Chapter 598 - Becoming Ming
To deepen their practical experience, the trainees were given tours of the county yamen—everything except the inner chambers. Wherever they went, yamen runners provided specialized explanations.
Wang Zhaomin, the Advisor, was also occasionally invited for what were called "discussion sessions." Unlike the yamen runners and clerks undergoing reform, his position was more elevated and his status more delicate. To prevent him from growing suspicious at facing a large crowd—and refusing to speak freely—Xiong Buyu would typically lure him to the Liaison Office under the pretense of "drinking tea and wine."
A small courtyard had been arranged at the County Liaison Office. With some tidying and repair, a few trees and flowering plants, the setting became rather elegant. It served specifically for meetings with county officials. The atmosphere was relaxed, the environment quiet, and conversation flowed easily. The Liaison Office occasionally held tea tastings and garden parties here to cultivate good relations.
Advisor Wang's "lectures" took place in this courtyard. He had no idea he'd been granted this dubious honor. While he and Xiong Buyu chatted expansively, the surroundings were in fact full of people—the space had been specially modified. Though it appeared deserted, the trainees sat in hidden chambers, listening to every word.
Advisor Wang thoroughly enjoyed coming to the Liaison Office to relax and talk. Sitting idle in the county yamen had grown boring—Lingao had always been a place of "slow business." As the Australians continued to intervene in county affairs, he had little to do beyond routinely transcribing official documents and handling bureaucratic paperwork. Moreover, the Australians' simplified courts had absorbed much of the advisor's traditional business in criminal cases.
So when someone invited him for drinks and conversation, Wang Zhaomin naturally accepted every invitation, drank at every visit, and expounded at length on whatever topic presented itself. As a result, Xiong Buyu had to prepare discussion themes in advance, lest Wang's enthusiasm carry him endlessly off course.
Yet the content of his casual conversation proved quite valuable. As an advisor, his observations and understanding of officialdom ran deeper and more comprehensive than those of clerks and runners. Moreover, advisors traveled extensively on official circuits, were knowledgeable and worldly, with perspectives far broader than the yamen runners and clerks of a small county town could offer. He had contact with every stratum of society—upper, middle, and lower. Li Yan's request for Wang to hold "discussion sessions" at the Liaison Office was largely intended to broaden the field operatives' horizons and deepen their understanding of Ming social conditions.
Wang Zhaomin's sessions were all recorded—to be reviewed afterward and compiled into reference materials—but no real-time interpretation was provided. He spoke in mandarin, and Li Yan required everyone to go back and summarize what he'd said into written reports. This primarily tested the field operatives' mastery of mandarin; secondarily, it trained their ability to reconstruct intelligence content from memory.
Another major indigenous instructor for the "Ming Dynasty Social Conditions Lecture Series" was Zhou Shizhai, Consultant to Police Headquarters. He taught all manner of Ming Dynasty social stratagems, trade secrets, and the various rules and risks of traveling abroad.
Travel in ancient society was both arduous and dangerous. Whether rich or poor, one faced tremendous hazards on the road. Zhou Shizhai had escorted caravans and guarded estates; his social experience was extraordinarily rich.
"When traveling far from home, remember: scald your feet every day but don't wash your face," he advised, passing on his accumulated wisdom. "Whenever conditions permit, scald your feet to drain blisters and soothe your muscles and tendons. But don't bother washing your face."
Not washing one's face served to prevent the facial skin from cracking. The roads were dusty and the sun fierce, making sunburn and chapping common hazards. Ancient people had no sunscreen, so they used dust itself as a protective layer.
As for dangers on the road, there were too many to enumerate. Zhou Shizhai focused on practical matters: how to avoid staying at "black inns," which locations were prime ambush sites for bandits, how to arrange sleeping positions at night to minimize the risk of robbery...
"Once you're on the road, never let your money show," Zhou Shizhai counseled earnestly. "Far too many people along the way will conceive evil intentions at the sight of wealth. Beyond outright brigands, among the cart-drivers, boatmen, innkeepers, and porters, you'll find plenty of bandits biding their time." He then recounted how once, while escorting cargo, he was crossing a river when the boatmen—observing the quantity of goods—decided on the spot to commit robbery. The escort agency had barely managed to escape with the cargo intact.
