Chapter 5: The Myth is Shattered

The seventh year of Tianqi, 1627 AD.

This was the year the Later Jin would attack and subdue Korea, seizing the Ming Dynasty’s vassal state.

In the fifth month, Huang Taiji’s assault on Ningyuan and Jinzhou would be repelled by the Ming army, a fleeting victory that would force him to change his strategy. He would bypass the heavily fortified Ning-Jin-Shanhai Pass defense line and invade the Central Plains directly, a tactic he would employ five times over the next seventeen years, plunging the already teetering Ming Dynasty into further chaos.

In the seventh month, the Tianqi Emperor would fall gravely ill, marking the beginning of the end for the all-powerful eunuch Wei Zhongxian. By the eleventh month, his property would be confiscated, and he would commit suicide. The fall of the eunuch faction would bring a brief glimmer of hope to the late Ming’s political landscape, a shooting star that would quickly fade. The dynasty, a body riddled with decay, was beyond saving. This last Han Chinese dynasty was on an irreversible path to destruction.

The three time travelers sat in stunned silence, the weight of their historical knowledge heavy in the air.

Master Gao coughed, stroking his beard. “Since you are sea merchants,” he began, “do you have any goods to sell?”

Wen Desi and Xiao Zishan exchanged a look. This was it. The glance did not escape Master Gao’s keen eye.

“We do have some goods,” Wen Desi said, feigning hesitation. “But we are new here and don’t know the proper channels…”

“Haha, that is easily remedied,” Master Gao laughed. “I have been in the foreign goods business in Guangzhou for many years. If you can trust me, I would be happy to be of service.”

“Then we shall trouble you, Master Gao,” Wen Desi said, his voice filled with delight.

“These are our samples,” Xiao Zishan announced, laying out the items from his backpack one by one.

After seeing the powder box, Master Gao was intrigued. The first item was another powder box, this one a sickly pale green. Then came the transparent glass cups, adorned with simple patterns. Though their clarity far surpassed any cup he had ever seen, they were not beyond his comprehension, and he was slightly disappointed. Next were a few miscellaneous porcelain items, unremarkable in their appearance and glaze. He picked one up. It was surprisingly light, and lacked the cold touch of porcelain. He was about to dismiss it as worthless when Xiao Zishan, as if reading his mind, pushed the bowls and dishes off the table. Master Gao gasped, but the items, instead of shattering on the tiled floor, merely rolled to a stop, completely unharmed.

A servant quickly retrieved them. Master Gao snatched them up, examining them for a long time. Not a single crack or chip. These men, he thought, were truly strange.

There were also transparent boxes, both square and round, with tight-fitting lids. They resembled the glassware he’d bought from the Franks, but were much lighter and, of course, unbreakable.

He was also shown a collection of shiny little knives, and a hooded cloak made of a material that looked like glass but was as waterproof as oilcloth. Master Gao stared at the dazzling array of curiosities, his heart a mix of surprise and joy. He was thrilled by the novelty of the items; they were rare, strange, and sure to sell quickly for a handsome profit. But he was also wary. These men were secretive, their origins a mystery.

After a moment’s hesitation, the lure of profit overcame his caution. He was a smuggler, after all. What did it matter if they were Franks or Australians? A windfall had landed on his doorstep; he wasn’t about to turn it away.

“I wonder,” he began, his voice cautious, “how much silver you are asking for these… strange goods?”

Wen Desi pointed to the quintessential time-traveler’s treasure: the glass cup. “One thousand taels each,” he declared.

They expected the Ming Dynasty merchant to leap at the offer. Instead, he stared at them as if they were madmen.

“That is… truly expensive,” Master Gao said, shaking his head. “This kind of glassware is sold by the Franks in Macau. A large glass bowl is no more than three taels. A small one, one tael. This cup…” He shook his head again, the implication clear. It was worth three taels, at most.

The three men were dumbfounded, as if doused with ice water. The ultimate time-traveler’s money-maker, the glass cup, was worthless.

Xiao Zishan, seeing the deal about to collapse, quickly interjected. “We have lived overseas for a long time,” he said, cupping his hands in a gesture of respect. “We are unfamiliar with the market here. We would be grateful for your guidance, Master Gao.”

Master Gao, assuming they were asking him to name his price, pondered for a moment.

The powder box: ten taels of silver each.

The glass cup: one tael each.

The melamine bowls and dishes: five qian for large, two for small, one for the spoons.

The plastic lunch box: three taels each.

The plastic raincoat: one qian each.

The small knife: five qian each.

The legendary money-making artifact of time-travel fiction, the glass cup, had been a dismal failure. One thousand taels had become one. A diamond had turned to glass.

The inconspicuous little plastic powder box, however, had captured the merchant’s interest. It was a humbling lesson: in business, one should never make assumptions. Xiao Zishan then began to ask about the maritime trade in Guangzhou, trying to gauge Master Gao’s opinion of their other goods.

He learned that the overseas trade in Guangzhou was a Portuguese monopoly. All foreign ships, regardless of their origin, had to anchor in Macau, where they were taxed and their goods inspected. Only Portuguese merchants were allowed to enter Guangzhou to trade. In the city, thirty-six guilds specialized in exports, dealing in porcelain, raw silk, white sugar, and other goods.

But merchants like Master Gao had other, less official, channels.

He was most interested in the mirror in the powder box. The Franks, he said, occasionally sold such things. A large mirror could fetch several hundred taels. Though their mirror was small, it was far clearer and brighter than those from the West. If they could provide larger sizes, the price was negotiable.

The “soft porcelain”—the melamine bowls and dishes—were nothing special in terms of texture or pattern, but their lightness and durability were a novelty. The “soft glass bowls”—the plastic lunch boxes—were also unbreakable, but lacked the crystal clarity of real glass. The plastic raincoats and small knives, in his eyes, were little more than toys.

The three men were ashamed. For all their vaunted knowledge of the future, they were no match for the business acumen of a 17th-century merchant.

Master Gao, for his part, tried to probe them for information about Australia. Xiao Zishan was evasive, offering only a few vague details. Their country, he said, favored the color blue. They were a nation of skilled craftsmen, founded on industry and commerce. The people were fond of empty talk, forming factions and promoting their own opinions, but they were a disorderly mob, their groups dissolving as quickly as they formed.

When asked about their ruler, he said they had one, called “Bachi” (Eight Chi). Under him was a powerful prime minister, “Xiaomi” (Little Millet), who controlled the military and civil affairs. And everyone in the country, regardless of their station, bowed down to a divine messenger named “A-Da-Mi” (Ah, Big Rice). Master Gao listened, clicking his tongue in amazement.

As they talked, the three men forgot their initial caution and drank the tea they were offered, down to the dregs. Master Gao, watching them, felt a flicker of contempt. Before they left, they had struck a deal. The “Australian sea merchants” would deliver their first shipment in three days, and promised to bring more novelties.

Their departure, however, raised Master Gao’s suspicions once again. They refused to leave through the main gate, insisting on being taken to a secluded corner of the backyard, and demanded that everyone leave them. Master Gao, uneasy, sent a trusted servant to watch from a distance. He saw the three men look around furtively, then disappear behind a wall. When the servant rushed over to investigate, they were gone.

[Note: The price of glassware comes from Wang Shizhen’s “Miscellaneous Records of Fengzhou.” The original price unit was the guan. This was the price in the Jiajing era, but I could not find the price for the 17th century, so I am using it as a substitute for now. Please do not delve too deeply into it. If you know, please enlighten me.]