Chapter 608: Crowley's Fantastical Journey (11)

Night had long since fallen, and the blue planet was submerged in boundless darkness. Yet in a certain city residence, through the exquisite handcrafted wooden window lattice and the transparent glass panes set within it, one could see a long, dancing river of lamplight. Such a wondrous sight, in this dark seventeenth century, was so stirring and inconceivable.

Robert Crowley, wearing a smooth indigo silk knit nightshirt and cattail-straw sandals on his feet, was bent over his desk writing a letter with a thick blotting fountain pen by the bright glow of a kerosene lamp.

"Dear Father. I had originally thought that the phrase 'Age of Transformation' was one God had prepared for the present continent of Europa. On this point, there are some examples to prove it: the war that has now dragged on for fourteen years with no end in sight, and the flourishing rise of grand maritime enterprises in every nation — the latter being especially important.

These thoughts grew ever clearer during my journey aboard the seagoing ship.

The ancient native kingdoms along the way, still using wooden blades and spears, convinced me that once the great figures of the Habsburgs, the Vatican, Saxony, and the Louvre finally conclude this war over the interpretation of God's spokesman, the Holy Light will sooner or later revive and shine upon the dark lands of the East.

All of the above reasoning I held as true and sincere — until I arrived at the Eastern Earl's domain.

Yes, my thinking was changed at the journey's end.

The Ming State, the world's easternmost kingdom, possesses vast territory and an Emperor whose subjects are multitudinous.

What is astonishing is that within this country, as backward and ancient as any other Eastern native kingdom, a new power is now rising: Earl Cao, the power we call the Earl of the East.

Writing up to this point, Crowley temporarily halted his train of thought.

He set down his pen and pulled a cord on the wall. Soon, a young white boy in a clean shirt pushed open the study door and asked in halting English, "Sir."

"Bring me a cup of black tea."

"Yes, sir."

After the fall of Macau City earlier, many natives lost their homes and work opportunities and began searching everywhere for jobs.

The natives here also included native-born white Franks.

Fortunately, when the New District opened afterward, some Foreign Affairs departments hired foreigners. This Portuguese boy was one of the lucky ones, having found a job as a servant at the British Shang Hall.

Before long, the boy brought over a beautiful cloisonné tray, upon which sat an equally beautiful cloisonné teacup bound with gold filigree.

Mr. Crowley of Kent, having previously earned rich profits from selling horses in the maritime trade, and also possessing special personal connections with certain important figures in the Earl's domain, was lodged in the best-view suite on the second floor of the British Shang Hall, complete with a temporary servant.

Taking the cloisonné teacup, Crowley took a light sip of the black tea inside.

It was a cup of black tea mixed with buffalo milk, sugar, and a little lemon juice — a flavor Crowley favored. "Good tea. Thank you, Garcia."

After dismissing the servant, Crowley drank his tea while quietly gazing at the nightscape of the New District beyond the glass window. At this moment, his thoughts scattered freely, in their most active state.

The delightful moments of contemplating life are always brief. Before long, having finished his black tea, Crowley picked up his fountain pen and continued writing the letter.

In fact, he had already entrusted a merchant ship to carry a letter home before this. It was just that correspondence was difficult in this age — even if it reached Britain smoothly, it would often be a year or half a year later.

Today's letter was different from the last. The previous one was a family letter assuring them of his safety, but this time, Crowley had some more complex and profound thoughts he needed to discuss with his old father the Baron.

In the latter half of the letter, Crowley gave a detailed account of what he had seen and heard during this period in the Eastern Earl's domain. At the same time, he expended even more ink describing a brand-new, unheard-of power of colossal machinery.

At the very end of the letter, Crowley wrote: "It is hard to believe that this wondrous power, destined to change the world, has actually emerged in the faraway East. Fortunately, as a European, I have already come into contact with this power. I believe that in the near future, I will return to Britain bearing some useful things. The Crowley family may thereby rise to prominence once more and restore the glory of our ancestors."

After writing the final stroke, Crowley checked it over, solemnly sealed the letter with wax, and then placed it into a waterproof cowhide pouch. This letter would be delivered tomorrow to a British captain about to set sail, to be taken back to London by him.

With all that done, it was time for leisure. Crowley rose, excitedly changed into a thin, later-generations-style linen plaid suit common in the New District, and went downstairs.

In this world brimming with light that was the New District, there were always merchants in the Shang Hall who stayed up late.

Sure enough, in the lavishly decorated smoking room, at least four or five Englishmen were still gathered, engaged in loud and spirited discussion. They smoked premium cigars rolled on the thighs of young women from Guangxi tobacco-farming households, drank coffee, and had tables piled high with fruit, snacks, and tea — and of course, the indispensable rum.

"The hour of adventure is at hand! I need a partner to cover the cost of the beer!" Entering the hall, Crowley clapped his hands vigorously to draw the attention of those present and said with a laugh, "Of course, I shall cover the cost of the grilled oysters and grilled lamb skewers."

Crowley added with a grin.

"Very well, count me in!"

"Mr. Crowley's invitations are always so timely. Now that you mention it, I do seem rather hungry!"

"That damned night market — very well, I admit I can't do without it now!"

