Chapter 2095: Taizong Chronicles 37: The Great Han in a New Era (Part 2)

The port of Shanghai County was busy all year round, and especially so during the transition between autumn and winter. Merchants from the various circuits and prefectures of the north, as well as from Andong, Goryeo, and Japan, were arriving one after another at the mouth of the Yangtze, their merchant ships laden with regional specialties nearly crowding every dock and wharf along the Yangtze and Song rivers.

As regular customers, the Goryeo and Japanese merchant ships needed no further mention. Many of them had been built in the Great Han. Over the past few decades, the Great Han's shipbuilding industry had flourished, sweeping across East Asia and the South Seas, with the southeast—especially the Jiangnan Circuit—being the nation's shipbuilding center.

The great shipyards of Su, Chang, Run, and Yang had order books filled years in advance. That Goryeo and Japan could wrest even a share from the Great Han's official and private shipbuilders was the result of diplomatic efforts.

And with the appearance of "gunboats," accompanied by the birth of many new crafts and technologies, and even the spread of new concepts, these were gradually applied to the construction of civilian and merchant vessels. Though progress was slow, a new round of shipbuilding innovation was taking place within the Great Han's shipbuilding industry.

Whereas in the past official and military shipyards had dominated, in the last twenty years a large number of private shipyards had sprung up like bamboo shoots after rain. Though many had gone bankrupt and collapsed in subsequent development, those that remained had accumulated considerable background, strength, and capital—no longer merely producing river fishing boats.

After years of fierce competition, a "Guanghui Shipyard" capable of producing oceangoing vessels had emerged in Wuhu, comparable to the leading "private yard." By the Yongxi reign, with the court's strict rectification of officialdom and vigorous development of the economy and people's livelihoods, the Great Han's shipbuilding industry was even more dynamic than in the Kaibao era—a concrete manifestation of the "Yongxi spirit."

Compared to those seagoing vessels that combined beauty and practicality, it was the "barbarian ships" from the northeastern region of the Andong state that possessed a more exotic flavor, giving the merchants and commoners of Su and Xiu a real "eye-opener."

Strange in shape, covered in patches, shabby and worn—even after arriving at port, one still doubted whether they could truly withstand the battering of wind and waves, let alone imagine what horrors those barbarians from northeast Andong had endured at sea.

This, perhaps, was the charm of the world's foremost civilization—enough to make countless unenlightened savages fear neither death nor danger, cleaving through waves and pressing forward one after another toward the Great Han, desperately yearning to bask in the glory of Han civilization.

Of course, that the barbarian tribes among the White Mountains and Black Waters could transform such yearning into action was thanks to the efforts of the Andong side. Over the past twenty-plus years, the magnates of Andong had indeed brought conquest and slaughter to the vast northeastern regions, but equally, they had opened the eyes of those tribes still mired in ignorance.

And beneath the surface of those few broken ships arriving at port lay another layer of background. Over the past decade, especially in the years since Andong's founding as a state, commerce in the Andong region had grown increasingly prosperous.

Unlike the early days when the Andong government had to rack its brains to attract people, in recent years it was the magnates and merchants of Andong who voluntarily participated in the region's development and construction.

In the first year or two after Andong was enfeoffed as a state, many people—from the military and government down to officials and commoners—had left, taking considerable wealth with them. But those who remained were, for the vast majority, people who had developed a sense of belonging to Andong.

Many people did not know the reasons for or significance of Andong's enfeoffment, yet after the various matters of the enfeoffed state were settled, they gradually came to realize the benefits it brought to them as vested interests.

The most obvious point: when Andong was still a directly governed protectorate of the Great Han, matters could not be petitioned to the court, nor would the court's attention to Andong be particularly comprehensive. But under the Andong state, they were directly ruled by the King of Andong and equally directly protected by him. Between the two, the latter was clearly more forceful and effective.

After more than twenty years of management by King Liu Xu and his father, the Andong state had largely achieved self-sufficiency, and in the great plain centered on Suihua City, there was even a surplus.

However, to live better still required the court's support. Only now, with adjustments to central policy, this support had shifted from direct transfusion of supplies to trade support.

In fact, even as of the fourth year of Yongxi, Andong, as an enfeoffed state of the Great Han, remained semi-independent in all aspects of national operation.

Andong still required large quantities of salt, tea, cloth, porcelain, and various materials and tools scarce in Andong to be imported from the mother country. The difference from the past was that now everything required trade and exchange.

Under such circumstances, the Andong state was actually more economically dynamic—though this dynamism was built upon commercial exchange with the southern circuits.

