Chapter 1388 - Stubborn

Within minutes of walking in, both men were already drenched in sweat. Wu Zhixiang took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow incessantly. Zhao Yingong then led him into the reeling workshop, where treadle machines whirred and silkworm cocoons bobbed up and down in the pans. Steam permeated everything, making the humidity almost unbearable. Walls and floors glistened with moisture. The stench of scalded pupae mingled with the smell of alum from the basins, mixing with moisture, coal smoke, and human sweat—enough to tighten one's chest upon entry and make breathing itself a struggle.

Though many workers came and went throughout the workshop, they paid no heed to these two arriving masters, attending instead to their own business. Only a foreman approached to pay his respects. Zhao Yingong waved him away, and the man retreated to his duties.

The entire workshop hummed like a beehive. The buzzing of reeling machines filled the humid, sultry air. Several hundred female workers toiled at their respective stations, pedaling the machines while constantly reaching into the fifty-degree water to fish out silk ends and wind them onto reels. Despite the harsh environment, every worker remained fully concentrated, unblinking. Their fingers seemed to dance; the reels above spun so fast they dazzled the eyes.

To facilitate their work, all female workers in the workshop had short hair. Towels wrapped their foreheads to absorb sweat and spare them the need to constantly wipe their brows. Their clothes hung soaked through, and small puddles of water accumulated beneath each of them—whether from sweat or hot water splashed from the basins, it was impossible to tell.

Where had Wu Zhixiang ever experienced such a thing? Though young and strong, he felt his chest tighten and his breath grow short. Watching several hundred female workers with identical short hair, wearing identical clothes, moving in identical rhythms at speeds he could barely follow—he found himself appalled without quite understanding why.

Were these even human? Wu Zhixiang thought privately. They moved like Australian machines! He could not fathom how the Australians had achieved this. Yet his mood was also intensely excited. Though he could not fully comprehend everything before him, the efficiency was unmistakable. How could household reeling ever match such speed? No wonder whenever Australians produced something, the price dropped so low that competitors could not sell at any price—not even at a loss!

Despite the tightness in his chest and the urge to retch, his mind raced with excitement. Looking up, he noticed a patrol gallery running along the wall near the ceiling. It was not open but enclosed with bamboo grid walls, through which figures could dimly be seen moving.

"What is that?"

"The patrol gallery. Inspectors walk back and forth supervising the female workers' operations."

Zhao Yingong explained that the filature's products followed strict production regulations. Each thread was limited to combining three or four cocoons, which inevitably slowed the workers compared to traditional manual reeling. Manual reeling could produce one jin of silk per day; here, output was only six or seven taels. Since wages followed a piece-rate system, workers naturally coveted higher production to earn more. Many would secretly add cocoons beyond the limit—combining five or more for a single thread—wasting raw materials and degrading silk quality.

The patrol gallery existed to prevent this. Inspectors patrolled back and forth, observing the workers' operations through the grid. Because of the bamboo walls' shielding, the workers could not see when they were being watched. If an inspector spotted a workstation exceeding the cocoon limit, they would immediately write down its number on a card and toss it to the foreman's station. Someone would then collect that silk skein for inspection. If it met standards, the matter was dropped and the skein returned to the worker. But if the weight exceeded the standard count by one-third—indicating excessive cocoons and coarse, inferior silk—punishment followed according to regulations.

Laziness, chatting, or other violations noted by inspectors all resulted in penalties.

"I see!" Wu Zhixiang nodded. "So you govern the factory with military law, Brother Zhao!"

"'Military law' is perhaps too strong a term. But running a factory without such measures makes peaceful production impossible." Zhao Yingong felt he could scarcely bear it much longer himself, but unwilling to lose face before Wu Zhixiang, he maintained an expression of indifferent calm.

He led Wu Zhixiang out through a corner of the workshop into another room. Large windows lined the walls, providing cross-ventilation from north to south, making the space tall and bright. Emerging from the sultry, humid workshop, both body and mind felt instantly lightened.

The room contained many long benches with backrests made of wooden strips. Along the wall ran a row of long tables covered with tea cups fashioned from bamboo tubes. Each cup bore a name and mark—since almost none of the female workers could read, such pattern marking was the only viable method. On the table also stood several large celadon vats covered with white cooling cloth. Many towels hung on the wall, marked like the tea cups.

More than twenty female workers were resting inside. They slumped on the long benches, panting heavily, wiping at sweat that could never quite be dried, looking utterly exhausted.

Several young girls with double-bun hairstyles, dressed in green, scurried about—collecting and delivering towels, washing and drying, boiling water, pouring tea—each as busy as a bee.

