Chapter 2001 - Two Senators Caring About Naturalized Citizens' Marriage Problem (II)
Guangzhou was home to hundreds of thousands of souls—the largest city in southern seventeenth-century China. Surely, Wang Jun reasoned, there could be no shortage of women of marriageable age. He ran the numbers in his head. There was no need to fixate on the narrow pools of "female prisoners" or "chaste widows"—those constituted only a fraction of the available population.
Yet almost immediately, a new anxiety crept in. While unmarried women of appropriate age were indeed plentiful in Guangzhou, he could hardly go door-to-door playing matchmaker himself. Opening a formal matchmaking agency was without precedent in this era. The closest analog was the system of official matchmakers, who primarily brokered the release and marriage of minor female offenders—and even that was a rare occurrence.
Among Guangzhou's common people, marriage still followed the iron formula: "By the order of parents and the word of the matchmaker." Weddings varied from lavish to austere, but the essential process remained the same across all social strata—even the boat-dwelling Dan households adhered to this custom.
Wang Jun considered the feasibility of establishing a matchmaking agency in seventeenth-century Guangzhou. The difficulties were considerable. Worse, it lay entirely outside his area of expertise. He had never been a union activist, and his relationship with the "Auntie Red Matchmakers" back at his old enterprise had been poor at best. Try as he might to dredge up relevant knowledge, his mind came up empty.
The mental strain was giving him a headache. "Damn it," he muttered to himself, "this is more exhausting than when my parents dragged me to blind dates every week!"
But that casual complaint sparked an idea. He recalled those blind-date agencies his parents had patronized—places that didn't just arrange one-on-one introductions, but organized group "blind date parties." They would gather men and women of similar backgrounds for activities like barbecues or self-drive tours. Quite a few couples had successfully matched through those events.
"That could work!" Wang Jun felt as though he'd discovered a new continent. Of course, self-drive tours and outdoor barbecues were impossible in the seventeenth century. But other forms of group matchmaking events were entirely feasible.
He racked his brain. A ball came to mind—Western-style social dancing. But only the girls at the Women's College of Arts and Sciences had learned such dances, and even among the Senators, few knew how. Besides, the image of men and women embracing each other for the cha-cha would raise no eyebrows in Lingao, but in Guangzhou, with its stubborn "feudal remnants," it would be far too scandalous. The mere announcement would likely frighten off every prospective bride in the city.
After further deliberation, he abandoned novelty for simplicity: a basic "mutual selection" blind date assembly. He'd attended such events himself, and they'd even been organized for naturalized citizens back in Lingao—though those had been limited to officers, cadres, and skilled technical workers among the naturalized population.
With that decision made, he immediately penned a "warmly enthusiastic" letter to this previously overlooked Senator Du, expressing his support for Du's initiative and his willingness to collaborate on solving the marriage crisis among naturalized citizens.
Meanwhile, Senator Du's "Female Prisoner Plan" had been rejected. Undeterred, he went directly to Liu Xiang—who, upon hearing that Du had come to discuss the "naturalized citizen marriage problem," immediately claimed to be too busy and delegated the matter to Zhang Yunmi.
Du Yibin hadn't expected to meet Zhang Yunmi. In truth, he didn't know her personally, but after the notorious "Fierce Concubine" case, the reputation of the Zhang family father-daughter duo had spread throughout the Senate. Zhang Yunmi's appointment to Guangzhou had been published in the Government Gazette.
Six years into the transmigration, Du Yibin was nearing thirty, but in essence he was still the university student he'd once been. Thanks to the General Office's provision of a life secretary and the meticulous care of his parents (who had traveled through the wormhole with him), he retained a university student's awkwardness when dealing with female Senators. Now, confronted by a vivacious, youthful, and lovely young woman, his carefully prepared presentation turned halting and stumbling.
Zhang Yunmi listened to his pitch and flipped through the files, her brow furrowing.
"Promoting monogamy is one of the core tenets of the Senate's New Life Movement," she said flatly. "How can we lead by example if we violate it ourselves? Even if these are disabled soldiers, we can't engage in special treatment. Besides, while female prisoners may have committed crimes, they're still women. They still have marriage autonomy! Your proposal treats them like commodities to be assigned to whomever. That violates the spirit of gender equality advocated by the Senate..."
"Well, that's... it's not about taking two wives..." Du Yibin stammered. "The female prisoner idea—forget that. The main thing is finding women to marry disabled naturalized citizens, to take care of them, establish families, carry on their bloodlines. So I was thinking, perhaps among the chaste women at the Jiliang Institute..."
"Taking care of them is one thing. But why must they marry?" Zhang Yunmi couldn't comprehend the logic. "Disabled naturalized citizens are certainly deserving of pity. They've served the Senate with merit. But that's separate from matters of the heart! We preach marriage freedom and marriage autonomy every single day. Now you want organizational arrangements? That's deeply disrespectful to women. Just because we liberated Guangzhou and rescued those pitiable chaste widows doesn't mean we can posture as benefactors and meddle in their private lives."
Zhang Yunmi was young and had been influenced by twenty-first-century romance novels. She harbored a certain "love is supreme" mentality and was inherently resistant to the Senate's tendency toward "arranged marriages."
