Chapter 2873: Panama Hat

Bairen's cathedral was a landmark of Lingao, though no rival to Macau's Cathedral of Saint Paul. It wore the same marriage of Renaissance and Baroque, but beneath the European dress there was a Chinese body: stone lions at the gate, decorative motifs borrowed from the Ming, and on the facade the Three Magi of the East had given way to three Ming gentlemen. Jesuit hands had drawn both churches, and both were finished in 1636; but where Macau's great church had risen slowly, Bairen's had been built faster, thanks to the brutal efficiency of the Lingao General Construction Company.

Visitors from out of town, drawn to Lingao for its "Australian cuisine" and "Australian-style streetscapes," invariably worked the cathedral into their itinerary and queued at the new "photo stalls" for a commemorative photograph—the Senators called this "checking in." In response, the street-side shops had begun renting out European clothing.

Few noticed the three-story building diagonally across the street. In a neighborhood where a shopkeeper would charge you for the air you breathed, such buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, and this one made no effort to stand out.

Its stone portico was French in style, its frontage modest, but its body ran deep into the block, with a back door opening onto another street. It looked slightly shabby amid the bustle, but those who knew such things whispered that it belonged to the Senatorial Office.

Under the stone arch, dark wooden frames divided the facade into three: a central wooden door with a display window on each side. From the top of the archway protruded an iron bracket of filigree work, from which hung an oversized copper horse-lantern, exquisite and gleaming. The door was studded with a small brass plate: "82." The upper floors had large glass windows, nothing to remark upon. Set into the ground before the door was a decorative stone slab some two or three square meters in size, inlaid with several delicate copper characters curled like tadpoles. A curious priest from the cathedral across the way had come over to inspect it and found it spelled an inexplicable word: Línkof.

Apart from that baffling sign, nothing marked it as a shop. The place seemed to have forgotten how to trade. If a curious native or naturalized citizen pressed close to the windows, he could make out only a few large chairs, a glass cabinet of liquor bottles, a wooden horse saddled and ready, a chest-high trapezoidal display case, and a male clerk in a white front-buttoned jacket and black trousers standing to one side of the door with no intention of beckoning anyone inside.

A few idle busybodies gathered nearby and speculated boldly: could it be a brothel for the Senators' amusement? But the shop rarely saw anyone going in or out all day, let alone women. And the name was not hung up high but set into the ground—did customers have to jump in?

That afternoon, Shop No. 82 received a customer. Xiao Zishan had not come to shop. Inspecting the Office's properties was part of his daily routine. As the Office's "designated retail store," No. 82 existed chiefly to provide Senators with high-quality, comfortable daily necessities. Nothing, after all, reclaimed the vast quantities of circulation notes in Senators' hands more easily than selling them luxury goods.

Despite its importance, Xiao Zishan did not visit often. He preferred Shop No. 43 and the Agricultural Committee's specialty store, approaching No. 82 with a certain wariness. He feared embarrassing himself, saying something he shouldn't. Shortly after the recapture of Guangzhou, he had revealed his admiration for the White Swan Hotel, betraying the cramped horizons of his petty-bourgeois upbringing.

Moreover, every time he visited, the shop inevitably "entertained" him—what Director Hong called "product trials." Given the gossip this provoked, he tried to keep such occasions to a minimum.

Recently, the whole of No. 82 had been renovated. It was now less a shop than an exclusive club: electric bulbs cast a softer light. There were no counters, no displayed merchandise. Two large frameless glass cabinets stood against the walls—the left holding a naval field-grade uniform, the right an army field-grade uniform. The trapezoidal glass case in the center held ceremonial swords and dagons of every branch and rank of the Fubo Army.

"May I ask what the gentleman would like to drink? We have an excellent bourbon whiskey. Would you care for a glass?" the clerk inquired respectfully.

"Drinking in broad daylight? Just give me a glass of water." Xiao Zishan waved dismissively and sat down on the sofa. It was entirely wrapped in cowhide, the leather fine and supple. This quality! Far superior to the early makeshift versions! Xiao Zishan now understood the old saying: frugality, once abandoned, is hard to reclaim. His old office sofa might as well have been a plank.

He needed to replace it with one of this standard, and quickly, he thought.

"Old Hong's at it again—this is corruption to the bone! One sofa, three cows' worth of leather! If the Navy and Army people found out, who knows how they'd attack the Office!"

The clerk returned with a glass of water, a slice of lemon floating on top, bubbles rising through it.

"I asked for water, why are you giving me soda!"

"This is your lemon soda water, sir." The clerk remained perfectly polite.

Xiao Zishan took a sip and leaned back comfortably. The water had a faint sweetness—it must be the food factory's low-sugar soda. Though not particularly valuable, it was a Senate special supply. In this age, apart from the Senators, the very concept of "low sugar" was sheer heresy.