Much of the knowledge and tricks Zhou Shizhai imparted had been accumulated by the escort agency through years of convoy work. It was extremely practical for intelligence operatives heading into the field. Not only did the Intelligence Bureau invite him to lecture, but Police Headquarters also collected and compiled his teachings as reference materials.
Liu Gang, who had long been selling illicit salt for the Colonial and Trade Department, was also invited. He'd made his fortune running contraband salt for the transmigrator collective. This time he was secretly brought in to lecture on Ming Dynasty commerce and illegal trade—especially on how a small or medium-sized merchant could conduct business in Ming society.
He Xin, whom Lin Baiguang had rescued, was specially recalled from Qiongshan to deliver a lecture series on Ming Dynasty brothels. This course covered many forms of entertainment and leisure in the Ming Dynasty. They learned the rules, jargon, scams, consumption standards, and taboos of high-class establishments.
When He Xin heard he had to return to Lingao, he was terrified, thinking he'd fallen back into the clutches of the demon Fu Youdi. To his surprise, upon returning he found himself teaching a strange group of people how to visit brothels, attend drinking parties with courtesans, play dice games...
All manner of indigenous workers under the transmigrators' control, provided their knowledge and experience might prove useful, would be "invited" into a palanquin at night and quietly carried into the training center. There, they would sit face-to-face with several chiefs, speaking through a tightly sealed curtain, teaching everything the chiefs wished to know. No one saw what lay behind the curtain, but clever people could probably guess that Australian chiefs sat there as well—whenever someone's accent was too strong, a chief would repeat their words in Australian mandarin.
To enhance the field operatives' sense of immersion, Yu Eshui organized practical life-scenario drills with indigenous personnel playing different roles. Each session, he designated a life scenario and assigned a field operative to one role while indigenous people played the others. When an operative checked into an inn, the indigenous people became the innkeeper and attendants; when buying a maidservant, they played the broker; when negotiating business, they became business partners; when visiting government offices, they transformed into gatekeepers, yamen runners, advisors, and county magistrates...
Each performance used indigenous people who, whenever possible, had actual experience in such occupations, to ensure maximum authenticity. To encourage the indigenous participants to challenge the field operatives, Yu Eshui scored each performance. The indigenous person who performed best at putting the operative under pressure could earn extra rewards.
After each performance, everyone gathered for a replay-style analysis. Yu Eshui specifically required field operatives to memorize the jargon and secret codes used by various characters and to understand their counterparts' thought patterns and methods of handling affairs.
"Don't harbor this sense that 'I am Superman.' Don't imagine you can never lose," Yu Eshui hammered into them during class. "You were ordinary citizens in the twenty-first century, and you won't become important figures in the seventeenth century either. Without the transmigrator collective as a whole, you are nothing. Unless it's necessary and approved by headquarters—don't try to showcase your uniqueness anywhere, your vast knowledge, your distinction from the crowd. And certainly don't go around preaching 'democracy' or 'one nation, one party, one leader' or any such nonsense. You're not being sent to the Ming Dynasty to become scientists, politicians, or any other kind of '-ists.' Your mission is simply to 'seem like a Ming Dynasty commoner.' Nothing more."
To ensure they truly "seemed" genuine, their sense of immersion had to be deepened through practice. At various stages, field operatives went out on internships in the guise of Ming persons. The internship content started simple—buying things, hiring servants—then gradually progressed to attempting to run a small business on their own... Everyone had to ensure that others couldn't recognize their true identity.
Personnel from the Political Security General Administration's Operations Division followed and monitored the field operatives to observe whether any indigenous people detected them. Li Yan believed that since indigenous people in Lingao were those who interacted most frequently with transmigrators, if they could fool them, there would be no problem on the mainland.
Later, these operations evolved into adversarial exercises. Both sides agreed on limited venues and numbers of participants, then Intelligence Bureau trainees and Political Security Bureau trainees attempted to identify and apprehend each other within that space.
