Chapter 32: Response

Sleep is the state closest to death. Director Wen woke with this phrase inexplicably lodged in his mind. He opened his eyes to find a pale-red canopy swaying above him, its watergrass patterns rippling like something alive. A faint, feminine fragrance drifted to his nostrils. He closed his eyes to savor it—then snapped them open again. Where am I?

Had he not already lived through the wormhole, he would have been ninety percent certain he'd transmigrated into someone else's body. His thoughts sharpened: wasn't he staying at the mansion Gao Ju had given them? That bed had a canopy too, but just an ordinary blue cotton curtain—nothing this ornate, this feminine. So where exactly was this place?

He tried to sit up, but his head felt leaden and his limbs ached with a bone-deep weariness. He looked around: a cramped room with no windows on any wall. Besides the large bed beneath him, there was only a small table and a single chair. A vase of potted plants sat on the table; two landscape paintings adorned the walls. Nothing else.

He moved to dress and discovered that his stab-resistant vest, belt, and waterproof boots were gone. His folding knife, stun gun, and pepper spray—items he never went without—had all vanished. This alarmed him considerably. As a longtime survivalist, these were practically Wen Desi's protective talismans. Finding himself stripped of every defense in an unknown situation sent ice through his veins.

The door creaked open. A lean, medium-built man stepped in, his sallow complexion radiating a certain viciousness. Director Wen was no fool—one glance told him this visitor meant trouble. With his own situation still unclear, he decided to hold his tongue.

"How are you, Shopkeeper Wen?" The man offered a casual salute with his fists, deliberately letting his sleeve fall back to reveal the short sword at his waist. Wen Desi caught a slight Hokkien accent in his speech.

"May I ask who you are?"

The man laughed coldly and sprawled in the chair. "We all make our living on the sea. Word is that Shopkeeper Wen came from Australia and made a fortune selling rare goods. We'd like to know where your ship is moored and what route you sail—so we brothers can look out for each other on the water."

Wen Desi ignored the question. "Where is this place?"

"This is merely temporary lodging for Shopkeeper Wen. No need to know more." The man's expression turned threatening. "We're very curious about Australian affairs. We hope the shopkeeper won't be stingy with information."

Director Wen thought: You skinny little runt—you think I'm scared of you? Under normal circumstances, he would have already given the man a thorough beating. But his hands and feet throbbed with weakness; he could barely move. Better not to take reckless risks.

"Certainly," he said. "What would you like to know?"

"What ship brought you to the Great Ming? Where is it moored now?"

This was the question Wen Desi dreaded most—there was simply no way to explain the truth, and lies would crumble under the slightest investigation. Since no "Australian ship" existed, his only option was to shift the blame onto a vessel that did.

"Australian-built ships aren't suited for long voyages," he said, "so we only went as far as Borneo. From there, we transferred to a Portuguese vessel." This was half-true—the man couldn't easily refute it. The interrogator then asked how they had entered Guangzhou.

Wen Desi's mind raced. Since this group had kidnapped him, they obviously weren't aligned with Gao Ju—possibly even his enemies. His only option now was to tie every verifiable fact to Gao Ju; that way they couldn't cross-check, and his lies wouldn't be exposed. He recalled everything Xiao Zishan had told him about the smuggling merchants of Haopan Street. With his story prepared, he spoke:

"Back in Australia, we'd heard from overseas merchants that Guangzhou in the Great Ming was richer than whole nations, but outsiders weren't allowed into the city to trade. By chance, we learned from a Portuguese sailor about a place called Youyu Islet at the Pearl River estuary—a haven for foreign merchants looking to smuggle goods. We disembarked there and paid someone to bring us into Guangzhou. That person delivered us to Master Gao Ju's mansion."

"Oh? And this person's name?"

"We were newcomers. We didn't dare ask too many questions. I believe his surname was Wang."

"Wang Boss" of Youyu Islet—this was just a passing whisper he'd once caught from the Gao household servants.

"Strange—Wang Boss says he doesn't know any Australian merchants!" A clear, flirtatious female voice came from beyond the door.

As the words faded, a young woman stepped out from behind it. She wore a lotus-root-colored, close-fitting cross-collared jacket and a pale blue pleated skirt. Tall and slender, with arched brows, red lips, and skin luminous as jade, she possessed large, bright eyes that swept about as she spoke—naturally coquettish. But looking more closely, there was a subtle hint of menace in her gaze.

Wang Boss seemed quite wary of this girl; he scrambled to his feet and offered his seat with a fawning smile. She accepted without ceremony, settling into the chair with easy grace. A pair of lovely eyes, seemingly able to peer into one's soul, roamed over Director Wen. His heart pounded. What's this girl's game? Where in seventeenth-century Ming did such a person come from?

"And you are?" Wen Desi asked. Unsettled by her words, he knew that speaking up to defend himself would easily reveal flaws. Better to stall.

"Hey now—none of your concern..." Wang Boss began.