There were many magnates and merchants in Andong engaged in "foreign trade." Andong's soybeans, fine grains, timber, furs, and medicinal herbs had always been welcomed in the Great Han.

For a long time, Andong's merchants had mainly traded with Liaodong and the Yan Mountains North Circuit, at most reaching south of the Yan Mountains and the Two Rivers, but the scope was not wide.

However, with the opening of the overland route from Suiyuan to Shuaibin Prefecture, which took over seven years to complete, the Andong state finally gained a seaport it could reliably use.

Through this, Andong's goods began to be sold to more distant places. Goryeo and Japan needed no mention, and Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, and Guangdong were no longer beyond reach.

For the various tribes large and small within Andong, their furs and medicinal herbs could basically only be sold to cities through those merchants and guilds, or "exported" to Goryeo and the Great Han, in exchange for needed supplies.

Yet in this process, they were inevitably skinned by those merchants and guilds, and the more remote the tribe, the more severe the exploitation. A sable pelt worth over a thousand strings of cash in the upper society of the Great Han might have been exchanged by the purchasing merchant for just a bag of salt, a bolt of cloth, and an iron pot.

The enormous profits were enough to drive people mad. For a long time, many tribes of the White Mountains and Black Waters had suffered oppression and exploitation from Han magnates and official merchants. Except for Jurchen tribes like Wanyan and Dalugu, who had rendered service to the court during the Kaibao northern campaign and thus retained some bargaining power, every other tribe, without exception, was merely fertilizer for Andong's prosperity.

Especially those Jurchen tribes along the eastern coast—wherever the Han army and Han merchants set foot, the tribes either accepted the "gifts" and "goodwill" of the civilized world or sank into the abyss.

Maintaining such a situation over the long term would inevitably breed problems. Oppression breeds resistance, and this held true even for barbarian tribes on the edge of civilization.

Moreover, as time passed, Andong's tribes were no longer sealed off in a primitive society as before. Without even speaking of seeing the wider world, they had at least gained a new understanding of Andong itself.

Thus, a portion of people emerged who, through contact with Han people and Han merchants, experienced a certain awakening in consciousness. No longer willing to endure exploitation by Han middlemen, they attempted to make direct contact with buyers.

Such a process was clearly not easy, and was inevitably accompanied by towering waves and even bloody storms. Those who successfully sailed thousands of li to reach Shanghai port could all be praised as warriors—or else possessed heaven-defying luck.

Even in the eyes of seafarers from various nations, these foolish savages were simply the fearless ignorant, daring to put to sea in such broken ships and even attempt long voyages. However, their goods were still very welcome. Whether various furs or ginseng and deer antler, they were all hot commodities in the Great Han market, typically swept clean within half a day.

Moreover, there was absolutely no haggling—their cargo was unloaded far faster than ships from other northern regions. And after completing their transactions, both parties could not help but voice similar complaints.

The barbarian folk from the Andong state would curse inwardly: damnable cunning merchants, buying their furs at prices compressed tenfold, fiercer than the great tigers of the mountains;

And the merchants and warehouses receiving the goods would equally grumble: damnable cunning savages, daring to inflate prices tenfold when selling, greedier than leeches in the river.

With the middlemen cut out of the spread, both sides were satisfied and beaming. As for the Andong traveling merchants, the third party, watching this scene—their feelings could well be imagined. Even the furs and ginseng they had brought to Jiangnan this time might be hard-pressed to command inflated prices.

Though selling their goods still meant profit, failing to earn more was a loss. Thus, several major Andong merchants who regularly plied the "Shuaibin Prefecture—Xiuzhou (Suzhou)" route joined forces to discuss the matter.

Previously, in the north, barbarian folk had already evaded their networks to privately sell goods at the Liaodong border markets and Shuaibin Prefecture, but the scale had been small, and those goods would most likely end up in their hands anyway—the prices offered could be considered "shipping fees" for these barbarians, hardly worth excessive attention. But now it was different. These savages had actually managed to build ships, sail the route all the way through, and slip into Jiangnan. How could this be tolerated? Weren't they "stealing" their money? Whether in Andong or the Great Han, commercial taxes were not light—they were already having a hard enough time!

If not stopped, at this rate, wouldn't this source of wealth be cut off? Andong's competitive goods were only these few items—they absolutely could not indulge these barbarians who didn't know their place!

Thus, a strike plan driven by commercial interests, targeting the barbarian tribes of the mountain and sea regions in eastern Andong, had its beginning.

As subsequent developments showed, this was absolutely a "classic operation" in the Great Han's commercial history. Though it did not occur in a place as distant as the South Seas, it was nonetheless a profound illustration of the Great Han's decades-long expansionist movement.

