Chapter 1741: Enjoying Morning Tea

"Drinking morning tea" was the most treasured ritual of Guangzhou's leisure class. Even in these extraordinary times—when the hair-thieves had entered the city and a new flag flew from the walls—the proprietors of the city's major tea houses proudly hung out their "Open Today" signs. Before six in the morning, mountains of bamboo steamers already crowded the doorways, wisps of fragrant steam curling upward, while inside the rooms buzzed with activity, every table spoken for.

Of course, morning tea was never merely about eating a sumptuous breakfast. It was a social institution, as essential to Guangzhou as the teahouses of the north were to Beijing. Tea guests arrived at first light—some carrying bird cages draped in blue silk, others shepherding their "hua gu long," their mischievous children. They would summon three or five close friends, find a clean table, exchange greetings and blessings of "May you prosper," then settle in to order: a few steamers of char siu bao, some shumai, steamed dumplings, a pot of bubbling congee, and of course the indispensable pot of tea. Only after these rituals were observed did the real business begin—what locals called "king kai," the art of conversation. Northerners called it "shooting the breeze"; in Sichuan they said "chatting by the dragon gate." Like its cousins elsewhere, this was a clearing house for intelligence: current events, social gossip, the news of the day. Naturally, much of it was embellished or outright fabrication, but those who knew how to listen could still pan gold from the stream.

As for the biggest news in Guangzhou lately, nothing could compare to the hair-thieves openly breaking with the Imperial Court, smashing through the city walls, and installing a Prefect surnamed Liu. Tales of "Grandfather Liu" multiplied like fish in the Pearl River, each one scooped up before the last had lost its freshness. The sensation of one story would barely crest before another, more explosive still, arrived to claim its place. Just days ago, the tea houses had buzzed with how Grandfather Liu had cut through the corrupt clerks like a sword through silk. Today, they were already onto something new.

"Gentlemen, have you heard?" A jovial fat man launched into conversation after his first sip of tea. "Chengxuan Street—these past few days—the Kun leveled the whole thing. That Ah Zhu, you know him Boss Zhang, the owner of Qingyun Rice Noodle Shop—half his house is rubble now. Poor bastard's been threatening to hang himself. What a pack of motherless dogs, may their sons be born without assholes."

Everyone nodded vigorously—except for a young man in green robes, who looked around in bewilderment. Boss Zhang was a well-dressed elder with three strands of black beard adorning his chin, a man who believed that harmony bred wealth. He turned to address the youth in Mandarin: "He's saying that the Australians demolished all of Chengxuan Street these past few days. Boss Zhu of the rice noodle shop—a young man I once mentored—had half his house torn down and is now making a great show of trying to hang himself." The young man's confusion cleared, and he nodded his understanding. Boss Zhang then addressed the fat man in Mandarin: "Boss Wang, this is Young Master Li, a sea merchant from Southern Zhili. His family are old patrons of my humble establishment, Yehengxiang. Please show him some consideration."

The fat man's cheeks flushed. Rising with teacup in hand, he switched to Mandarin: "My apologies, my apologies. Boss Li, please don't take offense. Allow me to punish myself with this cup of tea in lieu of wine." Young Li scrambled to his feet, fumbling across the table for his own cup. "I wouldn't dare accept such courtesy. This is my first time in your magnificent city, and I'll need everyone's guidance. Another day I shall host a proper banquet to thank you all." The two men drank to each other.

A lean, sharp-featured man at the table seized on the opening. "Did the Kun make off with a fortune then? All those valuables?"

The fat man wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Not at all! I have a sworn brother who's a runner for Nanhai County. He says the Kun piled everything in the East Parade Ground. Pay the fine, and you can redeem your property. And those who demolished their own buildings within the first three days get to keep their things without penalty."

Boss Zhang stroked his beard approvingly. "They mean what they say. That's rare. Clear rewards and punishments—even rarer."

The lean man sneered. "Rare? Your sworn brother is spinning tales, surely. Who knows how much he skimmed for himself? Everyone knows these are the golden days for men like him. A few taels of silver hidden here, a few taels of gold palmed there."

"Eat shit, Mad Cow!" The fat man slammed the table, making the teacups jump. "Speak carelessly if you like, but not about my sworn brother. Call me, Fat Shu, whatever you want—but leave him out of it! He's a filial son. The only reason your wretched dog kennel is still standing is because his old mother taught him to be kind and keep the peace!"

"Boss Wang! Ah Niu! Enough quarreling!" Boss Zhang hastily intervened, placing a char siu bao in each man's bowl. Mad Cow seized the excuse to back down and began eating. Fat Shu continued muttering under his breath.

