Chapter 367 - The Foshan Journey (Part 20)

Liu San's Foshan expedition could only be called a triumphant return. Not only had he secured sufficient raw materials for summer medicines, he'd also procured a treasury of precious ingredients rarely found in Lingao or even the whole of Qiongzhou—musk, bezoar, and rhinoceros horn chief among them. The musk was particularly noteworthy: all of it sourced from Dushengxing of Henan, a firm whose reputation for genuine goods was legendary. Liu San had previously glimpsed samples of this brand's musk only in university reference collections. To see it now with his own eyes, to actually purchase it—his excitement was considerable.

Even the coveted pian zai huang was obtained. This medicine sold through a Foshan pharmacy at stratospheric prices—one tael of silver bought only a sliver. Even so, Liu San attempted to purchase more, only to be refused. Stock was limited, with a five-piece limit per customer.

"If we sold it all to you, sir, what would people with emergencies do?" The clerk's refusal was firm but not unkind. "This medicine saves lives!"

Liu San departed somewhat dejected, though he couldn't help but admire this traditional commercial ethic.

As for Chinese medicine processing equipment, he acquired countless items. Then there were the many pharmacy clerks recruited. Yang Shixiang grew somewhat alarmed: granted, Runshitang had completed several substantial deals, but surely such quantities of manpower and equipment were excessive?

"Elder brother, before long you'll find we haven't enough." Liu San's smile radiated supreme confidence. Yang Shixiang considered counseling restraint, then reflected: though this man was agreeable and they'd become sworn brothers, he was an out-and-out "cropped-head"—and every cropped-head displayed supreme self-confidence. Understandable, given their accomplishments.

He thought of how his fortunes had steadily improved since befriending this Doctor Liu. Even his business dealings had become remarkably smooth. Yang Shixiang didn't know Li Yongxun's affair was pure coincidence—he assumed Liu San held hidden cards, played only when seeing his sworn brother face resistance. His admiration for these Australians now bordered on reverence.

As long as the Australians remained in Lingao, his business would surely prosper evermore. Yang Shixiang could feel this in his bones.

Before departing Foshan, there was naturally more socializing. Hearing of their departure, Yang clan elders each hosted a farewell banquet. Even Lin Ming sent gifts. Three days of farewell wine flowed before they finally set out.

From Foshan to Guangzhou was merely a few dozen li by water. Liu San's party didn't need to escort goods themselves. The seven or eight masters and servants hired a river clipper for the return journey. Qiwei handled all arrangements, and by the standards of this era, the trip was remarkably convenient and comfortable. The connections at every stage were astonishingly precise—so much so that Liu San grew suspicious. Did Qiwei have hidden radio transmitters?

"Nothing unusual about it," replied the full-escort—yes, that was the exact term, not "armed escort," since this man's job wasn't bodyguard work.

"All by carrier pigeon," he explained.

Using their year-old network, Qiwei had integrated its branches, waystations, cart shops, boat services, and warehouses into a unified whole. At major junctions throughout the province, they'd established relay stations. Information was transmitted by carrier pigeon three times daily—morning, noon, and evening. Not as reliable as telephone or telegraph, but remarkably accurate for the times.

Reaching Guangzhou, they boarded the Guangjia. The Foshan-purchased medicines had already arrived at Qiwei's pier warehouse. The escort handed over the warehouse receipt. Liu San and Yang Shixiang verified nothing was missing or damaged, stamped the form, and loaded the ship. Even Liu San was impressed by the seamless efficiency.

The party took the Gao Guang Shipping line back to Lingao. As they entered port, they noticed the newly renovated passenger pier already had fences erected, along with several new stone buildings. Several people in naval uniforms stood watch at the fence.

After descending the gangplank, they realized these dark-skinned natives weren't Navy at all. Each wore an armband reading: "Customs."

"How novel," Liu San remarked. Though he'd known Customs was established during the institutional restructuring and that a man named Ma Jia had been appointed Customs Chief, Customs had always maintained a weak presence among transmigrators. For quite a while, the Customs Bureau had consisted of only Ma Jia plus one native customs officer.

Ma Jia had painfully discovered his impressive-sounding Customs had nothing to do. First, transmigrator imports and exports required neither duty nor tonnage tax. The Naval Department was the local maritime hegemon, and the "one-fifth" tribute from fishermen fell outside their purview. As for the few merchants trading in Lingao—the Trade Department had adopted tax-free policies to encourage them. Besides, most were petty traders with little worth taxing. Ma Jia looked at his carefully drafted Customs Law and Customs Tariffs and could only sigh to the heavens.

Equally downcast was Fu Bowen—yes, the Ninth-Rank minor military officer and Bo-pu Patrol Inspector who had fled into the county town after D-Day. This petty official had lost all face and could no longer remain in the city. Under County Magistrate Wu's stern prodding, Fu Bowen neither dared resist nor was willing to lose his rice bowl. After much hesitation, he reluctantly returned to Bo-pu.

The "cropped-head rebels" were surprisingly generous. They welcomed his return—part of a private agreement between parties. The transmigrator collective honored the treaty, restoring his original Patrol Inspector building, even leaving the installed glass windows intact. Electricity was gone, but they generously provided a gas lamp.

Even his twelve-archer establishment was restored—though "restored" warranted quotation marks. The transmigrators had provided a ready-made twelve-man squad. Fu Bowen knew none of them—all were transmigrator-selected men who essentially served Ma Jia. This squad brazenly moved into the Patrol Inspector station, drawing Patrol Inspector pay. Fu Bowen wisely gave them no orders.