"Oh, Boss Wang, don't say that." She cut him off with a dismissive wave. "I'm not some villain. I'm someone with a reputation on these seas—why be so secretive?" She smiled. "I'm Li Siya."

She stood, lifted the hems of her skirt with both hands, placed her right foot back, and dipped into a graceful curtsy. Director Wen's brain buzzed. Could this girl also be a transmigrator? Were there others in this world besides them?

Forcing himself to stay calm, he rose and offered a slight bow. "I am Wen Desi."

Now it was Li Siya's turn to look startled. "Australia also practices Western etiquette?"

Wen Desi noticed that the girl's hair and pupils had a slight brown tint, and her long hair was gently curled. He guessed she probably had Portuguese blood—such local-born mixed-race individuals were common in Macau, some even having two Portuguese parents. The curtsy was simply Western manners, nothing more. Reassured, he smiled.

"In Australia, we normally practice Western etiquette."

"Yet you still call yourselves children of Huaxia? Isn't that a collapse of ritual and music?" she teased.

"Our hearts turn toward Huaxia; thus we are children of Huaxia. It has nothing to do with ritual and music."

"Quite imposing." Li Siya sat in the chair, casually toying with a small knife—which Wen Desi recognized as his own ever-present folding blade. "But Shopkeeper Wen, you haven't answered my question. Wang Boss really doesn't know you." She gazed at him lazily, her sweet voice taking on a dangerous edge. "For the rest of your life, you do intend to exist in male form, yes?"

Wen Desi broke into a cold sweat. He knew this girl, however coquettish her speech, was probably utterly ruthless. With such a person, showing weakness wouldn't work—but neither would outright defiance. He thought: I only said his surname seemed to be Wang; I never specified which Wang. Besides, Xiao Zishan had told him that groups like the fishing-smuggling gangs on Youyu Islet were extremely exclusive—outsiders couldn't possibly get information. He sneered inwardly: You're just casting a bluff.

"I don't know any Wang Boss," he said evenly. "I only heard his surname seemed to be Wang." To soften his tone, he smiled. "We come from overseas. We only know how to sell goods and make money. We don't go around asking about other people's affairs."

"You lot really do have black eyes that only see silver."

"Forgive us—pursuing profit is a merchant's nature."

"Why do I feel that Shopkeeper Wen and all your people are rather extraordinary?" Li Siya leaned slightly closer; a faint rose-water scent reached his nostrils. "Pursuing profit? Who in this world isn't a fly chasing after gain? Even emperors merely pursue the interests of their own family name." Her eyes flickered. "Am I right, Shopkeeper Wen?"

"Yes, yes. Miss Li instructs wisely."

Wen Desi began suspecting again whether she was a transmigrator. If she really was, hopefully not a fujoshi... While he was lost in thought, Miss Li sat up primly and laid out a pile of objects on the table—all random items, including Xiao Zishan's socks and Engineer Wang's ballpoint pen. They had one thing in common: nothing from this timespace.

"Are all of these made in Australia?"

"They are."

Then this graceful young beauty actually picked up Xiao Zishan's nylon socks—clearly knowing exactly what they were—using a bamboo skewer.

"This sock. How is it made? How is this thread spun? Why is it so transparent yet stretchy?"

"They're knitted socks, made with a knitting machine." Wen Desi was well-versed in early-modern machinery: the first hand-cranked knitting frame had been invented in England in 1598, producing only sixteen loops at a time—still quite primitive. Only thirty years had passed since then; probably even the Portuguese didn't know about it.

"Made with a machine?" The girl gazed thoughtfully at the socks.

"Yes."

"And this thread? Raw silk can't produce such elasticity."

Wen Desi thought this would be difficult to explain. Knitting machines he could at least describe sensibly. But tell her this thread was refined from petroleum? Then his nether regions would probably immediately cease to exist in male form.

"This material is called nylon. It's not silkworm silk. How it's produced is a closely guarded secret in our country—we merchants have no idea."

Li Siya nodded, but disappointment flickered in her eyes. Wen Desi's heart stirred—surely those long, slender legs would be wasted without a pair of stockings. Next time, they should definitely bring plenty of nylon stockings...

"It seems Australian writing is also Western-style." Li Siya sighed, fiddling with the ballpoint pen, reluctant to put it down. "This pen doesn't need to be dipped in ink—quite convenient. Your goods truly make me feel like a frog in a well. I never imagined there was such a place in the world, capable of making such ingenious things."

"You flatter us."

"Now that you've opened this sea route, you'll be trading regularly from now on?"

"Well..." Wen Desi wasn't sure how to answer.

"Hmph. It doesn't matter." The girl gave a cold smile, seeming to speak more to herself than to him. "The waters off Guangdong will fall into the Grand Chief's hands any day now. If you want to keep your ships and cargo safe for the long term, wisdom would serve you well."

With that, she rose and left without another word.

(End of Chapter)