Chapter 899 – A Potential Collaborator

Wu Zhixiang stepped off the gangplank and stretched. The past days of sedans and boats, rushing along the road, had left him utterly exhausted. From Jiangxi onward, he'd switched to boats bound for Nanjing.

Traveling by boat was somewhat more comfortable than by sedan, but vessels designed for speed were invariably small. Despite Qiwei Inn's boats being engineered for passenger comfort regardless of size, being cooped up in a cabin all day was suffocating. Now that they'd finally reached the Hangzhou docks, he was determined to rest and recover his wits—perhaps spend a few days enjoying himself in this "paradise on earth."

Wu Zhixiang had traveled from Guangzhou to Jiangnan under orders from his father and elder brother to "cultivate connections." He hadn't originally wanted to leave his comfortable nest in Guangzhou and journey thousands of li to Jiangnan, but the matter concerned his future. Though he'd obtained the rank of xiucai through family connections, he'd spent years as a prodigal son eating, drinking, and making merry. Over time, he'd grown weary of that life and began thinking about advancing his career.

The Donglin Party currently wielded immense power both at court and in the countryside. If one wanted to climb higher in the bureaucracy, one had to find a way to cultivate the Donglin faction. Donglin officials were always enthusiastic about promoting "young talent."

Jiangnan was the Donglin power base. Many key figures of the old Donglin backbone—including several of the Seven Martyrs persecuted to death by Wei Zhongxian—had been natives of Southern Zhili or Zhejiang. Many scholars who had never entered official service, as well as retired Donglin officials, were gathered here. If Wu Zhixiang could manage to befriend these people and secure their patronage, it would greatly aid his chances of passing the provincial examination and entering government service.

To this end, he'd brought a large quantity of gifts: half were Guangdong local specialties; the other half were exotic Western goods, mostly novel "Australian merchandise." These items had been acquired through connections—leveraging the face he'd built with Pei Lixiu—and many were rare commodities currently in short supply in Guangzhou. If Wu Zhixiang hadn't done the transmigrators' Zizi trading company a favor by tipping them off during the previous year's counter-encirclement campaign, he probably couldn't have obtained so much in one go.

Australian goods in Guangzhou had gone through a drought lasting most of a year. When they finally reappeared, they were swept up like rain after a long dry spell. Small glass mirrors, glassware, Australian trinkets, cosmetics—items that once weren't particularly rare and could be bought with a bit of money—now required advance orders.

Though Wu Zhixiang was a wastrel by birth, as the son of officials he'd absorbed much through observation. Unless he was a completely unrefined, frivolous "second-generation fool," he was far shrewder in matters of social custom than ordinary folk. His family had held office for many years but wasn't a powerful or influential force—they didn't even measure up to ordinary "great gentry" families in the countryside. Pulling off something as delicate as exam fraud wasn't simply a matter of visiting a few "elders" and handing over some silver.

Examination fraud in any dynasty was a high-risk affair. Once exposed, it meant prison. Yet examination fraud was equally rampant in every dynasty. High risk made it more clandestine, and thus more shrouded in shadow. Without the right introductions, you wouldn't even know where to offer bribes—or you'd simply be pouring money down a rat hole.

The Wu family were not Jiangnan natives and had few connections to exploit here. Finding the right person to help him network became Wu Zhixiang's greatest challenge.

At Gongchen Bridge, Qiwei Inn sedan chairs were already waiting. His entire journey from Guangzhou to Hangzhou had been arranged by Qiwei. Though he had no acquaintances or relatives in Hangzhou, Qiwei had already arranged lodging at a small guest courtyard in a temple by West Lake through local connections. Everything was perfectly arranged.

Wu Zhixiang boarded the sedan and set off toward the city.

News of Wu Zhixiang's arrival reached Zhao Yingong's desk through Qiwei channels almost immediately. Because of his actions during last year's counter-encirclement, Wu Zhixiang had been placed on the Foreign Intelligence Bureau's "observation list."

Those on the list were typically Ming gentry or wealthy individuals friendly toward the transmigrated collective who possessed some exploitable value. They weren't yet "collaborators" like Li Luoyou or Gao Ju—individuals bound by tight chains of mutual interest—but in many respects they'd demonstrated a friendly attitude toward the "Australians" and willingness to cooperate with the Senate.

Among the group of prodigal sons who frequented the Ziming Pavilion, Wu Zhixiang was the most "pro-transmigrator." Combined with his decisive behavior during the counter-encirclement and his gentry family background, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau was considering further exploitation of his identity and social connections.

The Bureau had secretly investigated his background in Guangzhou. The Wu family were originally from Wuzhou in Guangxi—landowners who also engaged in industry and commerce, a wealthy clan. His father and elder brother held modest official positions, typical mid-level bureaucrats. Their several terms in local postings had also accumulated considerable wealth.

Because they engaged in commerce and had long conducted business in Guangzhou, the family was more worldly than ordinary small-time landlords. Their "pro-transmigrator" political stance was thus quite natural.

