Chapter 500 - Hai Shuzu's Predicament

In the cramped cabin of the Guangding, Lin Baiguang leaned against his bedroll, his mind occupied by the chessboard of Qiongshan.

His primary objective was the recruitment of Hai Shuzu. The original plan—luring him to Lingao under the pretext of reclaiming his ship—had failed. Hai Shuzu remained wary, refusing to venture into the "Australian" den.

If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't go rashly either, Lin mused. Who knows what schemes we might be hatching? To a man of his standing, caution is natural.

If he refused to come, the collective would merely gain a large vessel and its cargo by default—not a terrible outcome. But Hai Shuzu himself was the true prize. The value lay not just in his lineage as a descendant of Hai Rui, but in his potential utility for a specific industrial need.

The Industry Commission had been clamoring for a local coal source. The Haikou region possessed some of Hainan's better coal deposits—dominantly lignite suitable for coking. With the impending development of the Tiandu iron mine, coke would soon become the bottleneck of their steel industry. High-grade anthracite from Vietnam was ill-suited for coking, and the logistics of foreign extraction and shipping were messy. They needed a secure, local supply.

In the Ming dynasty, however, opening a mine was a labyrinthine ordeal. The obstruction wasn't imperial policy or taxation, but the predatory nature of local powers. Mines were magnets for extortion, cited for disturbing "fengshui" or severing "earth veins." Primitive environmentalism also played a role—smelting and excavation caused pollution that invariably angered locals.

Official attitudes were arbitrary at best. Since the Ming state lacked a coherent resource tax, mining offered no fiscal benefit to local governments, only headaches. Mines attracted large, unruly workforces—"destabilizing elements" in the eyes of officials concerned with maintaining order. With no profit to gain and only trouble to expect, magistrates usually defaulted to prohibition at the first sign of conflict.

Without a powerful local patron to provide political cover, opening a mine was impossible.

Given these realities, the Executive Committee had vetoed sending a direct agent like Lin Quan’an. Their strategy was to find a local proxy to front the operation while the collective provided the capital and technology.

Hai Shuzu was the ideal candidate. His family name alone carried immense weight, capable of smoothing over bureaucratic frictional and silencing local thugs.

The challenge was persuasion. Hai Shuzu’s venture into maritime trade proved he had both an adventurous streak and a thirst for wealth. Now, according to Chen Tong’s intelligence, the Hai family faced a liquidity crisis. This was the opening Lin needed.

Lin Baiguang paced the small cabin, calculating the timeline. The current coke ovens relied on coal purchased from Guangdong, which was sufficient for now. But once iron ore began arriving from Tiandu next year, the demand for coke would skyrocket.

Upon arriving in Qiongzhou, Lin wasted no time. Staff transferred from Leizhou and new escorts from Guangdong arrived in waves, and renovations on the grain shop proceeded rapidly.

While the station took shape, Lin directed his agents to dig deeper. Chen Tong intensified his infiltration of the Hai household, while Gao Di surveyed the broader social fallout.

The report, delivered a week later, was promising. Hai Shuzu’s ill-fated trading voyage had been funded by fifty-one households totaling ninety shares. Hai himself held twenty-three. The investors were a motley crew: clan members, relatives, friends, and small merchants blinded by dreams of Western Ocean riches. Even household servants had pooled their meager savings to buy slivers of equity.

For the small investors, the loss was catastrophic. Many had bet their life savings—their "coffin money"—on this venture. "Limited liability" was a foreign concept to them; they saw only ruin. Daily, they besieged the Hai residence, weeping and demanding restitution.

For Hai Shuzu, who prized his family’s reputation above all else, the public spectacle was agonizing. Engaging in commerce was already considered beneath the dignity of a scholar; this failure turned a quiet disgrace into a loud scandal.

But shareholders were only the first wave. To build such a massive ship, Hai Shuzu had taken high-interest loans. Now the creditors were circling.

Worst of all were the families of the passengers—small peddlers and traders who had booked passage on the ship. Though most had been rescued by the transmigrators and had even recouped some losses through trade in Lingao, many had still lost capital, and some had lost lives. Widows and orphans wailed at the gates, demanding Hai Shuzu "return their husbands and fathers."

"There is no defense against that kind of grief," Lin Baiguang sighed. "Maritime trade is not for the faint of heart."

"As the saying goes, 'People see the thief eating meat, not the thief getting flogged,'" Gao Di remarked. "I saw plenty of it when I served Master Gao. Men ruined by a single storm, stranded in foreign lands, or stripped of everything by pirates. Even Master Gao lost ships and tens of thousands of taels over the years."

Lin nodded. The risks were immense, compounded by the terrifying custom of unlimited liability. A merchant's personal assets were never safe from his business debts. A single failure could mean total annihilation.

Hai Shuzu knew this. As a descendant of Hai Rui, the paragon of integrity, his bankruptcy would be more than personal ruin—it would be a stain on a revered legacy.

"What is the state of the Hai family's assets?" Lin asked.

"An empty shell," Chen Tong replied. "Apart from two hundred mu of clan ritual land, they hold less than two hundred mu of private fields. Movable property is negligible. Hai Rui was famous for his poverty—he couldn't even afford a coffin when he died. His descendants have maintained that tradition."

To uphold their ancestor's reputation, the Hai family had eschewed the darker methods of wealth accumulation common among the gentry—land annexation, usury, and litigation racketeering.

"Remarkable," Lin exclaimed. "Truly worthy descendants of Hai Gong."

"Indeed," Chen Tong agreed. "The locals say this calamity is a tribulation decreed by fate."

"If they can weather this storm, they may yet prosper," Lin said enigmaticallly. "It depends on whether Hai Shuzu has the vision to seize a lifeline."

He turned to Gao Di. "Go and investigate the creditors. Find out if they are willing to sell the Hai family's promissory notes."

Gao Di’s eyes lit up. "I understand."

"Don't rush. Drive a hard bargain," Lin cautioned. "Those notes will soon be worthless paper in their hands."

Without external aid, Hai Shuzu was effectively bankrupt. Repaying the principal and interest would strip him of everything.

"Handle this discreetly," Lin added. "We aren't buying these debts out of charity, but for leverage. Silence is key."

Meanwhile, Hai Shuzu had fled to Guangzhou to escape the storm. He was at his wit's end. Since the news of the piracy broke, he hadn't slept a full night. Survivors trickling back had brought fragmented accounts: pirates, a battle, rescue by the "Australians." It wasn't until his navigator returned with a letter and gifts that the full picture emerged.

The Australians had invited him to Lingao to reclaim his ship. He wanted to go—it was his only hope of recovering capital—but fear held him back. His family warned him it was a trap, a kidnapping scheme by foreign devils.

Paralyzed by indecision and hounded by creditors, the descendant of Hai Rui found himself cornered, waiting for a miracle—or the end.

(End of Chapter)