Chapter 103 - The Phoenix Mountain Villa Meeting

By the time Mei Lin and Zhou Dongtian went to Nanjing, the Phoenix Mountain Villa had already begun to take shape. Zhao Yigong, sparing no expense, had instructed the carpentry workshop to rush the work. By the time they returned, the main residential part of the villa was largely complete, with only the subsidiary buildings and the water supply and drainage systems still under construction.

This dinner was also a celebration of the Hangzhou station’s move to its official address, a “housewarming.” Zhao Yigong used this occasion to reward and comfort the Elders active in the Jiangnan region.

Since Zhao Yigong was using the guise of a gentleman in Hangzhou, he had set up all the necessary trappings of a comfortable life. He spent a lot of money in Hangzhou, but as a modern man, he handled many things himself. Most of the people around him were Guihua, and there was a strict system for procurement and payment. The common practices of “kickbacks” and “pocketing the difference” in the households of the gentry were not tolerated at the Hangzhou station, which naturally saved a lot of money.

For the management of personnel, finance, and property at the overseas stations, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau, the Ministry of Colonies and Trade, and the General Finance Department had developed a comprehensive management system based on the experience in Guangzhou and Leizhou. The regulations were very detailed and came with various forms and management rules.

This system effectively reduced the burden on the station chief Elder. He only needed to supervise whether his Guihua subordinates were following the regulations, rather than having to do everything himself.

The sedan chair went from Yongjin Gate to Fengshan Gate. From Fengshan Gate, the sedan chair traveled on a newly repaired gravel road—a supporting project for the Phoenix Mountain Villa, which ran from the villa’s entrance to Fengshan Gate, facilitating traffic between the city and the countryside.

The road was not wide, only enough for two sedan chairs to pass side by side, but the quality of the road surface was high. It was paved smoothly, with drainage ditches on both sides and newly planted trees along the road.

The sedan chair was carried all the way to the entrance of the Phoenix Mountain Villa. In front of the gate was an open space paved with stone slabs, and on this space was a newly built stone-lined pond. The pond was used to collect rainwater from the hillside. As it was spring and there was plenty of rain, the pond was already filled with clear, rippling water.

Many trees had been planted around the villa, mostly economic forest crops: fruit trees, mulberry trees, and fast-growing trees. Although the trees were small, they were already lush and green, bringing a sense of vitality to the once barren hillside. Servants dressed in uniform blue cloth, holding wooden staffs, were patrolling the area. The security was very tight.

The sedan chair was carried through the main gate and all the way to the inner residence. Zhang Yingchen stepped out of the sedan chair. Sun Wangcai, the general manager of the Hangzhou station, was already waiting at the door. He personally led Zhang Yingchen into the inner residence. If he hadn’t been informed beforehand, Sun Wangcai would not have known that among the Australian masters, there was such a transcendent “Great Australian Daoist Master.”

Unlike most Elders, Zhang Yingchen had always tried his best to downplay his Elder status. Even the Jesuit society, which was extremely interested in the religious situation of the Australians, had only preliminarily determined that the “iconoclastic leader of the Lin’gao Daoist church” had a close relationship with the Australians after mobilizing almost all the Jesuits active in the Lin’gao regime to investigate for nearly a year. They still had not confirmed Zhang Yingchen’s Elder identity.

The banquet was prepared by a local Hangzhou chef hired by Zhao Yigong. He had taught the chef several Hangzhou dishes from the old world and had resolutely broken the chef’s habit of putting Sichuan peppercorns in every dish. Northern Zhejiang had always been a land of fish and rice, with plump chickens, ducks, fish, and meat, and an abundance of vegetables. The resulting dishes were fresh and delicate.

Zhou Dongtian, Mei Lin, and the others were full of praise. During the meal, the long-separated group joked with each other. The topic gradually turned to the orphans Zhao Yigong had adopted and the Daoist boy that Daoist Ma, the abbot of Qingyun Temple, had sent to serve Daoquanzi.

First, they teased Zhao Yigong about his “Hikaru Genji plan,” then they moved on to Zhang Yingchen’s aesthetic tastes—he had repeatedly stated that he was not interested in boys and was a so-called “uncle-con.”

“Now everyone knows that a long-term overseas assignment is a cushy job, but unfortunately, we architects can’t get one,” Mei Lin sighed, smacking his lips after downing a cup of “Peerless Scholar.” “If it weren’t for this inspection tour, by the time we sweep away the wild Jurchens, not to mention Dong Xiaowan and Liu Rushi being married, even Li Xiangjun might be a Daoist nun. Tsk, tsk, only Daoist Zhang gets the benefit, what a waste of heaven’s gifts.”

This time, he had gone to Nanjing with Zhou Dongtian and had wanted to visit the Qinhuai River to enjoy the spring scenery of Baimen. Unexpectedly, after Zhou Dongtian returned from Sanshan Street, he had been busy setting up the printing workshop, recruiting craftsmen, taking in refugees, and buying many books and local products from Nanjing. He had no time to visit the Qinhuai River, let alone have any leisure time.

The harvest was not small. They had purchased more than thirty types of books, recruited twenty to thirty printing workers, and taken in a number of refugees.

By the time Zhou Dongtian finished his work, the money was almost gone. Mei Lin had to return disappointed. Zhou Dongtian repeatedly promised that they would go to the Qinhuai River together again before leaving Jiangnan.

