Chapter 580 - East Gate Market Travels
That evening, Yang Shixiang's family banquet was quite refined—not the showy "five-five feast" with its impractical decorations, but twelve small dishes for drinks and ten hot dishes. Local flavors blended with Guangdong official cuisine style, creating something distinctive. Though Li Luoyou sampled sparingly, he found the flavors quite pleasant.
After dinner came tea and fruit. Two singing girls—gifts from Yang Shiyi—kept them company, singing and playing drinking games. Though Quark knew nothing of such customs, with women present he grew excited, grinning foolishly and shouting approval. That night he even shamelessly asked Saoye if he could get a woman to sleep with—much to everyone's disdain.
Exhausted from traveling, Li Luoyou rose very late the next day, only getting up near noon. After lunch, he told the attending steward he'd like to stroll around the county town and East Gate Market, and perhaps see some local sights. Was the area peaceful? How many people should he bring?
The steward smiled: "The area is very peaceful. Please enjoy yourselves as you wish." He quickly called out: "Prepare the carriage!"
Li Luoyou had ridden mule carts in the capital—an experience that nearly shook his organs loose. Hearing about carriage travel, his brow already furrowed. Saoye quickly went to speak quietly with the steward.
"No problem," the steward said. "This is an Australian carriage, not a northern saddle cart. More comfortable than an open sedan chair."
The carriage was naturally a Red Flag, though the design had been improved: more leaf springs, ball bearings on the axles, and a refined interior. The exterior was finely decorated by Zizhen Studio's skilled craftsmen from Guangdong—elegant yet luxurious.
With limited horses, only two such carriages had been built. They weren't for daily use—only for diplomatic receptions.
"This resembles European carriages." Li Luoyou sat inside, his rear on the yielding spring cushion—factory-wound springs that weren't quite industrial grade but worked well for sofas.
"Lighter and more comfortable than English carriages," Quark said, examining the interior. "Inside it's like the cool sedan chairs we rode."
Due to Lingao's hot weather, this carriage didn't use the velvet and satin of the first Red Flag. Instead: cool, smooth bamboo, rattan, and gauze.
Glass windows were set in frames with green gauze screens, plus fine bamboo blinds for shade. Besides two facing rows of seats, there were small side stools designed for Ming conditions. Carriages moved fast; servants and maids couldn't walk alongside like with sedan chairs. But having them share seats with their master was unthinkable—hence these two small stools.
Saoye sat on one. Suddenly his eyes lit up: "Master, this carriage is truly remarkable!"
What was remarkable was a hidden cabinet in the carriage wall. Inside were two rattan-cased bottles—yesterday they'd learned these were hot water flasks. Scalding water inside remained hot even overnight.
With these, wherever you went, you had hot water. Saoye thought this Australian product far more practical than mirrors and such.
One flask held hot water; the larger one was filled with crushed ice. Besides water and ice, there were several glass bottles of kvass with cork stoppers, plus some red-colored beverage of unknown kind. Quark, impatient, opened one to drink.
"What does it taste like?" Li Luoyou teased.
"Sweet and sour, with a strange fragrance," Quark smacked his lips. "Quite good."
After gulping down a bottle of kombucha, Quark felt like drinking more. But there was no rum in the cabinet—making the Englishman cry "stingy!"
The carriage left the county town and rolled onto the main road. The weather was fine—neither too hot nor too cool, with favorable winds and timely rains. Farmers were in their fields; workers and merchants walked or pushed carts and carried loads. The road was bustling with travelers. The two-horse carriage rolled grandly down the center of the road as people pointed and stared. Li Luoyou pretended not to notice, sitting steadily, though inwardly he regretted that traveling this way was too conspicuous.
Shortly the carriage stopped. The steward climbed down from the driver's seat to report: they'd arrived at East Gate Market.
"Would sir prefer to disembark here, or shall I drive the carriage inside?"
"I'll disembark here."
Stepping down, he saw a gray dam spanning the river, water cascading over its top, white mist swirling—quite spectacular. Beyond, near the riverbank, stood a mass of red buildings surrounded by high earthen ramparts, towers rising from them.
At the center of these buildings stood a tall iron tower unlike anything he'd ever seen. Across the river was another stretch of red buildings, jagged like sawteeth, with brick chimneys of various heights belching black, yellow, and white smoke. Li Luoyou stared, almost forgetting himself. Even in the most bizarre dreams, he'd never imagined such a scene.