Thus the transmigrator Customs and the Ming Patrol Inspector coexisted in one place—essentially two signs sharing one staff. All current taxation and passenger inspection was conducted under the Bo-pu Patrol Inspector's name. Fu Bowen was like certain nominal leaders: merely signing papers without handling actual operations.

Fu Bowen understood his position perfectly. He was a hollow figurehead, surrounded by hostile territory—especially after his recent trip home, where he personally witnessed rows of head-boxes displayed at the county gate. Those names that once made children cry and cities close their gates—now their heads were neatly displayed in wooden cages on poles, grimacing while crows pecked at them.

These cropped-heads could eliminate even the most troublesome bandits—what was a small county city to them? Fu Bowen simply went with the flow. Each morning he drank tea, practiced swordplay, read books, and perused the cropped-heads' newspaper. Meals were taken at the Bo-pu cafeteria—decent food, sometimes accompanied by excellent wine, better than county wine shops. He'd developed a taste for convenient paper cigarettes, abandoning his old dry-tobacco pipe entirely.

He arranged for family members to exchange some of his monthly salary for Lingao Grain Circulation Vouchers. Before he knew it, this spending kept growing until his meager salary could barely cover it. At such points, Ma Jia would discreetly provide some vouchers. Fu Bowen accepted without qualms—accepting money was official custom, after all.

Ma Jia himself seemed idle. Besides drafting various customs regulations and maritime law provisions, he occasionally visited Fu Bowen's station—part of his assignment, monitoring this Ming minor official stationed at such a sensitive transmigrator location.

On this particular day, Ma Jia and Fu Bowen were playing chess. Midway through the game, a customs officer burst in:

"Chief Ma! Cargo's arrived!"

"Cargo?!" Ma Jia leapt up. "Cargo arrived" meant large taxable shipments—a first for Bo-pu Customs.

"No tax exemption certificate?"

"None. I asked the Guangjia crew—the shipper is the owner of Runshitang in the county town. The cargo was imported from Foshan. Worth a fortune. All medicines!"

"Stay calm," Ma Jia ordered. "Have Ji An meet me at the pier."

Ji An had recently been promoted from among ordinary transmigrators. With ten years as a customs broker, he understood import-export procedures far better than the regulation-quoting Ma Jia.

"Master Fu, I'll return shortly." He excused himself and hurried to the pier. Ji An was already there.

"How does it look?"

"Needs appraisal," Ji An said. "Then we check the tariff schedule."

"Just ask the cargo value." Ma Jia's head hurt at the mention of appraisal—the commodity manuals had everything, but no one could identify these medicines...

"Without invoices here, how do we verify truthfulness?" Ji An was still speaking when Liu San, who'd already cleared customs, came running back.

"What's going on?"

"Collecting import duty." Ma Jia was quite excited. "Finally we have major imports..."

"These are Health Department pharmaceutical materials!" Liu San nearly leapt. "You're taxing this too?"

"Isn't this Runshitang's cargo?" Ma Jia asked. "If it were Health Department imports, there'd be a Health Department notification. Besides, this shipment is clearly Runshitang's!"

"It's Health Department cargo. Runshitang is now a Health Department joint-venture enterprise," Liu San argued confidently. "You'd tax goods crucial to public health and popular welfare?"

"Never heard of it." Ma Jia shook his head. Ji An shook his too. The Health Department-Runshitang joint venture had received Executive Committee approval and been registered with the Foreign Trade Committee, but no formal notification had gone to various agencies. Customs naturally knew nothing of it.

"Call External Trade Committee—we're registered there."

Phone calls confirmed the registration. But both sides then disagreed about whether joint ventures enjoyed full tax exemption. The Executive Committee had never specifically clarified this issue. However, the Women's Cooperative enterprises all paid business tax and income tax. Ma Jia believed this precedent showed: enterprises with private shares weren't tax-exempt. Runshitang had native half-ownership, so import duties naturally applied.

Liu San refused to accept this. While goods were half-owned by Yang Shixiang and profitable, fundamentally Runshitang served the transmigrator collective. Taxing it would dampen merchant enthusiasm.

Ji An held a third view. Since Runshitang was jointly operated with the collective, and general medicines served public health, taxation was unnecessary. But ginseng and deer antler—purely tonics, luxury goods—should definitely be taxed at high rates. He proposed taxing this portion at elevated rates.

Three people, three opinions, faces flushed with argument. Fortunately, Yang Shixiang had gone to supervise unloading and missed this dispute entirely.

Finally, after Executive Committee coordination, they reached an agreement: prioritize merchant courtesy, with all duties waived. The entire medicine shipment cleared customs. However, per Ma Jia's insistence, the shipper had to pay unloading fees—transmigrator dock workers weren't free for private service.

Ma Jia signed the release but remained wary of Liu San's approach. Recently, the transmigrator collective had developed some unhealthy tendencies. It had started with Navy private clubs, then Army immediately followed suit. Now every department was scheming. This "joint venture"—wouldn't it become Health Department's profit-making "tertiary industry"?

Yang Shixiang was unconcerned—he'd never expected loading costs to be covered anyway.

With goods unloaded, he sent a servant to inquire about hiring local porters. Liu San said:

"No need for the trouble. There's a noon ox-cart to Bairren City. From there, anywhere's convenient."

(End of Chapter)