Chapter 297: Sweet Port Turbulence — The Rout Begins
"It'll be fine. I earn a few coins each day writing letters for people outside the county yamen. And if things truly become desperate—" Here the young man's cheeks colored faintly. "—I still have my cousin. We're engaged, you see. My uncle and aunt aren't the snobbish sort. They can always spare me a meal or two."
Chen Tianxiong allowed himself a thin smile and made a mental note to give the lad a small mirror later as a token of gratitude.
Upon returning to South China Sugar, Chen Tianxiong set further plans in motion, dispatching a man into the city to watch Lin Zhuang—specifically, to ascertain whether the man was reckless enough to throw all caution to the wind. If Lin Zhuang simply took the silver and stumbled back into some brothel to drink himself into oblivion, adjustments would be required. But word returned swiftly: Lin Zhuang had departed the county seat and gone back to Monk Zou's Temple.
"Old Chen," Wen Tong asked, "why are you so intent on winning over Lin Zhuang?"
"He's the head of the sugar mill workers. He carries at least some influence among them." Chen Tianxiong paused. "If only our people try to persuade the workers, it might have some effect—but his word will carry far more weight."
"And if he keeps stalling? Refuses to cooperate?"
"Then he leaves us no alternative." Chen Tianxiong was prepared for this eventuality. "He handed over his roster for us to copy—that's as good as handing us his own pigtail to pull. With this"—he waved the copied list—"he couldn't deny his involvement even if he wanted to."
"Clever," Wen Tong said with genuine admiration. "How did you get him to take the bait?"
"It's all thanks to the twenty-percent kickback on settling-in fees. Money blinds the best of us." Chen Tianxiong's tone was matter-of-fact. "The moment I dangled the settling-in allowance before him, he lost all self-control."
"Even the settling-in money has a kickback? This world is truly rotten." Wen Tong sighed heavily. "By the way—Chang Shide is back."
"Why haven't I seen him?"
"He's in Lingao, preparing to execute the mission." Wen Tong outlined the plan that the Executive Committee and South China Sugar had devised to deal with the pirates. "The Navy wants us to gather more intelligence on these pirates—root them out entirely and eliminate future troubles."
"Understood." In truth, Chen Tianxiong had no leads on this matter, but where there was will, there was way. Intelligence work lived and died by legwork. "But right now, our priority is the 'pacification' effort. What did Wu De say about our request?"
Such matters—large-scale absorption of local natives—now fell under the jurisdiction of the Civil Affairs Committee, which meant essentially Wu De's domain.
"Wu De approved it, but he wants us to submit a report on how we intend to arrange this labor force," Wen Tong said. "Do we settle them locally, or transfer them to Lingao?"
"What's your view?" On this question, Chen Tianxiong had his own opinions, but Wen Tong was managing the Leizhou situation and naturally understood its labor needs far better.
"Local settlement, of course." Wen Tong had grand ambitions. The distillery would soon be operational and would require workers. Comprehensive processing of sugar industry waste would likewise demand many hands. Absorbing this labor would pose no difficulty.
"That's my thinking as well. Most of them are locals from Leizhou and Xuwen. Forcing them to relocate to Lingao might breed resentment."
"There's also the question of their families."
"The factory can't accommodate everyone immediately, but their wages should suffice to support their dependents," Wen Tong said. "I plan to pay half in coin and half in rice—rice prices are steep here, so using the Vietnamese rice that Chang Shide ships in is far more economical. Once the enterprise expands, we can gradually employ family members as well."
This was indeed a sound approach. After Chang Shide established the maritime rice-sugar trade route between Xuwen and Vietnam, South China Sugar had effectively gained access to a vast granary.
Even so, once the "pacification" was complete, feeding nearly a thousand people would become the factory's responsibility. Before, no one had looked after them—but once they acquired a master, any mishap could ignite unrest.
"Food is simple enough to solve—Chang Shide has brought rice in quantities sufficient for any need," Chen Tianxiong said. "If there's a delay, the Dachang Grain Firm can advance some."
"They'll need settling-in fees as well," Wen Tong added. "At least one silver dollar per worker."
"Naturally. It's a demonstration of our sincerity."
"But we cannot allow Lin Zhuang to distribute the money. He's too greedy—he'd pocket at least half. We refuse to be taken for fools."
"Of course. Winning hearts is our prerogative." Chen Tianxiong's smile turned cold. "I'm more concerned he might abscond with the entire sum."
