Chapter 1742: Military Parade
Seeing his customers "recklessly discussing state affairs" and courting disaster, the tea house proprietor hurried to intervene. "Honored patrons! Fresh from the oven—walnut cookies from the Zhang family bakery. The Australians are mad for them. Please, everyone try one." He gestured for the waiter to bring out a plate of golden cookies.
The Zhang family's walnut cookie shop, like most establishments in Guangzhou, had closed for a single day when the Australians entered the city, reopening the following afternoon.
"There's nothing special about these cookies." The old tea customers had notoriously discerning palates.
"Special or not doesn't matter. What matters is they've received the golden seal of Australian approval," Boss Zhang replied. "You have to place orders days in advance now—otherwise they're sold out."
"I know Old Zhang's shop. Tiny place, though it's been around forever. Mediocre business—his family used to mix in stale goods from the previous year. Only penny-pinchers and tea houses that didn't know better bought from them." A knowing pause. "However did they catch the Kun' discerning eye?"
"I hear Shopkeeper Zhang's son went to the Great World of Yifan and became sworn brothers with some of the Australians..."
Expressions of sudden understanding rippled around the table. "Ah, nowadays anyone connected to the Australians finds good fortune!"
"A new emperor brings his own courtiers."
"Fall asleep, wake up, and the whole world has changed."
Their conversation was interrupted by gongs clamoring outside—thirteen consecutive beats this time, the signal for "Civil and military officials, soldiers and civilians, all make way." The tithing head's voice followed: "Everyone clear the street! The Grand Army is passing through!"
Boss Wang snapped his fan shut. "Well then. Let's have a look."
The tea house emptied in moments. Outside, crowds already packed the sidewalks. The "official runners" maintaining order along the white chalk line now wore new uniforms and answered to a new name: the "Detective Brigade." They stood with their backs to the street, bamboo rods in hand, shouting at anyone who drifted too close to the boundary.
Military music swelled from the distance—a tune none of Guangzhou's citizens had ever heard before. The sheepskin drums were bold and stirring, the fifes bright and precise. This was "The British Grenadiers," and it heralded something unprecedented.
With the drumbeats came a team of standard-bearers at the far end of the street. The citizens craned their necks at the unfamiliar banners: a blue flag bearing the Morning Star, a red flag emblazoned with a gear and iron fist. When the South China Army's eagle standard appeared at the Great South Gate, held high by its bearer, speculation reached a fever pitch.
Marching beneath the eagle came the Grenadier Company, the South China Army's elite. They wore brilliant scarlet uniforms and towering black mitre caps adorned with gold braid and gleaming brass plates. White canvas crossbelts held leather cartridge boxes, canvas grenade pouches, and polished bayonet scabbards. Their imposing height, amplified by those soaring caps, made each soldier look like a giant from legend.
Yet the grenadiers were merely the vanguard of this overwhelming demonstration of force. What followed defied belief. Starting at seven o'clock, an endless procession of military might poured through the streets. Line infantry in blue-grey uniforms and gleaming brass bowl-shaped helmets marched in tight four-column formations, faces clean-shaven, leather boots polished to mirrors, bayonets catching the morning sun. Their discipline was absolute. Behind them came the light infantry, also in blue-grey, carrying Hall rifles that shone raven-blue. Their field caps were fitted with loops for camouflage. Next marched the Mountain Company—Li and Miao tribesmen recruited from the highlands of Hainan Island. Machetes hung at their waists; Nanyang rifles and poison-tipped crossbows rode on their backs.
"...Heavens above, the Wokou have come!" A commotion rippled through the crowd.
The Japanese infantry of the Battotai appeared—sword-drawing mercenaries in jinbaori surcoats and bamboo conical hats, paired katanas thrust through their belts, Nanyang rifles slung over their shoulders. They were short of stature but radiated the brutal aura of men who had killed for pay across many years and many wars. Close behind came the Korean White Horse contingent in white garments and tall black hats. Bringing up the rear were the combat engineers in rough canvas vests layered over their uniforms, long-handled axes on their shoulders, tool bags at their hips, double-barreled shotguns across their backs. Every one of them was built like an ox.
The spectacle dazzled the crowd into silence. They were accustomed to the threadbare "traveling robes" of the Imperial Court's soldiers, the rusted armor and mismatched weapons, the shambling formations. Where in the empire had anyone seen troops like these—uniform in dress, synchronized in step, radiating confidence and power? A single thought echoed through hundreds of minds: No wonder the Australians are invincible. Where else in the world exists such a first-rate army?
The drums thundered on. Columns flowed along Chengxuan Street like a river, each step falling in perfect unison—a sound that made it seem anything in their path would be ground to dust.
The soldiers sang "The British Grenadiers" as they marched, ranks following ranks, company after company, the procession seemingly without end. The watching crowd fell mute, overwhelmed by the sheer scale and magnificence of the force passing before them.
But nothing astonished the onlookers more than the convoy. The scholars and commoners of Guangzhou rarely saw horses at all, let alone so many in disciplined formation.
