Chapter 267: The Rustic Sugar Mill (Part Two)

The sugar, however, was extraordinarily dark—darker even than common brown sugar, verging on black.

A tarry liquid drained from the earthenware vat, and Wen Tong recognized it immediately: molasses. As granulated sugar crystallized during boiling, this dark mother liquor remained behind, still rich with sugar that no economical process could extract. Not until after the 1970s would technology make recovery viable. For now, molasses served only general purposes—the most promising being distillation. Rum, after all, was born from precisely this byproduct.

The workers called what dripped down "shaoshui sugar." It could be reboiled into a coarse black granulate or used in food preparation, but it would never fetch a decent price at market.

Wen Tong shook his head. The economics simply didn't justify the effort. Better to distill the stuff into spirits.

"Does anyone here produce white sugar?" he asked. "Or rock candy?"

The workers shook their heads in unison, and Liao Dahua translated their answer: throughout Xuwen, Haikang, and the surrounding districts, no one refined white sugar or crystallized rock candy. Every mill produced only raw brown sugar—some also made brick sugar, boiling the cane juice to a thick paste, then stirring it in a large iron pan until crystals formed. The solidified mass was poured into square frames, sliced into blocks, and packed fifty to a bamboo basket lined with dried cane leaves.

Wen Tong frowned. He knew perfectly well that the authentic method for producing white sugar had emerged in precisely this era—the late Ming Dynasty—using yellow clay water as a filter. The technique posed no great difficulty. Why had no one in Leizhou adopted it?

He mentally reviewed the entire operation he had just witnessed. This mill produced roughly a hundred kilograms of raw brown sugar per day—a pitiful output. Worse, though the stoker supervising the work seemed familiar with the general flow, he fumbled the actual execution. His fire control was uncertain, his timing for drawing off the sugar hesitant, his lime dosages guesswork. The result was obvious: poor-quality sugar. The crude stove construction made flame regulation nearly impossible, and several batches of syrup had scorched. Sediment from the lime clarification wasn't fully filtered before the pour, wasting considerable sugar. The room for improvement was vast.

While Wen Tong pondered, someone ushered in several cane farmers from the vicinity. He questioned each in turn. Their holdings were modest—the smallest just over ten mu, the largest barely forty. According to them, each mu yielded a little more than three shi of sugar. After harvest, they brought their cane here for processing under a sharecropping arrangement: four parts to the mill, six to the farmer. Some mills charged a flat processing fee instead, but the final accounting came out roughly equal.

As for the finished product, the farmers explained that whether the sugar belonged to the mill or to themselves, most of it traveled to Hai'an Street in Haikang, where the trading houses—hongs—bought it up. These establishments were largely run by merchants from Chaozhou and Guangzhou who had descended on the region specifically to corner the raw sugar export trade. Pack after pack was loaded onto ships at Hai'an Port and carried away.

"What sort of net profit does sugarcane bring you?" Wen Tong asked.

"Around six or seven thousand wen per mu," one farmer replied. "The taxes bite deep, but the returns are fair enough. The real trouble is the interest. By the time we've repaid principal and interest, there's barely anything left."

"Interest?" Wen Tong was surprised. He hadn't realized sugarcane farming required borrowing.

The farmer smiled bitterly. "Your Honor wouldn't know our hardships. Sugarcane devours water and fertilizer. Fertilizer alone is a major expense. When the rains don't come, we must hire men to irrigate. When harvest arrives, we hire laborers again. Even the smallest plot costs four or five thousand wen to work. Country folk don't keep that kind of cash on hand, so we borrow."

The interest rates ran fifteen to twenty percent—not outrageous on paper. But after processing, the sugar had to be split with the creditor, effectively halving the farmer's profit. Both Wen Tong and Chang Shide recognized the arrangement for what it was: ruthless usury dressed in respectable clothes.

"I understand," Wen Tong said. "I'm the new owner here, and I ought to offer some benefit to the people. This crushing season, anyone who brings sugarcane to me for processing will be charged only three parts."

