Chapter 37: Farewell to the Ming (For Now)
"Amsterdam... no, Guangzhou—I'll be back."
Xiao Zishan stood alone in the courtyard, his gaze drifting toward the distant silhouette of the Lingnan First Building on Slope Mountain. Its red sandstone façade and double-eaved hip-and-gable roof caught the afternoon light, looking for all the world like something from an imperial dynasty. He caught himself and smiled. In this timespace, it was an imperial building—the modern reconstruction wouldn't exist for another four centuries.
The residence around him was pure Lingnan: blue-brick paving worn smooth by generations of feet, whitewashed walls glowing in the autumn sun, black tiles forming neat rows overhead. In his own time, this would be Huifu Road—that narrow lane of legendary eateries where he'd queued for Yinji rice noodle rolls at dawn and slurped Chengji congee late into the night. But that bustling food street was merely a ghost of the future. What surrounded him now was something far more desolate: scattered houses interspersed with abandoned gardens, vegetable plots running wild, small ponds glinting between copses of trees.
The scene stirred old memories. He'd grown up in a southern city much like this—one of those places where the boundary between urban and rural had never quite solidified. Traditional Chinese cities had always been porous things, farmland and wasteland bleeding through their walls. Even into the 1960s and '70s, some districts contained whole villages, complete with production brigades and collective fields. The past had a way of persisting.
This particular property had been selected as the transmigrators' future Guangzhou stronghold. The trading post on Haopan Street would continue serving its commercial purpose, but this new residence would become something more: a backup base, a fallback position for when things inevitably grew complicated. Gao Ju's money had purchased the property, but it was Sun Chang who'd found it. Xiao Zishan was growing increasingly fond of the young man—he worked with quiet efficiency and possessed an intuitive understanding of what the transmigrators needed, a rare quality in someone who still believed they were merely eccentric foreign merchants.
The estate occupied a slight rise, its irregular boundaries following the contours of two small waterways. Some forgotten official or wealthy merchant had once built a modest residence here and laid out an ornamental garden on the remaining land. Now, after passing through too many indifferent hands, both house and garden had tumbled into ruin. Rubble choked the pathways; thorns had claimed the flower beds. Only a few stubborn survivors hinted at former glory: a pond still holding clear water, half a rockery emerging from the weeds, several ancient trees whose roots had cracked the flagstones, and a pavilion that hadn't quite finished collapsing.
Of all the properties Sun Chang had scouted, this one was simultaneously the most decrepit and the most promising. The buildings needed near-total renovation, which kept the price low—but the site was secluded, defensible, and offered ample room for expansion. They'd made their decision immediately.
The renovation plan came from the transmigrators' architectural team, and it embodied the same philosophy they applied to everything: modern functionality concealed beneath period-appropriate appearances. From the outside, the compound would remain perfectly authentic—the sort of Ming-era residence that wouldn't merit a second glance from passing officials. Inside, every room would be optimized for their actual purposes. The Executive Committee had grand plans for this location. In time, it would serve as their trade hub, intelligence center, and communications node for the entire Guangdong coast. The existing residence would handle public-facing work—receiving local visitors, conducting legitimate business. The restored garden would provide both cover and recreation. And behind it all, hidden within traditional courtyard exteriors, would rise modern facilities: offices, dormitories, a monitoring room, a telegraph station, warehouses, and a vault built to hold the silver that would fuel their revolution.
Of course, modern facilities required modern power. Wind turbines were impossible—the city offered neither consistent wind nor visual concealment for such conspicuous structures. Solar remained too inefficient to be practical. Though they hadn't yet solved the problem of smuggling a generator into the heart of Ming Guangzhou, they'd prepared regardless: the plans included an underground, soundproofed generator room. Better to have the infrastructure ready than scramble to install it later. The existing wells had tested acceptably. Local well-cleaners could restore them to working order for daily needs; drinking water would require additional purification. For now, the Guangzhou base would operate without electricity or running water, but the construction would incorporate channels and conduits for future upgrades.
