Chapter 46: The Leizhou Sugar Company

Chang Shide was sprawled across the bed, half-drunk and thoroughly pleased with himself. He had just finished a bowl of sobering soup, and though a pleasant dizziness lingered, his spirits were soaring. As he drifted toward sleep, Wen Xiu glided silently into the room. The boy wore only a thin undershirt, his hair unbound, his face flushed like a peach blossom in spring. His almond eyes, full of a disconcerting allure, met Chang Shide’s.

For a moment, Chang Shide was simply stunned, unable to process the vision before him.

Wen Xiu executed a delicate curtsy, a gesture more fitting for a courtesan than a servant boy. “Wen Xiu is here to attend the master in his sleep,” he whispered. With that, he moved to undress him, his small, soft hands gently kneading Chang Shide’s body as he cooed, “Master—”

Chang Shide froze for a full five seconds. Then, as if every drop of alcohol had evaporated from his pores, a primal chill shot from his heels to the crown of his head. Goosebumps erupted across his skin.

“No!” he howled, a mournful cry of pure terror. He shoved Wen Xiu away and scrambled from the bed. Mamma mia, what fresh hell was this? A servant sexually harassing his master! Had it been a maid, he might have considered the possibilities, but this was a boy! A pretty boy, to be sure, but a boy nonetheless.

The commotion triggered instant chaos. Zhou Shizhai, his hand on his sword, burst through the door. He took in the scene—the disheveled master, the wronged-looking servant—and his expression shifted from alarm to a sort of knowing respect. “Please, enjoy yourself, Master,” he said with a slight bow, and began to retreat.

“No, Old Zhou, it’s not what it looks like!” Chang Shide, shoeless and frantic, chased after him. Outside, Li Biao was peeking in, and several other escorts had gathered in the courtyard, armed and ready.

“What are you looking at? Back to your posts!” Zhou Shizhai waved them away impatiently before turning to the flustered Chang Shide. “Chief Chang, your appearance is… rather unsightly.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He scurried back to find his shoes.

Wen Tong emerged next, drawn by the noise from his lamplit desk where he’d been drafting a report on sugar production. He saw Wen Xiu, clothes in disarray, slinking from Chang Shide’s room with a wounded expression. He immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, and his face darkened.

“Old Chang,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment, “I always knew you were a bit of a rogue, but I never suspected you had this particular inclination.” Wen Tong had no prejudice against homosexuals, but he despised those who would use their power for casual physical gratification.

“It’s not what you think!” Chang Shide was on the verge of tearing his hair out. How had this happened? The damned effeminate boy had tried to molest him, yet somehow everyone assumed he was the predator. “Old Wen, you have to believe your revolutionary comrade! We were roommates in Lingao! You know me!”

“It’s hard to say. When a man is separated from the collective, his ugliest tendencies often surface.”

“I’ve been wronged!” Chang Shide swore oaths to the heavens, gesticulating wildly as he recounted the tale. He finally managed to convince Wen Tong that he was the victim, not the aggressor. Just then, Liao Dahua arrived. Chang Shide, still smarting from the false accusations, vented his frustration, cursing Guo Yi for sending a “rabbit” to serve them.

Liao Dahua chuckled. “Master Chang, please, do not be angry. The boys must have misunderstood. It is common for lads like them, trained to serve, to attend to their masters during the day and serve as bedwarmers at night. When Manager Wen declined my offer of maids, saying the boys would be more convenient on the road, they must have misinterpreted his meaning. Since you have no such… inclinations, I will give them a stern talking-to.”

“What? That’s a thing?” Chang Shide’s understanding of ancient sexual mores was seismically shaken.

“Quite common,” Liao Dahua confirmed. “Scholars traveling with their books and swords often bring a young boy. It is convenient for errands, and at night, when the loneliness becomes unbearable, they find release. High officials at court also keep them. Some are favored even more than concubines.”

“What the hell kind of society is this!” Chang Shide swore.

Liao Dahua simply smiled apologetically. Wen Xiu, in his eagerness to curry favor, had offered himself up and been spectacularly rejected. It seemed neither master was interested in men. He made a mental note to procure some suitable maids at the earliest opportunity.

The storm passed. At first, Chang Shide was paranoid, fearing his manly reputation was in tatters. But he soon realized the locals couldn’t care less. The next morning, Wen Xiu brought his wash water as if nothing had happened. Perhaps, as Liao Dahua had suggested, it was simply no big deal.

The next day, they resumed their inspection tour by sedan chair, guarded by the men of Qiwei. For nearly two weeks, they journeyed through the countryside, visiting the various plantations and mills under their new ownership. The travel was arduous, and they fought off several robbery attempts, but the Qiwei escorts ensured their safe passage.

The situation was much the same everywhere. The sugar industry in Leizhou was a scattered affair, a patchwork of small, inefficient operations. There were no independent mills; each was tied to a plantation, owned by a landlord or a collective of farmers. Their primary purpose was to process their own cane, with a small capacity for outside work. The equipment was crude, the utilization rate abysmal.

The land tenure system was also different. Small plots were farmed by the cane farmers themselves, who hired temporary labor. Larger estates were managed directly by landlords who employed wage laborers—a nascent form of agricultural capitalism. This meant that when the land changed hands, the entire workforce vanished, creating an urgent labor crisis.

