Chapter 143: The Foshan Trip, Part Nine

Liu San didn’t know what the Gong Ji Tang was, but the look of despair on Yang Shixiang’s face told him it wasn’t a good place. He heard him plead, “Brother! You know what kind of medicine the Gong Ji Tang sells. How could they possibly use fine ingredients like borneol and musk? If we put our remedies there, they’ll be utterly wasted. What kind of market can we build? Please, brother, give us a hand.”

“It’s not that I won’t help,” Yang Shiyi said, his voice smooth as silk. “It’s just that I cannot go against the family rules.”

“Am I an outsider too?!” Yang Shixiang’s patience finally snapped.

The question was a direct hit. The ancients placed immense importance on kinship and benevolence within the clan. Not only was Yang Shixiang not an outsider, he was a close relative from a direct branch of the family. Though he lived far away, his status within the clan was not low. If Yang Shiyi had used caution in sourcing medicine as an excuse, it would have been understandable. But using “family rules” as a pretext made him look like a rank hypocrite.

“You’re taking it too seriously!” Yang Shiyi was flustered, at a loss for words. He could only try to deflect. “Let’s discuss this later. The elders have been wanting to see you; it’s been many years. Please, come to the rear residence first.”

Seeing that his cousin was not going to budge, Yang Shixiang had no choice but to stand and follow him into the inner residence. Liu San, of course, could not accompany them. A servant came over and asked him to wait in the living room. Liu San decided that rather than sit there alone, he would rather go to the main hall and observe, to learn more about the local customs. He had the servant lead him out to a guest room in the main hall.

Liu San sat there, bored and frustrated. His plan had failed. He had thought that using cash to purchase raw materials, build goodwill, and then request consignment was a “win-win” idea that the other party would surely accept. It turned out to be wishful thinking. Not everything in the world went according to his neat calculations.

If the consignment deal fell through, the sale of their patent medicines on the mainland would have to be handled by the Guangzhou station. They were already running several businesses, and adding a pharmacy might be stretching themselves too thin. He had heard that their finances were not exactly flush.

However, Yang Shiyi had suggested having a place called “Gong Ji Tang” sell their products. From Yang Shixiang’s reaction, it seemed to be a disreputable establishment. He wondered what it was really like. If it was just a small shop, perhaps the transmigrators could support it…

As he was pondering, a clerk came to refill his tea. Liu San called out, “Young man, may I ask you something?”

“Yes, sir, what is it?”

“What is the Gong Ji Tang?”

The clerk was taken aback. “Sir, how do you know of that place?”

“I just heard about it. Is it one of your branches?”

“Sir, it’s a bit complicated,” the clerk said. It turned out that the Gong Ji Tang was a branch of the Yang Run Kai Tang De Ji, but a special one. It was funded by all the “Western family” members—the employees, from the head manager down to the apprentices. Everyone contributed three taels of silver. Those who couldn’t afford it could have it deducted from their salary over time. The profits were distributed equally among all employees as a form of welfare. The Gong Ji Tang sold the inferior goods rejected by the main store, so their prices were low, and they were popular among the poor.

“…The Gong Ji Tang is right next door to our main store. It serves walk-in customers and also does some wholesale business with small, rural medicine peddlers.”

“I see.” Liu San now understood why Yang Shixiang was so unwilling to sell his medicine at the Gong Ji Tang. It was on a completely different level.

As they were talking, a commotion broke out in the courtyard. People began to gather at the steps of the main hall.

“Nothing to see here, move along,” a manager said, trying to maintain order.

“What’s happening?” Liu San couldn’t see clearly and asked the clerk.

“Someone probably has heatstroke,” the clerk sighed. “It’s not even that hot yet. In the sixth month, we get several cases of heatstroke in the courtyard every day.”

“Why?” Liu San was puzzled. Was the courtyard of the Yang Run Kai Tang particularly prone to causing heatstroke?

“It’s a small act of charity from our master,” the clerk said, pointing to the two mat sheds in the courtyard. “One serves our own brewed herbal tea for waiting customers. The other serves ‘Peace Soup’ to ward off summer heat and evil influences. Some poor people, street beggars, and foundry workers who have caught a seasonal illness and can’t afford a doctor come here for a bowl of ‘Peace Soup.’ But some are already too sick, and even after drinking the soup, they still succumb. They can’t catch their breath, and they die. Alas!”

“I see,” Liu San nodded. The traditional Chinese medicine community did have a sense of social responsibility. He continued to sip his tea—then it hit him. Wasn’t this a perfect opportunity to promote his own patent medicine?