Once they were generally deemed problem-free and convincingly disguised, the deployed transmigrators would be secretly escorted by the Special Reconnaissance Team on several long-distance overland journeys. The destination was typically Qiongshan County. The deployed transmigrators, just like ordinary indigenous travelers, would carry simple luggage and minimal funds, traveling on foot or by sedan chair. These journeys gave them a firsthand feel for the actual operating environment—Lingao had already been transformed into near-modern conditions, quite different from the genuine seventeenth-century world.
In Qiongshan County, under covert protection from the Qiongzhou Station, they could move about for several days to half a month, experiencing social conditions under Ming Dynasty rule. This leg of the journey marked a passing grade. Afterward, field operatives would have the opportunity to visit Guangzhou to witness what a major city of this era actually looked like.
Beyond disguise courses, the transmigrators also had to learn all knowledge that might prove necessary for intelligence work. They studied surveillance and counter-surveillance, combat techniques and dagger skills, basic surveying and map-making, and how to accurately judge numbers, object dimensions, and distances using only visual estimation. They learned to operate radios and perform encryption and decryption—until there were reliable indigenous radio operators, all this had to be done by the transmigrators themselves. Radios were precious and limited in quantity, so most of the time they needed to use encrypted letters. The Intelligence Bureau had developed an invisible ink method: essentially writing with rice water, revealed by iodine. Since no one in the Ming Dynasty besides the transmigrators possessed iodine, security shouldn't be an issue.
They also mastered a simple set of specialized code words: "Center" meant the Intelligence Bureau headquarters; "swimming" meant travel; "sick" meant arrested; "doing wet work" meant assassination; "legend" meant a fabricated cover identity and history; "wine" referred to invisible ink; "pipa" meant a radio; "neighbor" meant the Political Security General Administration; "peddler" meant a courier...
Finally, they were sent to the wilderness exploration team, where Liu Zheng and others guided them through a four-week wilderness survival course, ensuring they could use these skills if they ever needed to escape.
While Division B of the Intelligence Training Center conducted intensive training, Division A was also rapidly preparing indigenous intelligence personnel. Their curriculum was more extensive yet compressed compared to the transmigrators', but it focused on intelligence operations. This batch of personnel would be dispatched as aides to the transmigrators. All were men—it wasn't convenient to bring women on the road before settling down.
One day, Li Yan gathered everyone together to announce some news:
"Pack your things. We're going to Fangcaodi now."
Only after arriving at Fangcaodi did they learn this was for them to select their "domestic secretaries." Li Yan announced that the selected domestic secretaries would receive additional intelligence training at Division A, and once each person was settled in their work location, they would gradually be sent to join them and assist in intelligence work.
"The leadership is really looking out for us," someone said, moved nearly to tears.
Others were less appreciative: "Didn't you say we could freely buy women ourselves? Why do we need to bring domestic secretaries?"
"Domestic secretaries are safer than women you buy outside, aren't they?" Li Yan replied. "And they can help you with intelligence work too—two birds with one stone. What's not to like?"
Put that way, everyone was satisfied. Each person then reviewed the files and selected the girl they wanted. Most spent their female servant subsidy to purchase a C-grade maidservant. Those who had their eyes on higher grades could only register and await subsequent lottery results. The maidservants wouldn't arrive immediately anyway—according to Center's plan, they wouldn't be dispatched until at least three months after the operatives had settled in locally.
Near the Cooperative General Store in East Gate Market stood a very large building. This building was one of the few traditional-style structures in the market. It had a spacious front courtyard for parking vehicles and palanquins, with warehouses on both sides for storing goods.
The main building housed the shop itself, its wooden counter polished to a mirror sheen with varnish and tung oil. The goods were numerous and varied, but unlike the cooperative, this place sold products from the mainland: cloth from Songjiang, silk and candied fruits from Suzhou and Hangzhou, porcelain from Jiangxi, tea and oranges from Fujian... all manner of northern and southern goods. Having such a well-stocked establishment in Lingao would have been unimaginable if the population hadn't multiplied several times in recent years and people hadn't come into some money.