The wind carried rhythmic rumbling and hammering sounds. A pungent smell drifted—faintly sulfurous. Li Luoyou shivered. Under blue sky and bright sun, he sensed something of hell.
Quark involuntarily crossed himself.
"Gentlemen, this way please."
East Gate Market's prosperity quickly captivated them. It couldn't compare to Guangzhou or Foshan in bustling activity, but the orderly buildings and level roads were unprecedented. The atmosphere far surpassed Guangzhou or Foshan a hundredfold. The road surface was spotless—not just no garbage, not even a fruit peel—and no puddles. The roadside trees, though small, already provided some shade.
Puzzling were the poles along the street, topped with iron-framed glass covers.
"What are those?" Li Luoyou asked.
"Street lamps," the steward answered.
Li Luoyou had guessed as much. But lined up along the main street—such extravagance was perhaps only seen in the palace. He'd heard eunuchs in the capital mention that the palace's eternal lanes had stone lanterns lit every night.
Street lamps in a market town seemed excessive. Even with bustling night markets, shops would light their own lamps—why bother with this? Li Luoyou was unimpressed.
Strolling through the streets, pedestrians were numerous—rich and poor, all hurrying about their business. There were local natives, outside merchants, and Australians in blue, gray, and khaki button-front jackets with monk-like cropped hair. The Australians weren't few in number. But listening to their speech, most accents clearly came from Guangdong and Fujian. These must be the "fake crops."
True crops were impossible to count. But fake crops were many. Careful observation showed that despite similar clothing, details revealed their occupations.
Those with brimmed hats, belts, and short swords were soldiers; those in rattan helmets with open shirts and rolled sleeves were probably workshop craftsmen; those in straw hats with rolled-up trousers were obviously farmers. The final category—neatly dressed, buttons all fastened, often carrying bags—Li Luoyou couldn't identify. He asked the steward.
"Those are Australian clerks," the steward said. "They handle affairs and governance for the Australians."
"Secretary-type people then—like yamen clerks." Li Luoyou nodded.
"Yes and no," the steward said. "It's complicated. Just these clerks have many ranks—they call them 'cadres' internally. Among those, there are still more distinctions that outsiders like us can't figure out. But you can see, sir—any 'cadre' has four pockets on their jacket. Regular clerks have only two below."
Looking around, indeed that was so. Li Luoyou nodded, then suddenly noticed women wearing similar clothes.
"What? The Australians have female clerks too?"
"Indeed." The steward reported this as news. "Australians don't distinguish between men and women. Women can be officials and managers. Some factories and workshops only hire female workers. A few female clerks aren't strange."
The beggars and ruffians common in prosperous markets were entirely absent here. Not even street performers or martial artists. Li Luoyou found it strange—had they specially cleaned up because he was coming? He couldn't imagine having such importance.
They simply strolled through the market. Many shops lined the streets with every kind of merchandise. Li Luoyou entered a few at random—nothing unexpected. The Australian goods sold here were available in Guangzhou too. But the buildings made a deep impression.
Nearly all were two stories or higher; three was common. Building after building, packed together. Neither he nor Quark could categorize the style—Quark said it vaguely resembled European architecture but wasn't the same.
Hard to say if the buildings were beautiful or ugly, but they clearly saved land. Li Luoyou remained puzzled—Lingao had abundant wasteland; why such economy?
Ahead stood a large shop with five-bay frontage, crowded with people. Approaching, he saw blue-skirted female clerks at the entrance greeting customers in various dialects—Cantonese, Hakka, Leizhou, Fujian... Li Luoyou frowned inwardly. Female clerks in a shop? Almost like using looks to attract customers.
But entering, he found the "looks" claim ridiculous. These female clerks were all sturdy and robust; none had any delicate charm. Each wore a wooden name tag on her chest. Their jacket backs bore three large characters: "Cooperative."
"First time here, sir? We have all kinds of fresh goods! Retail or wholesale! We pack, ship, and the more you buy the cheaper!"
A female clerk noticed Li Luoyou's hesitation and eagerly promoted the shop. Li Luoyou didn't refuse and entered.
The shop was enormous. At the center was an atrium reaching to the roof; second and third floors were galleries. Standing in the middle, the lofty space was overwhelming.
Most astonishing was the ceiling—glass skylights.
Glass skylights weren't unknown; some houses used translucent mica, ox horn, or polished giant clam shells for light. But those were small pieces.
