Chapter 1499 - Immigrant

The voyage proved uneventful. Dongshan Residence departed Kaohsiung for Shanghai, where they sold a portion of the cargo and purchased large quantities of cotton cloth and grain, then proceeded to Longkou. After selling goods there, they turned about and sailed south again, stopping at several more ports along the way. By the time they finally arrived at Bopu Port in Lingao, it was already late January 1634.

Though Lin Ming had kept Lingao in mind for years—paying constant attention to every scrap of news from there—this was his first time actually setting foot in the place. Standing on deck and watching the harbor draw closer, he saw the stone jetty stretching into the sea as broad as a main boulevard, the towering cranes, the "self-propelled carriages" belching smoke and fire as they hauled wagon cars along rails... and finally, the Cropped-Hairs' "great iron ships." He had thought these sights would no longer shock him. Over the years, he had heard far too many people speak of these marvels that could only be attributed to "ghostly powers," and he had even secretly observed the construction site of Guangzhou's Great World, catching glimpses of similar things. Yet when this port under Cropped-Hair rule appeared before his eyes, he stopped breathing altogether. The scene was a world utterly beyond his comprehension.

Chimneys great and small belched black smoke into the sky; white steam erupted with low metallic clangs and drifted over the docks like wisps of cloud. Cranes, pipes, and rails crisscrossed in a tangled web. Whistles and steam horns shrieked in shrill succession.

It is as if I have walked into the Lion-Camel Kingdom—demons cavorting everywhere! Lin Ming could not help but recall the Journey to the West.

The harbor was packed with vessels. Dongshan Residence flew the Lingao navigation flag and was no stranger here; the captain had long since mastered the ropes. They soon made contact with a tugboat, which towed them to a berth.

The ship had barely settled when a small boat came chugging toward them, trailing black smoke. Aboard were several men all wearing the Cropped-Hairs' official uniform—Lin Ming knew this was called a "uniform," worn by all who "served publicly" under the Cropped-Hairs. They were here on official business, but this moment also represented his first trial.

If he could not pass even this hurdle, any talk of infiltrating Lingao to find his sister-in-law and gather intelligence would be empty words. He might as well turn around and sail home.

Liu Deshan and Chen Huamin were already waiting on deck with the chief officers. Lin Ming stood near the mast, pretending to work, watching the proceedings on deck from the corner of his eye.

He saw the Cropped-Hairs climb aboard from their boat, their hair cropped short like monks', just as the rumors claimed. Perhaps thinking a bare head unseemly, those "in public service" all wore some manner of headwear—some woven of rattan like an upturned soup bowl, others simple cloth caps with a long brim jutting out over the forehead. To Lin Ming, they looked indescribably bizarre.

Their clothes, too, were snug and belted at the waist. Though clearly all made of cotton—not a thread of silk, let alone insignia or embroidery—they lacked even the embellishments worn by the runners who stood at yamen gates, who at least sported a feather in their caps. For ornamentation, these men had only small colored cloth patches on their collars and a row of stitched numbers on their chests—Arabic numerals, Lin Ming recognized, with two Chinese characters beneath: "Harbor Services."

As for their belts, though made of leather, they were not fine fur but ordinary cowhide. Everything about them exuded a shabby air—yet the triangular leather holster on each belt, with its black curved handle, looked quite imposing. Lin Ming knew it contained the Cropped-Hairs' "revolving self-priming hand musket," one of the most fearsome weapons in all the realm.

That such powerful firearms were casually worn at the waist by these minor "public servants"—the Cropped-Hairs were extravagant indeed! Since joining the Hundred Household office, the arms issued by the court had proven utterly useless. Some swords had blades and hilts so loosely fitted they would come apart with the slightest knock—worse than decades-old stock moldering in the armory. Foshan was fortunate, being a peaceful place; even when bandits or pirates stirred up trouble, the Brocade Guard was seldom called upon. The rare times they went on duty required neither sword nor spear. But his colleagues in the north all complained that when duty called, they had to purchase their own weapons or risk catastrophe when things turned desperate.

Still lost in these reflections, Lin Ming caught fragments of conversation between the captain and the officials:

"...Any immigrants aboard?"

"No, they're all my own crew." That was Chen Huamin's voice.

Suddenly Manager Liu's voice cut in, "Yes, there is—one. Didn't that young fellow who boarded in Dayuan say he wanted to make a living in Lingao?"

Lin Ming knew they were speaking of him and silently cursed his luck. He had intended to slip quietly off the ship and blend into the crowd unnoticed. He had not expected Manager Liu to expose him so directly.

Inwardly calling the old man every name he could think of, he dared not move but continued his work, ears straining.