The farmers' gratitude was so intense they nearly prostrated themselves. Waiving one part meant every household would keep significantly more of what they had earned.

After seeing them off, Wen Tong returned to the hall with Liao Dahua and the others trailing behind.

"Manager Liao, you run the branch here, and I've been monopolizing your time for days. The Haikang office—" Wen Tong began apologetically.

"Think nothing of it," Liao Dahua interjected. "The Haikang branch exists to serve Manager Guo's interests. Whatever the old gentleman requires, I naturally devote my full attention." Though he held the title of branch manager, he was no martial escort—just a bankrupt petty merchant. The Qiwei presence in Leizhou wasn't about guarding caravans; it was about facilitating Manager Guo's commercial ventures. Someone like Liao Dahua was ideally suited for the role.

The old gentleman. Wen Tong suppressed a smirk. Guo Yi was certainly enjoying his status these days. Aloud, he said, "Right now we've got no one here. We need to hire staff—a foreman for the laborers, and a proper sugar-boiling master. These are urgent matters, and we're outsiders with no local connections. I'll have to rely on you."

He had already catalogued the operation's many flaws, but technical improvements required time, equipment, and facility upgrades—none of which he could afford right now. With the crushing season imminent, the sensible approach was to follow established practices and simply get sugar into production.

"Easy," Liao Dahua assured him, nodding vigorously. "Leave it to me. I'll have everything arranged within three days."

"Don't pinch pennies on wages—we need bodies immediately. And if you can recruit long-term workers, or if anyone is selling themselves into service, take in anyone honest and reliable."

"Understood." Liao Dahua stepped closer and lowered his voice. "If suitable young women are available, should I purchase a few to attend to Shopkeeper Wen and Master Chang's... daily needs? The two maids Guangzhou sent are rather rough—probably not up to proper service."

"Yes, yes," Chang Shide said quickly. "Not too young, and not too thin."

Wen Tong shot him an awkward look. The man was entirely too eager. It wasn't that Wen Tong lacked similar thoughts—the Executive Committee had authorized local recruitment, after all—but showing such obvious appetite for women immediately upon arrival would reflect poorly if word reached Lingao.

"Let's hold off on that," Wen Tong said. "We've only just arrived. We still need to inspect the other properties, which may take weeks. Acquiring a maidservant for the road would be inconvenient. The two servant boys will do." The boys in question stood nearby, faces flushing crimson, saying nothing.

Liao Dahua paused. His gaze swept the room, and sudden comprehension dawned on his face.

"Yes, yes—forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Neither transmigrator understood what the man thought he had realized, but there was too much to do to pursue the matter. Evening was approaching. Liao Dahua and the others took their leave. The escort guards he had brought stationed themselves around the estate perimeter. In Xuwen—the most lawless corner of Leizhou Prefecture, where bandits of every stripe preyed on anyone with property—sugarcane estates and sugar mills made tempting targets. Zhou Shizhai and Li Biao settled into the outer chamber, ready to respond at a moment's notice.

That evening, the two maids from Guangzhou came to pay their respects. Though thin and weathered rather than burly, they proved surprisingly strong. They produced two deep bathing tubs—newly made—then carried in bucket after bucket of steaming water along with ample soap beans. After two days on dusty roads, a proper bath was precisely what the two men needed. Wen Tong stripped and sank into the hot water, soaking until his muscles loosened, then climbed out to sit on a bamboo stool and lather himself. The soap beans didn't spread as smoothly as modern soap, but where they touched skin, they felt slick and rich, carrying a subtle natural fragrance far superior to the industrial product issued by the offices in Lingao.

"Old Chang," Wen Tong called to his companion, who lay submerged with eyes closed, radiating contentment. "Help me scrub my back."

"Have Wen Xiu and his brother do it. They're our manservants—that's exactly what they're for. Let me enjoy this a while longer." Chang Shide didn't open his eyes.

Fair enough, Wen Tong decided—he could get a proper back scrub out of it. He called out, and Wen Xiu answered from the adjacent room, appearing moments later barefoot in a short shirt and trousers.

