Chapter 435: Senate Military and Political Proposals

Qian Shuiting shifted in his rattan chair, pulling at the trousers stuck to his backside and checking for any wear and tear. This all-natural cotton-linen blend was breathable and airy, but not very durable. Sitting in the rattan chair for too long would cause it to fray, which was not only unsightly but also carried the risk of an embarrassing “wardrobe malfunction” through a hole.

As the Speaker of the Senate and leader of the “Homestead Faction,” wearing trousers with a hole in the seat might earn him “pro-people” points in a “grand democracy,” but in the “small democracy” of the Senate, it would only invite ridicule.

Qian Shuiting looked at the pile of documents on his desk. Several were “Senate Military and Political Proposals” to be put to a general vote. One of them was Lü Zeyang’s assassination proposal. Qian Shuiting had no idea who this Zhu Dadian was—the proposal said he was a Ming official. But as soon as the proposal was posted on the BBS, several people came to see him, denouncing Lü Zeyang for “forgetting his ancestors” and being “heartless,” saying that the proposal “must not be passed,” otherwise it would be “nailed to the pillar of shame in history.”

Then he saw someone from the Huaxia Society post on the BBS, calling for the “heavenly punishment” of Elder Lü. Only then did Qian Shuiting realize that this Zhu Dadian was no ordinary person—after all, even getting rid of Zheng Zhilong hadn’t caused such a strong backlash. Just then, Yu E’shui came to the Executive Committee compound on business, so he asked him to stay and talk about who this Zhu Dadian was.

“This Zhu Dadian was a man of great integrity in the late Ming,” Yu E’shui said, briefly explaining how he had resisted the Qing, defended Jinhua to the death, and finally, his entire family had died for their country.

“I see,” Qian Shuiting nodded. No wonder Liu Zheng and the others were so opposed. It turned out they had stepped on the sensitive topic of “resisting the Qing and restoring the Ming.” Of course, it was precisely because of this man’s great integrity that Lü Zeyang wanted to assassinate him.

“My personal opinion is that I am against assassination,” Yu E’shui said. “Not for any other reason, but firstly, whether we want to prolong or end the Deng-Lai Rebellion, we have the strength to do so without resorting to assassination—it’s a waste of resources. Secondly, it is said that this Zhu Dadian was very greedy for money—since he was greedy, there is much room for negotiation.”

“Greedy for money?” Qian Shuiting was a little surprised. If he was greedy, why would his whole family die for the Ming after its fall?

“That is indeed a bit contradictory. But Old Zhu’s greed was also quite famous. However, I think sometimes the distinction between Chinese and barbarian is higher than money—after all, the Manchus wanted to impose their barbarian ways on the Chinese. Or maybe there are other inside stories we don’t know.”

Qian Shuiting recalled his conversation with Yu E’shui and found it indeed somewhat incredible. Emotionally, he respected everyone with integrity, but that didn’t mean he liked them. However, since Elder Lü had already submitted the proposal, he had to handle it according to procedure—this was his duty.

He had already prepared the specific documents, ready to be distributed to all elders.

The elders in Lingao could naturally browse the full text on the Senate BBS, while the elders stationed abroad would read the complete materials in the weekly “Red Document Box.” As for the actual voting, it could be done by telegram.

Qian Shuiting felt that this proposal was basically not going to pass—not because Zhu Dadian himself was popular, but because from his long-term observation, the elders as a whole did not approve of assassination as a means, especially in major matters. “Kidnapping and assassination cannot accomplish great things” was the general consensus. Furthermore, according to the current operating rules of the Senate, for any project that involved a general vote, unless there was a relatively unified opinion, such as the expansion of the steel plant, someone had to lobby for votes, otherwise it would basically not pass.

The last time, for the work on Japan, the work on Zheng Zhilong, and Zhao Yingong’s Hangzhou silk reeling factory proposal, all parties had privately lobbied in Lingao through their agents. Especially on the specific methods for dealing with Zheng Zhilong, the “crush them” faction and the “use them” faction had engaged in intense private maneuvering. Even right before the vote, Si Kaide, in a clearly disadvantaged position, was still frequently lobbying in the South China Sea Coffee House.

Qian Shuiting knew that, at least so far, no one had been lobbying for Lü Zeyang’s military and political proposal. Little Lü’s proposal was just to show his presence.

Qian Shuiting finished handling Elder Lü’s proposal. He started on another proposal—feeling a little apprehensive in his heart.

This file contained his proposal—the Manila silver robbery proposal. He had proposed this every year since 1630, but it had not been passed by the Senate for two consecutive years. Sometimes it was due to lack of strength, sometimes there were too many constraints from various parties. This year, the situation was particularly ideal. Not only could they obtain a huge amount of silver to increase their reserves, but it would also objectively cut off another of Zheng Zhilong’s trade routes.