Defense had been carefully considered. The waterways along the northwest boundary would be dredged and their banks reinforced. The crumbling perimeter walls were being raised to a uniform six meters—tall, but not suspiciously so, since wealthy households routinely built courtyard walls of eight or nine meters. Climbing roses had been planted along the tops, their dense thorns serving as an elegant anti-intrusion measure.
All of this, however, remained mostly theoretical—plans on a designer's computer, blueprints waiting for funding and time. Resources were tight. The wormhole's energy was dissipating steadily, and the Committee had decided to halt crossing-trade operations after this final trip. The transmigrators who'd spent months building networks and gathering intelligence in Ming-era Guangzhou would all withdraw, consolidating for the main crossing operation.
And so the ambitious construction plan had been only partially implemented. Sun Chang had hired local bricklayers, and they were making steady progress on the residence and walls. Xiao Zishan watched them work—hauling bricks, mixing mortar, calling out to one another in broad Cantonese—and felt an unexpected pang of reluctance settle in his chest. Who knew when he might return?
After the crossing, everything would change. They would no longer be harmless Australian merchants peddling curious novelties for honest profit. They would become something else entirely: a political force flying its own banner, openly pursuing what could only be called rebellion. As an Executive Committee member, Xiao Zishan would almost certainly be too valuable—and too recognizable—to risk in enemy-controlled territory.
He found himself wondering: how many years before the transmigrators' flag could fly over the Lingnan First Building?
"Zishan! Still supervising?"
He turned to find Wen Desi striding through the gate, wearing his characteristic broad grin. For the past week, Xiao Zishan had been managing the new residence while Director Wen and Engineer Wang handled the final crossing-trade operations.
"Director Wen." Xiao Zishan raised an eyebrow. "Why are you here? You should be keeping a low profile."
"No need to worry. I've got Qiwei escorts, plus my protective charms..."
"Hehe. The usual three? Pepper spray, knife, stab-vest?"
"Upgraded." Wen Desi patted his bulging waist. "Learned from last time. Added a simple gas mask."
He'd just come from visiting Gao Ju, spinning Yu Eshui's deliberately vague prophecy with appropriately mystical flourishes.
"How did Gao Ju take it?"
Wen Desi paused, searching for the right words. "Imagine a man who's just bitten into a dozen sour olives all at once. That was his expression." A grin broke across his face. "But when he learned we'd leave the goods on credit before departing, he was so moved he nearly wept."
Both men laughed.
The decision had been practical rather than generous. For a long time after the crossing, the transmigrators wouldn't be able to produce "Australian goods" in significant quantities—their priority would be survival and industrialization, not luxury exports. Rather than let their remaining inventory rot in a warehouse, they'd offered Gao Ju a massive consignment on credit: goods worth two hundred thousand taels. The old merchant had been overwhelmed. For the Executive Committee, however, the risk was minimal. In RMB terms, the entire consignment represented perhaps thirty thousand yuan—a modest investment for maintaining their most valuable local connection.
"So he paid well in return?"
"Two thousand taels of gold." Wen Desi's smile faded slightly. "Plus a number of items we'd never dared sell before. Since this is our last run anyway—sell and disappear."
"This is our last income before the crossing," Xiao Zishan said quietly.
"It is."
"Is it enough?"
"We've run the numbers several times. Even without this haul, our reserves were already sufficient. This gives us a two-million-yuan cushion for emergencies."
"Someone will inevitably want something new that wasn't on the list."
"If it's not on the list, we don't buy it." Wen Desi's voice was firm. "Everything essential has been budgeted. Anything else is just polish on a finished blade."
Xiao Zishan shook his head slowly. "I just worry we've overlooked something critical. We're attempting to rebuild an entire industrial civilization from scratch. One missing component at a crucial moment..."
"Don't talk about depressing things." Wen Desi clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's sort out matters here."
They found Sun Chang waiting in the newly repaired room, account book in hand. The young man had effectively become the estate's steward—a remarkable amount of responsibility for someone they'd known less than three months. In the modern world, such trust would have been unthinkable. Here and now, they had no choice.
