Chapter 87: The Military Parade

Seeing his customers “improperly discussing matters of state” and risking disaster, Boss Zhang of the teahouse quickly called out, “Esteemed patrons, come, try this. These are the walnut crisps from the Zhang family’s shop. The Australians love them most. Everyone, come and have a taste.” He then had a waiter bring out a plate of walnut crisps for everyone to try.

Like most shops in Guangzhou, Zhang Yu’s walnut crisp shop had closed for one day when the Australians entered the city, but reopened the following afternoon.

“There’s nothing special about these walnut crisps,” said one of the regular tea patrons, all of whom had very discerning palates.

“Special or not is beside the point. The key is that they have the ‘golden seal of approval’ from the Australians,” Boss Zhang said. “And even so, you have to order them several days in advance, otherwise you can’t get any.”

“I know that old Zhang family’s walnut crisp shop. It’s a tiny, old place. The quality is just so-so—they sometimes even mix in last year’s stale goods with their crisps. Only the teahouses looking for a cheap deal use their stuff… I don’t know how they caught the eye of the kūnzéi fellas.”

“I heard the son of Boss Zhang went to the ‘Great World’ amusement park and became a ‘sworn brother’ to one of the Australians…”

A look of “sudden realization” dawned on everyone’s faces. Someone said, “Nowadays, as long as you have a connection with the Australians, you’re sure to get something good!”

“A new dynasty, a new court of officials, as they say.”

“You wake up one morning, and the world has changed.”

…As they were talking, the sound of gongs rang out again from outside, this time a continuous series of thirteen strikes, the signal for “all civil and military officials, soldiers, and commoners to clear the way.” This was followed by the shout of a paifia (local constable): “Everyone, make way! The army is passing through the city!”

Boss Wang snapped his fan shut. “Alright, let’s go see.”

The people in the teahouse swarmed out, only to find that the streets were already crowded with onlookers. Along the white lines, the “public servants,” now all called the “Detective Squad,” stood maintaining order. They stood with their backs to the street, holding bamboo batons and shouting at people not to cross the line.

The sound of music, a melody the citizens of Guangzhou had never heard before, drifted closer. It was the “March of the Grenadiers,” played on military drums and fifes. The sheepskin drums were fierce and spirited, the fifes melodious and composed.

Following the drumbeat, a contingent of flag bearers appeared at the head of the street. The citizens of Guangzhou curiously eyed the blue morning star flag and the red iron fist and gear flag, murmuring about the meaning of the symbols. This speculation reached its peak when the standard-bearer of the South China Army, holding the eagle banner high, appeared at the gate of Dananmen.

Following the eagle standard-bearer was the South China Army’s own Grenadier Company. They wore bright red grenadier uniforms, their black “mitre caps” adorned with gold cords and gleaming brass plates. On their white canvas belts hung leather cartridge boxes, canvas grenade pouches, and bayonet scabbards. Their tall stature, enhanced by the mitre caps, made them all look like giants.

They were merely the vanguard of a terrifying military procession. The troops that followed were so powerful and imposing as to be almost unbelievable. The procession began at seven o’clock. Company after company of line infantry, wearing basin-shaped steel helmets and blue-grey uniforms, marched past. They were neatly groomed, their beards cleanly shaven, their leather boots polished to a shine. Their bayonets glinted in the sun. They marched in tight, solemn columns of four, presenting a picture of perfect military discipline. Next came the light infantry in grey-green uniforms, carrying Hall rifles that shone with a dark blue light. Their light caps had bands for attaching camouflage loops. After the light infantry came the mountain company, composed entirely of Li and Miao soldiers recruited from the mountainous regions of Hainan Island. They carried machetes at their waists and were armed with Nanyang-style rifles and crossbows.

“…Good heavens, the Japanese pirates are here!” a commotion suddenly arose in the crowd.

The Japanese infantry of the “Sword-Drawing Squad” were all dressed in jinbaori jackets, wearing conical helmets and with two swords tucked into their belts. They carried Nanyang-style rifles on their shoulders. Though short in stature, they exuded a violent aura honed from years of fighting as mercenaries. Close behind them was the Korean White Horse Squad, dressed in white with large black hats. Bringing up the rear were the combat engineers, wearing heavy canvas vests over their uniforms. They shouldered long-handled pioneer axes, wore tool bags at their hips, and carried double-barreled Minie rifles, each man stout and powerful.

The spectacle left the watching citizens dazzled. They were accustomed to the cumbersome, shabby “official robes” and “uniform vests” of the imperial troops, their rusty armor and mismatched weapons. They had never seen such a well-dressed, uniformly marching, and spirited new-style army. They couldn’t help but cheer silently: no wonder the Australians are invincible. Where else in the world could you find such a first-rate army?

The drums rumbled as the columns marched along Chengxuan Avenue, the sound of their unified footsteps seeming capable of crushing anything in their path.

The soldiers sang the “March of the Grenadiers,” marching on and on, company after company, more and more of them. The crowd watching the procession was silent, stunned into speechlessness by the immense, endless, and superbly equipped force.

