Chapter 117: Ambitions of East Gate Blowing Rain and Solitary Seeking Marriage

The East Gate Market Administration Office convened its inaugural meeting in the second-floor room above the hall of public standard measures. The conditions were crude—walls freshly whitewashed with lime that hadn't fully dried from the rushed construction, raw wood floorboards left unlacquered since the Industrial Department had yet to locate any lacquer trees, with modern paint belonging to the distant future. There was no ceiling, no paneling whatsoever, and a single bare lightbulb dangled from the rafters as the sole concession to modernity. The furniture, however, was magnificent: rosewood painting tables, red sandalwood official-hat chairs, and huanghuali round stools arranged haphazardly into a conference setup—pieces that would fetch millions in the twenty-first century, all of it plundered from the Gou Manor.

Seven or eight attendees had gathered, united by their interest in commerce. Some possessed genuine experience; others were enthusiastic amateurs. Their leader was a young man who claimed former employment as an urban management auxiliary officer, and upon learning he would head the East Gate Market, he had adopted an entirely new identity: "Dongmen Chuiyu"—East Gate Blowing Rain. His deputy sat beside him, clad in an iron-gray uniform-style shirt with black trousers and a black cap bearing an armband that read "Administrative Law Enforcement Auxiliary." His face was murderous—the unmistakable look of a street vendor's natural predator. Like Dongmen Chuiyu, his original name had been discarded; future Republic historical records would know him only by the bizarre moniker "Dugu Qiuhun"—Solitary Seeking Marriage. Together, these two would forge an entirely new commercial model in Ming-dynasty Lingao County.

In the not-too-distant future, the transmigrators' commerce would span every sea, their trading network stretching across Europe, Asia, and Africa. At this moment, however, their entire operation occupied nothing more than the unpaved dirt lot beneath their building. Fortunately, Wen Desi had declared commerce a Committee priority, pledging that whatever money or materials were needed would be provided.

Where the flag points, trade opens the path. Colonial expansion throughout history had invariably employed commercial trade as its breakthrough—not merely generating profits, but serving as a crucial means for colonizers to establish footholds. The transmigrators, having already seized territory by force, now faced a different challenge: increasing local contacts, transforming their image from fierce, murderous pirates into merchants bearing abundant novel goods. The allure of wealth would gradually draw wary locals to their side, ultimately binding their interests together. The transmigrators themselves desperately needed trade support, particularly for basic necessities. Grain and supplementary foods had to come from local farmers—relying on imports carried dangerous uncertainties. The ancient Romans had often experienced political upheaval whenever Egyptian grain ships were delayed, a situation to be avoided at all costs.

The meeting opened with a review of the previous day's grain procurement. When scouts reported that farmers had begun delivering grain to landlords, the transmigrators immediately established grain purchasing stations at East Gate Market. Local rice fetched 1.3 liang of silver per shi (94.4 kg), and calculating a typical 70% milling rate, they set the unhusked grain purchase price at 0.8 liang per shi—a figure that didn't account for transportation or profit margins. The Commercial Department estimated local unhusked grain prices at under 0.5 liang per shi; offering 0.8 liang was already remarkably generous. Procurement proceeded smoothly. Nearby commoners, from smallholders to major grain holders, found themselves tempted by these buyers who so eagerly traded silver for grain. At first only scattered individuals arrived, but recently the daily count had swelled to over a hundred, sometimes two hundred, hauling sacks and baskets on their shoulders or pushing them on carts. The Commercial Department's seven or eight staff members couldn't cope, and Agricultural Department personnel were drafted to assist.

Initial confusion arose from local custom. Commoners habitually measured grain in dou—pecks—with ten dou to one shi. But the dou came in official and private versions of varying sizes, and its open top invited a fundamental question: level or heaped? And precisely how high a heap, according to eye estimation? Everyone was stumped. After considerable fumbling, they decided to abandon this archaic system entirely, implementing new weights and measures: purchasing by weight at 0.8 liang per 100 kg, termed a "metric shi." A floor scale salvaged from the ship served as their instrument. Surprisingly, this measurement change provoked no seller objections—from the commoners' perspective, if buyers wished to purchase grain, whatever units they chose was their own affair. Dongmen Chuiyu marveled at this passivity; no wonder landlords exploited "small out, large in." These people had no awareness whatsoever of measurement standards' importance.

The commoners did, however, display keen vigilance against weight fraud. In the early chaos, inexperience meant that purchased grain often contained mixed chaff, even husks and sand, leading to losses. Someone proposed fashioning grain probes for sampling, and Wu Nanhai conducted emergency training on grain quality and moisture content, sharply reducing quality fraud.