"Your Honor has a strong body," the boy remarked while working vigorously at Wen Tong's back.

Chang Shide snorted from the tub. "Him? That skinny frame? Look at these pecs—I don't swing the ghost-head blade for nothing." He slapped the water for emphasis.

Wen Xiu wisely held his tongue. Wen Tong, ignoring the display, asked, "Who taught you Mandarin?"

"Steward Sun, sir."

Wen Tong and Chang Shide had been briefed before departure: Steward Sun was Sun Chang, one of the key indigenous staff at the Guangzhou Station.

"Young Guo must have quite the operation over there."

Wen Xiu hesitated, uncertain whether this casual "Young Guo" referred to the Manager Guo his peers revered almost as a deity. After a moment, he answered carefully: "Yes, several dozen people at least." He continued scrubbing diligently. "Everyone learns Mandarin from Steward Sun. Manager Guo says it's to prepare for the masters who'll come in the future—"

Chang Shide chuckled. "Young Guo really does know how to lay groundwork. We've barely arrived in Leizhou and the servants already speak our language. Otherwise, we'd have no one to give orders to." He yawned. "Today was tedious. Felt like watching some village folk performance. Anyway—have you worked out any improvement plans for the sugar-making?"

"Improvements exist," Wen Tong replied, "but there's no time for major changes now. We'll make do with what we have." He signaled, and Wen Xiu scooped clean water to rinse him. The warmth cascading over his body was deeply pleasant. "Tomorrow I'll inspect the fields. After that, we need to visit the other estates and mills to assess their conditions."

"Come scrub my back!" Chang Shide heaved himself from the tub. His body was considerably more robust than Wen Tong's—somewhat heavy, yes, but regular exercise and months of physical labor since D-Day had layered muscle across his chest, abdomen, and thighs. Wen Xiu eyed the physique with mingled awe and envy.

"Your Honor truly has a fine build," the boy said ingratiatingly as he began scrubbing.

"Why not consolidate everything?" Chang Shide asked. "Close the scattered mills and centralize operations here. Bring all the cane in for unified processing. Easier to scale up, and bagasse utilization becomes simpler."

"I've considered it," Wen Tong said. "But farmers prefer processing nearby. Who wants to haul sugarcane across terrible roads just to have it crushed? We'll need to see how the estates are distributed. If they're too scattered, the sugar industry here has no future."

In truth, the problems occupying his mind ran far deeper than logistics. He had gained a general picture of Leizhou's sugar industry today; determining the path forward would require more investigation. The improvements he envisioned extended well beyond equipment and processes. At the mill, he had examined the cane being crushed—bamboo cane, a variety native to China. Though specialized for sugar production, its sucrose content remained inferior to Kunlun cane, a chewing variety. Even here in Leizhou, one of China's prime sugarcane regions, bamboo cane yielded only about 9% sugar—far below the 14% standard of modern cultivars. The potential for varietal improvement was enormous. The Agricultural Committee maintained seedlings of several superior strains, all suitable for trial here. Field management, too, offered vast room for advancement.

"True—ah, ah, that's good. You've got real skill." Chang Shide groaned with pleasure under Wen Xiu's ministrations.

"We servants have learned the full repertoire of attending to our masters," Wen Xiu said, working his hands across Chang Shide's back.

"What about rough processing at each location, then centralizing the brown sugar here for final refining into white?"

"That's worth considering too. But we'll need to assess each site first."

When they finished bathing, the maids returned to haul away the dirty water and tidy the room, collecting the discarded clothes for washing. Before long, dinner appeared. There was even liquor—Xuwen Ye, a local brew made from jackfruit. Liao Dahua and Zhou Shizhai joined them at the table. The two escorts drank sparingly; Wen Tong had never been much of a drinker anyway. The result was that Chang Shide consumed virtually the entire supply. He wasn't drunk, exactly, but he was decidedly unsteady. Wen Tong had to summon Wen Xiu to help the man back to his room.

So much for the evening's discussion, Wen Tong thought. Apparently, they would all be going to bed as soon as darkness fell.

(End of Chapter)