Chapter 1498 - Origins

Lin Ming's perilous journey could justly be described as an exercise in "enduring humiliation for the greater good." In Foshan, he was merely a probationary centurion of a minor Hundred Household office—barely qualifying as an "official" at the very bottom of the Ming military hierarchy, scarcely worth mentioning had he been an ordinary military household. Fortunately, the title "Brocade Guard" still carried considerable weight in the late Ming. It earned him three measures of deference from everyone he met.

This time, he had posed as a common hand aboard ship, and rather than sail directly to Lingao, he had taken this circuitous route precisely to ensure safer infiltration. He had immersed himself utterly in the role—not only scrambling to perform the hardest labor but also sparing no effort in flattery. His face had darkened from the sun and salt spray, his skin roughened; gradually, he had worn away the "official air" and "young master's manner" that had clung to him like a second skin.

After months of shuttling across the seas on various vessels, Lin Ming judged the time ripe. He informed the captain that he wished to go to Lingao to seek his fortune with the Australians—a desire that was no longer unusual in Guangdong and Fujian. A considerable wave of active migration to Lingao had already emerged, with people crossing the sea every day to "submit to the Cropped-Hairs." After settling his wages, he disembarked in Kaohsiung.

His choice of Kaohsiung was carefully calculated. He had visited more than once, had grown quite familiar with the situation, and had gained a general understanding of the Cropped-Hairs' ways. Moreover, many ships plied the route between here and Lingao, and Dayuan lay close by as well. Both places attracted numerous Ming merchant vessels, and these ships typically recruited additional crew before departure—making it easy for an unobtrusive man to slip aboard.

Now, below deck on the Dongshan Residence, his eyes gleamed as he contemplated his next move.

"Young fellow, what are you thinking about?" Manager Liu returned bearing the evening meal.

"Nothing—nothing at all." Lin Ming dissembled quickly. Seeing that the old man had already brought dinner, he hurried to stand. "Manager Liu, I should have fetched that..."

"You've only just arrived and don't know your way around the ship. What if I sent you and you dropped the whole thing into the sea?" Manager Liu squinted as he smiled. "I know you're a lettered man, so you must play chess—after dinner, keep this old fellow company for a few games."

"I'm hardly a lettered man..." Lin Ming hastened to demur.

"Young fellow, you can't fool me. Not only are you lettered, but your family background probably wasn't bad either." Manager Liu opened a cupboard and retrieved a wine pot and cups. "One's not supposed to drink aboard ship, but this old fellow's getting on in years and needs a few sips to warm the blood—call it an old man's privilege. I won't offer you any."

"Manager Liu, please go ahead. I understand the ship's rules." Lin Ming swiftly changed the subject.

Fortunately, after Manager Liu poured his wine, he did not pursue the matter of family background. Only then did Lin Ming breathe easy. He looked at the food in the dish—unexpectedly excellent! More surprising still, Manager Liu and he were eating the same fare. The provisions aboard Dongshan Residence, even for the owners and the captain, differed little from those of ordinary sailors and hands. In his months aboard ships, Lin Ming had eaten only enough to fill his belly. At first, the coarse fare had been nearly indigestible, and it had taken considerable time to accustom himself.

But the provisions on Dongshan Residence proved remarkably good. Not only were the vegetables fresh—understandable, since they had just left port—there were even fish and shrimp. Throughout all these months, despite spending nearly every day aboard ships, Lin Ming had rarely eaten proper fish or shrimp, only salty, foul-smelling dried fish and pickled shrimp, portioned out so stingily he could scarcely imagine where those captains had procured them.

"How is it? The food on our ship is quite something, isn't it? Our master is a generous man." Manager Liu could not resist boasting on his employer's behalf. "Where else do you see a captain feeding his crew this well?"

In truth, Chen Huamin and Liu Deshan had absorbed certain Australian ideas and provided their subordinates with somewhat better provisions and wages than other maritime merchants. Shortly after implementing this policy, they discovered that "better treatment for fewer hands" proved more cost-effective than "low pay for a ragged crowd." Dongshan Residence employed only half the crew of a comparable Ming merchant vessel, yet labor costs per voyage had actually decreased by a third.

"Manager Liu speaks truly. It is all thanks to the two masters' benevolence." Lin Ming had by now cultivated the habit of agreeing with whatever anyone said.

Having eaten nothing decent in months, Lin Ming devoured this "feast" like wind sweeping through fallen leaves, leaving nothing behind—even mixing the last drops of sauce with rice and polishing that off too. After finishing, he poured a bowl of water and rinsed his mouth.

Manager Liu took a sip of wine and laughed. "And you say you're not a lettered man! What ordinary hand eats like that? The sauce—that would be licked clean with the tongue, never mind rinsing one's mouth afterward. Even our Master Liu doesn't have such habits."

