Chapter 4: Digging for Gold - The Australian Sea Merchants

“Damn,” Xiao Zishan muttered, his voice still trembling. “That was a roller coaster.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” Wang Luobin said, his hand still jammed in his pocket. Xiao Zishan knew he was clutching the stun gun.

“What are you two talking about? Just calm down.” Even Chief Wen had beads of sweat on his nose.

Their meticulously crafted plan had gone off the rails from the very beginning. The moment Wen Desi had tucked the wormhole’s exit into his bag, a chorus of frantic barking had erupted, sending a wave of panic through the trio. In a stroke of luck, Wang Luobin, hearing the rush of a dog behind him, had blindly swung the stun gun, connecting with a vicious animal in mid-lunge. The dog had gone down, yelping, its fur standing on end, foaming at the mouth. The shock seemed to have stunned the rest of the pack, who now kept their distance, barking wildly.

Before they could even think of their next move, the courtyard gate had flown open, and seven or eight servants in green uniforms had poured in, armed with swords, spears, and clubs. A musketeer, a lit matchcord wrapped around his arm, leveled his weapon at the three interdimensional travelers, their dreams of instant wealth evaporating in a cloud of fear.

Their first encounter with the people of the past was not going well. The dark muzzle of the musket, aimed directly at them, was a terrifying sight. In their online discussions, they’d always scoffed at the primitive firearms of the Ming Dynasty, but at a distance of twenty paces, even the crudest of weapons could blow a man’s head off. The eloquent opening speech Wen Desi had prepared was now lodged in his throat.

The servants, however, seemed hesitant, their eyes fixed on the twitching dog. The two groups stood in a tense standoff. Wen Desi knew he could end it with a smoke bomb, but that would mean the end of his career as an interdimensional trader. And what of his grand plans to unify the world and rebuild China? A surge of courage, born of desperation, rose within him. He raised his hands high, speaking and gesturing in broken Cantonese, and tossed another powder box towards the servants, a desperate attempt to show his peaceful intentions.

To his astonishment, it worked. In a matter of minutes, they went from being prisoners at swordpoint to honored guests.

“Old Wang, do you think this is a trap?” Xiao Zishan whispered, his eyes darting around the room. They were in a real Ming Dynasty building, sitting on real Ming Dynasty furniture. Any piece of it would be worth a fortune in their time, but at this moment, no one was in the mood for antiquing.

“If they wanted to kill us, they could have done it in the backyard.”

“Just be careful. And don’t drink the tea,” Wen Desi warned. “The master of this house is probably a smuggler. These types are ruthless. He might get some funny ideas.”

“Right.”

“Zishan, if I throw a smoke bomb, help me get the wormhole out. We’re leaving immediately.”

“Got it.”

As they whispered, a middle-aged man in fine clothes entered, flanked by a retinue of servants. The three time travelers, their initial panic subsiding, were now consumed by curiosity. This was a real, living person from the Ming Dynasty! They stared intently at the well-groomed, fair-skinned man.

Master Gao, having examined the powder box, was astounded. In his twenty years of dealing in foreign goods, he had never seen anything like it. The box itself, neither porcelain nor jade, was a marvel, and the mirror inside was a priceless crystal. He had seen a few such mirrors in his time, but none as bright and clear as this one. The Frankish sea merchants had told him that these mirrors were produced in a single, heavily guarded city in the West, their craft a closely held secret. They were a rarity even in Europe, let alone in Guangzhou.

These three Japanese, he mused, were making quite a statement. Were they envoys from a powerful lord? But the Japanese were a poor nation, their own goods mostly imported on Tang ships. How could they possess such a treasure?

Whatever their origin, their gift was a clear sign of goodwill. He had to meet them. He could already smell the silver. Still, he brought his most skilled guards with him, just in case.

When he saw them, he was stunned. They weren’t Japanese.

Guangzhou was a melting pot, and he had seen his share of Japanese. These men had short hair, but not the shaved heads of the Japanese. One had a buzz cut, like a monk, while the other two had slightly longer hair. Their clothes were strange—short jackets that opened in the front, not reaching their knees. It was a style he had never seen before.

They were also tall, not short like the Japanese. Each was over five and a half feet, one of them a towering six feet. They were fair-skinned, with soft hands, clearly men of leisure. They looked apprehensive, but there was a confidence in their bearing, a lack of humility that he found unsettling.

Master Gao, a shrewd judge of character, was at a loss. As he stood there, wondering, he noticed the three men staring at him with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. He took a step back, a strange thought entering his mind. Could these men have… a passion for other men? Why else would they be looking at him with such a creepy gaze?

Xiao Zishan and the others, seeing the man’s expression shift, were also confused. He looked to be in his fifties, wearing a square, flat-topped scarf and a silk, round-collared robe. He had a light beard and a fair, slightly plump face, a stark contrast to the dark, wiry servants around him.

Master Gao cupped his hands. “May I ask your names, brave sirs?” he asked, addressing Wen Desi, whose long, silk-like windbreaker marked him as the leader.

The words were not Cantonese, but had a hint of a Nanjing accent. Wen Desi replied in Mandarin, “We are from overseas. We lost our way in the night and accidentally entered your esteemed residence. May I ask where we are?”

Though he didn’t understand everything, Master Gao sensed they meant no harm. “Where have you gentlemen come from?” he asked slowly.

With the language barrier partially overcome, they exchanged names, a mix of speaking and writing. Wen Desi then launched into their pre-rehearsed cover story.

“Our ancestors were people of China. After the Battle of Yamen, they fled overseas, establishing a life for themselves in Borneo. But the ruler of that land grew jealous of the Han people’s prosperity and drove us out. We sailed south, tens of thousands of li, to a land called Australia. We have been there for over two hundred years.”

Master Gao listened, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So you are not Japanese?”

“We are people of China! How could we be Japanese?” Wang Luobin interjected, his voice filled with indignation.

Master Gao’s eyelids flickered. These men from overseas were certainly ill-mannered.

“We are not Japanese,” Wen Desi said, relieved that their story seemed to be working. He grew bolder, embellishing the tale. Australia, he said, had been a barren land, inhabited by a few natives. Their ancestors had carved out a paradise there, a place of peace and prosperity. But they had never forgotten their homeland. They had sent them, with a ship full of goods, to see the land of their ancestors.

The story was full of holes. How had they entered the city? Where was their ship? But as Wen Desi had predicted, sometimes all you needed was a story, and the conviction to stick to it.

Master Gao nodded along. He had heard of Borneo; several Ming trading ships went there every year. He’d never heard of this particular tale, but he couldn’t be bothered to question it. It was a matter of centuries ago; who could say what was true? Besides, he wasn’t interested in Borneo or Australia.

“…We did not know the way and accidentally entered your esteemed residence, disturbing your peace. Please forgive us.” Wen Desi finished with a clumsy, cupped-hand salute. “We have come from overseas. May I ask what place this is?”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” Master Gao said. These men, with their strange treasures and their ability to appear in his courtyard in the middle of the night, were clearly not to be trifled with. He would play along. “This is Guangzhou Prefecture, Nanhai County, of the Great Ming.”

Wen Desi pressed on. “May I ask the year, the month, and the day?”

Master Gao paused for a moment, then replied, “The second month of the seventh year of Tianqi.”