They calculated the approximate amounts of silver and grain required, how to arrange the workers, and documented every detail.
"So when will you carry out the 'pacification'?"
"That depends on Lin Zhuang's awareness. But if he truly lacks it, we'll simply force the issue," Chen Tianxiong said. "For now, it seems Xiao Zhanfeng was correct that the incense ceremony won't lead to immediate trouble. But we must still guard against any treachery on his part."
After Chen Tianxiong departed, Lin Zhuang's courage swelled with the weight of silver in his pocket. He had originally planned to linger another day at Sister Ai's establishment, but thinking on the complexity of the situation—both South China Sugar and the Haiyi Guild watching him closely—he recognized that his value had indeed increased. Playing both sides was advantageous. But how could he maintain this delicate balance of "straddling two boats"? That would require considerable scheming. Remaining at the brothel any longer meant losing control of events. Reluctantly, he tore himself away from Sister Ai's and headed back.
On the way, he first stopped at a rice shop and used a few taels of loose silver to purchase old rice, instructing them to deliver it to Monk Zou's Temple. As a regular customer here, the shop naturally obliged.
Next, he visited a money exchanger and deposited the intact silver ingots that Chen Tianxiong had given him. Then he hurried back to Monk Zou's Temple. He kept a room there—arranged at the temple's expense by Third Master Zhu. A bachelor and a down-on-his-luck drifter, money slipped through his fingers the moment it touched them. Usually he loitered around the sugar mills; he possessed no proper furnishings, merely a bamboo bed and a few ragged garments—nothing worth stealing. Upon returning to the temple, he ignored everyone, went straight to his room, barred the door, lay upon his bed, and began to deliberate.
Straddling two boats and playing both sides was all well and good, but it couldn't endure forever. Sooner or later, he would have to choose: the Haiyi Guild or South China Sugar.
On this point, Lin Zhuang felt no inner conflict. In his reckoning, the South China people were ultimately outsiders. No matter how capable they proved themselves, they could never defeat the deeply entrenched Haiyi Guild—at best, the two sides would eventually negotiate a truce. Siding with the Haiyi Guild was the safer wager.
Yet the South China people were far more generous than Third Master Zhu. That Manager Chen he had met today—fifty taels on the spot! Third Master Zhu had never displayed such munificence. Lin Zhuang couldn't suppress a sigh. If only their positions could be reversed, he would devote himself heart and soul to Manager Chen.
What made his mouth water most was the five hundred "Double Pillar" silver dollars. Such a colossal sum—Lin Zhuang had never seen anything like it. He schemed about how to get his hands on that money—or at the very least, a portion of it.
The incense-burning oath could no longer be postponed. He had already resolved upon this. Any further delay would leave him with nothing to report to Third Master Zhu. Third Master Zhu expected him to use the ceremony to incite unrest; failing to incite any was already a concession, but if he couldn't even go through the motions, his future prospects would vanish entirely.
The problem was that once he took the oath, he would be violating his promise to Manager Chen. If they flew into a rage, crushing him would be effortless. He couldn't afford not to guard against this.
He was still calculating whether there existed some way to placate both sides when someone knocked at his door: "Brother Lin!"
He recognized the voice—Ma Sanqiang, one of the leaders among the unemployed workers, a man from Qinzhou with considerable influence among his fellow Qinzhou-native laborers. Lin Zhuang felt obliged to show him some courtesy.
He rose quickly, opened the door, and invited Ma Sanqiang inside.
"Brother Lin!" Ma Sanqiang came straight to the point. "Someone just delivered rice, but it's stale again. How are we supposed to eat this?"
"Since when can't you eat stale rice?" Lin Zhuang recognized that the man had come to lodge the same old complaint and was greatly displeased—one of his principal reasons for staying at the brothel was to escape these people. Even destitute enough to sleep in a temple, they still had to nitpick everything.
Seeing his indifferent attitude, Ma Sanqiang trembled with anger. "Can we eat it? You try eating it!" He opened a cloth bundle, revealing rice so broken it was beyond recognition—much of it discolored, blackened, and yellowed, shot through with chaff and sand. It scarcely qualified as rice; it resembled sweepings from a warehouse floor.
Lin Zhuang felt a twinge of guilt. The silver he had spent on rice amounted to barely three taels, and he had instructed the shop to "buy as much as possible, the more the better"—naturally, they had sold him the cheapest rice available. The final price was three qian per shi, but he hadn't expected the quality to be this abysmal. This stuff was barely fit for pigs.
