Chapter 84: The Cultural Bookstore

After meeting the newly indentured servants, Zhao Yigong began to make plans. From the resources he currently had, it was clear that directly intervening in the raw silk and cocoon trade was beyond his capabilities. His capital was limited, and Delong would certainly not be able to mobilize too much money at the beginning when it had not yet established a firm foothold locally. Finally, the capitalists of Jiangnan would definitely be much more difficult to deal with than those in Leizhou. Not only were they well-capitalized, but they also likely had many wealthy and powerful gentry and officials as their backers. His situation was much more difficult than that of the Leizhou Station and the Guangzhou Station. He could not directly touch the interests of the local powerful people, lest he provoke a strong backlash and fail at the last moment.

After consideration, the most suitable course of action at the moment was to intervene in the raw silk production process. As a transmigrator, his greatest advantage was, of course, to use Lingao’s technological capabilities to open a modern, semi-mechanized silk reeling factory to produce high-quality raw silk. From Wang Siniang’s description, native silk reeling not only had low production efficiency but also poor quality. If he were to hit the existing market with cheap, high-quality products from industrialized mass production, the transition from quantitative to qualitative change would be very fast.

The ones who would be hurt the most by this would be the silkworm farmers like the Shen family, who raised their own silkworms and reeled their own silk. Zhao Yigong had no doubt that once the silk reeling factory was put into operation, the impact would cause tens of thousands of silkworm farmers to go bankrupt, lose their land and property, and end up on the streets. And he would be the originator of all this.

However, such a situation was beneficial to the transmigrator group. The Senate’s consistent policy towards agriculture was to destroy small-scale production. A large and stable class of small-scale self-cultivating farmers, whether they owned their own land or were tenants, was something the Senate did not want to see—the Senate needed a large amount of free, employable labor.

Besides silk reeling, there was also great potential in intensive sericulture. Zhao Yigong had witnessed the productivity explosion brought about by the agricultural improvements and technological promotion of the Agricultural Committee in Lingao. If similar practices were introduced in Hangzhou, the yield and quality of mulberry leaves and cocoons would certainly be greatly improved.

However, both of these processes relied on technical and material support from Lingao. Zhao Yigong himself knew nothing about silk reeling machines or sericulture. He decided to use the old method: first, go for a field investigation.

He had already made up his mind to open a silk reeling factory, but to do so, he had to solve a series of problems such as land, factory buildings, equipment, workers, and raw material sources.

The technical content of a silk reeling factory was limited. It would not be difficult for the machinery factory to imitate a set of late 19th-century silk reeling equipment. A silk reeling factory did not require much power equipment; it didn’t have to be a steam engine. A water wheel would be sufficient. Zhao Yigong had considered water turbines when he was designing the “transmigrator textile industry.”

To build a workshop and use water wheel power, he needed land. This piece of land had to be large enough, and there had to be a river nearby—both for growing mulberry trees and for running a silk reeling factory, a large amount of water was needed. To meet these conditions, a location within Hangzhou city was obviously not suitable. He had to look outside the city.

Zhao Yigong already had a plan for this piece of land—he had long had his eye on Phoenix Hill outside Fengshan Gate. This was the original location of the Southern Song imperial palace. In the Song and Yuan dynasties, it was within the city. At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, when Zhang Shicheng built the new city wall of Hangzhou, Phoenix Hill was left outside. The Southern Song imperial palace on Phoenix Hill was mostly destroyed by a fire in the 14th year of the Zhiyuan era. Ten years later, Yanglian Zhenjia petitioned the Yuan court and used the foundations, remaining structures, and building materials of the Southern Song imperial palace to build five Buddhist temples on Phoenix Hill. These five temples also fell into ruin one after another during the Yuan Dynasty and were finally completely destroyed in the wars at the end of the Yuan. By the late Ming, Phoenix Hill had become a desolate and deserted place. Zhao Yigong had already inquired—although this place was close to the city, it was very deserted, with almost no inhabitants except for a few small villages.

But for Zhao Yigong, this place was very suitable. The price of desolate land would not be high, which suited his current limited financial conditions. Since it was possible to build a palace there, the terrain would not be rugged; it must be a relatively flat slope. In addition to building houses, the slopes could be used to plant a large number of mulberry trees to provide leaves for sericulture. Moreover, Phoenix Hill was bordered by the Zhonghe River on one side and the Qiantang River on the other, making it convenient to draw water for power or for production and daily life. In the future, if more factories were to be opened, they could draw and discharge water nearby.

The future Hangzhou Station would also have to handle the transfer of population. It would be inappropriate to set up a purification camp in his own residence. Firstly, there was not enough space. Secondly, this was a high-end residential area in the city, and the influx and outflux of a large number of poor people to and from the Zhao residence would be too conspicuous. Phoenix Hill was a place close to the city but not conspicuous.