Xiao Zishan was savoring the perfectly balanced sweetness, feeling the fine grain of the leather beneath him, calculating how to "naturally" submit a request for new office furniture without appearing abrupt or "detached from the masses." Just then the velvet curtains at a side door in the back were silently drawn aside, and a figure emerged with grace.

She was perhaps twenty-seven, dressed in a jacket and skirt of pale blue cloth that had never known silk but had been cut to flatter her. The embroidery at cuff and collar was so fine it vanished until the light caught it. Her hair was gathered in a neat bun, fastened with a simple jade hairpin. Her face was lightly powdered—not strikingly beautiful, but her features were even and refined, and between her brows lay the quiet composure of a scholarly upbringing. A habitual smile played at the corners of her mouth, three parts precisely calibrated, neither fawning nor cold. She walked with light steps, her skirt hem swaying gently; though she wore pendant ornaments at her waist, they made almost no sound.

This was Shen Wanshu, one of Hong Huangnan's life secretaries and the de facto "inner manager" of Shop No. 82. She had been a young lady from a declining scholarly family in Jiangnan. After her family fell on hard times, she drifted from place to place until she came into Hong Huangnan's service. Director Hong had invested considerable "educational" effort in her—not only teaching her "modern learning," but deliberately cultivating her social grace, her ability to read faces, and... a unique understanding of "luxury goods" and "service." In the shop, a taciturn man in his fifties, expert in materials and craftsmanship, handled the goods and accounts; but the one who maintained client relationships, guided consumption, and created atmosphere was this woman.

"Director Xiao, you've come." Shen Wanshu approached, pressed her hands against her thighs, and curtsied deeply. Her voice was clear and soft, with a hint of Jiangnan accent, never drawn out. "Before leaving for Guangzhou, Director Hong specifically told me to look after you if you came in. Is the lemon water to your liking? If you find it too plain, the shop recently received some freshly made spring tea—the flavor is just right."

Xiao Zishan was no stranger to her. He knew she was one of Hong Huangnan's "inner circle" and had witnessed her deft handling of social situations. He waved her over with a smile. "No need for trouble—this soda is fine, quite refreshing. Old Hong's off tinkering with his military supplies again? And he's left the shop entirely in your hands—running it quite impressively, I see." His gaze swept across the renovated interior, lingering on the two uniform cabinets and the ceremonial sword case.

"Director Xiao is too kind. Everything follows the regulations Director Hong established. I merely do as instructed and help attend to the details." Shen Wanshu smiled modestly and, with natural grace, seated herself on a single sofa to Xiao Zishan's side—neither too close nor too far.

"The renovation was also Director Hong's idea. He said that since No. 82 serves the Senators, the environment and atmosphere must befit their status and dedication. How does it look to you?"

"More than acceptable." Xiao Zishan patted the leather beneath him. "It's practically a case of 'hard to go from luxury back to frugality.' I was just thinking I should replace the furniture in my office too." He said this half-jokingly, watching for her reaction.

Shen Wanshu's eyes flickered, growing brighter. "Director Xiao jests. The Office handles countless affairs daily, laboring for all Senators and naturalized citizens—naturally, your furnishings should be of the finest quality. If there's anything you need, simply say so. Director Hong has long said that No. 82 is the Office's shop, and its first duty is to serve the Senate."

Xiao Zishan chuckled and did not pursue the topic. Instead he asked, "This renovation—besides the decor, what else is new? From the looks of it, this place barely resembles a shop anymore."

"Director Xiao sees clearly." Shen Wanshu gently clapped her hands. "Director Hong often says we don't sell goods—we sell 'lifestyle' and 'dignity.' So the shop now lets Senators relax, browse slowly, choose at leisure. New items... there are indeed a few." She gave a slight nod to the clerk standing attentively nearby.

The clerk understood and turned toward the back of the shop. Presently he returned carrying a flat, elegant box woven from light-colored rattan, and placed it carefully on the low table before Xiao Zishan.

Shen Wanshu stepped forward herself, untied the silk ribbon fastening the box, and opened the lid. Inside, resting on soft ivory-white satin, lay a hat. It was pale gold, the weave as fine and even as silk, gleaming with a warm luster under the shop's soft lighting. The shape was crisp and elegant, the brim of moderate width, the hatband adorned with a simple black silk ribbon.

"This is..." Xiao Zishan leaned forward, curious.

"This is a genuine Panama hat." Shen Wanshu let the word "genuine" settle in the air, as if offering a small secret. After all, this style of "Australian straw hat," from No. 82's "authentic" versions to street vendors' "knockoffs," was ubiquitous—by summer it had become practically standard issue for the city's men. Xiao Zishan not only had one; he had worn out several.

"This new edition uses an extremely rare grass fiber, and the processing is complex. A single hat often takes a craftsman months of work. Look at the weave—as fine as silk, superbly breathable, yet crisp and shape-retaining. Worn in summer, it shields from the sun while keeping you cool, without sacrificing elegance." Shen Wanshu spoke with easy fluency. "As it happens, this batch of Panama hats also cost Director Hong considerable effort..."