"Since there's an immigrant, have him come register. We'll arrange for him to disembark for quarantine in the next few days."

"Yes, I'll call him now." Manager Liu raised his voice. "Young fellow! Young fellow!"

Lin Ming could not pretend deafness. Affecting a bewildered air, he hurried over. "Manager Liu, you called?"

"Young fellow, didn't you come to Lingao to make a living? Go ahead and register with these gentlemen. Once you're registered, you're officially an immigrant. The Australians provide food and lodging." Manager Liu smiled.

"This..." Lin Ming groaned inwardly. He already knew the Cropped-Hairs' routine. Once registered, the next step was entering some "Purification Camp," head shaved clean, bathing, having one's rear end spread and examined—and then at least a month or two, perhaps even three, without freedom of movement. How could that possibly be acceptable? Not to mention that with his head shaved, how could he ever return to Foshan? That would be iron-clad evidence of having submitted to the Cropped-Hairs!

He quickly put on a smile. "Sirs, please understand! My body, hair, and skin—gifts from my parents—I dare not shave. I only wish to earn a living in Lingao..."

One of the Cropped-Hairs cut him off: "I understand your meaning. Rest assured—our Yuan Elder Court doesn't force anyone to shave. But if you won't shave, you can neither join the military nor be recruited for work. From your manner of speech, you seem to be a scholar..."

Manager Liu interjected, "Your Honor has a keen eye. This young fellow is well-read, literate and numerate, and plays a fine game of chess."

The harbor official nodded. "You're an educated man, with culture. Come to us, and within a few months you could become a cadre. Why waste yourself as a laborer or peddler over a few strands of hair? It's not worth it!"

Lin Ming put on his finest performance, wiping at his eyes: "Your Honor speaks kindly, and I know every word is golden advice. But I dare not violate the sages' teachings. My parents passed away early—please grant this humble one's filial wish..." At that, he even began to sob.

His sincerity proved convincing and moved them. The official waved his hand. "You're a grown man—what's with the crying? Since your filial piety is commendable and you don't wish to shave, then don't. It's all voluntary here anyway. I just think it's a pity."

Lin Ming quickly bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Honor, for honoring this humble one's filial heart!"

"However, even if you don't wish to shave, you must register and obtain documents—otherwise you cannot make a living in Lingao." The official opened his folder and produced a quill pen. "Register first. Name?"

"Lin Min."

"Age..."

The official asked basic questions—name, age, place of origin, point of departure—recorded them all, then had Lin Ming press his fingerprint. Finally, he tore off a slip of paper and handed it over:

"After the quarantine period ends, come within three days to the Customs Building—" He pointed toward the tall clock tower by the harbor. "—to the Immigration Registration Office to register for your documents. Be sure to come on time!"

"Yes, yes, I understand."

Lin Ming nodded and bowed as he accepted the slip, which read "Temporary Identity Certificate Application Form" at the top, with printed fields below: a string of Arabic numerals and his name already filled in, along with information about the ship on which he had arrived. From the large official seal across the perforated seam, he could tell this was a two-part form; the counterpart would certainly be retained by the so-called "Harbor Services."

After dealing with the immigrant matter, the officials inspected the ship's weapons and powder to verify they had been properly sealed, then spot-checked cargo against the manifest. Though Lingao had a customs office with very low tariffs—and zero duties on many goods—smuggling checks were not particularly strict. Afterward came the usual routine of spraying disinfectant. But since none of the ports Dongshan Residence had visited had reported disease outbreaks, the quarantine process was relatively simple.

As the harbor officials departed on their boat, Manager Liu sauntered over, shaking his head. "What a pity, truly a pity—they thought highly of you..."

"I really cannot bear to..."

"I know, I know." Manager Liu nodded. "To each his own. Since you can't disembark yet, you'll have to keep this old fellow company for a few more days. Your wages will be settled when the time comes."

Only then did Lin Ming learn he could not yet go ashore. They had to endure several days of "quarantine"; during this time, no one could leave the ship. Each day they reported crew health to a patrol boat, and if anyone fell ill, they had to report immediately—the shore would dispatch a doctor to examine them.

"These Australians are truly kind-hearted, even providing medical care..."

Manager Liu chuckled. "Young fellow, what do you know? They're afraid of plague spreading! That's why no one may leave the ship. If someone really does fall sick, we all get sent to the 'Purification Camp'—then never mind your filial piety; everyone gets their head shaved and bathes daily, eating gruel for months. They might even tow the ship with all its cargo out to open sea and burn it!"

Lin Ming started. "Is it truly so serious?"

"Indeed. Lingao now sees such constant coming and going of people, yet plague rarely spreads—all thanks to this system. Though it may seem harsh, it proves remarkably effective!"