Chapter 154: The Foshan Trip, Part Twenty

Liu San’s trip to Foshan was a resounding success. Not only did he procure enough raw materials to produce the summer remedies, but he also acquired many precious medicinal herbs that were difficult to obtain in Lin’gao, or even in all of Qiongzhou—especially musk, bezoar, and rhinoceros horn. The musk, in particular, was all from Du Shengxing of Henan, a brand known for its authenticity and quality. Liu San had only ever seen samples of their musk in the university’s archives. To see it in person and purchase it was truly exciting.

He even managed to buy some Pien Tze Huang, a medicine he had long coveted. It was sold on consignment by a pharmacy in Foshan at a very high price; one tael of silver could only buy a small piece. When Liu San tried to buy more, the pharmacy refused, citing limited stock and a purchase limit of five pieces per person.

“If I sell it all to you, what will happen if someone has an urgent need?” the clerk said bluntly. “This is a life-saving medicine!”

Liu San left disappointed, but he admired this traditional business ethic.

He also purchased countless pieces of traditional Chinese medicine processing equipment and recruited many pharmacy clerks. Yang Shixiang was astounded. Even with a few big deals, he didn’t think the Runshi Tang needed so many people and things.

“Brother Yang, before long, you’ll be complaining that you don’t have enough people,” Liu San said with a confident smile. Yang Shixiang wanted to argue, but he remembered that although he got along well with this man and they had become sworn brothers, he was still a “Kun.” And all Kun people were brimming with self-confidence—though, given their achievements, it was not surprising.

He thought about how his life had been getting better day by day since he had befriended Doctor Liu. Even his business affairs had become surprisingly smooth. Yang Shixiang didn’t know that the incident with Li Yongxun was a coincidence; he thought Liu San had been holding back and had only played his hand when his cousin was uncooperative. He was now thoroughly impressed by the Australians’ methods.

As long as the Australians were in Lin’gao, his business would surely prosper. Yang Shixiang had a vague feeling about this.

Before leaving Foshan, there was another round of social obligations. Hearing that they were leaving, the leading figures of the Yang clan came one by one to host farewell banquets. Even Lin Ming sent a few gifts. They spent three days attending farewell dinners before they finally departed.

Foshan was several dozen li from Guangzhou by water, and traveling by boat was very convenient. Liu San’s party didn’t have to escort any cargo. With seven or eight people in their group, they hired a fast boat for the return journey. The trip was again arranged by Qiwei, and by the standards of this era, it was both convenient and comfortable. The connections at each stage of the journey were so precise that Liu San began to wonder if Qiwei had a telegraph. He tentatively inquired.

“It’s nothing special,” said the “full-time escort”—yes, that’s what he was called, not a security guard, as his job was different. “It’s all done with carrier pigeons.”

The Qiwei Escort Agency had used the network it had built over the past year to connect all its branches, cart and horse stations, transport companies, shipping companies, warehouses, and inns. They had set up communication hubs at several major transportation points in the province, and information was transmitted by carrier pigeon three times a day—morning, noon, and night. Although it couldn’t compare to the telephone or telegraph, it was an extremely accurate method of communication for the time.

Upon arriving in Guangzhou, they boarded the Guangjia. The medicinal herbs purchased in Foshan had already been transported to the Qiwei warehouse at the Guangzhou pier. The full-time escort gave him the warehouse receipt. Liu San and Yang Shixiang inspected the goods, found nothing missing or damaged, and then stamped the receipt and had the cargo loaded. The efficiency was astonishing, even to Liu San.

The group returned to Lin’gao on a ship from the Gao Guang Shipping Company. As soon as they entered the port, they saw that a fence had been erected at the newly renovated passenger terminal, along with several new stone buildings. A few men in naval uniforms were on duty at the fence.

It was only after they disembarked that they realized the dark-skinned natives were not from the navy. They each wore an armband that read: “Customs.”

“This is a novelty,” Liu San said. Although he knew that a customs office had been established during the recent institutional restructuring, and a man named Ma Jia had been appointed as its head, the customs had always been a department with a weak presence among the transmigrators. For a long time, the General Administration of Customs had consisted only of Ma Jia and one native officer at his command.

Ma Jia had painfully discovered that his impressive-sounding customs office had nothing to do. First, the transmigrators’ imports and exports were exempt from duties, and their ships were not subject to tonnage taxes. The Maritime Forces Department acted as the hegemon of the nearby seas, and the “one-fifth” tax collected from the fishermen naturally didn’t require their involvement. As for the few merchants who came to Lin’gao to do business, the commerce department had adopted a tax-free policy to encourage them. Besides, most of these merchants were small-time traders with little to offer. Ma Jia could only sigh at the heavens as he looked at the “Customs Law” and “Customs Tariff” he had written.