But her objections were all couched in lofty principles, and they left Du Yibin speechless. Yet he desperately needed the support of the Guangzhou City Government. The Compassion Hall currently housed hundreds of homeless chaste widows from charitable institutions across Guangdong Province. Unfortunately, Zhang Yunmi served as both the City Government Secretary and Vice Director of Comprehensive Governance. Since Liu Xiang refused to touch the issue, it had to go through her.
"Marriage autonomy is correct," Du Yibin ventured. "But the conditions we're offering aren't bad. Wudaokou has already promised: if a woman agrees to marry a disabled naturalized citizen, those disabled personnel will receive one-and-a-half times their regular wage as a family subsidy allowance..."
"That's a mercenary marriage. Absolutely not." Zhang Yunmi shook her head even more vigorously.
"But—"
Du Yibin found himself at a loss for words. After a long pause, he could only say, softly, "These men were crippled in service to the Senate. Some through workplace accidents, others on the battlefield... If we don't help them resolve this major life issue, they'll never have families. They were all healthy men once..."
This faintly mournful appeal touched something in Zhang Yunmi. She hesitated. "I can't make this decision alone," she said. "After all, it's a woman's lifelong matter. It has to be voluntary and conscious. If they're willing to marry, I won't object—and Mayor Liu won't either."
Senator Du returned to his guest house, his mood gray and deflated. He didn't even go to the canteen for dinner. He felt like a complete failure. Lying on his bed, he pondered how to finally persuade Song Yingsheng—his greatest "prize" from the Enping campaign, a man he regarded with the glee of someone hoarding a rare commodity.
Song Yingsheng's name appeared in no great historical texts, only in local chronicles. But he was the elder brother of Song Yingxing, a "contemporary figure" highly regarded within Senate intelligence circles.
Song Yingxing was in the prime of his life, currently working as an instructor at the Fenyi County School in Jiangxi while concentrating on his writing. More than one Senator had expressed interest in recruiting this Ming Dynasty scientist, and the Yangtze River Special Task Group dispatched by the Intelligence Bureau had conducted related operations.
Though they hadn't yet recruited Song Yingxing himself, capturing his elder brother was still a worthwhile achievement. Du Yibin had specifically instructed the National Army captain in charge of Enping's pacification: Capture the magistrate alive.
Song Yingsheng, though not a celebrity, possessed a fierce temperament. In the original timeline, he had committed suicide by poison when the Southern Ming fell, martyring himself for the dynasty. His loyalty to the Great Ming was beyond question. Capturing him alive had taken considerable effort. Through an inside contact in Enping provided by the Intelligence Bureau, Du Yibin had managed to seize him just before the city fell—moments before Song could take his own life.
After his capture, Song Yingsheng had been placed under soft house arrest at the county yamen, receiving "preferential treatment" that left him bewildered. Normally, captured local officials were sent to Guangzhou for screening, but at Du Yibin's special request, Song had been kept in the county.
Unfortunately, Du Yibin's persuasive skills were limited. Despite deploying every argument at his disposal, Song Yingsheng—though he no longer seemed intent on "martyring himself for the country" and remained courteous—had thus far refused to "submit to the Song" (as the transmigrators jokingly called defection). This time, Du had brought him to Guangzhou specifically to show him the "new atmosphere."
That old man is as stubborn as they come, Du thought bitterly. Reflecting on how nothing had gone smoothly since his arrival on the mainland, he felt a pang of homesickness for his parents and life secretary, all left behind in Lingao.
As he lay there brooding, his gaze fell on the desk, where a pile of correspondence had accumulated. Idly flipping through the letters one by one, he suddenly noticed a "private memorandum." The sender was a Senator he didn't recognize.
"Who's Wang Jun?" Du Yibin opened the envelope curiously.
Two days later, at the Great World branch of the Nanhai Coffee House, Du Yibin met Wang Jun in person.
After brief pleasantries, the two men plunged into an animated discussion of the "naturalized citizen marriage problem." Du Yibin recounted his meeting with Zhang Yunmi.
"That woman speaks nothing but lofty principles," Du Yibin said, deflated. "I couldn't argue with her."
Wang Jun thought silently: Your proposal would have been fine in the old days, but the political correctness inherited from the twenty-first century still holds considerable sway in the Senate. Many of your clauses are outright "incorrect."
"The proposal needs a complete rewrite," Wang Jun said aloud. "Gender equality is one of the Senate's cornerstone policies. You wrote about 'distributing wives' and 'distributing concubines'—you're directly contradicting Senate policy! And how do you think the female Senators will react?"
"I know, I know. So tell me—how do we fix it?"
"Here's what I suggest," Wang Jun said. "Reframe the proposal as solving the marriage problem for naturalized cadres and staff. Don't specifically mention 'disabled naturalized staff.' That broadens the target audience and avoids singling out the disabled—though of course, everyone will understand perfectly well. Under normal circumstances, what healthy woman would willingly marry a disabled man? It all comes down to a combination of spiritual and material incentives, plus a touch of administrative pressure. That's why you initially targeted female prisoners. The logic is sound. But all of that must remain implicit. It can't be written down openly."
(End of Chapter)