Chapter 815 - Paddy and Coal

Zhu Fuyuan reported the current situation to Yan Maoda. Dachang's local operations didn't require particularly sophisticated business acumen: each month, Vu Ngoc Giap's stewards would arrive with servants and farmers from the estate to deliver rice, timber, and coal, then haul away various sugar products and sundry goods from the warehouse. The transaction volume was substantial.

"Vu Ngoc Giap has made a fortune from this trade," Zhu Fuyuan observed with a hint of envy. "He's reaping enormous profits on our sugar."

Vu Ngoc Giap purchased crude brown sugar from Dachang at eight Spanish silver dollars per dan, then resold it to merchants in Laos, Siam, and the Dutch traders, fetching anywhere from ten to eighteen Spanish dollars per dan. The margins on white sugar and rock sugar were even more impressive. As for other goods shipped from Leizhou—including "Aussie goods" manufactured in Lingao and various daily sundries acquired from the mainland—all proved hot commodities locally.

Watching his own merchandise being purchased by Vu Ngoc Giap and resold for substantial profits, Zhu Fuyuan felt the arrangement was inequitable. He proposed expanding their customer base and sales channels—preferably moving into retail—so the benefits wouldn't be monopolized by the Vu family alone.

"No rush on that," Yan Maoda said. "How are the paddy deliveries?"

"Complete. All the paddy agreed upon last year has been delivered," Zhu Fuyuan replied hurriedly. "But Vu Ngoc Giap's steward wants to raise prices again."

Hearing that Vu Ngoc Giap was requesting yet another price increase, Yan Maoda's brow furrowed. This was the third price hike on paddy in the past six months. Paddy was a strategic material for Lingao, and Vietnam currently served as their primary supplier. A price increase not only meant paying more barter goods but also signaled potential problems in the supply channel.

"Why raise prices again? There must be a reason," Yan Maoda pressed. "Could the stewards be playing tricks?"

"He wouldn't dare—our business with Vu Ngoc Giap is too substantial. A steward doesn't have the nerve to tamper with it," Zhu Fuyuan assured him. "The steward says it's because the Trinh clan is marching south to punish the Nguyen clan, conscripting soldiers and requisitioning grain everywhere. Vu Ngoc Giap naturally has to contribute a large sum for provisions and military pay. They say that to accumulate sufficient paddy, the farmers on Vu Ngoc Giap's estate are starving—last spring they subsisted on thin gruel; this spring they're reduced to eating chaff." He added grimly, "I hear some farmers can no longer endure it and are preparing to flee the estate."

The war Zhu Fuyuan referred to was the Later Le Dynasty's Trinh-Nguyen War. This conflict had commenced in 1627 and would persist for over a century. Between 1627 and 1672, seven massive battles erupted between the Trinh and Nguyen factions. The Elders were now encountering the second major war, spanning 1630 to 1633. The Nguyen clan had fully embraced a turtle strategy, inflicting heavy casualties on the southward-marching Trinh army through fortress complexes constructed under Portuguese guidance. A strategic stalemate had formed.

Under such conditions, large numbers of farmers were inevitably conscripted. In a medieval agricultural society, farmers constituted the most essential productive force; without labor to till the fields, sufficient food couldn't be produced.

"That's troublesome." Yan Maoda recognized that relying on Vu Ngoc Giap for long-term bulk grain supply would prove difficult. If they didn't intervene, the Later Le Dynasty's civil war would drag on for another fifty years according to historical records.

"Once fighting starts, grain becomes scarce," Zhu Fuyuan said nervously. Having worked for the Aussies in Haiyang for over a year, he understood their primary purpose here was purchasing grain. If grain became too expensive or difficult to procure, they might close the warehouse. His hard-won position would vanish.

"Accept the price for paddy," Yan Maoda decided after some consideration. "How much grain can he deliver per month now? Any sign of decrease?"

"No paddy arrived this past month. He claims the government requisitioned heavily, and stocks on the estate are insufficient," Zhu Fuyuan reported. "And the next three months constitute the spring hunger season. Once past spring hunger, grain supply should normalize."

He added, "Chief! Should we slow down sugar shipments? We have over ten thousand dan of sugar piled in the warehouse..."

"No matter!" Yan Maoda said. "Tell Vu Ngoc Giap's steward tomorrow: if rice isn't available, sell us more coal instead!"

"Trade for coal?" Zhu Fuyuan was taken aback; to him, this seemed a poor bargain. Although coal was cheap, watching the Aussies purchase shiploads of dirty, smelly burning rocks baffled him—in both Guangdong and Vietnam, firewood was inexpensive and plentiful, and wealthy families could afford high-quality hardwood charcoal. He truly couldn't fathom why the Aussies bought so much black coal.

"Yes. Since he lacks sufficient rice for now, exchange the stockpiled sugar for coal and timber." Yan Maoda waved his hand dismissively. "Don't dawdle—get it done immediately."