Lin Ming silently groaned. He had not expected that months of deliberate hardship would fail to erase the traces of his former life. If this old fellow could see through him, could the Cropped-Hairs not? He began to feel somewhat discouraged.

His dejection showed on his face, and Manager Liu, thinking he had touched some sore spot, offered consolation. "Young fellow, don't be downcast. You're still young and have strength in your arms. Now that the seas are peaceful, if you work hard, great riches may be hard to come by, but making a modest living should still be possible."

Lin Ming suddenly had a flash of insight. He realized that no matter how he tried, the traces of his former life could never be completely erased. Lingao was nothing like this ship; sailors and hands came and went freely, a motley gathering where nobody pried into others' affairs. But the Cropped-Hairs, he had heard, loved to dig into backgrounds. Every clue would surely be noticed.

Manager Liu's words, though seemingly just an old man's rambling kindheartedness, also carried the unmistakable intent of "sounding him out."

If he could not give a satisfactory answer, he would never earn their trust. This ship had been built in an Australian shipyard; the captain's relationship with the Cropped-Hairs was surely deep. If, upon reaching Lingao, word were whispered to the Cropped-Hairs, Lin Ming would die without a burial place! It was clear that this evasive pose of a pauper would not suffice—he needed to fabricate a plausible background to deflect suspicion.

Thinking thus, his mind was made up. His brain worked through several turns, and he already had a script prepared. Sighing deliberately, he said, "Manager Liu, your eyes are sharp indeed! I won't hide it from you—my family did once have a modest property. Though not wealthy, we wanted for nothing. But my parents passed away early..." At once, tears streaming, he fabricated a classic tale of a dissolute young master who had squandered the family fortune and now drifted at sea to earn a living.

Though the tale was hackneyed, it was far from uncommon in those days, and easy to tell convincingly. Lin Ming possessed another advantage: having been a "local dragon" in Foshan, he was intimately familiar with local circumstances and could easily find families with similar stories. The family he chose as his model had a young master who, after falling into ruin, had died in Guangzhou—something others did not know, but Lin Ming did.

He promptly adapted this family's history to fit himself, and at the touching parts even pretended to wipe away tears as though weeping bitterly. Thus, even a worldly-wise fox like Manager Liu was taken in. Seeing his distress, the old man offered a few words of comfort.

"Originally, seeing that you can write and reckon, I thought to keep you aboard as a clerk. But since you want to go to Lingao and submit to the Cropped-Hairs, I won't mention it." Manager Liu said, "I hear the Australians have many opportunities there. Many who had no means of survival went there to seek a living and are now doing quite well. You're young and literate—as long as you're willing to work, you'll surely be valued in the future."

"Many thanks for Manager Liu's kind comfort. How could I dare to dream of such things now? I've heard the Australians in Lingao employ a great many workers, and as long as you're willing to put in effort, there's food to be had. That's why I wanted to go. All I want is to reach Lingao in peace, find work, have a place to stay, and earn an honest bowl of rice. This life aboard ship—I truly cannot manage it."

Before modern times, ocean voyages proceeded without weather forecasts, radar, or barometers; nautical charts were incomplete, and pirates lurked in every shadow—there was virtually no safety in sailing. Going to sea was a gamble with one's life. No ordinary folk, unless they were truly desperate, would seek their living aboard ships. Lin Ming's earnest declaration fit perfectly with his persona as a ruined young master.

"You're being too modest," Manager Liu said, having drunk a few cups and showing a slight flush. "You probably don't know yet, but people like you—literate and numerate—if you shave your head and submit to the Cropped-Hairs when you reach Lingao, you can become a 'cadre.' That's something like what the Australians call a 'clerk,' I suppose. A modest income, perhaps, but you'll eat the emperor's rice, so to speak. Tell me, does the Ming offer any such opportunity?"

Lin Ming started. He truly had not expected the Cropped-Hairs to be so "eager for talent." Still, this brought his plan one step closer to success. He quickly demurred with a smile, "To damage one's body and hair—a gift from one's parents—is too grave a matter. Even if I do not shave my head, it should be easy enough to earn a living..."

Manager Liu nodded. "Your filial piety is commendable, young fellow. This old man will say no more. Go to Lingao and live well. If I were ten or twenty years younger, I too would seek my fortune under the Australians." With that, he drained his cup.

After dinner, Lin Ming cleared the dishes, then returned to the cabin. Manager Liu had already set out the chessboard, and the two battled back and forth for several games. In his idle hours at the Hundred Household office, Lin Ming had mastered all manner of games for amusement; his skill at chess was considerable. Knowing that this ship had deep ties to the Cropped-Hairs and that Manager Liu and the others had visited Lingao many times, he saw an excellent channel for learning about the Cropped-Hairs' inner workings. He deliberately held back his skill, and the two fought to a closely matched finish—much to the delight of Manager Liu, who had swept all challengers aboard. They chatted as they played, and Lin Ming took the opportunity to learn much about Lingao.