Chapter 1503 - The Mountain Goods Firm

Lin Ming saw the attendant off, closed the door, and finally exhaled. A rare feeling of ease washed over him. Since leaving Foshan and blending in aboard the merchant ship, he had never truly been alone—every waking moment spent in careful disguise.

This cramped, spartan little room was a small world unto itself. Once the door was shut, he could temporarily drop his mask.

Out of caution, he first inspected the room thoroughly. Black inns had existed since ancient times—even along major highways, travelers had been murdered for their money, some even butchered to make meat buns. Lin Ming himself had handled such cases. As a frequent traveler, he naturally paid close attention to inn safety.

Weimin Inn, being run by the Cropped-Hairs, was no black inn—but it remained a den of dragons and tigers. He had to be utterly careful.

Lin Ming checked beneath the bed, inside the wardrobe, then meticulously inspected the door and windows to confirm there were no peepholes or hidden mechanisms before unpacking his bundle.

In truth, there was not much to unpack: a few changes of clothes and two pairs of shoes—brought from Foshan but barely worn, since one did not wear shoes aboard ship. There was also an ink-stone box. To conceal his identity, Lin Ming had brought as few telltale items as possible. Even the dagger he never parted from had been left behind.

He carried little money. Most of what he brought ashore had already been exchanged for circulation vouchers, with only a few silver coins kept close against emergencies.

After tidying up, Lin Ming went downstairs to shower, changed into clean clothes, and prepared to visit "Haixing Store" for his "interview." From his observations, he knew how tightly the Cropped-Hairs controlled "vagrants." From Bopu all the way here, there had not been a single beggar or itinerant performer—proof enough. He had also heard that patrols often "swept up drifters." Anyone caught without identity or employment papers would be sent to quarry stone or sift sand for months. Without stable employment, operating in Lingao would prove extremely risky.

The employment contract included the shop's detailed address. East Gate Market's streets were orderly, with many signposts. Lin Ming studied a map at the inn, then quickly located Haixing Store.

Its storefront was modest—only one bay wide—though the signboard was large, with bold gold characters, rather mismatched with the narrow frontage, like a child wearing an adult's hat.

Hanging trade signs were prohibited in Lingao to avoid blocking traffic, so Lin Ming could not immediately discern what goods the shop dealt in. Only after entering did he realize it was a mountain goods business. Above the counter hung price lists for various local products and sundries.

An attendant came forward to greet him. Lin Ming explained he had come for an interview and was led to the back office—only then did he discover that shops in East Gate Market were all narrow at the front but deep inside. The manager was a Cantonese named Qian, who spoke Cantonese Mandarin. The two struck an instant rapport.

From his time in Guangzhou, Lin Ming had acquired considerable knowledge of commercial houses. One glance at the shop's décor and the manner of the manager and staff told him that Haixing Store's retail front was merely a façade; it was actually a wholesale trader. The owner behind this firm must possess deep connections in both the Cropped-Hair domain and the Ming.

"Since we're countrymen, naturally I'll look after you while you seek a living here," Manager Qian introduced himself. He had been entrusted by the owner since youth to trade mountain goods and local products with the Li people on Hainan—a veritable "Qiong expert." "Since you're literate, you'll work in my accounts office as a clerk."

"Many thanks, Manager Qian!"

"Think nothing of it. I can see your bearing is respectable—you were probably a scholar's son once, fallen to this state for some reason. But here with the Australians, no one asks about your past or rakes up old affairs. Work diligently, and a modest livelihood is not hard to come by."

"Yes, I am entirely in Manager Qian's hands."

"The Australians here are strict with their laws; surveillance is like a net. Anyone who breaks the rules cannot hope to escape their grasp. Mind yourself at all times, and don't run afoul of their statutes, or even immortals cannot save you."

"Yes, I understand."

"Have you found lodging yet?"

"I'm staying at Weimin Inn."

"A crowded, mixed place. Once you sign the contract, move here. We have spare rooms. That will save you rent."

Lin Ming agreed readily. Manager Qian stamped the contract, gave him one copy, and instructed him to return it promptly to the employment agency. On his employment certificate, the manager wrote the date of hire and stamped it, then called an attendant:

"Take Mr. Lin to the police station to register his household."

Household registration existed within the Ming's baojia system as well—Lin Ming was familiar with it. He followed the attendant out.

The attendant leading him was young—perhaps sixteen or seventeen—but gaunt and sallow, as if recovering from a prolonged illness. Lin Ming recognized this would be a colleague henceforth. To smooth future dealings, he naturally set out to cultivate a rapport, striking up conversation.

But the boy could not understand his Cantonese Mandarin. Lin Ming switched to official speech, which the boy did understand.

Being cooped up in the shop must have been dull; the young man proved quite talkative. Before long, Lin Ming learned he was called Wang Xinglong and had joined Haixing Store as an attendant only the previous year.

