Chapter 1361 - A Talent for Famine Relief

"Above all, we must guarantee the mulberry leaf supply. Otherwise, all our plans will fall apart," Li Yao'er emphatically reminded him.

Zhao Yingong naturally beat his chest in assurance. His keen interest in "buying forward leaves" wasn't merely because it was a relatively secure and cheap way to acquire leaves—he had noticed something else. When leaf dealers sold forward leaves to sericulturists, they could do so on credit, accepting repayment in cash or raw silk as interest and principal. In effect, leaf dealers also served as lenders.

If he could leverage this method, his micro-lending plan would have a reliable, convenient channel for execution.

No sooner said than done. Zhao Yingong immediately instructed Cai Shi to prepare calling cards and gifts. He would make the rounds paying calls on the city's gentry—both those who had expressed interest in joining the Merchants Bureau and the board members of Cixin Hall. To operate a charitable factory, enlisting these two groups for protection was most appropriate.

News of Zhao Yingong's Merchants Bureau share subscription was already causing a stir in Jiangnan gentry circles. Countless people wanted to buy in. Even at the "sky-high" price of one thousand taels per share, many were eager, going through intermediaries trying to secure a share or two.

Late-Ming silver inflation wasn't yet as severe as in the Qing dynasty. Fifty thousand taels was a colossal sum; most gentry families' wealth was tied up in land. Even they couldn't immediately produce several thousand taels in cash. So while subscriptions were enthusiastic, there weren't too many "big fish"—which actually prevented Zhao Yingong's earlier worry that some tycoon might buy up half the shares in one swoop.

Zhao Yingong came from Guangdong and sold "hair-shorn bandit" goods. The Jiangnan gentry was gradually becoming aware of these "hair-shorn bandits" who had turned Guangdong upside down.

Unlike ordinary commoners, gentry maintained spider-web networks of classmates and colleagues; through mutual correspondence they gleaned much local news. Various reports from Guangdong and the Australian goods beginning to flow into Jiangnan all connected Zhao Yingong with the "hair-shorn bandits." That Zhao Yingong privately had close ties to the bandits was becoming a quietly acknowledged consensus among many gentry.

Given this background, it was clear that besides the Japan route, he probably also had channels for the currently hot "Australian goods." This made many gentry develop keen interest in Zhao Yingong. Some began seeking opportunities to partner with him for profit. When the Merchants Bureau prospectus came out, many rushed to respond.

The Jiangnan Catholic gentry were particularly supportive of his activities—not only because his strong backing of the church had already made him a quiet "pillar of the Hangzhou church," but because Hangzhou's Catholic missionaries saw opening the Japan sea route as a major opportunity for the church to re-enter Japan. Thus, several Catholic gentry families in Hangzhou were the fastest responders, quickly raising six thousand taels in shares. Among them, Sun Yuanhua's family contributed two thousand taels—of which one thousand was secretly provided by the Xu Guangqi family, specified not for profit but that all dividends from that share go to the church.

As for other gentry—the daring types who would scoop money even from a boiling cauldron—they naturally didn't care about Zhao Yingong's connections to the bandits. Silver was silver wherever it went; having someone help earn money was all to the good.

Even Wu Zhixiang, who had come to Jiangnan to advance his career, put in one thousand taels.

Some from the Revival Society also invested. Sun Chun, without a word, went directly to the Wanbi Bookshop and bought one share. Zhao Yingong had expected heavyweight Revival Society figures like Zhang Dai and Fang Yizhi to invest, and had specifically sent them prospectuses.

Instead, it was Sun Chun who appeared! Zhao Yingong knew of Sun Chun—a core member of the Revival Society, something like its chief executive officer. But he wasn't famous; even within the Society, many members didn't properly recognize his true position, viewing him merely as a "tea-fetching, water-carrying" logistics backbone.

That the Revival Society invested through such a figure was rather thought-provoking. Zhao Yingong sensed that the Revival Society's attitude toward him remained one of watchfulness rather than trust. Zhang Pu, that "Heavenly Master," was still observing him.

Soon Zhao Yingong had raised the full fifty thousand taels. There were thirty-six investors in total—not just gentry from South Zhili but also merchants who had dealt with him previously.

However, these shareholders weren't members of the Merchants Bureau's board of directors. Zhao Yingong didn't need that many decision-makers. These thirty-six simply awaited their dividends. The actual board had only two members: himself and the Shen family. The other shareholders merely enjoyed profits.

This dividend expense was tolerable for now: first, the Executive Committee urgently needed Japan's resources; second, his upcoming activities in Hangzhou needed this kind of interest network for protection.