Here was glass—huge pieces. The entire atrium was covered with an iron framework inlaid with whole glass panes. Sunlight streamed through, making all three floors brilliantly lit—utterly unlike the dim interiors of ordinary shops.
"What grand ambition!" Li Luoyou couldn't help exclaiming.
On the third-floor gallery hung a large signboard—black with gold-leaf characters: "Cooperative." Flanking it, two wooden pillars bore the inscriptions: "Quality at fair prices" and "No bargaining."
Li Luoyou asked the steward what "Cooperative" meant.
"I don't know either," the steward said—probably an Australian name.
The central atrium had a circular counter staffed by five or six blue-skirted female clerks—these were in their mid-twenties, attractive. Each had a small box-like device before her. When customers came, the clerks pressed something on it, producing a clear "ding"—then a drawer popped out. Li Luoyou watched, fascinated but confused.
"That's for collecting money," the steward explained. "Money goes in that drawer."
Li Luoyou didn't understand the point of this, and the steward didn't know either. But the Australians seemed to love this device—everywhere money was collected, they used these drawer-popping boxes.
Beyond the counter, more female clerks stood throughout the atrium, approaching confused-looking customers to offer guidance.
"My my," young Gu Baocheng, who'd never seen such a display, blushed. "This doesn't seem like a proper establishment."
"It's a kind of business strategy," Li Luoyou said, seeing it differently. "Without real valuable goods, a few women won't help."
"The shop manager is actually an Australian woman, so all the clerks are women," the steward added with interest.
"Oh? Quite a remarkable woman."
"Indeed! Her business ideas are one better than the next. Look at this shop—from construction, to hiring, to setting rules... all her doing."
"I'd like to meet her sometime," Li Luoyou said.
No sales counters in the shop—only display cases with glass fronts showing various goods: visible but not touchable. Each item had a stiff card noting prices—three types: retail, wholesale by case, and batch. "Bulk" said "negotiable."
Goods of every variety dazzled the eye. Most were daily goods and local products. As Li Luoyou suspected: Australian goods were really Lingao goods. The Cooperative mainly did wholesale.
Customers selected from the display cases; clerks wrote tickets on the spot; customers took tickets to the central counter to pay, received a slip, then walked further back—what happened there?
"That's how it works here," the steward explained. "Select and pay in front, then pick up goods with your slip in back."
Quark asked: "If the actual goods don't match the samples?"
"Impossible. Quality here is guaranteed," the steward said. "Australian goods' greatest advantage is consistent quality. Whatever the sample looks like, the goods look exactly the same. Even if there's any difference, it's microscopic."
He then asked: "What's this 'yuan' in the prices? I notice payment isn't in silver or copper coins."
"They use circulation notes."
After the steward explained circulation notes and showed him the actual paper money, Li Luoyou fell into deep thought. Today's sights had brought many shocks, but none compared to circulation notes.
Li Luoyou was no economist; he didn't understand monetary theory. But his merchant's mind understood perfectly the difficulty of promoting paper currency—and the enormous benefits once successful.
Throughout Ming, coin minting had been neglected. People suffered from currency shortage and circulation difficulties. Private casting of small, debased coins was rampant; even officials didn't prohibit it. Token currencies similar to circulation notes existed locally, but never on such a scale. From the steward he learned the Australians had strict systems for note use and exchange, with a special granary for management—these practices went far beyond mere expedient solutions to coin shortage.
The Australians' elaborate efforts to promote circulation notes here—such ambition! This was clearly not just about settlement and trade. Li Luoyou added another layer of doubt.
The Cooperative's second floor had more glass display cases; the third floor was small private rooms, mostly closed. Occasionally people entered and exited. The steward said for major transactions, clerks would invite customers to these rooms, serve tea and tobacco, and negotiate at leisure.
"...Our manager has done business here too."
"Master Yang also purchases here?"
"No—sells."
So the Cooperative not only wholesaled Australian goods but also bought local products. Runshitang's mass-produced "Plum-Vinegar Pills," "Secret-Recipe Dried Tangerine Peel," "Lotus-Leaf Tea," "Withered-Grass Tea," "Stew Spices" and such partly sold through here.
Traditional pharmacies carried many such products that were neither strictly medicine nor not—not major business items. Shops didn't expect profits from them; mainly they built relationships with local customers. Low prices, convenient for households—quite popular. Liu San greatly valued this business, believing these products had huge potential in the vast rural market. He mass-produced them with uniform packaging for sale. The profits were limited, but the branding effect was extraordinary.
(End of Chapter)