Chapter 2537: Winning Hearts in the Village (Part 2)
"Uncle Zhang, Second Uncle was indeed in the wrong here. But he's the Head of Case now, so it's difficult for me to openly defy him." Chen Lin kept his tone respectful.
"Ah, if only your father were still here!" Lame Zhang sighed heavily. "Your Second Uncle, he's..." The old man trailed off, seemingly afraid to continue. Sensing an opening, Chen Lin gently prodded him forward.
"Uncle Zhang, I heard the chicken thief was a Fake Kun brought by the Australians. Do you know what he looked like? I have connections with several Chiefs—I could help you file a complaint, let you vent this anger properly."
At this, Lame Zhang sighed again. "It was pitch dark that night. How could I make out his face? I caught him in the act of stealing my chicken and only managed one shout before he punched me to the ground. Claimed he was an Imperial Guard of Chairman Wen King of the Great Song Senate. Whether he was truly Australian, I couldn't say—but the man was definitely bald!"
This confirmed everything. Chen Qing had been right: this so-called Kun was almost certainly a fraud. Chen Lin couldn't say for certain whether the Australians had any position called "Imperial Guard," but he knew the Australians only had a "Chairman Wen"—he had never heard of anyone called "Chairman Wen King." Such a title might fool and intimidate country folk, but to someone who had actually been to Lingao, the deception was transparent.
As for baldness, that matched Qiu Xiao perfectly—the man's hair was so pitifully sparse he couldn't even tie it into a proper bun.
"I suspect this chicken thief may not be Australian at all," Chen Lin said. "Australians wear their hair in the 'Kun' style—short, yes, but not bald."
"I've had my suspicions too!" Lame Zhang was lame, not stupid. Rumors had long circulated that the chicken thief was none other than Master Xuan's confidant, Qiu Xiao. Following Chen Lin's lead, he added, "The Australians are always friendly in their dealings, and they have money. Even if they wanted chicken, it's not as if they couldn't afford to buy one..."
"Exactly. But regardless, Uncle Zhang, you are the victim here. Seeking justice through complaint is only natural. Second Uncle treating you this way was excessive—and reflects poorly on our Chen family." Chen Lin produced a small package. "Please accept this token of our regard. Rest a few more days until you're feeling better, then return to work. The silk workshop cannot function without a master craftsman of your skill. And though you haven't worked these past days, I'll instruct the accounts office to issue you half wages for living expenses."
"Many thanks, Ninth Master!" Lame Zhang's face lit up with joy. Chen Lin's conciliatory visit had already lifted his spirits considerably, but learning he would still receive pay while recovering—this was an unexpected blessing, like the sun rising in the west. Ignoring the swelling and pain around his eyes, he struggled to his feet and bowed deeply.
"Please, please—you shouldn't strain yourself." Chen Lin steadied him. "Uncle Zhang, in the future, the Chen family's silk workshop will continue to need your experienced guidance."
"Of course, of course. With Ninth Master at the helm, the Chen family's fortunes are in safe hands!"
After Lame Zhang saw Chen Lin off, his wife came in and unwrapped the paper package. Inside was a packet of "Clear Fire Asthma Stabilization Candy" from Chen Li Ji, the famous Guangzhou pharmacy. These were medicinal candies, made with Chuanbei and other herbs for stabilizing asthma and suppressing coughs—precisely what someone like Lame Zhang needed after years of working in the dyehouse, his lungs long since damaged.
"This is quality medicine," Sister-in-law Zhang said, examining the packet with surprise. "Mrs. Wu was just telling me how effective these are. Said when she couldn't sleep from coughing at night, she'd let one dissolve in her mouth and gradually feel better."
Good as they were, such remedies didn't come cheap. Lame Zhang's gambling habit meant his earnings, after paying off debts, barely covered food.
"Pity it isn't wine..." he muttered.
"Wine! Always wine with you! Are you trying to wheeze yourself into the grave?" Sister-in-law Zhang snapped. "The doctor said your condition absolutely forbids alcohol! Go ahead and drink yourself to death then! At least this old woman would suffer less of your torment..." Her scolding gave way to tears as her anger boiled over into grief.
Lame Zhang paid her no mind. He slowly climbed onto the bamboo couch, his thoughts drifting. That Master Xuan is truly worthless! He promised to treat us craftsmen of other surnames well, but in the end, it's all the same! Ninth Master is different—like his father, a genuinely kind-hearted man.
The subtle power struggle between the Chen uncle and nephew had not escaped anyone's notice. Initially, Chen Xuan had held the upper hand through his connection with the female Australian. But Chen Lin had clearly returned from this trip with powerful backing of his own. A confrontation over Nansha seemed inevitable.
In his heart, Lame Zhang hoped Chen Lin would prevail. The Chen Lin father and son had always treated people fairly and acted with integrity. Chen Xuan, on the other hand—though he had extended many benefits to those outside the family name since rising to power—had always seemed to harbor ulterior motives. His current generosity was clearly meant to win supporters; once he consolidated his position, who knew what would follow? Those weavers in the silk workshop, blindly following Chen Xuan as if possessed—they would likely come to regret it...