Gun carriages drawn by teams of six horses rolled past with their limbers. Four-horse teams pulled two-wheeled field kitchens. Baggage wagons came in twos and fours, along with light carriages for officers in various configurations. Iron-shod wheels rumbled over the flagstones like continuous thunder.
The massive convoy was largely for show. After passing through the city, the wagons would unload at the newly constructed Joint Logistics wharf by the riverside, transferring their cargo to ships—for on the actual campaign routes, watercraft remained the primary means of transport.
The South China Army's columns continued for hour after hour, filling the entire morning. Not until nearly eleven o'clock did the final baggage cart roll off Chengxuan Street under escort of the rearguard. A whistle shrilled; the Detective Brigade withdrew from their posts. The crowds dispersed in a buzzing haze of wonder.
Boss Wang, Mad Cow, and the others had been standing for half the morning. Their earlier char siu bao and congee had long since digested. With stomachs growling again and the entertainment concluded, they filed back into the tea house. No sense in troubling two establishments when one would suffice.
"I've long heard that the Australians field strong soldiers and sturdier horses," Young Master Li remarked, calling for a fresh pot of Pu'er. "But seeing truly is believing."
"This is nothing," Mad Cow scoffed. "The Australians haven't shown half of what they have. Those fire-wheel gunboats that can't come ashore—just one of those would scare you to death. Big as mountains! Masts taller than the tallest trees!"
"The Australians' ships are solid and their cannons sharp; everyone knows that." Young Master Li shook his head in wonderment. "But I never expected their land forces to match. These are truly first-class soldiers! The government troops and the Tartars alike—they don't stand a chance against this spirit and discipline."
"If the government troops were any match, they wouldn't have been annihilated at Chengmai back then," Fat Shu added. "And in those days, the Australians didn't even have that many men."
"I believe we're watching Guangdong become the territory of this 'Australian' Song dynasty."
The conversation wound on for another half-hour before the group finally dispersed. The fat man strolled a few blocks, white paper fan flicking lazily, and entered a small shop beneath a sign reading "North and South General Goods." The assistant greeted him warmly. "Boss is back."
"Mm." The fat man settled onto a seat behind the counter and lit his pipe. "Did today's package arrive?"
"At the usual place."
The fat man slid open the fourth drawer beneath the counter and withdrew an unsigned, undated letter. He opened it, counted the contents with satisfaction, then tucked the circulating notes into his robe.
After the demolition of Chengxuan Street and the military parade, Liu Xiang found the work in his hands suddenly flowing much more smoothly. Visiting cards piled on his desk in mounting stacks—all from local gentry and wealthy households seeking an audience. Those who felt themselves insufficiently important to request a meeting directly sent elaborate gift boxes with formal cards enclosed to demonstrate the seriousness of their intent.
The corridor of the former Guangzhou Prefectural Yamen's central courtyard had become a warehouse. Bolts of silk and satin, sacks of white rice and fine flour, dainty packages of dim sum and fresh fruit, antique curios, calligraphy scrolls, jewelry and jade—and of course, sealed parcels of silver—were all guarded by personnel from the Planning Commission and piled in towering heaps. The hallway looked exactly like a wholesale warehouse preparing to ship goods. Liu Xiang ordered the Planning Commission staff to register everything and deposit it in storage. A portion was allocated on the books and transferred to the Guangzhou Municipal Government for operational expenses—he genuinely needed the resources.
The more pressing question was whom to see and whom to refuse. Liu Xiang was stretched so thin he wished he could split himself in two, so immediate meetings were impossible. He instructed Zhang Yunmi to organize the cards into four categories: "See immediately," "See in the near future," "Can see," and "Don't see." The basis for classification was the "Guest Book" transferred from the Guangzhou Station, which catalogued in meticulous detail the circumstances, relationship closeness, depth of cooperation, and contributed value of every gentry family and wealthy household that had ever dealt with Purple Kee Enterprise. Additional reference materials came from Lin Baiguang's background files on Guangzhou's prominent families.
"Little Zhang, categorize the cards according to these materials. Other staff will draft the reply cards; you don't need to worry about those. If anything confuses you, ask Sister Zheng..."
"Understood..." Zhang Yunmi agreed, but as she surveyed the mountain of crimson cards and their accompanying gift inventories, she sucked in a sharp breath. So many! Worse, she had never been good with classical Chinese or traditional characters back at Fangcaodi School, and these seventeenth-century manuscripts left her thoroughly confused.
Liu Xiang could have assigned this task to LĂĽ Yizhong, but he suspected that man would apply his own agenda when classifying the visitors. At this critical juncture, Liu Xiang didn't dare fully entrust him. Better to give it to one of their own.
With Little Zhang's new assignment settled, Liu Xiang turned his attention to the household census.
The census was proving more difficult than anticipated. The Great Ming had no system of house numbers, nor any comprehensive scheme for naming streets. The main thoroughfares and major lanes had proper designations, but countless back alleys and humble passages had none at all. Though tithing heads and local runners familiar with the neighborhoods served as guides, actually entering homes and registering households still encountered endless obstacles. Liu Xiang found himself forced to serve concurrently as a one-man "Place Names Committee."
(End of this chapter)