“I’ll give you a special expense account,” Zhou Dongtian said. “I guarantee you’ll have a chance to open your eyes on the Qinhuai River.”

“Old Mei, what’s the rush?” Zhao Yigong opened a bottle of kvass and poured it for everyone. “The girls on the Qinhuai River won’t run away. Liu Rushi, Chen Yuanyuan, and the others are still little kids now—you don’t even know where they are. They won’t be receiving guests until the next time you come. If you can’t wait, there are the boat girls of the Nine Surnames on the Qiantang River. They are also famous in this era. How about I take you for a visit?”

“No, thank you. No matter how good the boat girls are, they can’t be compared to the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai,” Mei Lin muttered, looking uncomfortable. “Such good girls, don’t let someone else get to them first…”

“Old Mei, you’ve watched too much of The Peach Blossom Fan. Besides, I’m not into married women, nor do I like lolis. Not just me, but in the entire Council of Elders, few will compete with you for this. Your rivals are Hou Fangyu, Mao Pijiang, and ‘Water is too Cold’ (Qian Qianyi),” Zhang Yingchen said with a shrug, popping a shrimp into his mouth. “But I really don’t think you can win their favor.” He glanced at Mei Lin’s dark, rough skin and sturdy build from his long hours on construction sites.

Mei Lin was taken aback. In the old world, his appearance might have been liked by girls who “liked masculinity,” but in this era, it was probably difficult. In terms of financial ability, these core members of the Donglin and Fushe societies were not poor. Mao Pijiang’s family was one of the richest in Rugao. Qian Qianyi was a so-called powerful gentry in Changshu.

Even if they couldn’t afford it themselves, with their fame at the time, if they really took a fancy to a famous courtesan and couldn’t afford her redemption fee, many people would be lining up to be the “man in the yellow shirt” (a benefactor).

In contrast, Mei Lin couldn’t even produce a single coin of silver. The brothel madam certainly wouldn’t accept his coupons.

“The aesthetic standards of the late Ming were notoriously perverted. The kind of catamites dressed as pseudo-girls would only satisfy the tastes of dead otaku. As for me, if fate allows, I’m interested in NTR-ing Zhang Xianzhong before Huang Degong does. But looking at the portrait of Amakusa Shirō Tokisada, I deeply feel that historical records are really unreliable,” Zhang Yingchen said with a sigh.

Mei Lin didn’t understand this rambling statement at the time, and Zhang Yingchen didn’t explain.

Zhao Yigong knew about this historical case, but he didn’t think everyone would be interested, so he didn’t say anything. They then talked about the recent work arrangements from the “center.” Zhao Yigong had received a telegram: the second inspection team had already set off from Guangzhou. This group was larger and included members of the Special Reconnaissance Team.

“It seems they are preparing for the Dengzhou rebellion in the second half of the year,” he said. “The great drought in Zhejiang is next year’s business. From the second half of this year, we will be very, very busy.”

“The hydrological survey of the Qiantang River is only one-third complete. I don’t know if it can be finished on schedule,” Lu Zhongxing said with some concern. He had been working on this recently. “The Shandong refugees are not a big problem. They may not need to be transferred to Zhejiang. But the refugees from the great drought in Zhejiang will have to be exported from Hangzhou.”

The most important task was to arrange for people to go to Shandong as an advance party as soon as possible. This was a perilous job. Without official support, there was little chance of survival when the chaos erupted. Therefore, the center had sent several telegrams, urging Zhao Yigong to quickly establish connections with Xu Guangqi and Sun Yuanhua.

The key to establishing this connection was the Catholic church in Hangzhou. Zhao Yigong’s visit had achieved initial success. The next step was to quickly win over the leading figures, find a way to connect with Xu Guangqi’s family, and thereby gain the trust of Sun Yuanhua and establish a base in Shandong.

To quickly connect with Xu Guangqi’s family, Zhao Yigong had been frequently participating in the activities of the Hangzhou church recently and had obtained a lot of information. He briefly described the intelligence he had gathered from his participation in the Hangzhou church activities. Zhang Yingchen listened carefully and summarized a few key points—his next actions were closely related to the church.

On the other hand, Zhou Dongtian had an extra piece of information: there was indeed a high-H manga based on The Golden Lotus in Japan. Unfortunately, the author was a BL erotica manga artist. All of Ximen Qing’s wives and concubines had become handsome men, and in the end, Ximen Qing was NTR-ed by Wu Song and Gu Dasao.

This story made Zhou Dongtian frown. He really couldn’t stand the wild imagination of BL erotica manga. He looked at his tall colleague in a Daoist robe, who was confidently discussing this kind of heavy-taste otaku-rotten topic, and suddenly felt a sense of absurd time-space dislocation, not knowing what to say.

“It’s no big deal,” the seemingly transcendent person said, shrugging his shoulders without any image while holding a glass of kvass.

“Many of these guys in the late Ming were bisexual. As long as this stuff isn’t seen by those brainwashed by the Jesuits, it’s fine. Besides, in the original Golden Lotus, there are many descriptions of Ximen Qing playing with catamites. The heavy-taste scenes can be used as illustrations for that chapter. As for the non-explicit ones, they can be used openly. If you can’t make a manga version, can’t you make a light novel version? Anyway, the uke in BL manga all look like women. The Great Library has the full electronic version of this manga, a work by a Japanese manga artist named Mizuki. Just ask them to look it up.”