Chapter 355: Investment Immigration

Even Zhou Zhongjun expressed an interest in taking the acupuncturist exam. The tension in the room eased; a sense of possibility, of finally settling in Lingao, began to take root.

“We can finally get a foothold in this Nanbao,” Huang Zhen sighed, taking off his hat, dusting it off, and placing it on the table. “I’ve been all over the country for decades, but I never expected this short-hair’s territory to be so difficult to navigate. It’s the toughest place I’ve ever been!”

The others, oblivious to his “adventure” that day, thought he was merely discouraged from days of running around. Song Shengying offered some comforting words about a true man’s ability to bend and stretch.

Worried that Zhou Zhongjun’s frequent outings and lavish spending would attract unwanted attention, Huang Zhen once again warned everyone to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary, and to inform him beforehand if they had to leave. He shot a few pointed glares at Zhou Zhongjun, who, feeling a pang of guilt for her minor blunder, could only listen meekly.

After settling this matter, Huang Zhen realized the construction funds were running low. The renovation was an “all-inclusive” deal, with payments made weekly. After this week’s installment, the one thousand circulation coupons were nearly gone. New funds had not yet arrived. The team was plunged into a new crisis.

Money makes the world go round, a truth that held even here. Huang Zhen had seven or eight people to support and a half-finished project. Sima Qiudao had vanished like a crane into the mist, leaving no word. Sima Qiudao was his contact with “Seventh Master.” Without Seventh Master’s covert support, he felt utterly adrift.

After several days of anxious waiting, Sima Qiudao finally reappeared. He had been “looking for a job” and was now working for the Native Products Company under the Ministry of Commerce as a “purchasing agent,” a position that allowed him to travel frequently and openly within Lingao County.

Since he refused to shave his head and undergo “purification,” he was considered a “temporary worker.” Now that he had found employment, he returned to Nanbao.

He brought operational funds from Seventh Master and new information: Zhuo Yifan and his group had landed in Qiongshan County and were on their way to Lingao.

Only Zhuo Yifan knew the specifics of their mission. However, from the initial instruction to establish a hidden presence, it was clear that the operation would be difficult and require a long wait for the right opportunity.

But this new group numbered over twenty, a fact that immediately presented a problem for Huang Zhen. He groaned inwardly. His small shop was already crowded with seven or eight people. Now, another twenty-plus were on their way. How could he possibly accommodate them? Housing alone would be a challenge. Nanbao was manageable, but finding a place in East Gate Market or Bopu would be expensive, if a place could be found at all. The housing shortage in Lingao was severe.

Housing aside, the bigger problem was establishing their identities. Lingao’s household registration was notoriously strict. How could a group of men and women, old and young, register themselves?

But Sima Qiudao said, “Don’t worry, Seventh Master said they have their own way. We don’t need to interfere.”

“The short-hairs have a tight net here…”

“It’s fine,” Sima Qiudao said with confidence. “Seventh Master has a plan. With so many of them, it’s better to enter openly. It won’t be a problem.”

“Really?” Huang Zhen was skeptical. But his superiors had made their decision; it was not his place to question it.

On South Fifth Street in East Gate Market, a road in a suburban area of wastelands and construction sites, a large procession of carts and horses arrived one day.

The procession was impressive. Leading the way was a two-wheeled Dongfeng carriage, followed by four four-wheeled Hongqi carriages. Then came three four-wheeled cargo carts, piled high and covered with tarps. At the rear was another two-wheeled carriage.

A procession of this size would have drawn a crowd a year or two ago. But in the last six months, such sights had become common. Their destination was usually the suburban area beyond Fifth Street.

In late spring in Lingao, the weather was already turning hot. The newly planted trees along the new roads were still young and offered no shade, but the various flowering trees were in full bloom, a picturesque scene of colorful clusters.

The wheels of the procession crunched over the cinder road and stopped in front of a large compound on South Fifth Street.

In a city of modern buildings, this traditionally styled structure stood out. Its new roof tiles and whitewashed walls indicated a recent construction.

A large, black sign with gold characters hung above the entrance: “Qiong’an Inn.” This was the largest traditional-style inn in Lingao.

In recent years, the Central Plains had been in chaos. Bandits were rampant, popular uprisings a daily occurrence, and the roads unsafe. The wealthy and powerful built forts and organized militias for self-protection. Small and medium-sized landlords who couldn’t seek refuge with powerful families could barely survive.

