Chapter 196: When the East Brightens, the West Brightens Too

Next door to Purple Treasure Studio stood Zichengji, a shop whose sole flagship product remained Guoshi Wushuang liquor. Zhang Xin, the man in charge, had discovered an embarrassing surplus—far more liquor than glass bottles to contain it. The excess sat aging in large wine jars while he waited for Lingao's glassworks to catch up with production. Meanwhile, his distillers worked without rest, processing crude liquor purchased from suppliers across the region. Their appetite for raw materials had already begun driving up prices throughout Guangzhou.

When Guo Yi learned that Zichengji's white liquor inventory had surpassed 2.5 tons, he was genuinely shocked. With glass bottles in such short supply, what was the point of producing so much?

"To sell it, obviously." Zhang Xin's plan was refreshingly simple. Since glass-bottled liquor commanded luxury prices, he would package the rest in ordinary ceramic bottles and sell to the foreigners in Macau.

"Now you're joking," Guo Yi said. "How many people even live in Macau? How much could they possibly consume? Besides, Europeans make their own fruit brandy. Would they even appreciate grain spirits?"

"This is where you don't understand, Director Guo." Zhang Xin chuckled with the confidence of a man who had thought this through. "Foreigners have grain spirits too. Isn't vodka grain-based? And gin? Vodka is essentially pure alcohol mixed with water—not difficult to make. Juniper isn't rare either; it grows all over the northern hemisphere. We simply obtain some and distill with it."

"But the market's too small! Macau's population—"

"That's precisely the trick." Zhang Xin's eyes gleamed. "Foreigners have glass, but by the time it's shipped to China, it becomes a rarity. Our Chinese porcelain—shipped to Europe—likewise becomes precious."

"I understand." Guo Yi's expression shifted as realization dawned. "That's why you want ceramic bottles!"

"Exactly. Guangzhou's countryside crude liquor in glass bottles becomes 'Guoshi Wushuang.' But put it in ceramic bottles, and it becomes 'Louis XIII': mysterious ceramic from the mysterious East, holding mysterious fine wine..." He spread his hands theatrically. "What a fantastic commercial gimmick."

The Gou family confiscations had yielded porcelain in abundance—inventory estimates ran into the tens of thousands of pieces. Such quantities could never find buyers within Ming China; the only viable option was selling to the original customers: Europeans. The Dengying Island had recently brought porcelain samples, originally planning to test demand in Macau, and Zhang Xin had seized upon the idea of repurposing ceramic vases as bottles. He selected a vase style with roughly 600 to 700 milliliters capacity as his packaging. Of this type alone, at least ten thousand sat in inventory.

With the bottle question resolved, other developments proceeded apace. The transmigrators currently lacked activated carbon, making vodka impossible. But spirits infused with aromatics—so-called cordials—were entirely feasible. Theoretically, fruits, spices, flowers, or any aromatic plants would work. Faced with such abundance of choices, Zhang Xin found himself undecided and telegraphed Lingao for expert consultation.

"What aromatic plants for export liquor?" The query was urgently forwarded to Fa Shilu's desk. This plant specialist was busy leading several students who had shown interest in botany, carefully preparing specimens of locally collected plants.

Upon hearing the question, Fa Shilu's expression behind his glasses betrayed unmistakable satisfaction—a look that said his moment had finally arrived.

"That's easy. Use rhubarb."

"You must be joking?" Zhang Xin, upon receiving the reply, thought Fa Shilu had lost his mind. Rhubarb? That laxative—for distilled spirits? Even as a prank, who would fall for it twice after one unfortunate experience?

"Not joking." Fa Shilu's reply came with a detailed explanation:

Rhubarb was a common Chinese medicinal herb, originating in China's northwest and southwest regions. Its medicinal use likely derived from the experience of western peoples before spreading inland, and it had been employed medicinally for at least two or three thousand years.

Since Zhang Qian first opened the Western Regions, overland trade between China and Europe had carried rhubarb along the Silk Road. Camel caravans bore it over mountain passes to Central Asia's Bukhara, then onward through the Black Sea to European markets. For centuries, rhubarb had been among the Silk Road's most significant commodities.

In later years, Central Asian merchants operated this flourishing trade route through Persia and the Middle East. By the Ming Dynasty, two distinct rhubarb routes existed from China: one traveling by sea through India, another crossing the Gobi and Siberia to reach Moscow. The Portuguese-operated transit trade through Macau included substantial quantities of the root.

Rhubarb had long been beloved by Persian and Arab physicians. For over a millennium, medieval trade in the herb flourished along the Silk Road, as it proved remarkably effective for stomach health and detoxification. Among peoples whose diet consisted mainly of meat and dairy, before the widespread knowledge of tea, Chinese rhubarb was regarded as nothing short of a panacea. Thus for over a thousand years, it remained one of the most sought-after commodities in Central Asian, West Asian, and even European markets. Through Arab influence, rhubarb found wide application in European medicine; depending on dosage and method, it could serve as a laxative for constipation, an astringent for dysentery and diarrhea, or a treatment for burns, boils, and abscesses.