What surprised the crowd most was the train of vehicles—the gentry and commoners of Guangzhou rarely saw horses, let alone so many in one procession.

There were six-horse teams pulling artillery pieces with limbers, four-horse teams drawing two-wheeled field kitchens, two- and four-wheeled supply wagons, and two- and four-wheeled light carriages for the officers… The wheels rumbled over the stone-paved road, a sound like thunder.

Most of this massive vehicle train was for show. They passed through the city and soon unloaded their equipment at the new docks built by the General Logistics Department on the riverbank, transferring it onto ships—on the route of their advance, boats were the most important means of transport.

The columns of the South China Army marched for an hour after another, the whole morning, until nearly eleven o’clock, when the last supply wagon, escorted by the rearguard, finally left Chengxuan Avenue. A whistle blew, the “Detective Squad” maintaining order on the street was dismissed, and the crowd dispersed.

Boss Wang, Fa Wen Niu, and the others had been standing for half a day. The char siu bao and congee they had eaten earlier had long since been digested. Now hungry again, and since they were already there, they re-entered the teahouse to continue “drinking tea.”

“I have long heard that the Australians have a strong army and many horses, but seeing is truly believing!” Young Boss Li ordered a new pot of Pu’er tea from the tea master and exclaimed in admiration.

Fa Wen Niu said, “This is nothing. The Australians haven’t even brought out all their assets. Just think of those steam-powered gunboats that can’t come ashore. One of them is enough to scare you to death—as big as a mountain! The masts are taller than the highest trees!”

“It has long been said that the Australians have sturdy ships and powerful cannons, but I never expected their land forces to be so strong. Truly a first-rate army!” Young Boss Li sighed. “With this kind of spirit, neither the imperial troops nor the Tartars are a match for them!”

“If the imperial troops were a match, how could they have been completely annihilated at Chengmai back then…” Fatty Shu said. “And at that time, the Australians didn’t even have that many men.”

“It seems to me that our Guangdong is about to become the territory of this ‘Austro’-Song dynasty.”

…

The group chatted for another half an hour before finally dispersing. The fat man, fanning himself with a white paper fan, strolled through several blocks and entered a small shop with a sign that read “North-South General Goods.” A clerk greeted him enthusiastically. “The boss is back.”

“Mmm,” the fat man sat down on the counter and lit a pipe. “Has today’s stuff arrived?”

“It’s in the usual place.”

The fat man opened the fourth drawer under the counter and took out a letter with no name or signature. After opening it, he counted the contents, nodded in satisfaction, and then tucked the five circulation coupons from the letter into his robes.

After the demolition of Chengxuan Avenue and the “military parade,” Liu Xiang suddenly found his work much smoother. His desk was piled high with countless calling cards, all from the city’s gentry and prominent families seeking an audience. Some who felt they didn’t have the status to request a meeting sent lavish gifts with a formal card to show their respect.

The gifts sent to the former Guangzhou government yamen, from bolts of silk and satin and bags of rice and flour to small pastries and fruits, as well as curios, paintings, jewelry, and jade… and even envelopes full of silver, were all managed by specialized personnel from the Planning and Development Council. They were stacked high in the corridors of the central courtyard, resembling a major department store warehouse about to ship out goods. Liu Xiang had the personnel from the Council register and store everything. Some items were allocated to the Guangzhou Municipal Government on paper—he certainly needed these things for expenses right now.

However, the key was who to see and who not to see. Liu Xiang was so busy he wished he could clone himself, so he naturally didn’t start receiving visitors immediately. He had Zhang Yunmi sort through the calling cards, dividing them into four categories: “See Immediately,” “See Soon,” “Can See,” and “Do Not See.” The basis for this classification was the “guest book” handed over by the Guangzhou Station. It detailed the specific situations, closeness of ties, depth of cooperation, and contributions to the Guangzhou Station of the gentry and prominent families who had dealings with the Zi Kee enterprises. As reference material, he also had background information on some of Guangzhou’s gentry and prominent families provided by Lin Biguang.

“Xiao Zhang, just sort these cards according to this information. Someone else will write the replies, so you don’t have to worry about that. If there’s anything you don’t understand, go ask Zheng A… jie (sister).”

“Okay…” Zhang Yunmi said okay, but as she looked at the pile of large red formal cards and accompanying gift lists on the desk, she couldn’t help but gasp. There were so many! Moreover, she had always struggled with reading traditional characters and classical Chinese at the Fenshuiling Academy, and the 17th-century traditional characters were even more bewildering to her.

Liu Xiang could have entrusted this matter to Lü Yizhong, but he suspected that Lü might have personal motives when classifying the cards. At this critical juncture, he didn’t dare to fully trust him. It was safer to leave it to his own people.

After assigning the new task to Xiao Zhang, Liu Xiang turned his attention back to the household registration and census work.

The census was proving to be more difficult than imagined. The Ming Dynasty not only lacked a system of house numbers but also a complete street naming system. Main streets and major alleys were fine, but many backstreets and narrow lanes had no names. Although they had paifia and yamen runners familiar with the local area to guide them, they still encountered many difficulties during household registration. Liu Xiang had to take on the additional role of a “place name committee” himself.