Chapter 2886: Reunion (2)

The carriage rolled past the two Germans and onto the stone-paved road toward Dongmen Market, wheel-rumble and laughter mixing inside.

"So Number 82 has a secret photography service too—I want to get some done!" Schneider slapped his thigh, face alight, as though the stiff dignity he had kept up at the docks had been a short costume piece he was glad to shed.

"You want photos? Of what?" Hu Wumei grinned. "Do you even know what 'secret photography' means?"

"What?"

Hu Wumei whispered in his ear, then chuckled. "That. Would the ladies at your house be pleased? If they would, you wouldn't need to get fleeced at Number 82. They hire the Coconut Grove Photography Studio in Dongmen Town—the owner is Senator Huang. I know him well..."

Schneider flushed crimson. "So that's what it is! Can't do that! Can't do that!"

Feeling shortchanged, he pivoted and jabbed a finger into Hu Wumei's belly, still round even beneath the white suit. "What's that shiny gold lump on your gut supposed to mean? Hanging a bull's-eye—afraid someone might stab and miss?"

Hu Wumei swatted his hand away, brushed invisible dust from his lapel, and lifted his chin. "What would a dark-skinned, barefoot Tanka boy like you know? This is the heraldic crest of Hu Family Fort! See this fancy lettering? It reads 'H'—classy!"

"Ha!" Schneider's laughter shook the carriage. "So the Hu Family Fort crest is 'A-CHOO!' The sea breeze in Sanya must be tremendous—gave everyone a cold!" His sneeze imitation was pitch-perfect. Clapping Hu Wumei on the arm, he gave no chance for rebuttal. "Let me tell you, Fatty, that 'achoo' of yours is silent in Latin, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, and every other language—only in English does it make a sound. The way I see it, the Senate approved this crest to remind you to keep your 'H' shut—make your fortune in silence! I may be a bit skinny and dark, but I'm at least a properly trained naval lieutenant commander. How could a small-minded country squire like you hope to match my worldly knowledge? Hahaha..."

"I say, Old Shi," Hu Wumei squinted, not angry in the least, "don't go getting cocky just because you've learned a few tadpole-shaped letters. Think you know everything? Would I not understand the Senate's intentions?" His tone dropped to a knowing murmur. "Don't let my grand display fool you—at the root of it, just like you, I'm serving the Senate and the Chiefs. Think about it: why did the Senate let me run such a big plantation in Sanya? Because they value the rubber, palm oil, and whatnot. Those are 'strategic materials'! On one hand, I'm making money; on the other, I'm serving the Senate—serving this, this pan-Asian enterprise!"

"Damn, you spout more newfangled jargon than the officers in the Political Department." Schneider was genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd gone soft in the head playing country squire in Sanya!"

"Listen to yourself. Sanya isn't exactly the back of beyond. Being a country squire is true enough, but a man can still keep his eye on the wider world." Hu Wumei said, "Sanya is a fine place—it's the gateway to Southeast Asia, a bridgehead! The Senate said they wanted to push the Nanyang strategy, and I immediately started planning a shipyard, a food factory, and a building materials plant. Now that the Nanyang Company headquarters has moved to Sanya, the factories can barely keep up with orders."

He paused, puffed out his belly, and the crest flashed in the carriage's dim light. "This year, thanks to Minister Hong's regard, the Fubo Army's arrack is all supplied from my operation. I'm about to add a food workshop specifically to make canned goods for you Navy boys. After that, you won't have to gnaw on dried meat and salted fish every day."

"I knew it!" Schneider's face shifted from sudden realization to utter revulsion. "That last batch of arrack we were issued had this inexplicable pig-stench to it—so it was your pig piss, Fatty! Ugh, disgusting! Tell me, how much military budget have you bilked from the Joint Logistics Department? Nice fat margins, right? You should cut me in a little. Then when you get nailed for selling shoddy goods, I can put in a good word for you."

The two bantered all the way. En route, the carriages carrying their luggage and family members split off toward the Longhao Bay Hotel, while their own carriage headed straight for the VIP parking lot of Ziming Tower. Schneider had already reserved several private rooms there for the evening's reunion of old friends.

That night's banquet was, in effect, an informal summit of "successful persons" from the former Zhu Cailao pirate faction. A welcome sign for members of the "Dadan Association" stood conspicuously at the entrance of Ziming Tower. This was their unofficial organization—named because they had all followed Lin Baiguang in "surrendering to the Australians" on Dadan Island, a reminder of where their new fortunes had begun.

Former lieutenants who had once served under Zhu Cailao and later surrendered came streaming in. Laughter and chatter filled the entrance of Ziming Tower. These pirate chiefs, some unseen for years, now greeted one another with the warmth of old friends. Among them, fortunes had diverged wildly: some had risen high, gaining rank and wealth; others had settled into quiet, unremarkable lives, and quite a few of those less fortunate had come as well.

