Chapter 48: The South China Sugar Factory

“It should be true,” Wen Tong said, though his voice betrayed a flicker of doubt. “The books all say so.” He was nervous. He, and even his elders who had spent their lives in the sugar industry, had only ever known the sterile efficiency of modern factories. This was ancient alchemy.

What followed was nothing short of magic. After he poured the yellow mud water over the raw sugar, it began to transform. The dark, coarse mass turned a brilliant, snowy white. “Snowy,” of course, was a relative term. Compared to the refined sugar of his own time, it was still slightly dull, with a faint yellowish tinge. It fell short of the “exceptionally white” described in the texts.

The sugar at the top of the funnel was the whitest, while the layers beneath grew progressively darker. The bottom was a yellowish-brown. All of it could be considered white sugar, but the purest, whitest crystals would fetch the highest price.

Wen Tong shook his head. He knew the problem. The sugar solution hadn’t been centrifuged, leaving behind a residue of molasses. He wondered if the machinery department could build him a centrifuge.

The process was also inefficient. Out of ten kilograms of raw sugar, only sixty percent could be classified as “white.” The rest was a mix of yellow and brown. The process was cumbersome, the yield low. It was a method that could only be profitable in this pre-industrial age. Once modern sugar enterprises emerged, the traditional mills, with their high costs and low efficiency, would be driven to extinction.

The sugar produced this way was still in coarse, loose clumps. To create the fine, powdered “frosting sugar” that was so prized, another step was required: recrystallization. The white sugar was melted again and slowly cooked over a low fire. As the fine sugar powder crystallized on the surface, it had to be scraped off immediately to prevent scorching. The process was similar to boiling salt. In a modern factory, it would be done in a specialized evaporation-crystallization tank. Here, Wen Tong had to experiment. Chang Shide tended the fire, while Wen Xiu and Wen Qing assisted. To avoid disrupting the mill’s normal production, Wen Tong had a small, separate sugar shack built to serve as his laboratory. The four of them huddled in the smoky, makeshift structure. Wen Tong, his eyes fixed on the fire and the pot, grew dizzy and nearly pitched forward into the boiling sugar—a truly ignominious end.

A man of high theory, he was discovering, was not necessarily a master of practice, especially in such primitive conditions. The stove, fueled by sugarcane leaves and bagasse, was impossible for someone accustomed to the precise control of a gas knob. One wrong addition of fuel sent the flames roaring, instantly scorching the delicate sugar crystals.

“This is impossible,” Wen Tong said in frustration. “There’s no temperature control. The heat is too erratic.” The traditional mill’s stoker earned a salary second only to the sugar master, and it was clear he was not paid for nothing.

To regulate the heat, they needed a more stable fuel source—charcoal, or coal briquettes, or even steam, as in a factory. None of these were available in Xuwen.

After much thought, Wen Tong devised a solution: a water bath. By heating the sugar solution indirectly, through water, he could maintain a uniform temperature and prevent scorching. After several days of experimentation, he finally harvested his first batch: five kilograms of fine white sugar.

With white sugar, rock candy was a simple matter. The traditional method involved melting the sugar and clarifying it with egg whites. Wen Tong deemed this too expensive. Egg whites were just protein. He decided to use soy milk as a substitute. He had a mill built on the plantation and assigned an immigrant with experience in tofu-making to produce it daily. This not only supplied the workers but also provided him with a steady supply of soy milk.

After clarification, newly harvested bamboo was split and placed in the sugar solution. The sugar crystallized around the bamboo, forming large chunks of rock candy. To harvest it, they simply had to break the candy and remove the bamboo. It was a method that had existed since the Song Dynasty.

“It looks quite good,” Chang Shide remarked. Though it couldn’t compare to the single-crystal rock candy of his own time, its purity was impressive. It would be a hot commodity.

The next step was to scale up production. Wen Tong ordered new pots and utensils for the water bath and hired craftsmen to build a new sugar workshop by the river, dedicated to producing white sugar. To ensure its quality and cleanliness, he implemented modern standards in its construction.

The workshop was built in the style of a modern factory. Though it used wooden beams, the building was made of brick and tile, with no thatch. Large windows, covered with paper instead of the planned glass to avoid attracting undue attention, let in ample light. The floor was paved with square bricks and equipped with drainage ditches for easy washing. The fifteen cooking stoves were arranged in a single row to save space. The fire and ventilation openings were located under a covered corridor outside, allowing for operation even on rainy days and preventing contamination.

All the equipment was new. Wen Tong also had several wells dug by the river to avoid using the more polluted river water. He also invested in a brick-and-tile warehouse for storing the finished products. In addition to sugar, there was a great deal of molasses. Liao Dahua had ordered a large number of jars to store it, though he had no idea what Manager Wen intended to do with it.

The workers in the new factory were all selected from among the immigrants. Wen Tong personally trained them and established a complete set of production rules.

“Wen Qing,” Wen Tong announced, “from now on, you will be in charge of the entire management of the South China Sugar Factory!”

Both Wen Tong and Chang Shide were uneasy about entrusting such a responsibility to a servant boy, but they had no choice. There were few literate men among the immigrants.

“Yes, Master! Thank you for your patronage,” Wen Qing bowed deeply. “I will do my utmost!”

“I have a complete set of production rules here. You must ensure they are followed to the letter. No unauthorized modifications. If the workers have ideas, report them to me, and I will consider them.”