He quickly stood up and walked to the steps. In the mat shed lay a large man, probably in his early twenties. He was tall for this era, at least 1.7 meters, and had a sturdy build. He wore tattered clothes of an indistinguishable color, a rope tied around his waist, and was barefoot. He was covered in dirt and grime, the standard attire of a Ming dynasty beggar.

Liu San found it strange. The man’s sturdy build didn’t suggest he was constantly on the brink of starvation, but his sallow, gaunt face indicated clear malnutrition, which couldn’t be faked.

Whatever his story, the man was now lying on a worn-out straw mat, breathing shallowly, his jaw clenched and his face pale. Liu San reached out to touch his forehead.

“Sir—” a clerk standing guard nearby tried to stop him.

“I’m a doctor!” Liu San said in a deep, commanding voice. The clerk fell silent. The onlookers, who had gathered to watch the spectacle, quieted down when they saw a doctor attending to the beggar.

His forehead was covered in cold sweat. Liu San checked his pulse; it was faint and weak. He asked the clerk in charge of dispensing the soup, “Did this man collapse suddenly?”

“Yes, he asked for a bowl of Peace Soup and had just taken a few sips when…”

Liu San nodded. This was a critical case of internal blockage and external depletion of qi. Without immediate intervention, it was often fatal. According to traditional Chinese medicine, the proper treatment was to clear the blockage and restore the qi, starting by blowing a “passage-clearing powder” into the nostrils to induce sneezing and open the passages.

Liu San didn’t have any passage-clearing powder, but he had Zhuge’s Marching Powder. He quickly took it out, poured some onto a piece of paper, and gently blew it into the beggar’s nostrils.

The medicine worked wonders. As soon as it entered his system, the patient reacted almost immediately. His body began to move, and his eyelids fluttered open.

“He’s awake! He’s awake!” a cry went up from the crowd. Liu San pressed the man’s Renzhong and Neiguan acupoints. When he saw that the man was fully conscious, he told a clerk to give him some water. Only then did he stand up.

A crowd had gathered, and people were eagerly asking him the name of the medicine and where they could buy it. Some were so anxious that they wanted to buy the medicine he had on him.

“Fellow townsmen,” Liu San said, bowing to the crowd in his clumsy Cantonese. “My name is Liu San, and I’ve just arrived today. This medicine is called Zhuge’s Marching Powder. I prepared it myself to stay safe while traveling in the summer heat. I’m afraid I can’t sell it to you—”

He knew he had to be careful about advertising on someone else’s turf. He just needed to make his name and the medicine’s name known. The people would do the rest.

Liu San bowed and explained several more times before the crowd slowly dispersed. His confidence soared—there was a huge market for summer remedies like Zhuge’s Marching Powder.

As he was reveling in his success, Yang Shixiang came out from inside, his face grim. It was clear his visit had not been fruitful.

Back at the inn, Yang Shixiang said, “Brother Liu, I’m afraid the plan to have the Yang Run Kai Tang sell our medicine on consignment won’t work. You’ve met my cousin. He’s very shrewd!”

Liu San nodded. “He still refused?”

“He didn’t reject it outright, but he kept beating around the bush. I don’t know what he’s planning,” Yang Shixiang said, taking a towel from a servant and wiping his face before drinking a cup of cool tea. “Brother Liu, where did you get that bank draft?”

“From Guangzhou, of course. Doesn’t it say Guangzhou Delong Bank on it?”

“Delong, haha, that must be one of your Australian businesses too. The Delong Grain Company, and the grain coupons,” Yang Shixiang said with a laugh. “My brother wasn’t very interested in the consignment deal. He kept trying to find out where I got the draft and asking about your background.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said the draft was a deposit from a client,” Yang Shixiang said with a self-deprecating smile. “He would never believe I had fifty taels of silver in cash. As for you, I just said you were a new doctor in Lin’gao with excellent skills. He didn’t seem to believe me.”

“There might still be a chance,” Liu San thought. Yang Shiyi was a sharp man; he had immediately grasped the key points. The consignment deal wasn’t dead yet. If they could leverage the reputation the Guangzhou station had built in Guangdong, it might still work.

“What chance could there be? I think we should just pack up and go home tomorrow when the goods are ready.”

As they were talking, Huang Tianyu returned. He had spent the afternoon touring Foshan with Chen Tong and a guide from the inn, inspecting the local industries and looking for potential recruits. Compared to Liu San and Yang Shixiang, Huang Tianyu’s half-day had been much more productive.

He had visited several foundries and ceramic kilns. He saw a large number of civilian goods like bells, tripods, and incense burners being cast, as well as many cannons. He learned that because the iron in Guangdong was of good quality and not brittle, the court was mass-producing cannons there to supply the Liaodong front. Many foundries were overwhelmed with work.