"Boss Li, I'm not one to boast." Fat Shu addressed the young merchant. "If my sworn brother were scum who preyed on his neighbors like some people"—he shot a glance at Mad Cow—"Prefect Liu would have strung him up to swing long ago. But he's always been a good man, diligent and charitable, and that's why they kept him on. He told me the entire operation—that's the Short Hair word for it—every one of those constables accounted for every brick and tile. Everything was sealed and sent to the East Parade Ground. Anyone who pocketed so much as a splinter would be swinging from a rope. No hardship fees, no kickbacks. Getting rich? Ha! Getting rich my old mother's ass!"

"These Australians do bring a fresh atmosphere," Boss Zhang mused, counting on his fingers. "Eliminated the customary fees, reduced the extortion, business is just business, clear consequences for clear actions. For small merchants like us who live by our wits, trade has become much easier."

"That it has," Young Master Li joined in, finally finding his footing in the conversation. "The Australians—they seem to have the Midas touch. Business flourishes wherever they go. My father used to tell me that when he traded across the seas, we had to pay tribute to every petty lord who claimed dominion over the waters. The protection money alone ate half our profits each year. Miss a payment, and you'd lose both ship and crew. But once the Australians came—once they absorbed Liu Xiang and broke the Zheng clan—the route from Southern Zhili to Guangzhou became an open highway. Our profits more than doubled." He glanced around furtively and lowered his voice. "It's a shame they had to go and commit... such treason."

A collective sigh ran around the table.

How long the red flag would fly was a question not just for these tea drinkers, but for every gentleman and commoner in Guangzhou Prefecture. The Imperial Court had accumulated generations of prestige, an edifice that seemed unshakeable to ordinary folk. They bore no love for this dynasty that seemed only capable of taking, blocking, demanding, and devouring—but if the Heavenly Army came, it would grind everyone to powder without distinction between the virtuous and the wicked. The hair-thieves could board their ships and sail away; the rest of them had no such wings.

"Indeed. And everyone knows Mad Cow here has been selling chicken congee to the Short Hair soldiers." Fat Shu shook his head. "I've warned him countless times—stop doing business with them. When the reckoning comes, who knows if any of us will survive, but Mad Cow here is definitely finished."

"What do you know!" Mad Cow bristled, rapping his knuckles on the table with an air of superiority. "Listen here—unless the Kun flee of their own accord, that rabble the Imperial Court calls an army couldn't touch them. Give them ten soldiers for every one Australian, and they'd still lose. Even the Guan-Ning Army can't compare."

"Now you're just bragging!"

"Hey! Fat Shu, do you remember what I used to do?"

"Sure. You were just a big-headed foot soldier."

"Exactly. So you admit I know what I'm talking about. Let me tell you—forget the firearms, forget the cannons. Just the killing aura those Short Hair soldiers carry—the Guan-Ning Army can't come close. Those Eastern Barbarians who boast of being invincible with ten thousand men? They're only fit to carry nightsoil buckets." Mad Cow unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a long, centipede-like scar across his belly. "Fat Shu! Back in the day, I followed Commander He to fight at Lingao. You think I'm afraid of the likes of you? At the assault on Shishan, we had ten thousand brothers. We met a few hundred of them in close combat—and they wiped us clean. Chased us for dozens of li like herding ducks. I've even sat in a Short Hair prison. I'm not like you, who only knows how to flap his lips."

The table fell silent, each man involuntarily conjuring the image: a few hundred men pursuing ten thousand in full rout, scattering them across the countryside. They drew a collective sharp breath.

"So the claim that the Australians are only skilled with firearms is... completely false?" Young Master Li suddenly felt like a frog discovering the sky was larger than the mouth of his well.

"What fool said that? Even if the Short Hair soldiers fought the Eastern Barbarians with no muskets or cannons at all, I'd bet on the Kun."

"If what Ah Niu says is true," Boss Zhang said slowly, "then perhaps the Australians staying in Guangzhou for the long term isn't impossible after all."

"More than that. The Kun claim descent from the Song Dynasty. It wouldn't surprise me if they marched all the way to Kaifeng to claim the Dragon Throne."

Their discussion was interrupted by the sudden clamor of gongs from the street. Conversation died. The tea house waiter hurried outside to investigate, returning moments later with news: the tithing head of the Great South Gate suburb was passing by, beating his gong. "The Heavenly Army is marching through again," the man had announced. "Everyone stay calm. Those who want to watch may do so from behind the white line. Stay off the street itself, understood?"

"Understood."

The tithing head moved on with his gong. When the waiter relayed this to the room, excitement rippled through the crowd—a new topic to dissect. Mad Cow spoke up: "So that's why someone was pushing a cart along the street brushing lime lines this morning. It's for crowd control!"

"Troops passing through? Again?" The tea house erupted in speculation.

"I saw the river covered with Australian troop carriers, large and small, heading up the West River and North River. And now more soldiers marching through?"

"They must be pushing all the way to Nanxiong to seal the Five Ridges passes. Once the gateway is closed, the Imperial Court's army can't come south, and the Assembly can shut the door and crown their own Emperor."

"Question is—will this Song Dynasty be a 'Southern' Song, or a 'Guangdong' Song?"

(End of this chapter)