289 Chapter 289

How could Kou Country possibly have known nothing at all about Great Liang’s move? Only by the time they received word, it was already half a year after the Emperor of Great Liang had sunk into the sea all the agents Kou Country had cultivated over the years. The message came from a sleeper buried in Feng’an for generations. Every Kou official who learned of the operation was terrified. They were mad, yes, but they had also possessed great confidence in success, or they would never have wagered the fate of the entire country upon it. When they discovered the plan had failed, they trembled with fear. They had dared plot against Great Liang, but they were utterly unable to bear Great Liang’s retaliation. Thinking of the decree proclaimed months earlier by Great Liang’s envoy, they had complained then that Great Liang had been too ruthless. Now it seemed the Emperor of Great Liang had shown considerable mercy in not simply sending troops to wipe them out.

At once, from top to bottom, Kou Country began preparing tribute. Great Liang clearly had no intention of bringing the matter into the open. The Emperor of Great Liang was a sovereign who cared for dignity; to have been schemed against in such a fashion was naturally a humiliation. Since he did not mean to make the affair public, they could not allow Great Liang to use tribute as a pretext to attack. The tribute was prepared according to twice, even three times, the quantity demanded in the imperial decree.

Once the goods were packed, they set out, pitching and swaying toward Great Liang. After drifting at sea for some days, they reached the waters near its coast. The sight of the towering sea wall there frightened the envoys nearly out of their wits. The wall was not yet complete, yet its height already exceeded that of their two ships stacked atop one another. The envoys secretly sent divers skilled in deep waters below the surface, hoping to learn how far the wall extended under the sea. They waited a long while before the men finally climbed back aboard. The answer they gave was simple: its depth could not be fathomed.

Cold sweat covered the envoys’ brows. That sea wall had unquestionably been built by the Emperor of Great Liang with Kou Country in mind.

It could only be said that the people of Kou Country were astonishingly arrogant, and not a little vain. Once they passed the naval defense wall, sentries detained them for a long time before permitting entry. At the harbor, two groups came aboard. One consisted of coastal soldiers, there to inspect the ship for prohibited goods. The other had come to collect customs duties. Any large vessel making a simple stopover was charged by the hour. If goods were to be unloaded and sold ashore, an import duty was levied. Tribute, of course, was exempt. But anything beyond the tribute goods, if its destination could not be explained, was not allowed ashore; if they wished to sell it, then customs had to be paid.

The Kou envoy talked until his lips nearly wore thin, yet the tax officials still refused to permit the two extra chests he had brought to be taken ashore. When he tried to slip them money, the yamen runners who had come immediately pinned him down. The envoy could only shriek that he was an envoy, that between two states one could not detain a diplomatic messenger. The man in charge merely dug at his ear, as if the Kou envoy’s screeching were no different from an old fishwife howling in the street.

Not only was the Kou envoy himself bound, he also had to watch helplessly as the soldiers conducting the inspection seized all their weapons. The soldiers said they would be returned by the sentries at the wall when the delegation departed. The envoy still wanted to argue, but then met the glare of the soldiers’ commander.

“What is this? Does Kou Country intend to carry weapons into the capital for an audience with the Son of Heaven? Or is this for assassination—or some other plot?”

Whether from guilt or fear, the envoy could only agree to the confiscation of every weapon.

They remained in the harbor for nearly ten days before the Kou envoy was finally allowed to proceed toward the capital with the tribute goods. By then, the Emperor had already received the inventory of Kou Country’s tribute. Looking over the list, and recalling how year after year Kou Country had put on the act of crying poverty, the Emperor—already brimming with hatred for Kou Country—found himself disgusted with Bang Country as well. These vassals were all alike; they truly took him for some lavish dispenser of wealth. In anger, he ordered that the return gifts for several southern tributary states be reduced by half as well.

The envoys dealing with the southern tributary states were not nearly so severe as those sent against Kou Country. Instead, they gave fairly kind hints as to the reason. This made the southern states furious enough to stamp their feet. One after another, they declared that their annual tribute came from the deepest sincerity and reverence for the Emperor of the suzerain realm, that everything they prepared was done in utmost good faith, and that what they offered were the most precious gifts they possessed. They begged the envoys to speak a few good words on their behalf. Their hatred for Kou Country was bitter indeed, but across the sea they could only glare from afar, powerless to do anything and left to seethe in secret.

No one knew when it had started, but in the south certain countries began hearing rumors that Kou Country wished to set foot on the mainland. The rumors were so vivid and detailed that the inland states of the south grew deeply uneasy, fearing Kou Country might be setting its sights on them. In the eyes of their rulers, Kou Country would not dare move against Great Liang. If it wished to migrate inland, then only they could be its targets. Even Bang Country would not be considered; the land there was poorer still. No matter which country Kou Country had marked, they all felt they ought to unite. First, the coastal nations should petition the suzerain realm to extend its great maritime wall to their shores; if Kou Country wished to attack then, it would not be easy. Next, could they not discuss with the suzerain realm the possibility of simply destroying Kou Country first? Was it not said that its islands were sinking, and sooner or later would vanish beneath the waves? If so, why not send them under ahead of time, and save everyone the trouble of guarding daily against Kou Country’s ambitions?

The envoy had also heard these rumors, and upon returning to the capital reported them faithfully to the Emperor. The Emperor of Great Liang fell silent. Kou Country’s ambition was indeed no small thing. It was not enough for them to covet Great Liang’s land; they also meant to swallow Great Liang’s vassal states. As for the rumor that Kou Country’s islands were sinking, the Emperor regarded it as pure nonsense. Kou Country had been recorded as a tributary for several hundred years. If the islands were going to sink, they would have done so long ago. How could they have remained until now?