"Sun Chang." Wen Desi adopted his most authoritative tone. "We're returning to Australia this time. We won't be back until next year at the earliest. Guard the residence well. Avoid drawing attention to yourself. If questions arise, consult Manager Sun. For more difficult matters, you may seek advice from Master Gao Ju—I've already spoken to him, and he's agreed to receive you."
"Understood, Master." Sun Chang bowed. "May I ask where I should meet you upon your return?"
"You won't need to. We'll send someone to contact you." Wen Desi produced a halved aluminum medal—a modern commemorative coin, sawn neatly down the middle—and handed one piece to Sun Chang. "When the time comes, use this as verification. You may follow that person's instructions without question."
"Yes, Master." Sun Chang tucked the half-medal away carefully. "There is one other matter I'd like guidance on."
"Speak."
"This estate is quite large. I worry that I alone may not be able to manage it properly. Would the masters consider purchasing one or two additional servants?"
"That won't be necessary. After we leave, Gao Qing's family will relocate here. Young Gao Di is already studying with your martial uncle—supervise his practical education carefully. Make certain he doesn't grow up useless like his father."
Wen Desi continued laying out the arrangements: Sun Chang would control all household income and expenditures; Gao Di would keep the accounts; Gao Qing's family would receive fixed stipends and monthly rice rations, to be distributed on schedule. Sun Chang's own salary was set at two taels of silver and half a shi of rice per month.
"Understood completely, Master."
"When I said avoid drawing attention," Wen Desi added, "I didn't mean you should become a recluse."
Sun Chang looked puzzled. "Master?"
Wen Desi caught his slip—shut-in was hardly Ming-era vocabulary—but pressed on without acknowledging it. "Go out. Move through the city. Listen to what people are saying. When we return, I'll want a full report on anything of interest."
"Yes, Master."
"Wait patiently." Wen Desi held the young man's gaze. "We will be back."
The day after the transmigrators departed, Gao Qing's family was packing their belongings for the move to the Australian masters' new residence. They'd barely begun when Steward Yan appeared at the gate, calling for Gao Qing.
Hearing his voice, Gao Qing made as if to go out—but his wife exploded before he could take two steps.
"Go on then! Run to them!" Gao Xian's voice rose to a shriek. "We arrived first, but Sun Chang—who came after us—has already been freed and made steward! And you? First through the door, still nothing but a common handyman!"
Gao Qing stood motionless, wearing his usual expression of defeated patience.
"I must have been cursed for eight lifetimes to marry such a wretch!" Gao Xian was crying now, tears cutting tracks through her fury. "Have you no sense at all? What has the Gao family ever given us? How have Master Wen and the others treated us? And you want to sell them out—for what?"
"Master Wen is still a foreigner," Gao Qing mumbled. "In the future—"
"So what if he's a foreigner?" Gao Xian's voice cracked. "If they treat us well, I'd follow them to the ends of the earth! But you? Keep crawling back to the Gao family. Stay their good slave forever!"
Their two children watched in silence. Both were old enough to understand that their parents pulled in opposite directions, but their hearts had already chosen sides. The Australian masters were kind—they spoke pleasantly, gave them good food, presented them with wonderful trinkets. Their mother was right.
Gao Qing's head sank lower. In the moment of silence, Gao Xian seized her chance. She smoothed her clothes, fixed a bright smile on her tear-streaked face, and stepped out to greet the waiting Steward Yan.
"Ah, what poor timing! My husband left for the new residence early this morning—he's tidying the place for our arrival. I'm just finishing the packing with the children. Once we're done, we'll head straight over." She bowed slightly. "Was there something you needed? I could have him come see you tomorrow?"
Steward Yan knew perfectly well she was lying. He could probably hear Gao Qing standing just inside the doorway. But what could he do? He left with what dignity he could muster, muttering to himself as he went.
These damned overseas merchants certainly know how to sweet-talk people. A few days with them, and everyone turns fiercely loyal!
(End of Chapter)