Chapter 2412: Reeling Workshop (I)

"This is the Zhudie Mu—the beater stick," Chen Lin explained, unaware of what thoughts were running through the Australian woman's mind. "It's used to guide the reed."

At the rear of the jacquard loom sat the warp beam for winding silk threads. In the middle, two Zhudie Mu hung vertically, each about four chi long, their ends inserted into the reed to beat the weft.

"The Zhudie Mu may appear plain and unremarkable, but it's actually a crucial component," Chen Lin continued. "Its purpose is to beat the weft tight. By adjusting the size and weight of the beater sticks, you can regulate the force applied and weave different fabrics. For light, airy silks like Sha and Luo, you want a lighter stick. For denser weaves, heavier. A single Flower Loom can produce an endless variety of silk fabrics—all depending on this simple stick."

Li Yao'er nodded silently. Such an enormous machine, yet it required two workers to operate by hand. The products were exquisite, certainly, but the production efficiency was abysmal. She remembered reading about the history of silk development, where places like Suzhou and Hangzhou supposedly produced hundreds of thousands of bolts annually. But then she considered that these silk-weaving centers had tens of thousands of looms—meaning each loom produced only a few dozen bolts per year.

After viewing the Grand Flower Tower Loom, Li Yao'er led Chen Lin to "Workshop Two." This space had been converted from the original wing rooms and part of the courtyard, now serving as a centralized facility for waist looms. The twenty looms that Fenshenghe had previously scattered across various locations were all consolidated here. Since the wing rooms had lower ceilings than the main hall where the Flower Tower Looms stood, skylights had been added during renovation to increase natural light. Without industrial lighting, one had to make the most of the sun.

Chen Lin found this renovation puzzling. A centralized layout looked impressive, but what practical purpose did it serve? Yet if the Chief had ordered these changes, there must be a reason. Never questioning one's elders to their faces was a virtue Chen Lin had always been praised for, so he held his tongue.

"These are what the workers call waist looms," Li Yao'er said. "Why that name?"

"Chief, do you see that wide leather strap? When weaving, the worker wears it around the waist. All the power comes from the waist and hips—hence the name."

Chen Lin explained that this was a relatively new loom, appearing only in the last decade or so. It couldn't weave complex patterns and was limited to simple weaves like Juan, Chou, and Luo that didn't require jacquard mechanisms. However, it wove quickly and produced high-quality fabric.

"I notice it resembles the cotton looms used in Hainan," Li Yao'er observed.

"The Chief speaks correctly. Waist looms can also weave kudzu cloth, hemp, and cotton. The fabric comes out neat and fine, with good texture and luster. It's a very versatile loom, though not yet widely used. If I were to open a cotton weaving workshop, I would use waist looms exclusively."

"Oh? You've thought about opening a textile factory?" Li Yao'er's interest sharpened.

Chen Lin cursed himself for the slip. But then again, telling the Chief wouldn't hurt—as long as he didn't reveal the key person behind it, his cousin-uncle.

"Yes, this humble one heard in Guangzhou that the Senate has a policy encouraging cotton spinning factories. They help provide equipment and technology, and even assist with sales. I thought—there are many sandy fields here, plenty of farmers who grow cotton, and existing weaving workshops with looms. Wouldn't opening a cotton spinning factory achieve twice the result with half the effort?" He sighed. "But then Father met with misfortune, and the village was looted. If the Chief hadn't come to take over Fenshenghe, this workshop would probably be in ruins. So I dared not think about it anymore."

"Your idea isn't bad." Something stirred in Li Yao'er's heart.

Her focus for silk industry improvement had always been the upstream processes—raising silkworms and reeling silk. Weaving wasn't the priority because foreign buyers cared more about raw silk than finished fabrics of various colors and patterns.

In matters of design and aesthetics, different countries had vastly different tastes. In earlier centuries, before other nations mastered sericulture, silk exported from China to Byzantium and Persia was often unraveled into thread, then re-dyed and rewoven to local preferences. Even during the Ming and Qing dynasties, raw silk dominated the export trade.

Consequently, neither the foreign trade nor industrial departments showed much interest in improving satin weaving, which meant Li Yao'er couldn't secure many resources for it.

Through persistent effort with the foreign trade department, she had eventually obtained some investment and gained control of Fenshenghe. But in the weaving sector, she could only make do with improving existing equipment—which was precisely why Fenshenghe had caught her interest.

The textile department under the Senate's industrial system had always been a neglected backwater. Over the years, apart from establishing one textile factory each in Qiongshan and Lingao for specialized products, no other textile enterprises existed. These two factories produced a wide variety of goods for clothing, household use, industry, military, and shipping—but everything was internally allocated with nothing sold externally. Cotton cloth for civilians came entirely from Great Ming or India.