Finally, Phoenix Hill was adjacent to the Qiantang River and was a commanding height of Fengshan Gate. When the Taiping army attacked Hangzhou, they had seized this place as an important base for attacking the city. Controlling this place was equivalent to preparing a suitable pier for transporting refugees and receiving naval ships. For Zhao Yigong, who claimed to be a descendant of the Song imperial family, Phoenix Hill also had a special political meaning. He had to take this commanding height.

Of course, the entire site of the Phoenix Hill palace ruins, from Tiaozhou Bay in the south to Wansong Ridge in the north, along the west bank of the southern end of the Zhonghe River in the east, and to the eastern foot of Phoenix Hill in the west, had a circumference of nine li. Zhao Yigong certainly had neither the strength nor the need to buy the entire area. After all, he was here to do business, not to create a Southern Song palace ruins park for himself to reminisce and sigh over. He immediately instructed Cai Shi and Sun Wangcai to first inquire about the land ownership and approximate land prices in the Phoenix Hill area, and at the same time, to survey for a “place where a manor can be established.”

Afterward, he drafted a telegram, reporting his ideas and plans to the Foreign Intelligence Bureau in detail, including all the support he hoped to receive: funds, machinery and equipment, and specialized technical personnel.

While waiting for a reply, Zhao Yigong looked for other business opportunities—not only to make money but also with the intention of trying to open up a social circle locally.

He had considered setting up a printing factory. Movable type printing and lithography were the technologies that the transmigrator group had mastered that could most easily make money in this era, not to mention that they also had a large number of resources available for “plagiarism.” In particular, there were many carefully collated base texts from the old world. If these versions were reprinted in large quantities, they could overwhelm the ordinary books sold in the bookstores of this era in terms of content quality, not to mention the printing quality of the books themselves.

The woodblock printing industry of Jiangnan was famous at that time. This was closely related to the flourishing literary style of Jiangnan. Nanjing, Suzhou, and Hangzhou all had large-scale bookstores. These bookstores integrated editing, publishing, printing, and sales, forming a considerable industry. So there was definitely no lack of a market.

Moreover, in the concept of that time, books were after all a kind of “elegant object.” Books were related to scholars, and in a society where knowledge was monopolized by a few, books not only had practical value but also cultural and psychological significance. Therefore, the owners of bookstores that printed, compiled, and sold books were also considered relatively “elegant,” making it easier for them to interact with scholars and be “looked up to.”

However, a printing factory still required equipment, technology, and personnel. These things were currently only available in Lingao. As far as Zhao Yigong knew, the problem of carving type molds for movable type casting had not yet been well solved. For this reason, before he left, the head of the printing house had specifically asked him to pay attention to whether he could find some master woodblock carvers in Jiangnan to come and work in Lingao. A good woodblock carver might also be able to do the work of carving type molds.

Thinking of this, Zhao Yigong couldn’t help but smile bitterly. It seemed it was not easy to accomplish things on his own. If he had transmigrated alone, it would indeed be very difficult.

However, the difficulty of opening a bookstore was much smaller. Zhao Yigong thought that even without movable type printing, it was not impossible to use woodblock printing directly. This was a ready-made technology locally. In modern terms, the industrial chain was complete. Whether it was the raw materials for woodblocks, the paper for printing, or the woodblock carvers, they were all readily available. He only needed to invest.

Simply opening a bookstore was still the act of a merchant. Scholars would at most “look up to” him, but not truly treat him as an equal. He had to make it more elegant. Zhao Yigong suddenly thought of the so-called “cultural bookstores” that had opened in the old world. They all had tea houses or cafes. People who bought books could read them freely, have a cup of tea, and flip through the books. It was fine even if they didn’t buy anything; the owner would just make money from the tea… and everyone thought it was very elegant and artistic. What if this idea was introduced to the Ming Dynasty?

Expanding on this idea, the bookstore should have as many books as possible to create a library-like atmosphere. Not only should there be classics, histories, and philosophical works, but it would also be a good idea to introduce some so-called “Australian books” printed in Lingao. These books, whether in terms of printing quality, paper, or content, were much better than the books of this era and could be used as a “rarity” to attract scholars. Any business needed a “selling point.”

Besides books, he thought he could also sell Australian paper, stationery, and other small items. This would differentiate it from ordinary bookstores and avoid competing for their business. He could also set up a membership-based book lending system, allowing scholars to borrow books for free to read at home. Then, through the registration of members, he could conduct a general survey of the local personnel relationships. Of course, the biggest benefit was “reputation.” In ancient times, books were very rare, not only were there few types, but they were also expensive. Ordinary poor scholars only had a few copies of the Four Books and Five Classics and the required examination essays. To read more books, they had to go around borrowing from people, especially some large-volume, rare books, which could only be borrowed from people with large private libraries. Because books were rare, people who owned them were generally reluctant to lend them out easily, and there was no shortage of troublesome talk and requests. Therefore, in ancient China, countless topics, stories, and legends were derived from the collection and borrowing of books.