Zheng Zhilong’s most important trade was with Japan, followed by the trade with Manila. The Spanish colony in the Philippines was extremely dependent on trade with China: not only did they need to buy daily necessities, food, and fruits from China, but even bricks, tiles, and currency had to be imported from China. A large number of low-quality small coins, such as “sand shells” and “Guangzhou pieces”—called “lead pieces” by the Spanish—were the main small-denomination currency in the Philippines. So much so that every Chinese merchant ship would carry a large amount of low-quality coins to Manila. The arrival of every Chinese merchant ship in the port would cause fluctuations in Manila’s currency exchange rate.

The Spanish were not keen on sending their own ships to the Chinese coast for trade. Firstly, they had few ships, and secondly, their ships were often attacked by the Dutch and the English on the Chinese coast. So they basically waited for Chinese merchant ships to come for trade—as long as they had enough American silver to pay.

Between 1565 and 1815, the Spanish sent large galleons from their American colonies to the Philippines almost every year, carrying large amounts of silver. They then transported the various goods purchased from the East back to Mexico. These goods were then added to the large fleets assembled in the Caribbean, which transported the wealth of the colonies back to Spain. These transport ships were called Manila galleons.

Due to the extreme scarcity in the Philippine colony and the demand for Chinese goods in the American colonies, the scale of this trade continued to expand. American silver constantly flowed to China, so much so that the Spanish royal family had to stipulate that the amount of silver transported from America to Manila each year could not exceed five hundred thousand pesos. However, in reality, a large amount of silver was smuggled to Manila every year, so the actual amount of silver was far more than that.

By robbing two ships of American silver, the entire Spanish colony in the Philippines would fall into a state of severe currency shortage. When Zheng’s ships arrived in Manila, they would either have to sell their goods at a low price or return empty-handed. The double blow to the Japan trade and the Manila trade would be enough to make the Zheng family lose everything.

He had been working on this privately with the core members of the Homestead Faction for several months. They had conducted extensive publicity on this issue—in fact, this publicity campaign had started the year before. Therefore, he was now very confident that his proposal would be passed.

His proposal was to select two steam-powered warships, with the Feiyun as the flagship, to wait in the shipping lanes near Manila, ready to attack the silver-carrying Manila galleons. He had enough historical data to provide the general route of the galleons and their specific arrival date in Manila. Interception was very likely to succeed.

Qian Shuiting had learned from the elders in the navy that there were currently two newly launched Type 901 gunboats in good condition, available for immediate use. Coupled with the Feiyun, they were sufficient to carry out this mission. It would not affect Operation Engine—the navy was currently in its summer rest and refit phase.

The main problem was the high probability of encountering typhoons in July, which was why the Feiyun had to go as well. The Feiyun had a weather radar, which could at least provide some warning.

Due to the certain risks of the operation, to enhance its persuasiveness, Qian Shuiting stated in the proposal that he would participate in the operation himself.

He reviewed the entire document one last time, and after confirming that there were no problems, he signed his name neatly in the proposer’s column at the beginning of the document.

After putting the document in the “out” basket, Qian Shuiting was about to take a break when someone came to report that an elder wanted to see him.

“Please let him in.” Qian Shuiting, adhering to the principle of “more contact, get familiar,” was very enthusiastic towards all visiting elders. So much so that for a time, his office became a bustling place. Any elder with some idea would come to visit him and talk about their ideals and plans, leaving him with almost no time for his work. He had to set aside two hours every afternoon specifically for receiving elders.

It had been hot recently, and everyone was “avoiding the heat” in the afternoon. The elders usually stayed indoors. He wondered who would be so interested in seeing him at this time.

The person who came in was Shan Liang. As an “independent opposition,” Shan Liang had always been secretly in cahoots with the Homestead Faction, so the two were considered acquaintances. Even so, Shan Liang rarely came to see Qian Shuiting, the leader of the Homestead Faction. After all, he still had to maintain his “independent” identity. The Homestead Faction had too much of an “American past” flavor, which some elders disliked. From the perspective of winning the majority of votes, it was not advisable to merge himself with the Homestead Faction.

“You are a rare guest,” Qian Shuiting said very enthusiastically. “Come, sit, sit, have some water.”

Shan Liang was wearing a faded blue “Lingao Telecom” work uniform, his skin was dark, and he was wearing a straw hat, looking like a member of the working class. For the past few months, he had been overseeing the construction of the wired telegraph line from Lingao to Chengmai and Qiongshan.

He took off his straw hat and sat down on the rattan chair. He took the cool boiled water that Qian Shuiting handed him. “You’re too austere here. You should at least have some iced kvass to be worthy of a Ninth Elder’s status,” he joked.