In later centuries, Europeans even developed edible rhubarb varieties for pastries, savory dishes, and fruit substitutes. Yet to this day, medicinal rhubarb could only be cultivated in China. So elevated was rhubarb's status in European minds that festivals celebrating the herb existed in many places worldwide—an enthusiasm for this plant that its Chinese homeland could scarcely imagine.

"I thought it was just a laxative," Zhang Xin marveled to Guo Yi after reading the telegram. "Turns out foreigners treasure the stuff. Send people to buy rhubarb immediately. This could be an export commodity in its own right."

Guo Yi dispatched investigators to survey the market, only to discover that rhubarb had long been a specialized export business. Production centered in Qinghai and Gansu provinces, with Lixian County serving as the main distribution hub. Guangdong's export trade to the Macau Portuguese was monopolized entirely by "Quanshui Hao" warehouse, operated by merchants from Lixian.

Though disappointed to find this profitable avenue already claimed, making rhubarb liquor remained an untapped niche. Zhang Xin had his people secretly purchase large quantities from various pharmacies throughout the city, washing and drying the root overnight.

Traditional Chinese herbal wines were essentially made through simple infusion. But Zhang Xin chose a different approach—alcohol distillation, like gin. Shredded rhubarb was placed on a distillation rack while liquor steam passed through it, then recovered through coiled condensers to produce a slightly yellow liquid with a fragrant, distinctive scent. Finally, following Xue Ziliang's suggestion, a small amount of dissolved white sugar was added to impart a subtle sweetness. The result was genuine rhubarb cordial.

As for the post-distillation rhubarb residue, Zhang Xin had it all dried and sealed for storage—he planned to use it as raw material for bagged rhubarb tea. If black tea powder could be packaged into "fashionable" tea bags beloved by Chinese petty bourgeoisie, similarly processed rhubarb tea might have Europeans clamoring for it.

The ceramic bottles couldn't bear paper labels—they would look cheap. After discussion at the dispatch station, Yan Maoda designed small ivory plaques to be ordered from local carving shops, hung on bottles with colorful brocade cords. The plaques featured traditional patterns. The brand name: "Datang Gongzhu"—Tang Princess.

This tacky name drew expressions of contempt from everyone present, but Zhang Xin was undeterred.

"You want something elegant like 'Goddess of Luo River'? Would foreigners understand that? Look at all those famous French wines—either Napoleon or Louis XIII. Aren't those even tackier? I haven't even named it Kangxi, Yongzheng, or Qianlong yet."

"Fine, stick with your Tang Princess," Guo Yi laughed. "As long as it's not 'Consort Lan' or something."

"Consort Lan? That's not bad either. But foreigners wouldn't grasp China's wife-ranking system—they wouldn't appreciate the subtlety. Maybe I'll use it for domestic brands later. Could even do a whole series."

While Tang Princess and Guoshi Wushuang underwent intensive processing, other developments progressed. Shen Fan's recruited craftsmen had all arrived. When Baohengxiang closed, the boss had paid final wages, but the craftsmen's normal compensation had always been meager, leaving them with little savings. Now facing uncertain futures after the holiday, Shen Fan's timely recruitment was like rain after a long drought. All were grateful to their new employer. Yan Maoda welcomed everyone, promising good treatment and asking them to work with peace of mind. Each person also received 200 wen as New Year's celebration money. Then he produced his jewelry design album and asked for their professional opinions.

Contrary to his expectations, the craftsmen opposed most of Yan Maoda's modern jewelry designs. They thought his concepts looked attractive enough but were too light and flimsy, lacking substance—probably wouldn't sell well. Yan Maoda spent considerable effort attempting to convince them otherwise, but made little headway. Their perspectives would require gradual alignment.

Though the craftsmen disagreed with Manager Yan's designs, he was the boss, and a boss had the prerogative to pursue whatever he wanted. Everyone would simply follow along. Initially, some craftsmen worried the boss's experimental tinkering might bankrupt the business. But after seeing Purple Treasure Studio's inventory of sample glassware, the consensus shifted: with such fine secret crafts at his disposal, Manager Yan could tinker to his heart's content without concern.

Some even offered additional processing suggestions for the glassware. A jewelry craftsman named Zhu Shengyi proposed adding gold or silver rims and handles to certain glass cups, along with small decorative flourishes for enhanced luxury. Yan Maoda privately found such suggestions distasteful—in his view, this vulgarized the glass's pure aesthetic. But he still expressed approval. Creativity should be encouraged, not crushed simply for differing from his own sensibilities. Besides, their aesthetic sense probably suited this era far better than his own.

(End of Chapter)