In the three years that followed, over a hundred barbarian tribes in eastern Andong were destroyed, families broken and clans extinguished, with tens of thousands reduced to coolie labor. The Andong princely house seized the opportunity to increase its development of the eastern coastal regions at minimal cost, and even Andong's demographic structure underwent considerable change.

With Andong's nobility at the core and official merchants as wings, commodity resources within Andong were further unified. Of course, all of this was built upon the exploitation of the barbarian tribes within its borders, and even of Han commoners—though the latter, as true citizens, were treated relatively more lightly.

Where there is oppression, there is resistance. While further strengthening its control over the state, Andong's class contradictions were also intensifying. Resistance activities from tribal peoples continued to increase, but all were crushed to dust under the forceful—or rather, cruel—suppression of King Liu Wenyan of Andong. By the later period, many tribes that had lived in the region for generations had completely vanished.

——

Setting aside the future storms within the Andong state for now, let us return to Shanghai port. For every arrival, there were departures. While northern merchants continued streaming south, the merchant ships that had come north from the south in spring and summer, having completed their transactions and loaded their goods, one after another weighed anchor and set sail, ready to ride the monsoon on their homeward voyages.

Among these merchant ships, besides Han people, the majority were from the South Seas enfeoffed states, as well as India and the Arabs. As for the native merchant caravans that had once been protagonists on the South Seas routes, they had become a thing of the past during the Great Han's enfeoffment of the South Seas islands—either becoming vassals of the Han, being destroyed outright, or degenerating into pirates.

Perhaps most worthy of mention were the Arab merchants. Even after the brutal "Guangzhou Incident," by the Yongxi reign a few years later, they were once again passing through the Golden Straits, transshipping at Liangping Port, and heading north to do business in the Great Han's heartland.

There was no help for it—the lure of profit was simply too great. Exquisite silk and porcelain, bestselling tea—haul them back and they could be sold throughout the entire Chinese and Western worlds, earning vast fortunes.

Therefore, no matter how strict the Great Han's religious policies or how hostile its attitude toward foreign religions, they still came, cleaving through waves.

At most, upon arriving in the East, they removed their headdresses and concealed their faith. For Arab merchants plying the seas, money and profit were far more dear. Moreover, that legendary "tyrant" who supposedly held the great power of life and death over the world had already passed away—the newly enthroned emperor was a benevolent and wise one.

And so, the Arab merchants were back in business.

However, magnificent as the sight of a thousand sails competing might be, for Cao Yong and his party, newly arrived in Shanghai County and still getting their bearings, there was no time to admire it.

They were nearly lost in this commercial capital that had risen not long ago, even momentarily feeling like country bumpkins entering a city. And this, mind you, from people who came from the capital region and were absolutely confident in their worldliness.

Of course, whether in city scale or administration, the capital region could not be compared to Shanghai County at this time. But the commercial atmosphere here was simply too thick, and unlike the Eastern Capital, where political power always pressed down from above, this seemed to be the true paradise of Great Han merchants.

All manner of sailing ships were the finest ornament of the two rivers (the Yangtze and the Song). The busiest vessels on the waterways were the pilot boats. Upon cargo arriving at port, the first order of business was registering mooring and tax fees, while stevedores swarmed like ants loading and unloading goods.

Everyone hurried about with great haste, as if a single second's delay would lose them their business.

Along both banks of the Song River were embedded docks of all sizes, not one left idle. The shores were lined with rows upon rows of buildings, predominantly of brick-and-stone or brick-and-timber construction—clean and orderly to the eye, yet sturdy and durable.

Everything was at once novel and awe-inspiring, and so overwhelming that Cao Yong even entertained the thought of throwing himself into this port city. So the Great Han Empire actually had places like this—a grandeur entirely different from the imposing capital region.

Of course, for outsiders—especially those visiting for the first time—this surface-level spectacle and allure was more than enough.

Cao Yong and his companions were rather unlucky, for they even had the "good fortune" to witness a brawl firsthand. It broke out at Pier No. 16 on the south bank of the Song River—a gang of men with red cloths tied around their heads, bandit-like in appearance, came charging over by boat, weapons in hand, hacking at the dockworkers indiscriminately, killing anyone in their path.

The men at Pier No. 16 were not about to take it lying down. Soon, dozens of people came running out from the warehouses and cargo ships to lend support, also armed with weapons, every one of them fierce and vicious.