"Brother Wang speaks official speech—you're not Cantonese?"

Wang Xinglong's face darkened. "To tell the truth, I'm from Laizhou Prefecture in Shandong."

"Laizhou?" Lin Ming had only known of Shandong in vague terms until the great mutiny at Dengzhou and Laizhou two-odd years prior—then the name Laizhou had burned itself into memory.

"You mean—"

"Indeed. The place ravaged by mutineers two years ago." Wang Xinglong exhaled deeply. "Unspeakable horror!"

"In the official gazette..." Lin Ming caught his slip—commoners did not read such things—and quickly corrected himself. "I heard someone say the gazette carried much news: the rebel soldiers were formidable, nearly laying waste to all Shandong, but for former Dengzhou-Laizhou Governor Sun Yuanhua, who led the gentry in a desperate defense of Laizhou..."

"Sun Yuanhua? Without the Australians, Laizhou would have been finished long ago." Wang Xinglong curled his lip.

This piqued Lin Ming's interest at once. Sun Yuanhua had first defended Laizhou, then helped suppress the rebellion—a great achievement. Rumor had it his patrons at court lobbied on his behalf, so though the mutiny had erupted on his watch, his punishment was light: merely dismissal from office. He remained in Dengzhou, "assisting with Liaodong military affairs."

Lin Ming had not expected Sun Yuanhua to be entangled with the Cropped-Hairs! His Brocade Guard instincts tingled with excitement. Feigning doubt, he said:

"Laizhou and Dengzhou are thousands of li from here—how could the Australians possibly help Governor Sun? And Sun is an imperial official; how could he collude secretly with the Australians? It's... utterly inconceivable..."

"You simply don't know." Wang Xinglong was young and harbored no suspicion that this mild-mannered "secretary clerk" was in fact a Brocade Guard; he spoke freely. "The Australians built a stockade on a barren island off the Laizhou coast, specifically to receive refugees from the mutiny. The rebel soldiers attacked it and were smashed to pieces—tens of thousands dead, many fierce generals slain, even the cannons they had brought from Dengzhou captured. Without that battle, how could Laizhou have held?"

Lin Ming nodded. "I see." He felt slightly disappointed; he had hoped to extract major intelligence about Sun Yuanhua conspiring with the Cropped-Hairs, but it turned out to be nothing so sensational.

Still, the news was shocking enough. The Cropped-Hairs' reach extended far beyond Guangdong and Fujian! Dengzhou and Laizhou were not wealthy places, yet the Cropped-Hairs had extended their grasp there, even building a stockade to accept the displaced—their hearts are treasonous indeed!

As Dengzhou-Laizhou Governor, Sun Yuanhua could not have been ignorant of their presence. And when the rebels had laid siege to Laizhou, they had split forces to attack the Cropped-Hairs' stockade... Even if the two sides were not colluding outright, there must be some tacit understanding. And then Sun Yuanhua had slipped free of punishment... Lin Ming felt a chill run down his spine. Could the Cropped-Hairs' tendrils have reached into the Capital, into the court itself?!

"Thanks to the Australians' stockade, many Shandong folk survived!" Wang Xinglong sighed. "Though exiled far from home, better that than filling the ditches!"

"Oh? Then there must be many Dengzhou and Laizhou folk here?" Lin Ming pressed.

"At least a hundred thousand. They were shipped here by the Australians' great vessels, ship after ship. The wharves were seas of humanity..."

A hundred thousand! The figure shocked Lin Ming again. What did the Australians want with a hundred thousand Shandong peasants?

Through their conversation, Lin Ming learned that Wang Xinglong was only eighteen this year. He had originally come from a middling merchant family in Laizhou Prefecture. He had studied, practiced the eight-legged essay, topped the local juvenile examinations each time, and been a hot prospect for the xiucai degree. His family had possessed modest property. But the Dengzhou-Laizhou mutiny had reduced everything to ashes. Though Laizhou City itself had not fallen, his family's shops and estates had been mostly outside the walls. In the vicious fighting, all was destroyed. Parents and kin died or scattered; only he and a younger cousin, a girl, had escaped together.

He had not come to Lingao by ship but had walked west from Laizhou, fleeing to Jinan Prefecture—where his father had relatives and business partners. But when those relatives saw the family ruined, they offered no assistance.

Wang Xinglong, seeing that kin proved useless, thought of the few Lingao-connected merchants he had encountered previously. He had shown interest in "Australian curiosities" and "Australian goods"; they had once invited him to visit Lingao.

Since the Australians had built a stronghold in Longkou to receive refugees heading south, they obviously needed labor. His family was now ruined—remaining in the Ming, he would surely starve or freeze. Better to head south and submit to the Cropped-Hairs. He had heard Lingao was a land of peace; whether in trade or as a shop attendant, he could support himself and his cousin.