Jiang Shan felt the Wu family's activism could be usefully exploited. That was why news of Wu Zhixiang's trip to Nanjing to cultivate Donglin connections had been relayed to Hangzhou at the earliest opportunity.

Jiang Shan wasn't asking Zhao Yingong to provide explicit assistance to Wu Zhixiang. He was simply informing him of the opportunity; whether and how to exploit it was up to the field agent himself.

The Foreign Intelligence Bureau didn't dictate exactly how its agents should operate. Aside from rare situations where specific tasks were assigned, the Bureau only outlined a general work agenda for overseas agents. As long as operations didn't compromise the station's security or harm the collective's interests, there were generally no restrictions on specific details.

Should he help this young master? Zhao Yingong sat in his study reviewing daily briefings from Qiwei Inn. This man had come seeking scholarly success. With the Hangzhou station's current capabilities, helping orchestrate exam fraud was beyond their reach and risked bringing disaster upon themselves. Better not to get involved.

With that thought, he decided to have the man watched for now and determine the next step based on his local activities. Having made up his mind, he marked the document with the word "Observe" in pencil and placed it in the file tray. At noon, Fenghua would come to collect and sort these documents, then arrange for Sun Wangcai to dispatch field operatives.

Zhao Yingong casually picked up a thick document folder. It had come from the Daoist. Zhang Yingchen had been meeting with him infrequently of late. The Daoist's personally planned "smear campaign" had officially begun. Now both Zhang Yingchen and Zhao Yingong had built modest reputations locally.

The Chinese-text Sixièzi edition of the Old Testament, brought over from Lingao, had arrived in Hangzhou a few days earlier. The book had been hand-copied by naturalized citizen scribes—neither the Grand Library, the Religious Affairs Office, nor the Lingao Church had any intention of circulating it. Zhang Yingchen hid in his temple, secretly reading and excerpting "ammunition" by night—doing the same work Bo Yang had once done.

Zhang Yingchen's reputation had soared ever since he'd "compounded the great medicine" for a certain member of the gentry. Zhao Yingong had never quite figured out what the Daoist used to hoodwink that gentleman—the transmigrators' medical and chemical reserves certainly didn't include Viagra, Indian god oil, or Spanish fly. The Daoist had kept his secret closely guarded. In any case, from then on, the name Dàoquánzǐ rose to prominence. Wealthy gentry households competed to invite him. Zhang Yingchen obliged whenever asked and was frequently seen coming and going from gentry homes. Nevertheless, he continued his weekly medical clinic at the temple—which only elevated his reputation further.

Zhao Yingong opened the folder and leafed through: it contained the "black materials" assembled by Dàoquánzǐ. In his accompanying letter, Zhang Yingchen requested that the Hangzhou station print a batch of pamphlets to be used as broadsheets attacking the Hangzhou church.

Using pamphlets and propaganda was something the transmigrated collective had done more than once. During the psychological warfare campaign inside Guangzhou, they'd distributed all sorts of pamphlets to great effect. Now Dàoquánzǐ was employing the same tactics.

Zhao Yingong had received recent intelligence: Huang Zhen had returned from Ningbo and looked ready for a fight to the death. She'd evidently secured the support of the great abbot Yuanwu of Tiantong Temple. Zhang Tian, a major figure in the Hangzhou church controversy, was also maneuvering on all fronts. It seemed the Hangzhou church case would erupt soon.

Watching Zhang Yingchen's enthusiasm, Zhao Yingong couldn't help worrying. Though this "smear campaign" to hasten the church case served two purposes with one arrow, if things got out of hand and the Hangzhou church took a heavy blow, they might lack the strength or will to assist him afterward.

With these misgivings, he quickly processed the documents and correspondence that had arrived at the safe house the previous day. Materials requiring security were locked in the safe; those needing destruction were tossed into a brazier and set alight. He watched them turn to ash—he never delegated these tasks to Fenghua, even though she'd been trained and vetted by the Political Security General Administration.

Leaving the safe house, Zhao Yingong returned to his inner study. Mei Lin was waiting for him there.

His face was covered in dust, and the net confining his false hair topknot was gray with grime. He looked every bit the toiling laborer.

After several months in Jiangnan, Mei Lin found he hadn't experienced the life of soft jade and warm fragrance at all. The long-anticipated trip to Nanjing had passed in a blur—forget the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai, he hadn't even had time to look at a proper woman. Beyond that trip to Nanjing, he'd been on construction sites directing workers in building and renovating. Not only was he in charge of construction, but he also handled all interior decoration and furnishings. It was impossible to ship everything from Lingao thousands of li away; most had to be purchased or commissioned locally in Hangzhou. Drawing plans, directing craftsmen—all of it fell on his shoulders.

Because there was simply too much work with overly complex requirements, and outside orders were never quite satisfactory, Mei Lin had asked Zhao Yingong to recruit various craftsmen. On the Phoenix Hill Villa property, he'd set up a dedicated woodworking factory producing furniture, interior decorations, and architectural components.