion.
Yet as the Nine Thousand Years' power swelled beyond all bounds, their days grew ever harder. Scholars at court either trembled into submission or found themselves dismissed. Then, starting from the intercalary sixth month of the previous year, when Zhejiang's Provincial Governor Pan Ruzhen had submitted a memorial requesting the construction of a living shrine to Wei Zhongxian, officials everywhere scrambled to make similar requests. Already more than forty shrines had been proposed. This had stirred the long-sidelined Eunuch Yang's ambitions.
Currently, those petitioning for living shrines were all court officials and local officers; no palace eunuch had yet taken the lead. What if he joined in? Perhaps the Nine Thousand Years' impression of him might shift dramatically—a chance for a turnaround. At the very least, he would leave an impression of deference.
But on second thought, the idea seemed wrong. He wasn't part of the inner circle, and such a move would be abrupt—a grave affront to Wei Zhongxian's palace confidants. One couldn't steal the limelight when flattering. After much deliberation, he had arrived at a solution: officials and gentry had initiated shrine construction, but the merchant class remained unmoved. He could mobilize them. He had Gao Ju as a piece on the board in Guangzhou—and lately, the man had been sending quite a few foreign novelties as tribute. He must have made a fortune. Let him put up the money and take the lead.
This was why Yang Tianliang had been dispatched to Guangzhou. Per his godfather's instructions, this living shrine must be grand and magnificent, a demonstration of the merchant class's "sincere devotion." As long as Gao Ju led a group of merchants in submitting a petition, the Guangdong provincial officials would never dare refuse. As for cost—Eunuch Yang didn't concern himself. After all, Gao Ju had benefited from his protection for years; bleeding a little was only fair. They were bound together in fortune and ruin.
But Yang Tianliang saw things differently. His thinking ran deeper than his godfather's. The cycle of glory and decay knew no exceptions. The Nine Thousand Years was now at his zenith—like flowers in brocade, like oil ablaze. This bit of icing meant nothing to him. But should the fall come, this shrine would become irremovable evidence of collaboration.
At the thought, he shuddered. He glanced around, suddenly suspicious that Eastern Depot agents might be lurking among his entourage. Even thinking such things was enough to break into cold sweats.
Though he kept his head down, Yang Tianliang had spent every day pondering how to manage this matter in a way that served both ends. His godfather was shortsighted, always thinking about money, believing it sufficient to have Gao Ju pay and arrange things. But what happened after the deed was done? A grand living shrine to the Nine Thousand Years—whether it became monument or damning evidence would depend entirely on fate. The Emperor was "the Ten Thousand Years," but His Majesty's health didn't look like it could last for all ages...
What to do? Wearily, he pressed his brow and leaned back against the cushions.
A young attending eunuch crept into the cabin. Seeing his master resting with eyes closed, he dared not speak, only waited in silence. But Yang Tianliang knew someone had entered. He grunted without opening his eyes.
"What is it?"
"Reporting to the master: Master Gao's steward has been waiting at the wharf."
"Show him in."
The steward entered and kowtowed. Yang Tianliang recognized him—Steward Gao Ye, who often came to Beijing bearing tributes. Young, with polished speech and manner, the man was a smooth operator through and through. Besides conveying Master Gao's greetings, he had brought a boatload of fine wine, provisions, and supplies, along with several young male and female musicians for entertainment during the remainder of the journey.
Most remarkable was a fine wooden box, which Gao Ye presented last, explaining that it was a token of Master Gao's regard—specially purchased from the Australian merchants.
"Australian merchants"—Yang Tianliang had heard that name repeatedly in recent months. In spring, Gao Ju had written that some Australian sea merchants had arrived in Guangzhou bearing novel goods. He had sent along several items: crystal mirrors, lighters that ignited with a single flick...
Yang Tianliang opened the inlaid lacquer box. Inside, two small golden cases were mounted side by side, gleaming brilliantly, their material neither gold nor jade. In the center of each were three strange patterns—impossible to identify. Between them sat something resembling a small candlestick holder, apparently niello-inlaid, though crude and simple in design.
He glanced inquiringly at Gao Ye, who gently extracted a paper pack and carefully opened the lid, revealing a shiny silver sheet within. Peeling it back exposed a neat row of white sticks. A fragrant aroma wafted out.
"Is that tobacco?" Yang Tianliang asked immediately. Smoking was his small vice, and he recognized the scent at once.
"Paper cigarettes from Australia, my master specially presents them to you." Gao Ye drew one out with respectful hands and offered it.
Yang Tianliang held the cigarette, examining it. Snow-white throughout; one end showed pale-gold tobacco shreds, the other packed tight and white like compressed cotton. He didn't know how to handle it. He smoked with a pipe; he'd sampled Western snuff before; but he'd never seen anything like this.
Under Gao Ye's demonstration, he placed the cigarette in his mouth, lit it with that candlestick-like lighter, and took a puff. The tobacco seemed ordinary—mild-flavored, with an unfamiliar fragrance. But the way the paper-wrapped tobacco glowed and dimmed, never going out or dropping ash—that was remarkable.
"Just paper-wrapped tobacco, yet so elaborately presented. Same style as the Australian lighter your master sent last time." Though he said this dismissively, he was quite taken with the cigarettes. He fondled the golden case, reluctant to set it down. This could make a fine gift for court dignitaries.
"Steward Gao, does the Australian merchant have more of these?"
"Yes. The merchants brought quite a few."
"Good. When we reach Guangzhou, prepare several dozen boxes—and include matching lighters."
"I understand."
Seeing Young Eunuch Yang say nothing more but simply close his eyes again, Gao Ye slowly withdrew from the cabin.
As Young Eunuch Yang's boat drifted down the river toward Guangzhou, the transmigrators completed another round of trade. Cigarettes were a newly developed item in their inventory. Wen Desi had requested that Master Gao sell Gao Chang to them. Though they had considered various covert schemes to acquire him, every angle led to discovery. Rather than sneaking around, better to proceed openly.
Master Gao was surprised by the request, but he assumed this was Gao Qing's doing—finding a way out for his good-for-nothing sworn brother. Since Gao Chang was no confidant, he agreed readily, not even asking for a purchase price.
Gao Chang came over with nothing but his bedroll. After greeting his new masters, he announced that he wished to change his surname to Wen. The transmigrators had never considered such matters; now that Gao Chang raised it, they realized that changing surnames carried real significance in this era—it was a means for servants to develop a sense of belonging. But "Wen" wasn't quite right; this was everyone's undertaking, not Wen Desi's alone. Xiao Zishan suggested an alternative: rather than some arbitrary surname, why not restore his original family name? This would win hearts—Chinese people took ancestral matters seriously. Losing one's surname was the greatest shame; regaining it, the greatest honor.
When they asked his thoughts, the big fellow dropped to his knees and knocked his head loudly against the floor, tears streaming down his face.
"By the masters' grace, restoring my original surname—from now on, I, Sun Chang, belong entirely to the masters. Through fire or water, whatever the masters command!"
"And if we return to Australia, never to come back?"
"Wherever the masters go, Sun Chang follows—to the ends of the earth, without a second word!" Sun Chang spoke with iron resolve.
They had thought recruiting followers would be difficult. This easy? Their protagonist halo had finally manifested!
(End of Chapter)