A few days later, more than a dozen young men gathered in the graveyard. These were the allies Chen Lin had gradually recruited from various families. Besides a few of his steadfast loyalists, there were seven or eight young men dissatisfied with the current state of affairs in Nansha.
Originally, he had wanted Third Uncle, whose prestige in the clan was considerable, to preside over the meeting. But Third Uncle had insisted that he "learn to command the room himself." With that in mind, Chen Lin forced himself to remain calm, mentally rehearsing the words he had prepared.
When most had arrived, he signaled Chen Qing to stand watch outside, then lowered all the window shutters before speaking.
"Gentlemen—Uncles, Brothers, Nephews..." Though all present were young, their generational standings spanned several levels.
"A short while ago, I had the opportunity to visit Lingao under Australian rule. The journey was truly an eye-opener..."
Everyone present lived out their days in this rural corner of Xiangshan County; life was plain and monotonous—nothing but farming and labor. In recent years, the region had known little peace, with rogue soldiers raiding villages and leaving every household struggling. What few entertainments and pastimes once existed had virtually disappeared. All that remained was gathering to gossip and trade old stories.
Though Australians were stationed right in their village—including a rare "female Australian" at that—the truth was, everyone knew remarkably little about them. Daily contact offered only glimpses. As for what Lingao under Australian rule actually looked like, speculation and rumor ran rampant.
Chen Lin had been there himself; his firsthand account was something altogether different. Once he mentioned it, everyone grew eager to hear more.
Seeing their interest, Chen Lin launched into a detailed account of his observations in Lingao, touching on wonder after wonder: iron ladder carts powered by water and fire that could carry a thousand passengers; looms that wove a thousand feet of cloth daily yet required only a single female worker; the East Gate Market, where lights blazed brilliant as the Silver River at night... and the department stores with their dazzling arrays of goods—many of which he couldn't afford, and some he had never even seen before.
By the end of his account of "Observations from Lingao," the young men were intoxicated with wonder, their hearts yearning to see the place for themselves.
Next, Chen Lin turned to the matter of wages in Lingao. This was no exaggeration—the living standards of Senate workers were incomparably superior by seventeenth-century Chinese standards. Guangdong had no shortage of rice and grain, so the promise of rice at every meal and daily fish and shrimp didn't particularly move these Chen family disciples. But meat every ten days or so? That struck home.
"...Ninth Uncle! You're exaggerating! Meat every six or seven days? For one household, perhaps—but for tens of thousands of craftsman families? How many pigs and sheep would that require?"
"Whether I'm exaggerating or not, there are plenty of Australian employees right here in our village. Ask them yourself when you get the chance. See if it's true they eat meat every six or seven days." Chen Lin smiled.
"Come to think of it... my father handles purchasing for the silk workshop," someone said. "Those people buy half a pig for a feast every ten days! And the workers in the silk workshop always get a share of the leftovers!"
"See? I wasn't exaggerating." Encouraged by this confirmation, Chen Lin's enthusiasm grew. Seeing he had everyone's attention, he shifted the conversation.
"Gentlemen, though we young men span several generations in seniority, at home we're all still 'the young ones.' Everything we do depends on reading our parents' expressions. If they disapprove, we can't pursue even worthy endeavors. We must wait until our beards turn gray before our words carry any weight. But do you know what I observed among the Australians?" Chen Lin adopted a mysterious tone.
"What did you see?"
"I know! Australians don't grow beards!"
"Could it be that young people hold the power there?"
...
Chen Lin proceeded to describe his meeting with Chen Xiaobing in vivid detail, then declared with passion: "He's roughly our age, yet he serves as an official among the Australians, directing numerous big shopkeepers to execute Australian plans."
These words struck exactly the right nerve. The room erupted in excited discussion. That Australians were mostly young had long been evident. Setting aside that Chief Li was a young woman, the Fake Kuns she had brought—and those who had recently returned to the village with the Chen Xuan uncle and nephew—were predominantly young people. The four who had arrived with the recent group were particularly striking: except for one slightly older man, the three girls were all maidens under twenty.
"...The ones who came with me this time—several girls not yet twenty—serve as skilled craftsmen for the Australians. They know how to build factories and operate machines. Think about it: they're human, and so are we. Are we incapable of the same?"
Chen Lin's voice rang with conviction. "These are times of upheaval—dynasties changing, winds shifting. We young men can seize this moment, achieve great things, and make our elders see us with new eyes!"
"We could certainly do it—we just don't know how to become capable!" someone responded.
"Uncle Lin speaks the truth! What Australians can do, we can surely do as well!" One of Chen Lin's loyal supporters chimed in on cue, stoking the atmosphere further.
A wave of cheering swept through the room. "Brother Lin, just tell us what to do! We'll follow your lead!" One voice led, and others quickly echoed agreement.
"Everyone knows the silk workshop is currently managed by Second Uncle. As for the improved silk industry, I'm assisting Senator Li in that effort. But such improvements take time and cannot be rushed. Right now, many disciples in the clan have no livelihood. As it happens, during my trip to Lingao, I learned that the Australians intend to establish a cotton textile factory in Guangdong—and the location they've chosen is right here in Xiangshan County..."
(End of Chapter)