Zhu Fuyuan acknowledged the orders repeatedly. Seeing that Yan Maoda had nothing further to say, he presented the warehouse ledgers. Yan Maoda accepted them—auditing was the Cheka's responsibility, but as the superior, he needed to conduct his own review. He planned to read them during the voyage to Hongji.

"This is Bei Kai." Yan Maoda introduced his companion to Zhu Fuyuan. "He will serve as the Commercial Representative to Vietnam from now on. Report directly to him regarding any matters!"

Bei Kai's station would be Hongji, but as the Elder Commercial Representative, he would technically hold authority over Haiyang and future trading posts and warehouses along the Vietnamese coast.

Zhu Fuyuan glanced at this dark, short man—he looked just like those Vietnamese; how could he be a Chief too? But having worked as a shop assistant for years, he understood the rule of speaking less and executing more regarding an owner's personnel decisions.

"What about the matter I asked you to investigate last time? Any concrete update?" Yan Maoda inquired.

During his previous visit to Haiyang, Yan Maoda had specifically instructed Zhu Fuyuan to investigate the ownership of the Hongji area: did it belong to some estate owner, was it salary land for Le Dynasty officials, or was it ownerless government land?

"I've asked around specifically. Hongji, and Cam Pha which the Chief mentioned, are ownerless lands. It's either mountains or tidal flats—untillable—so no one cares about it."

"What's the procedure to purchase land from the government here?"

Zhu Fuyuan smiled bitterly. "Probably very difficult. Ming merchants are treated as fat sheep here; even buying a plot for a warehouse involves considerable trouble. Money is secondary." He paused. "If the Chief insists on purchasing it, we must first mark out boundaries and draw a map, then I can make the rounds... but I'm afraid it will cost substantially..."

"No need. We'll discuss it when we return." Yan Maoda reflected that they might not need to buy anything. Backed by force, they could simply begin mining on the spot—the Northern Le Dynasty probably had no appetite to mobilize a large army against them at present.

Yan Maoda's group didn't linger in Haiyang. After inspecting the warehouse and developing a basic understanding of local conditions, the Zhennan offloaded its cargo and set sail south for Hongji.

Haiyang lay approximately sixty kilometers from Hongji. The Zhennan could reach it in roughly ten hours. Because they were sailing along the coast and Hongji sat within Halong Bay—which was riddled with islands and reefs—Zhang Dabala decided against night sailing. They would depart early in the morning to arrive by evening.

The Zhennan set sail at dawn. Zhang Dabala made a show of taking observations with a sextant and plotting the course on a chart. Unfortunately, his arithmetic proved too weak; after fiddling with a nautical slide rule for half an hour, he finally threw it down with a curse of "Bird!" and retreated behind the poop deck to recite compass bearings from memory.

Fortunately, this was a route he traveled frequently—waters where he claimed he could navigate with his eyes closed. Under his command, the Zhennan began her southward journey.

The vessel sailed smoothly under Zhang Dabala's direction. The Chinese junk rig fully demonstrated its superiority in adapting to "winds from eight directions" when navigating coastal areas with complex wind patterns. Though speed varied, they never stopped.

Bei Kai stood on the poop deck, gazing at the beautiful coastal scenery, feeling his more than six months of intensive Vietnamese study had been worthwhile—this land was simply too tempting. If he could become Governor of North Vietnam someday... Bei Kai's thoughts drifted to the slender Vietnamese women he had observed in Haiyang the previous day.

Within the Council of Elders, Bei Kai was an unremarkable "soy sauce" Elder—one who merely made up the numbers. His previous profession had landed him in the Postal and Transport Commission, but he knew nothing about transport, and Lingao's postal system hadn't been formally established yet. Even if it were, he—a postal worker who had primarily sold advertisements—knew little about actual operations.

He wasn't particularly articulate and had no interest in political maneuvering. So he remained a marginal figure in the Council. But the Transmigration Group's expansionist nature, combined with the scarcity of Elders, meant even "soy sauce" Elders had abundant opportunities to distinguish themselves.

While his imagination wandered to Vietnamese women, the ship's bell suddenly rang with urgent intensity. Bei Kai started. Sailors and marines poured from below deck. Some gripped Navy Type 29 cutlasses; others carried short-barreled Minié rifles. Several sailors rushed to the poop deck, rapidly stripping oilcloth covers to reveal gleaming black typewriters. Nearby, someone wrenched open a metal ammunition box and began removing dark spare drum magazines.

"What's happening?" Bei Kai was alarmed. Cover after cover was being pulled from the six carronades on deck. Was this battle stations?

"Report: Naval engagement spotted at seven o'clock position. We're going to combat readiness as a precaution," Zhang Dabala rushed to the poop deck to explain.

"Pirates?"

"Likely." Zhang Dabala appeared unfazed. "Chiefs needn't worry—this happens frequently around here. You can't distinguish fishermen from pirates. Our ship is large and alert; they won't dare try anything."

(End of Chapter)