“Yes, Master!”

“If I find a single grain of sugar on the floor, I will hold you responsible!” Wen Tong said, adopting his most authoritative tone.

Wen Qing looked at him, a flicker of unease in his eyes. Why had his usually amiable master become so strict? “Yes, I understand. I will not dare to break a single rule.”

“Go. Take your workers and study the regulations. I want them all memorized within three days. Those who fail will not get meat on the weekend.”

“Then they will memorize it if it kills them,” Wen Qing said with a smile.

A smile finally touched Wen Tong’s lips. Of the two boys, he preferred Wen Qing. Though not as adept at anticipating his needs, he was more reliable. “You must also study hard. Do you read the book I gave you every day?”

The book was the “Training Manual for Native Industrial and Commercial Management Cadres,” compiled by Wu De’s Civil Affairs Committee and the Intelligence Committee. It was a distillation of their experience, a blend of ancient and modern management systems. It introduced basic management models, workload calculation, wage systems, and guidance on handling accidents. It was part of the “Native Work Series,” still in its draft stage.

“I study it every night. There are some things I do not understand, and I would like to ask for your guidance, Master.”

“Come to me at any time in the evening,” Wen Tong said earnestly. “You come from a servant background. How can those workers be convinced by you? You must have skills to command respect, not just rely on your master’s authority.”

“Yes! I thank you for your teachings, Master.”

After Wen Qing departed, Wen Xiu entered with a tea tray. “You have worked hard, Master. Please have some tea.” Since learning that the two managers were not interested in “male companionship,” the more honest-looking Wen Qing had been favored. Wen Xiu, realizing he had to change his approach, had suppressed his coquettishness and adopted a more demure demeanor.

“Hmm. Where is Master Chang?”

“He has gone to Haian Street.”

Haian Street was the export hub for Leizhou’s sugar. Though not a county town, it was far more prosperous than the county seat of Haikang. There were more than thirty sugar merchants on the street alone. The first time Wen Tong had seen it, he had been stunned. After the impoverished scenes of Lingao, the bustling commercial center of the Ming Dynasty was a revelation. If Haian Street was so lively, he could only imagine the prosperity of cities like Suzhou, Yangzhou, or Guangzhou.

Wen Tong was surprised. Haian Street was ten kilometers away. They always informed each other before making such a trip. Had he sneaked out to find a woman? The thought immediately occurred to him. Haian Street, with its bustling trade, was a natural home for brothels.

“He really went to find some wild food!” Wen Tong gritted his teeth. Old Chang, you are no true brother. To go for something so fine and not tell me… we could have had fun together. Now that he had gone with Liao Dahua, Wen Tong didn’t dare venture out alone. He suppressed his anger and went to the worker training class to teach them basic simplified characters, simple mathematics, and statistics. These workers, he hoped, could one day be promoted to management.

While Wen Tong was seething with frustration, Chang Shide was strolling down Haian Street with Liao Dahua. Their destination: the human market.

Chang Shide had initially intended to visit a brothel. He was prepared for the risks, having stuffed his luggage with several boxes of Durex. But after being introduced to a few so-called high-class establishments and inquiring about the prices, he was displeased. The facilities were good, the women passable, but the procedures were insufferably pretentious. Tea ceremonies, musical performances, and endless conversation. It took two or three visits before one could even get near the bed. It was too much trouble. Even the high-class clubs of his own time were not so complicated.

Chang Shide didn’t understand that these brothels were also social venues, where officials and merchants came to network and satisfy their cultural appetites. The higher the class of the prostitute, the more she would discuss philosophy and the less she would engage in carnal pursuits.

Sensing his disinterest, Liao Dahua guessed his thoughts. These sea merchants, long at sea, had no patience for such fuss. He led him to the back alleys, where more… practical establishments could be found.

But after observing the women soliciting customers and catching a whiff of the odors wafting from within, Chang Shide decided it was best to raise his own. Though Liao Dahua recommended several places where the women were said to be particularly accommodating, Chang Shide refused. It was better to keep a few of his own.

Liao Dahua, realizing his client found the prostitutes dirty, led him to the human market.

The market was a dusty open space. A few traffickers sat in a thatched shed, drinking tea. They sold the higher-quality goods. If a customer was interested, they would be led to a nearby house to view the merchandise—mostly young women, but also boys for use as catamites, at a high price. Others, with straws stuck in their hair, were selling themselves for a pittance.

Chang Shide surveyed the scene but found no one to his liking. The traffickers’ goods were clean and well-dressed, but the prices were exorbitant. A girl of eleven or twelve cost fifty taels. Chang Shide had no interest in raising a loli. Besides, he didn’t have that much silver, though he had accumulated tens of thousands of coupons.

Seeing his displeasure, Liao Dahua followed him in silence, unsure of what he was looking for.

After another circuit, Chang Shide spotted a new stall. A few yamen runners stood guard over five or six women of various ages, kneeling or sitting on the ground. The oldest was in her thirties, the youngest twelve or thirteen. Though disheveled, they appeared to be in good health. Strangely, no one was approaching them. He sent Liao Dahua to inquire.

Note (This section is beyond the 4000-character limit and is not charged):

Correction: Haian Street, now Haian Town, is under the jurisdiction of Xuwen County, not Haikang County as previously mentioned.