Seeing Zhao Yingong enter, the scurrying girls stopped one by one, retreating timidly to the side. The female workers were less nervous but still rose hurriedly.

"Never mind, sit and rest." Zhao Yingong smiled. Wu Zhixiang, however, felt a chill run through him.

"With Master here, how can we sit..." said one female worker who appeared to be a forewoman.

"If I tell you to sit, then sit. Otherwise you'll have no strength to work shortly." Zhao Yingong's words were gentle, but his tone brooked no argument. The forewoman apologized and had the workers sit down, though they were no longer as relaxed as before, appearing quite restrained.

Zhao Yingong ignored them, sat on a long bench himself, and even gestured welcomingly. "Sit, sit."

Wu Zhixiang was clever enough to sense something was off. Besides, sitting among a group of female workers in such a place seemed rather improper. But since the host had invited him, it would be awkward to refuse, so he sat down somewhat uncomfortably.

Seeing him seated, several young girls immediately came over to serve. An older girl asked, "Does Master want tea?"

"Walked half a day under the blazing sun," Zhao Yingong said. "Just pour some of the artemisia tea the female workers drink. A cup for this Young Master Wu as well."

Two cups of artemisia tea arrived. These large porcelain vats held various drinks for relieving summer heat and quenching thirst, specially prepared for the reeling workshop workers. There was artemisia tea as well as salt-soda water mixed with salt, sugar, and citric acid—though, of course, it contained no carbon dioxide.

A young girl who had been busy elsewhere walked in quietly. Seeing that Zhao Yingong's expression was indifferent, as if she did not exist, she approached and knelt. "Master..."

Zhao Yingong drank several mouthfuls of tea, caught his breath, and finally spoke. "I asked you to lead students in their studies, and you've been truly diligent!"

Kneeling before him was Xihua. Because she came from a scholar's family and was literate, she had been cultivated as a normal school student, studying with Zhao Yingong in the villa's private school while also serving as a literacy teacher.

Xihua trembled, forcing a smile. "Since Master entrusted these children to this servant, this servant naturally wishes to do utmost to serve."

Zhao Yingong sneered. "Serve so diligently that you no longer heed my words?" Setting down his tea cup, he took a sip. The roomful of people hardly dared breathe.

"This servant dares not," Xihua said, bowing her head. "Master summoned the female musicians to serve—that was their proper duty. It's only that these girls have been learning silk and bamboo tuning these past few days and missed too many lessons. This servant feared holding them back..."

"Holding them back—how ridiculous! I asked you to teach them books and characters, not to prepare them for the Imperial Examination!" Zhao Yingong sneered. "You, this female teacher, grow more and more presumptuous—"

"This servant dares not!" Xihua could hold herself up no longer. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her voice trembling. "This servant dares not harbor any disrespect for her superiors. She only thought Master wanted them to study well, to be of great use in future..."

Zhao Yingong smiled coldly. "Fine, even if you acted wrongly from good intentions, I will not pursue your fault today. But if you meant to give them lectures and make up lessons, why have you brought them here again?"

"Reporting to Master," Xihua said, "after the afternoon lecture ended, this servant brought them here to help." She kowtowed again. "This servant dares not deceive."

"How kind-hearted of you!" Zhao Yingong sneered, setting down his tea cup. He was about to rise and leave when Xihua, still kneeling, suddenly spoke:

"Master, this servant absolutely harbors no disrespect for Master, and certainly dares not make decisions on her own authority. It's only that the sisters and aunties here must work six shichen every day. The weather is hot now, and every rest period leaves everyone exhausted. Several faint every day. This servant only felt that doing something for them, letting them catch their breath a little, would be good..."

Anger appeared on Zhao Yingong's face. "So you're saying I'm the one tormenting them by bringing them into Cihui Hall to work!"

"This servant dares not!" Xihua's body shook, yet she continued. "This servant knows there is nothing she can do. She only begs Master to reduce working hours here by one or two shichen—everyone truly cannot bear it. If this continues, this servant fears there will be... unbearable consequences. This servant entered that workshop herself and could not remain for even a moment..."

Wu Zhixiang and the surrounding female workers were dumbstruck, their faces pale. They all knew Xihua's words were true. The workshop was no place for humans to remain, let alone work for six shichen with only one meal and a few breaks in between.

Zhao Yingong's face had gone white with fury. "Listen to this—it's all my fault now."

"This servant deserves death!" Xihua's face flushed crimson, her whole body trembling. "This servant deserves death. But what this servant said is the truth!"

Zhao Yingong was so enraged his hands shook. He turned to Wu Zhixiang. "You hear this? What kind of rule is this!" He raised his voice: "Come! Drag her out and beat her to death!"

(End of this chapter)