Both sides numbered around two hundred men. They fought until more than half had fallen before the water troops and patrol officers, alerted to the commotion, arrived to put a stop to the fighting. Then, weapons were confiscated, the ringleaders were taken away by the constables, and the rest were left to tend to their own wounded.

Such a bloody brawl was both shocking and terrifying for Cao Yong and his companions, who came from the imperial capital region. They had always heard that Jiangnan was a land of waterways, romance, and refinement—how could the people here fight with such viciousness? Were it not for the prosperous scenery before their eyes, Cao Yong might have suspected he had arrived at some remote backwater teeming with unruly folk.

Such brawls were clearly not a first occurrence. One could tell as much from the water troops' and constables' practiced crowd control and efficient handling of the situation, as well as the expressions of the surrounding locals—they paid attention, but wore looks of utter familiarity.

After all, Cao Yong was a broker who spent his days traversing the markets of the capital. Once the shock passed, he came to realize that, just as in the capital city, behind all the clamor and prosperity, in the dark alleys and shadowed corners that the powerful and privileged averted their eyes from, there was far too much cruelty and depravity.

As for the brawls of varying sizes that broke out along the Song River, beyond being turf struggles among the gang factions who made their living at the docks, they could, on a larger scale, even be described as a contest of strength between Suzhou and Xiuzhou.

The Song River flowed through Suzhou, then emptied into the Yangtze and from there to the sea. The lower stretch of the Song River happened to form the boundary between Suzhou and Xiuzhou.

From the rise of overseas trade, to the court's establishment of the Shanghai Office, to the great development along the Song River's banks—as the interests grew larger, the struggles over those interests naturally grew fiercer. Put simply, both Suzhou and Xiuzhou wanted to scoop the benefits of the Song River into their own arms and monopolize them.

Xiuzhou's position was that Suzhou already enjoyed the benefits of the Yangtze and should not covet the Song River as well. They proposed that either the land on the north bank of the lower Song River be ceded to Shanghai's jurisdiction, or Suzhou should not open commercial ports or piers on the north bank.

But compared to Xiuzhou's calculations, Suzhou's appetite was far greater—they directly proposed merging the two prefectures, with Xiuzhou being absorbed into Suzhou.

The Circuit Office naturally could not agree to such a proposal. First and foremost, Jinling was firmly opposed. Of all the prefectures in Jiangnan, one Suzhou was already formidable enough; if it were allowed to swallow Xiuzhou and monopolize the benefits of both rivers, what standing would that leave for the grand capital? They were dreaming too big.

More often than not, conflicts only escalate. Such was the case with the Suzhou–Xiuzhou dispute—it began with struggles over water conservancy and port benefits, and gradually evolved into industrial competition.

The rise of Xiuzhou's cotton industry first dealt a massive blow to Suzhou's traditional textile and dyeing sector. On the other hand, Suzhou's own cotton textile industry was no slouch either—it was quite substantial, with a great many merchants and commoners invested in it. If Xiuzhou wanted to become the center of Jiangnan's cotton industry, how could Suzhou sit idly by?

And such struggles could hardly remain confined to words. For a long period, the wills of two governments and the wills of two commercial powers clashed against each other—schemes and conspiracies, open spears and hidden arrows, emerged in endless succession. In the end, along the Song River, brawls involving over a thousand people had occurred.

It was not until Duke Li Shaoyou took up his post in Jinling that another brawl erupted—some of Suzhou's cotton merchants' thugs even went so far as to burn down others' cotton mills, causing heavy casualties. After learning the full picture of what had happened, Li Shaoyou immediately intervened and mediated the disputes between the two prefectures, from the official sphere to the commercial.

Li Shaoyou did not directly divide the interests himself. Instead, he made the two sides negotiate on their own, demanding that they reach a result. His threat was aimed squarely at the top officials of both prefectures: if they could not reach an agreement, they could forget about keeping their official caps.

Thus, under Li Shaoyou's immense pressure, a "Song River Agreement" was finally reached. It stipulated that both sides would share the benefits of the Song River port, and that each side would establish its own cotton guild to regulate its members, with prohibitions on arson, destruction, and other malicious competitive tactics.

Put simply, it was merely a "ceasefire agreement." However, from that point on, the kind of violent competition that knew no bounds and harmed industrial development was banned—and never occurred again.

But around the utilization of the Song River, conflicts over receiving merchants, soliciting cargo, taxation, and other matters still persisted. Small-scale brawls continued unabated. The slaughter that Cao Yong and his party witnessed at Pier No. 16 was only medium-scale.

Beneath the bustling, busy waters of the Song River—where ten thousand merchants gathered and carriages and horses converged—who knew how many nameless wronged souls lay buried.