The "Australian straw hat" had been one of Hong Huangnan's early triumphs, but the wheat-straw "Panama hats" sold at No. 82 were still essentially knockoffs. Director Hong had long coveted the real thing. The missionaries gave him his opening. Through the Jesuits he imported Carludovica palmata—true Panama grass—under the guise of "ornamental plants" from South America, and attempted cultivation in the Changhua region of Hainan.

Several years of effort yielded a commercially viable crop. Years of producing "Lingao straw hats" had already given him a team of skilled workers. Once the Panama grass reached Lingao, after numerous experiments with sun-drying and boiling, the female hat workers processed it by hand and produced, at last, soft, smooth, fine straw. Hong Huangnan dug photos and references from his computer and spent more than a month studying with the workers before they wove a finished product. After a final heat-setting, the "genuine" Panama hat was born.

She lifted the hat from the box with both hands and offered it to him. "Director Xiao, why not try it on? This item is light as a feather—the feeling when worn is entirely different. You run about on behalf of the Senators; having such a hat in the summer heat can offer some relief."

Xiao Zishan took the hat. It was indeed extraordinarily light, almost weightless in hand. The texture was soft, with a luster like polished ivory. He was immediately taken with it. He examined the fine weave closely, then ran his fingers over it—smooth yet resilient. He was not a man fussy about his clothes, but even he was moved by the hat's exquisite craftsmanship and understated luxury. More importantly, he recognized at once that the "scarcity," "craftsmanship," and "distant origins" behind this hat were precisely the kind of approach Hong Huangnan excelled at—the classic method for "reclaiming circulation notes."

"Old Hong certainly knows how to find his treasures." Xiao Zishan smiled, holding the hat, hesitating over whether to try it on. This was different from the sofa—it wasn't something you'd see outside, and being the first to "trial" it felt somewhat inappropriate.

Shen Wanshu seemed to read his hesitation and added softly with a smile, "There are only a handful of these hats in total. Director Hong instructed that they must go to Senators who truly appreciate them and need to attend important occasions. He said that since Director Xiao manages the Office and serving Senators is your abiding principle, your trying the item first is the very embodiment of 'leading by example.'

"Why not try it and see if it fits? If anything is unsatisfactory, your feedback will help us improve product quality and better serve the Senators. If this style doesn't appeal to you, the shop has another with a slightly narrower brim, more businesslike in character."

Xiao Zishan sighed inwardly. This Shen Wanshu had truly inherited Hong Huangnan's craft—her words made it nearly impossible to refuse.

"Very well, then I'll... try it on." Xiao Zishan, unable to resist his curiosity and the latent desire for "dignity" that had been awakened, placed the featherweight Panama hat on his head. Unfortunately, his head was rather large, and the hat had been made to standard measurements, so it looked somewhat comical perched atop him.

"Doesn't seem to fit." Xiao Zishan removed it before Shen Wanshu could bring a mirror, shaking his head with no small regret.

Shen Wanshu smiled and signaled the clerk with a glance. The clerk quickly went upstairs, returning shortly with an elderly man wearing a cloth measuring tape around his neck, arms full of items.

The clerk bowed slightly. "Director, we'll need to measure your head first." He and the elderly man produced a large wooden wheel-shaped device and fitted it over Xiao Zishan's head. The previously produced Lingao straw hats were manufactured by "size"—which, strictly speaking, did not suit the "character" of luxury goods. So this time Hong Huangnan had copied the concept more thoroughly, introducing specialized measuring tools for head dimensions.

No two heads are perfectly symmetrical. For a hat that fit like a second skin, each Panama hat from No. 82 would be handcrafted to the customer's actual measurements. The craftsmen had built the head-measuring apparatus from sketches Hong Huangnan drew from memory; it could record every contour and irregularity of a skull.

After carefully recording the measurements, the elderly man also measured the height of both ears, the distance from front to back hairlines, forehead height, and other dimensions. Then he asked a series of peculiar questions—how long Xiao Zishan usually wore his hair, what hairstyle he preferred—before finally selecting a flat-crowned, wide-brimmed style.

"Ready for pickup in fifteen days," the elderly man said after noting all the figures. "Your membership card..."

"This is a trial item," Shen Wanshu said.

The elderly man immediately bowed and withdrew.

Though Xiao Zishan frequently "tried things out," such occasions still brought a faint heat to his face. Fortunately, he had developed sufficient composure over the years. Feigning calm, he rose and strolled about the shop, asking:

"Now that you've redone the place, what new services and products are you offering?"

"Our shop mainly does custom work. We make high-quality daily goods to your specifications—bespoke leather shoes, belts, satchels, uniforms, buttons, hats, eyeglasses, knives, even comfortable, well-fitting undergarments. In every detail we accommodate your preferences and habits as far as possible, while also offering our suggestions."