"It's still rice," he said stubbornly. "It fills the stomach. We can't afford to be picky right now."
"This isn't about being picky! This stuff is worse than chaff." Ma Sanqiang had noticed that Lin Zhuang never ate at the temple, and though he dressed in rags, he hadn't lost weight—in fact, he had gained some. This had long irked him.
Lin Zhuang steadied himself and spread his hands helplessly. "What would you have me do? Third Master Zhu provides only this much money. I'm no rich man—I can't conjure silver from thin air. Fine rice runs two taels a shi. How am I supposed to feed this many people?"
The argument was difficult to refute. Although Ma Sanqiang strongly suspected Lin Zhuang was skimming for himself, he had no proof and couldn't press too forcefully.
"I refuse to believe Third Master Zhu would give only this little. Is this how you perform a good deed?"
"Third Master Zhu was never doing this out of charity—" Lin Zhuang started to say, then realized how damningly that would sound if it reached Third Master Zhu's ears. He quickly amended: "What I mean is, Third Master Zhu's aid to everyone is already an immense kindness. There ought to be some repayment! When I asked you all to strike at the South China Sugar factory, everyone hemmed and hawed—" Feeling his argument now stood on firmer ground, his voice rose three notches. "How am I supposed to explain myself to Third Master Zhu?!"
"I won't do anything illegal," Ma Sanqiang said, his stance hardening. "Let me speak plainly—someone already offered me work at South China Sugar. I remembered that we all banded together to file our petition, so I refused to undermine the group for a full belly. Now I see it was pointless." He cupped his fists in salute. "Brother Lin, take care of yourself!" With that, he strode out.
Lin Zhuang was thunderstruck. Someone offered him work at South China Sugar—the words reverberated in his mind. Manager Chen had explicitly said he wanted Lin Zhuang's assistance with the "pacification"—so why had they already extended their reach here? He rushed out after him. In the courtyard, Ma Sanqiang and the group of fellow villagers who usually gathered around him were all packing their belongings.
"Sanqiang, let's talk this over!" He grasped Ma Sanqiang's hand. "Come back, let's discuss this properly. Don't undermine everyone!" He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Help me hold things together, and I'll make it worth your while!"
A look of disgust crossed Ma Sanqiang's face. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear: "I don't want it. Keep your money! I, Ma Sanqiang, earn my living honestly through hard work. I don't touch money of dubious origin!" He waved his hand. "Let's go!"
More than a dozen Qinzhou workers followed him out. Lin Zhuang stamped his feet in frustration, but he knew there was no stopping them. Seeing the other workers and their families whispering among themselves, their spirits unsettled, Lin Zhuang cursed silently—Manager Chen, you're too ruthless! You must have had people working among the laborers all along!
"Master Lin," a master sugar-boiler sidled up to him quietly, "lately some people who used to work at the sugar mills have been coming around. They're probably South China people..."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"You're never here. Where was I supposed to find you?" The man was visibly displeased. "You don't seem to care about what happens here at all!"
Lin Zhuang had no response. He realized that Chen Tianxiong had checkmated him; if he cooperated with the "pacification," fine—but if he attempted any tricks, Chen had already prepared to undercut him completely. In one stroke, his dream of playing both sides shattered.
He gritted his teeth: Manager Chen, you started this; don't blame me for what comes next. He resolved to proceed with the incense-burning ceremony as planned—it was only a day away. That evening, he summoned the more influential sugar mill workers for a meeting. But to his astonishment, their attitudes had transformed dramatically.
Among the unemployed workers, those most eager to riot and smash up South China Sugar had been the master sugar-boilers. Yet these very men were unwilling to act themselves—while they harbored the greatest resentment toward the factory, their past wages had been higher, leaving them with some savings. They weren't as desperate as the other workers and had no wish to court trouble.
As for the ordinary laborers who possessed nothing, they had previously been the angriest—unanimous in their opposition to South China Sugar, ready at any moment to rampage. But now circumstances had changed. Word had spread that the factory was willing to hire them as workers. With a glimmer of hope before them, naturally no one wished to commit such reckless acts. No matter how Lin Zhuang agitated, they cited fears of breaking the law and its consequences; others lamented that their families had long been starving, and if they were thrown in jail, their families would surely perish. Some even proposed outright that everyone simply go work for South China Sugar.
(End of Chapter)