A man who was just as frustrated as him was Fu Bowen, the patrol inspector of the Bopu patrol station who had fled to the county seat after D-Day. The ninth-rank military official no longer had the face to stay in the county seat. Under the stern urging of the county magistrate, Wu, who disliked him, Fu Bowen dared not disobey, nor was he willing to lose his post. After much deliberation, he reluctantly returned to Bopu.

The “Kun thieves” were generous and welcomed his return. The re-establishment of the patrol station in Bopu was part of a private agreement between the two sides. The transmigrators honored the agreement and returned his original office building, even leaving the glass windows they had installed. The electric lights were gone, but they had generously provided him with a biogas lamp.

They even returned his twelve archers—though “returned” was a loose term. The transmigrators had prepared a twelve-man squad for him, all of whom were strangers to Fu Bowen, selected by the transmigrators and essentially serving Ma Jia. This squad brazenly moved into the patrol station and collected its salary and rations. Fu Bowen was sensible enough not to issue any orders.

Thus, the transmigrators’ customs and the Ming patrol station coexisted in the same place, practically two signs for one organization. All of the transmigrators’ current tax collection and passenger inspections were still conducted under the name of the Bopu patrol station. Fu Bowen was like the nominal head of some organizations, only responsible for signing documents and not involved in day-to-day operations.

Fu Bowen was well aware of his position; he was just a figurehead. And he was surrounded by enemies. Even in the county seat, he wasn’t necessarily safe. Recently, when he had gone home to visit his family, he had seen the rows of severed heads in boxes hanging at the county gate. These were the heads of figures whose names were somewhat familiar to the people of Lin’gao, men who could once make children stop crying and the county gates slam shut. Now, their heads were neatly arranged in wooden cages on poles, their mouths agape as crows pecked at them.

If these Kun thieves could eliminate the most troublesome bandits, a small county seat would be no match for them. Fu Bowen decided to simply go with the flow. Every morning, he would do nothing but drink tea, practice his swordsmanship, and read books, including the newspapers the Kun thieves gave him. He ate his meals at the Bopu canteen, where the food was decent and good wine was often available, much better than the taverns in the county seat. He even got used to the convenience of cigarettes, abandoning his old pipe that needed constant cleaning.

For this, he had his family exchange part of his monthly salary for Lin’gao grain coupons for his expenses. Unwittingly, his spending grew, and his meager salary was no longer enough. At this point, Ma Jia would discreetly give him some coupons, which Fu Bowen would accept with a smile. After all, taking money was the official way.

Ma Jia was bored. Besides working on his various customs regulations and drafting maritime laws, he would sometimes visit Fu Bowen’s patrol station. This was also part of his job: to monitor this minor Ming official in a key part of the transmigrators’ territory.

One day, Ma Jia and Fu Bowen were in the middle of a game of chess when a customs officer burst in.

“Director Ma! A shipment has arrived!”

“A shipment?!” Ma Jia jumped to his feet. A “shipment” meant a large consignment of taxable goods had arrived—a first for the Bopu customs.

“No tax exemption certificate?”

“No, I asked the people on the Guangjia. The owner of the goods is the manager of the Runshi Tang in this county. The goods are from Foshan and are worth a lot of money. It’s all medicinal herbs!”

“Don’t panic,” Ma Jia instructed. “Tell Ji An to meet me at the pier.”

Ji An had recently been promoted from the ranks of the ordinary transmigrators. He had been a customs broker for ten years and was very familiar with the import and export inspection process, much more so than Ma Jia, who was full of maritime law.

“Old Fu, I’ll be right back.” He said his goodbyes and hurried to the pier, where Ji An was already waiting.

“Well?”

“We need to appraise this,” Ji An said. “Then we’ll check the tariff schedule.”

“Let’s just ask him for the value of the goods,” Ma Jia said, his head already aching. Appraising meant consulting the commodity manual. The book had everything, but no one could identify the medicinal herbs…

“There’s no invoice here. How can we confirm its authenticity?” Ji An was saying, when Liu San, who had already passed through customs, ran back.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re levying an import tax,” Ma Jia said, quite excited. “It’s not often we get a large shipment of imported goods…”

“These are raw materials for the Ministry of Health’s pharmacy!” Liu San nearly jumped. “Do we have to pay tax on this too?”

“I don’t think so. If it’s an import for the Ministry of Health, there should have been a notice from them. Besides, these goods clearly belong to the Runshi Tang!” Ma Jia said.

“The value is considerable,” Ji An said, looking at the warehouse receipt. “The tariff for traditional Chinese medicine is divided into three tiers. The highest is for things like ginseng and deer antler, with a rate of 50%…”

“Are you kidding me?” Liu San thought. The Ministry of Health’s business had just started, and the customs was already here to collect taxes? He would not stand for this.