Only recently had the Planning Agency launched the "Textile Promotion Act" as part of the broader "Industrial and Commercial Promotion Act," opening the sector to private capital in the Two Guangs region.

Though private investment was encouraged, investors still depended on the Senate for equipment, technology, and skilled workers. With cotton spinning being the priority, resources inevitably tilted that way, leaving silk weaving with precious little. Among the new textile equipment mass-produced by the Bairen Machinery General Factory, only reeling machines made the list. For satin looms, only a few prototypes existed, along with some upgrade kits for old-style machines.

But all this equipment required external power. Unlike Flower Tower Looms or waist looms that workers could drive with foot pedals, hand throws, or hip movements, these new machines needed mechanical power sources.

Steam engines were out of the question. The Planning Agency's factory construction guidelines for cotton textile operations recommended water-powered machinery instead.

Water-powered machines produced far greater and more stable output than animal- or wind-powered alternatives, making them ideal for large-scale production. The first industrial textile factories of the British Industrial Revolution had been water-powered.

But the drawbacks were equally obvious. You needed suitable water conditions—proximity to a river with sufficient flow—and the investment was substantial. Building water-powered facilities required extensive construction work.

Given silk weaving's low priority at the Planning Agency, Li Yao'er had no hope of obtaining a power equipment quota or the necessary investment. Upgrading equipment remained a pipe dream. Even the higher-priority reeling machines could only use the foot-pedal basin-beating models from Hangzhou.

But if this young Chen wanted to open a cotton spinning factory and could make it happen, he could apply for a water-powered machine quota. Then all those retrofit parts and prototypes sitting idle for lack of power could finally be put to use.

The thought energized Li Yao'er immediately. She probed: "Your idea is excellent! However, opening an Australian-style cotton spinning factory is a major undertaking. Before a single inch of cloth is woven, the investment already runs into the thousands. Can you raise the capital?"

"At the start, it naturally wouldn't be that large. Many local households grow cotton. We'd first open a yarn spinning factory—spin the yarn and sell it to textile factories in the prefectural city." When his cousin-uncle had discussed opening a textile factory with him, Chen Lin had already worked through the key points. The Xiangshan area had plenty of sandy fields, and many farmers grew cotton. His cousin-uncle had also purchased sandy fields in preparation for growing his own cotton. The supply shouldn't be a problem. Get the yarn factory running first—with everyone opening textile factories, demand for cotton yarn would be strong. This business was practically guaranteed to profit.

"As for capital, I admit I miscalculated." He sighed deliberately. "After being looted by the soldiers, there's nothing left to count on."

"You're quite clever for your age," Li Yao'er said with an approving nod. She already had her calculations in mind, but just as she was about to speak, she held back. She had only just met this young Chen today and still knew little about his background or character. The factory matter could wait—no need to rush. First she would see what he was made of.

Beside the second courtyard lay east and west side courtyards. Li Yao'er had converted the eastern one into a reeling workshop, installing the same equipment—the Jiqi Dajie (steam-powered reeling machines)—used at the small reeling factory in Hangzhou's Phoenix Villa. The entire workshop was arranged according to that training facility's model. A boiler had been specifically brought in to provide hot water and steam for reeling.

In scale, however, this was much smaller than the Hangzhou training workshop, with only one hundred workstations. Any larger and the existing boiler couldn't keep up.

"This is an Australian-style reeling room," Li Yao'er said.

Chen Lin surveyed the transformed workshop with surprise. Like the other workshops, it had ventilation windows on both side walls and skylights in the roof. But the walls and ceiling were crisscrossed with various pipes and valves—what were all these for?

The pipes connected to each reeling workstation. Here, as in the Hangzhou training factory, improved foot-pedal reeling machines were used. Foot-pedal reeling machines existed during the Ming Dynasty and were nothing new. However, the machines from the Lingao Machinery Factory incorporated numerous mechanical improvements—many components were metal with bearings installed on rotating parts, making the rotation smooth and the operation more flexible.

But Chen Lin immediately spotted the differences. First was the stove basin beside the reeling machine—it had changed.

Traditional Chinese reeling techniques had undergone multiple refinements. By the Ming Dynasty, two main methods had emerged.

The first was called the "Fire Silk Method," also known as the "Hot Cauldron Method." A single large pot served for both cooking cocoons and reeling silk, placed directly over the stove with a silk reel mounted horizontally above. During reeling, the water temperature ran extremely high, which increased the number of cocoons that could be cooked in a short time. Adjusting the water temperature controlled the thickness of the silk—higher temperatures for thick silk, lower for thin.

The Fire Silk Method's advantage was efficiency: cocoons cooked quickly and reeling was fast. But because the pace was so rapid, controlling the silk's thickness proved difficult, and quality suffered. It was gradually superseded by the Cold Basin Method.

(End of Chapter)