They returned to their headquarters in Xuwen to find Zhang Xin, the liaison from Guangzhou, waiting for them. As the future primary seller of Leizhou’s sugar, the Guangzhou station was watching their progress with keen interest.

Following a proposal from Guangzhou, approved by the Executive Committee, Wen Tong and Chang Shide formally established the Leizhou Sugar Company. Its capital was allocated from the Guangzhou station, and the plantation outside Xuwen would serve as its headquarters. Here, Wen Tong would pilot his reforms.

“Can you produce white sugar?” Zhang Xin asked, his concern palpable.

“Without question,” Wen Tong said confidently. “We can produce white sugar superior to any in Guangdong. But to have a price advantage, we will need the machinery department to build us new equipment.”

“English merchants have recently arrived in Guangzhou,” Zhang Xin informed them. “They are cautious, but they are buying. White sugar is a major commodity. If you can produce it before April, selling twenty or thirty tons will be no problem.”

“We can do it,” Wen Tong said, “but I need manpower from Guangzhou. It’s difficult to supplement our labor force locally.”

“How many do you need?”

“At least three hundred.” In Wen Tong’s plan, this contingent would form the core of his workforce for the farms and the factory.

“All able-bodied men?”

“Women and children as well. It will help the young men settle. Besides, the farm women of Guangdong and Fujian are strong and capable, as good as any man. And find me ten men with experience raising cattle.”

“Done. I can give you five hundred if you need them,” Zhang Xin agreed readily. Lingao’s reception capacity was strained by the ongoing immigration efforts. Over a thousand recruits were languishing in a quarantine camp outside Guangzhou. Guo Yi was desperate to move them out before arousing the suspicion of local officials.

“I can’t handle five hundred yet,” Wen Tong said. “Let’s start with three hundred. There is a mountain of work to be done, and I was hoping for more cadres from Lingao.”

“Cadres are scarce,” Zhang Xin said. “The Qiwei men are reliable. You can select key personnel from them to serve as military cadres.” Seeing Wen Tong’s surprise, he added, “Leizhou is a chaotic place. A wealthy sugar magnate will attract envy. Bandits are a given, but if the local gentry get ideas, you will have trouble. You need an armed force. Start with a militia. We’ll send weapons from Lingao.”

“Alright,” Wen Tong agreed, thinking he would delegate that task to Chang Shide and his ghost-head saber.

“I plan to establish a sugarcane cooperative here in Xuwen, then expand to Haikang and Suixi.”

“Will you continue to acquire land?”

“I hope to establish large-scale plantations,” Wen Tong said. “The current model of small-scale farming is too backward.”

His two-week tour had revealed a haphazard system. Farmers grew whatever they pleased, with little regard for best practices. Management was sloppy, entirely dependent on the whims of the weather. For a cash crop like sugarcane, the plantation model was far superior.

But acquiring land would not be easy. The cane farmers, despite the predatory interest rates, were not destitute. Annexing their land on a large scale would be difficult without a natural disaster or a man-made calamity. Wen Tong had no intention of manufacturing one—not because he was benevolent, but because he knew they lacked the power to control the outcome.

“My idea is to create a cooperative,” he explained. “We organize the farmers, provide unified technical guidance, introduce improved varieties, purchase fertilizer collectively, and process and sell the sugarcane uniformly. This will lower costs and increase profits.” He believed the plan would attract many small farmers.

“It won’t yield results in the first year, but over time, as the benefits become clear, they will join. We cannot force them; we must rely on reputation.”

“Then you plan to put down roots here,” Zhang Xin observed. “This is a three-to-five-year plan. Just persuading the farmers, managing the profit-sharing… you’ll need a great deal of help.”

“I don’t mind,” Wen Tong said, a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “I can enjoy the life of a great landlord. I’ve already requested management and technical personnel from the Education Committee. For the rest, I will train my own. As for the farmers, I will persuade as many as I can. In three to five years, if all goes well, I will be the largest sugar supplier in Leizhou. My sugar will be plentiful and of high quality. And then,” he added, a cold glint in his eye, “I will engage in some price dumping, crash the market, and bankrupt all those who refused to join. I will buy their land and their labor.”

Zhang Xin nodded, surprised by the ruthlessness lurking beneath the technician’s quiet demeanor.

“Ask for whatever you need,” he said. “The Guangzhou station will give you its full support.”

“We are a production base, not an intelligence outpost,” Wen Tong said, “but I am very interested in the situation at Haian Street. The locals call it ‘Sweet Port.’ All the sugar is exported from there. The merchants from Chaozhou and Shantou will be our rivals sooner or later.”

“That can be arranged. We’ll send men to go undercover. If normal methods fail, we can resort to… abnormal ones. The men of the Special Reconnaissance Team are itching for action.”

“Hehe, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But our time is limited. We can’t afford to be bogged down in a trade war. A swift, decisive approach is best.”

They finalized their communication protocols. Without a radio, they would rely on carrier pigeons for contact with Lingao. For Guangzhou, they would use pigeons and the Qiwei Escort Agency’s secure routes. The Executive Committee’s instructions were clear: direct contact across the strait was to be kept to an absolute minimum.

They also had a connection in Leizhou—the salt merchant Liu Gang. But the committee had decided to keep the two operations separate. Liu Gang was a vital channel for smuggling salt into the mainland and needed to be protected.