Even the county towns were becoming increasingly unsafe. As a result, many families sold their property and moved to the peaceful and prosperous “paradises” of the Jiangnan region to “escape the turmoil.”

Lingao County in distant Guangdong’s Qiongzhou Prefecture had now also become a candidate for the wealthy to “escape the turmoil.” Rumors of Lingao’s prosperity, peace, and the happy lives of its people had spread to the mainland. The wealthy, with their greater access to “Australian goods,” knew more about Lingao.

Though not many had the courage to move to such a remote place, the number was still considerable.

The Civil Affairs Department did not object to their immigration—immigrants were always welcome. Moreover, these wealthy people brought capital, which would stimulate consumption. Besides, the Senate also needed more gold and silver to balance its “international payments.”

The “Qiong’an Inn” was born of this situation. The owner was a member of the Lingao Advisory Council and former “manure magnate,” Li Sunqian. After voluntarily handing over his ownership of the manure collection rights in Lingao County, Li Sunqian began to invest in industry under the guidance of the Ministry of Commerce.

At first, the Li family only invested in some of the Senate’s state-owned enterprises. Gradually, they saw the potential of real estate and began to develop property in the East Gate Market area.

As wealthy families from the mainland flocked to Lingao, Li Sunqian seized the opportunity. He bought a large amount of land along South Fifth Street and hired the Lingao General Construction Company to design and build “luxury residences” specifically for them.

Though called “luxury residences,” they were not traditional buildings. They only maintained a traditional architectural style, while their internal structure was built according to modern architectural concepts, far superior to traditional buildings in comfort and land utilization.

However, Li Sunqian, a native magnate, understood the housing preferences, family structures, and living habits of his own kind far better than the Senators. His “luxury residences” were very popular. The first batch sold out shortly after completion. While the second batch was still under construction, Li’s grandson, Li Xiaopeng, had already learned the art of “selling off-plan,” selling the residences that were still under construction to the wealthy families from across the sea.

The money was collected, but the houses were still being built. The families, with their large households and countless pieces of luggage, needed a place to stay. Li Xiaopeng had a flash of inspiration and came up with the idea of building “transitional housing”: an “inn” specifically for his clients.

Having received many guests, he knew that these wealthy families, having just crossed the sea, were often apprehensive. To put them at ease, he had to provide a living environment similar to their old homes.

Thus, the Li family invested in the construction of the “Qiong’an Inn,” a Ming-style building with Australian facilities. It maintained a traditional atmosphere while allowing guests to fully experience the comfort of the “Australian-style” way of life.

The inn was an instant success. The “Australian-style” way of life had not yet influenced the wealthy families from across the sea. Even the “state guesthouse” in East Gate Market, the “Shangguan,” they found to be too small, without even a courtyard, and with no distinction between main and side rooms—and no quarters for their servants.

The Qiong’an Inn had taken all of this into consideration. The accommodation was comfortable, and the service was attentive. So, despite the high cost, most of the “investment immigrants” chose to stay here.

The procession stopped in the square in front of the screen wall. The inn’s assistants, who had been waiting at the entrance, rushed forward to help people down and unload luggage, bustling with activity.

The ground was swept clean, and several handcarts were already waiting to transport the luggage.

From the last two-wheeled carriage, a traveler jumped down lightly. He was dressed in a fine silk robe, with a gauze net cap, holding a beautifully colored bronze sword in one hand, and patting the dust off his clothes with the other. He looked up at the sky and said to himself, “The weather here is so hot! A good rain would be nice!”

An inn assistant smiled and was about to take the sword, but a pageboy who had gotten out of the carriage first had already taken it. The pageboy was young, with red lips and white teeth, a handsome boy of the type favored by wealthy families.

The assistants were all experienced and tactful. Seeing that they had failed to curry favor, they knew the sword was valuable. One of them quickly smiled and said, “It’s summer all year round here in Lingao. Even the winter isn’t that cold. It just doesn’t rain much in the spring. In the summer, it rains nonstop, and that’s when it’s really unbearable. Sir, please, come inside.” As he spoke, he secretly sized up the guest.

The young scholar was about twenty years old, in the prime of his life, full of energy and vitality. Although dressed as a scholar, his skin was bronze-colored. His long eyebrows reached his temples, and his eyes were like bright stars. His tightly closed lips suggested he was not one to talk idly. His slightly prominent chin gave him an air of strong character. His features were delicate but not without masculine resolve.