"...As of today, we've purchased 90 tons of unhusked grain and 2,100 kilograms of peanuts," Dongmen Chuiyu reported to the attending Committee members.

"How much more can you purchase?" Wen Desi asked. Ninety tons of unhusked grain would mill to barely seventy tons of brown rice. It looked substantial, but with ever more mouths to feed—plus commoner relief efforts—supplies were already tight.

Yu Eshui opened his notebook. "Purchasing capacity remains considerable. According to county gazetteer records, during the Wanli era, Lingao's autumn grain tax principal was 7,646.927 shi; newly reclaimed land added 6.079 shi, totaling 7,686.079 shi. That's merely the principal. Add miscellaneous surtaxes, meltage fees, and the skimmings taken by each layer of officials, and actual delivered grain surely exceeded 10,000 shi. Now, in the late Ming, wealthy households' land and population concealment has reached its zenith—substantial acreage likely escapes taxation entirely. I estimate Lingao's total autumn grain output at 50,000 to 70,000 shi. Purchasing 3,000 to 5,000 shi poses no problem."

"Is stockpiling this much grain truly necessary?" someone questioned. "Gou Manor yielded over 1,000 shi. The salt village is already trading salt for Guangdong grain. We could also purchase from Vietnam."

Wu Nanhai, who took food security with deadly seriousness, immediately countered: "The more grain, the better. Grain in hand means peace of mind. Guangdong, Vietnam—distant waters won't quench nearby fires. If those supply lines are severed, morale will collapse."

Wen Desi reinforced the point: "At this stage, grain is harder currency than silver. In any famine, grain prices skyrocket while silver plummets. Don't forget—this is the Little Ice Age. Natural disasters strike frequently. We're no longer a few ships with a few hundred people. We must think at county scale now. Prepare for every contingency."

"I must also flag the trade balance and silver reserves for the Committee's attention," Cheng Dong spoke up on behalf of Finance. "Our trade currently shows a severe deficit—silver is hemorrhaging outward. After seizing Gou Manor, our reserves rose to 15,000 liang (old system). In just these past few days, nearly 1,000 liang has flowed out. This pace is unsustainable—circulating currency has its own demands."

"Xiao Zishan went to Guangzhou. Could he withdraw a few tens of thousands from Gao's accounts?"

"No need," Wen Desi replied. "Lingao is small; flooding it with silver would create problems. We have another substitute—salt." Salt had served as currency throughout history, and he proposed using it for partial grain and labor payments.

Opposition arose immediately: to commoners, silver was clearly more attractive than salt—easier to carry, easier to spend. Having tasted the benefits of cash transactions, they wouldn't appreciate a sudden reversion to barter.

"Open a salt shop," Dongmen Chuiyu blurted, struck by sudden inspiration. "Specialized in salt sales. They sell us grain with their left hand, receive silver, and spend it right back to us with their right. Haha—I'm such a crafty merchant—"

"Good idea," Cheng Dong nodded approvingly. "Using grain and salt as direct equivalents isn't sustainable long-term. But we control the county's entire salt production now—perfect for currency recovery."

Dongmen Chuiyu struck while the iron was hot, producing a document. "This is our Commercial Group's East Gate Market development plan. I request prompt approval!"

"Development plan?" The Committee members exchanged startled glances. They had conceived the free market outside Bairren Fortress merely as a venue for promoting trade and local relations. Few had given serious thought to its management—they had envisioned something like domestic free markets, with farmers and vendors arriving to sell goods, perhaps exempting stall fees at most.

"Indeed, a development plan," Dongmen Chuiyu seized the moment, rising to his feet. "Committee members, allow me to present this comprehensive proposal. I believe that with this plan, under the Committee's correct leadership, guided by Director Wen, and strongly supported by Commissioner Cheng—"

"Cut the crap!" Dugu Qiuhun snapped. "We're in the Ming Dynasty—you're still pulling this routine?"

"—our East Gate Market will become the most prosperous commercial center in all of Lingao—no, in all of Hainan!"

Dongmen Chuiyu, possessing that peculiar immunity to criticism cultivated by unofficial civil service experience, was utterly unbothered by Qiuhun's outburst. His preamble complete, he swiftly hung a freshly drawn plan on the blackboard behind him—a prize won through extensive sweet-talking at the Construction Engineering Group, plus several packs of cigarettes.

(End of Chapter)