With everything prepared, Zhao Yingong set out together with several Catholic gentry from the Hangzhou church to pay calls at the Hangzhou Prefecture yamen and the Qiantang and Renhe county yamens.

Originally, the Cixin Hall at Phoenix Mountain's foot had board members mainly from Hangzhou's Catholic gentry, and the charity hall's influence was limited. When Zhao Yingong built the large-scale refugee camp at the mountain's foot, it had raised quite a few eyebrows.

But soon Zhao Yingong and his Cixin Hall made a name for themselves. During the great drought of 1633 in northern Zhejiang, Cixin Hall responded faster than anyone with highly efficient management, rapidly launching relief activities—setting up gruel kitchens, receiving refugees, burying roadside corpses. Particularly the starving refugees from the countryside who had been causing considerable local trouble—nearly all received Cixin Hall's relief and survived. Thousands upon thousands were organized and sent away to open wasteland—greatly reducing the possibility of "popular disturbances." The social stability this brought earned considerable goodwill from local gentry and ordinary citizens alike.

Thus, once the drought eased slightly in October, Cixin Hall was elevated in importance. Not only did Zhao Yingong receive commendations from officials of the prefecture and two counties, but gentry seeking to burnish their reputations or genuinely caring about their homeland came in droves, wanting to hang a board member's title.

So Cixin Hall's nominal prestige grew. Both prefectural and county levels had government-run charitable institutions, but they were poorly managed and wasteful, with aging facilities that were practically defunct. Though nominally equipped with foundling homes and poorhouses, most buildings dated from the early Ming and had been renovated in the mid-period—long since unusable, let alone for housing refugees. The operating staff were mostly relatives and assistants of prefecture and county officials, or local power-holders. Though the county allocated monthly stipends of money and grain with set intake quotas, in practice everything was pocketed by the operators—the institutions served no real purpose.

So historically, though famine relief required government supplies, actual operations were typically delegated to local gentry. In the late Ming's increasingly strapped fiscal environment, the bulk of relief funds had to be raised locally anyway, further elevating the gentry's role in disaster relief.

Though Zhao Yingong was an outsider, through energetic networking—especially cultivating Catholic gentry and Revival Society literati connections—he had already gained considerable recognition in gentry circles. His impressive handling of relief work established him as a "talent for famine relief" in everyone's eyes.

Thus, after the drought ended late last year, when Hangzhou Prefecture established a Rehabilitation Bureau, Zhao Yingong was appointed a committee member. Because Cixin Hall had performed so well in receiving and relieving refugees, the Rehabilitation Bureau contracted all refugee reception and relief work to them. In truth, his committee seat was thankless—the work cost money and energy, and mishandling could easily spark "popular disturbance." The money and grain raised by the Rehabilitation Bureau and the government's allocations were but a drop in the bucket.

Yet Cixin Hall continued operating smoothly. After winter arrived, there were no large groups of refugees gathering in the streets, and even daily roadside corpses collected for burial at the public cemetery dropped by more than half from normal—and this during a post-disaster famine year! Normally, at least a hundred corpses a day would be carted from the city for burial.

No one knew how much Master Zhao had poured into Cixin Hall, but everyone knew that government allocations and donations from wealthy households couldn't possibly have achieved the current situation. Let alone settling refugees so securely that they suffered neither cold, hunger, nor disease—that took not just money but capability.

Such talent and resources couldn't help but impress the local gentry. Coupled with the common knowledge that he had backing from Minister Xu and dealings with Taicang's Zhang Pu, people understood this was no ordinary Guangdong xiucai. His stature in the Rehabilitation Bureau grew increasingly important. Even prefecture and county officials spoke to him courteously.

Today's business was effectively official Rehabilitation Bureau work. Zhao Yingong felt that with proper positioning, obtaining government support wouldn't be difficult.

Since spring, Hangzhou's weather had been favorable, and conditions were gradually recovering, so Rehabilitation Bureau business was tapering off. However, disaster relief work was far from finished.

After a major disaster, refugees typically had already pawned or sold all their production and living means just to survive—now empty-handed. Without seeds or draft animals, they couldn't quickly engage in productive self-help. With late March already here, the "five-famine, sixth-month" period between harvests was approaching. If refugees couldn't be helped toward self-sufficiency in time, there would inevitably be another mass exodus—and the previous year's relief work would have been for nothing.

Today, Zhao Yingong was going to the Rehabilitation Bureau to discuss precisely this issue. A few days earlier, the Hangzhou prefect had convened the Bureau's committee members, asking them to "keep thinking and come up with ideas."