The second courtyard contained a grand main hall. Square bricks covered the floor, with fine Guangdong rosewood side tables and official's hat chairs. Large porcelain vases and a carved wood screen stood in the center. Eight lanterns bearing the characters "Quanfu" hung under the eaves—strictly speaking, this exceeded what was proper. But in the southern reaches, the emperor was far away, and no one would bother about such things. In Lingao, there was even less need for caution.
Such grand style—clearly a prosperous traditional commercial establishment of long standing. Everyone knew this was Lingao's premier "imperial merchant," the property of Lin Quan'an, designated supplier to the Australians.
This Lin Quan'an—three years ago, to everyone who knew him, and including himself—could never have dreamed that one day people would call him "Master Lin," let alone that he could accumulate such wealth and influence.
He sat in the counting room behind the main hall, surrounded by commercial documents and large account books. Master Lin was about thirty-five or thirty-six years old, yet his skin had already grown dark and full of wrinkles, making him look like someone in his early fifties. He was a man of humble origins. For nearly twenty years of his life, he had passed his days peddling goods from village to village with a carrying pole, living hand to mouth.
But now he wore a gown of Nanjing fragrant cloud silk from Guangdong, with straw slippers from Chenqiao in Kaifeng on his feet, studying his account books with rapt attention. Master Lin was a merchant who dared to be first in the world. In his early years he could neither read nor use an abacus, but later, as his business grew—just as he'd been the first to do business with the "hair-shorn pirates" back in the day—he didn't hesitate to attend the literacy class run by the Australians. He learned to read, to use the abacus, and to keep accounts. These accounts were kept in Australian style, even using Australian numerals. This pleased him greatly—because this way, no one else could understand them.
A quill pen stood in an inkwell on the desk. Lin Quan'an couldn't write with a brush; he'd learned this method of dipping and writing from the Australians.
He was reviewing the pages of a large account book; each page was printed with horizontal and vertical lines, with liabilities recorded on the right and assets on the left. On the first page, in large characters, was written: "Third Year of Chongzhen, Year of the Metal Horse."
After Lin Quan'an finished reviewing the final item and carefully corrected an error, he leaned back in his chair wearily, feeling somewhat melancholy.
The retail business was doing well enough—profits around thirty percent by rough estimate. But the volume of such sales was too low. He had grown accustomed to selling goods in large batches, and this piecemeal business no longer suited him.
These past two years, he'd grown accustomed to smooth sailing in big deals. Lin Quan'an recalled that three years ago, he'd been nothing but a peddler trudging through streets and alleys with goods on his shoulders. His capital had amounted to only four or five strings of cash. By walking village to village collecting vegetables, pigs, sheep, chickens, and ducks for the "hair-shorn pirates"—the Australian masters—he'd made a fortune within a year and opened this Quanfu Store. Then, under Master Xiong's direction, he gradually expanded his reach across the entire Qiongzhou Prefecture, procuring all sorts of goods for the Australian masters. He made money until his hands went numb—his residence and shop had doubled in size twice in three years. He now had glass windows, porcelain toilets, porcelain bathtubs, and running water just like the Australian masters used, not to mention thermos bottles, crystal mirrors, and other small luxuries. Not only had he been able to afford a wife, he'd now taken two concubines.
All of this came from the Australians who had arrived on iron ships. The Australians were his lucky stars, his gods of wealth.
Recently, however, he sensed this lucky star's light had dimmed somewhat. The accounts showed that his largest customer—the Australians—had been dealing with him less and less over the past six months. He'd only closed a few large transactions in timber, and though he'd sold quite a bit of northern and southern goods, the volumes weren't substantial.
Now the Australians were supplying their own vegetables, pigs, sheep, chickens, and ducks. They had so many vegetables they couldn't eat them all and were making pickles to sell. As for pigs, sheep, chickens, and ducks, they'd recently been able to give their corps soldiers meat once a week. Australian ships continuously brought in whatever they needed from everywhere, naturally leaving less and less business for him.
(End of Chapter)