Not long after the envoy from the south returned to court, the small southern states began dispatching representatives one after another to the capital of the suzerain realm: first, to present tribute; second, to beg the suzerain to relieve their fears and destroy Kou Country once and for all so they might know peace. The small coastal states in particular were the most alarmed. If Kou Country attacked, they would be the first to suffer the blow.

For more than half a year after returning to the capital, Wang Xiujin had buried himself in the carriage workshop. By now, bicycle production averaged one per day, and the toothed axle of the chain had been applied in many other places as well. Once again Wang Xiujin could not help feeling that the wisdom of the ancients was inexhaustible. The wooden railcar had not yet been built, but to his astonishment, in one carpenter’s design sketch he caught sight of something like the first crude outline of a train.

Li Linshan had taken several hundred soldiers to the shipyard. Their land training was more or less complete; what they needed now was practical training at sea, and time to adapt to life upon the rolling waves. Liu Qing, one of Li Linshan’s subordinates, was gradually taking over the training of the naval troops. Li Linshan could not remain in charge of it forever. The Li family’s true strength still lay in land warfare.

Over these past six months or more, Ya Chang had grown remarkably quickly, in body as well as mind, yet he still depended heavily on his little father. Apart from sleeping at night in his own room, whenever he was at home he occupied a place by his little father’s side. Wang Xiujin was considering sending him to school when spring came the next year.

Time really did pass quickly, he thought. In the blink of an eye, another year had come to its end. It had been a year of ceaseless busyness, one that felt at times as though nothing much had been accomplished; yet counting carefully, many good things had indeed happened. The shipyard had successfully refitted two more great ships and built one entirely new warship. After the vessel launched, several tests were conducted. Not counting its other offensive weapons, it alone carried sixteen cannon mounts, and many more heavy weapons besides. Beneath the hull it could even launch naval mines. Though those mines could attack only forward, their power was formidable.

Wang Xiujin had once asked the old master craftsmen at the shipyard whether they could build a vessel that traveled beneath the sea. After pondering the matter for a long time, they actually produced a design. But such a craft would have to be dragged along by a large ship above with chains, and it had no practical use whatever. Wang Xiujin could only tell them to stop work on it. The craftsmen, however, found the idea quite worthwhile. They proposed thickening and reinforcing the new glass and fitting it to this under-ship, so that it might be lowered into the sea to explore the world below. Laughing, they said they wished to see whether they might discover the Dragon Palace. The under-ship could be lowered into the water from the large ship above and hauled back up again, so there was no need to fear those inside would be trapped and die. After hearing the craftsmen out, Wang Xiujin no longer objected.

Maritime defenses were gradually taking shape, and oversight along the coast expanded with them. Civil and military authorities managed it jointly, and no disputes arose; the two sides coexisted in peace. As for the affair of Lord Liu, the former Chancellor, the Emperor made it public only after the first warship had launched. With fierce words he vented his fury upon the entire court, and then carried out a sweeping purge. Some were arrested, some executed, and the turmoil lasted for quite a long time. A number of scholars whose minds were not entirely sound were heartbroken over the Emperor and wrote essays denouncing him in outrage. The fate of such foolish scholars could well be imagined. As for the newly appointed officials, for the time being they all seemed diligent in their duties, no longer spending their days staring only at the affairs of the imperial harem.

At court a few days earlier, the Emperor had decreed that next year men would once again be sent overseas to push Great Liang porcelain into foreign markets. Wang Xiujin learned of this before the officials at court did. He drew up a long list: anything the lands overseas possessed that Great Liang lacked must be brought back; if the object itself could not be obtained, then the people capable of making it were to be brought back instead, whether by purchase or by force. Before true war erupted, Great Liang might not become utterly invulnerable, but it must at least stand like walls of bronze and iron. Only then could the people of later generations be spared the calamity of war.

After sending off the list, Wang Xiujin, who had been busy nearly the whole year, finally drew a breath. This year the grain shop had seen prices fall somewhat, since crab-field rice was no longer its exclusive trade. But because it was an old and trusted establishment, the common people still recognized the brand, and the impact on the shop was not great. Besides, though the people of Liang Province still planted crab-field rice, this year’s harvest was markedly different in flavor from those of previous years. Life had improved, and people now had the means to be particular about what they ate. That change in taste made those who wanted authentic crab-field rice continue unwaveringly to seek out the Wang family grain shop.

The farming households of Liang Province also ate their own rice, and they too were puzzled, though none could say clearly why the flavor had changed so much. The crab fry had still been arranged through the Wang family grain shop, and the cultivation process had been the same as in previous years, so why had the taste altered? Thinking of the money they had earned this year, less than before, the farmers could not help sighing. They still hoped the old proprietor would continue running the grain shop, though they knew that was unlikely now. Even the shop sign had been changed.

Then there were the rumors that had circulated earlier: that the former proprietor had become enraged by the greed of the manager at the Liang Province branch, and in anger had converted the grain shop into a clothing shop. The new manager had also come from the capital. It was said the proprietor no longer trusted the people of Liang Province and was almost hoping the farmers there would come make trouble. Were it not for fear that closing the shop would deprive the clerks of their livelihood, the proprietor would not even have wanted to keep a shop in Liang Province at all. If the farmers did make a scene, that would suit the proprietor perfectly, and the shop would simply be shut. The proprietor had said that none of the shops elsewhere had ever had such trouble.

When these rumors reached Wang Xiujin’s ears, he merely smiled. They had not exaggerated much at all.

Author’s note: I’m making my way toward the ending, but somehow I still don’t know how to end it.