At the banquet, the atmosphere was at first boisterous yet tinged with a cautious stiffness. But after several rounds of drinks, as the conversation turned to "glories of the old days"—the perils of a particular raid, the comedy of dividing a particular haul, and especially the mention of familiar faces long vanished into the vast sea or onto government execution grounds—these men, who had learned to wear masks in commerce, officialdom, and the military, one by one opened their hearts. The wine loosened memory and emotion. The slaughter and storms of the old days, the brotherhood, the perpetual dread of not knowing if tomorrow would come, collided and intertwined with the present reality—secure, yes, but inevitably dependent on others' goodwill, requiring careful cultivation. It all dissolved into the wine in their cups and the tears in their eyes.

After several rounds of wine and dishes, the pace of cups and chopsticks slowed. Schneider, sensing the moment was right, drew a deep breath and stood with his glass raised. His face was slightly flushed, but his eyes were clear. He sighed, and though his voice was not loud, it carried to every ear:

"Brothers! Back in the day, we all scraped by under Boss Zhu, brothers who stirred the same pot with our ladles." At the mention of Zhu Cailao, the room fell instantly silent, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing. "Among us here, some received the Boss's favor, and some didn't always see eye to eye with him. But that's all in the past. The reason we can sit here today, safe and sound, drinking this wine, comes down to one thing: we all once served under him. I propose a toast—to Boss Zhu!"

A roar of approval went up. Everyone rose and drained their cups. This toast was both a final libation to their old master and a collective rite of farewell.

The cups still held warmth, but the mood had shifted from the banquet's impassioned fervor to something more complex and deeply reflective. The men scattered among the comfortable sofas and low couches around the table, and for a moment, silence fell. Through the large glass windows, the lights of the "new world" outside formed a curious contrast with the traces these men carried—the old salt of the sea mingled with the polish of new money.

"Old Shi thought of everything," Wang You broke the silence, turning his warm teacup in his hands. "This place is private. Everyone can speak freely."

Lin Dan, now exclusively in the Japan trade, shuttling between Hirado and Lingao, chimed in: "Indeed. Thinking back to our days at sea, who could have imagined we'd one day sit in a room like this, drinking tea, looking at a view like this." His tone was wistful, his gaze directed toward the sea beyond the window—the same waters they had once plundered and where government forces had hunted them.

Ren Fu, now serving in the Planning Institute, had perhaps changed the most. His speech and bearing had acquired the cautious precision characteristic of naturalized citizen cadres, but now he too relaxed: "To be sitting here in peace is a tremendous blessing."

"A pity about Xu Cheng!"

At the mention of that name, the air in the private room congealed for an instant.

Xu Cheng. The brother who, at the final hour, had resolutely led a handful of men back to the old camp, trying to cut a bloody path of escape for Zhu Cailao, only to die in the chaos of battle.

Naval Lieutenant Commander Li Guangfa, now a comrade-in-arms of Schneider, said in a low voice: "Cheng... was a real man. Pity he followed the wrong man at the wrong time." His words were blunt, but they reflected what most felt under the cold light of reality—Xu Cheng's loyalty was admirable, yet somehow it had been thrown away.

"Speaking of which, it really wasn't worth it!" Wang You sighed. "I served in the old camp for years. The ones who got the most from the Boss were the first to run when things went south. Old Xu did receive the Boss's favor, but compared to those people, it was no more than a speck of dust. Only someone like him would remember that debt of gratitude."

Hu Wumei leaned back against the cushions, his plump fingers unconsciously turning the gold ring engraved with "H," having for once set aside his jesting. "His temper—you all knew it. He was the type to repay a drop of kindness with an ocean. Sometimes I think, if we'd dragged him off by force that day, maybe... but it's only maybe. Each man has his own fate." He sighed. "Now we're here living well, and his body doesn't even know where it lies! We owe him this drink."

Schneider, who had said little, now rose and walked to the window, his back to the room. His crisp naval dress uniform was still sharply outlined in the dim light, but his shoulders seemed to sag slightly. He picked up a glass of water someone had placed before him and, facing the dark sea and sky beyond the window, slowly poured it onto the floor.

"Brother Xu Cheng," his voice was slightly hoarse, stripped of the deliberate projection he had used at the docks. "You couldn't save the Boss, but Zheng Zhilong is dead too. We all still remember you." He added no more by way of eulogy, nor did he call for anyone to raise a glass.

The room fell silent again, no one quite sure what to feel. Xu Cheng had not been anyone of great importance in Zhu Cailao's gang, and his relationship with the others could not be called especially close. Yet whenever they reminisced, they always found themselves thinking of him. After a long while, Schneider spoke again:

"I heard his son was found?"

"Yes, Chief Lin specifically sent people to look. Took years to find him. Wasn't easy. I hear he's an apprentice technician at the General Machinery Works now."

"We should keep an eye on that boy too..."

"Chief Lin has it all arranged! You lot, now you remember brotherly loyalty." Hu Wumei laughed and cursed, trying to dispel the overly heavy atmosphere. "Enough, don't all of you look like you're mourning your own fathers. The living have to look forward. Lin Dan, tell us about your Japan trade—anything new and interesting lately? I hear the silver mines over there..."

The topic shifted, gradually turning to each man's business and circumstances, their experiences, the new things under the Senate's rule, and the sometimes absurd cultural collisions. The atmosphere livened up once more.