Amid a chorus of agreement, the merchants rose one after another, put on their coats, and stepped out the Shang Hall gate together with Mr. Crowley, walking on foot toward that patch of lamplight in the distance — the street, illuminated by streetlamps, was clean and safe, and the merchants greatly enjoyed this sensation of darkness and light interwoven. It was a pleasure that could never be enjoyed in Europe, where the nights were endlessly long.

And of course, the skewers at the destination.

The present time was already September of the year '16. Walking along Trading Post Street, it had been half a year since Crowley's last visit to Zengcheng to tour the Model Cement Plant.

Over these several months, thanks to the spring breeze of "Reform and Opening Up" from a certain power, Crowley and Old William together had set foot in nearly every region under the Transmigrators' governance.

In the course of this, besides the rotary kiln, the visitors also beheld many more things that shook them to the core.

For example, in a certain large factory district bristling with workshops downstream on the South River, they saw an enormous man-made structure over a dozen meters high — a steelmaking blast furnace under construction.

In the industrial park near Guangzhou, already operational automated production lines for soda water, iron nails, woodenware, and the like likewise left an extremely deep impression on the guests.

Moreover, at the Guangzhou Glass Instrument Factory, Crowley and the others also saw the glass production techniques that the Venetians kept strictly secret.

Of course, the Easterners' glass production techniques, and indeed their scale, were far more advanced than those of Venice. From the moment the scalding molten glass emerged from the furnace to its being made into glassware and wine bottles, most of the processes in between employed mechanical power. Any visitor could see at a glance that this forceful, powerful style of manufacture could not possibly be something those Venetian fellows could master.

Over the months-long process of visiting and reflecting, Crowley was deeply won over by the greatness of industrialization. He hired a Chinese language tutor, and at present, Mr. Crowley could already conduct simple daily conversations in Chinese.

However, all feasts must come to an end. Every year after September, the monsoon winds along the coast of East Asia would shift direction. At this time, some sailing ships that had made prior preparations would set sail for the return voyage the very moment the trade winds began to blow, heading for India and the even more distant Europe.

Crowley, the British merchant, was no exception. At this present time, he too was making preparations for his return voyage.

The very next morning after writing the family letter, he personally delivered it into the hands of a British ship captain about to depart.

After this, Crowley met up with Old William at the Dutch Trading Post, and the two of them then went aboard the Jacob's Wife to inspect the cargo preparations.

In this timeline, due to the emergence of the Transmigrators, the sailing ships coming to East Asia for trade had a far easier and more pleasant time than they had historically.

Merchants of every nation now had no need to fight to the death, nor to swindle and scheme by every means just to obtain that bit of raw silk — a sailing ship merely needed to anchor at the New District harbor, and the captain could order a dazzling array of commodities from the several trade exhibition halls near the docks. Whether traditional raw silk or new-style insulated warm pots, everything could be bought.

In a single sentence: they weren't afraid you'd buy; they were afraid you had no money.

Of course, if you truly had no money, they still weren't afraid. For merchants with guarantees or good credit, the harbor also had institutions like Huabei to provide additional loans.

Although stocking goods was so easy now, the Jacob's Wife's cargo hold was not fully loaded.

In fact, the majority of the existing goods in the hold had been purchased by the ship's other shareholders. Old William and Crowley, for their part, had only bought a modest amount of goods before this; most of the funds the two of them had on hand remained unspent.

As for the reason, it had been mentioned before: several months ago, a big shot from the Ministry of Commerce had instructed Crowley not to rush into stocking goods, as there was a business deal to be entrusted to him before his departure.

And so Crowley had waited all the way until now.

The reason he had come this morning to inspect the cargo hold was precisely because Crowley had finally received word: the big shot would receive him at noon. So he and Old William had hurried over to measure the remaining cargo space, so that when the big shot arranged the deal, they would have a clear picture.

After inspecting the cargo hold and calculating the surplus capacity, Crowley returned to the Shang Hall, bathed, changed clothes, and prepared gifts.

After this, he boarded a carriage alone and went to the Ministry of Commerce to pay a visit to the big shot.

Arriving at the main gate of the large compound enclosed by two-story buildings, Crawley got out of the car, produced his credentials, passed through a security procedure, and soon met the big shot who had invited him today in an office: Ministry of Commerce Vice Minister Li Hao.

Today's invitation was a bit of a mixed affair. If it was a private invitation, the location was Li Hao's office. If it was official business, the office coffee table at this moment was already laid out with wine, dishes, tableware, and a tea set.

But for Crawley today, it ought to be a relaxed and pleasant meeting. Because when he entered, Li Hao, who had long been prepared, first cracked a joke.

Li Hao, who had originally been facing away, suddenly whirled around and slashed a large, fierce-looking knife right at the tip of Crawley's nose.

Crawley, who had just straightened up from a bow with both hands still holding a gift, was badly startled.

The next moment, Li Hao burst out laughing and said in English, "Mr. Crawley, it's been a while. You look well."

"Your Excellency Li Hao, I am deeply honored to receive your invitation." Crawley, having steadied himself, began his usual habit of seizing every chance to flatter. "Also, the design of this knife is very unique. Is it the weapon you use to defeat your enemies?"

"This knife is tied to the legend of a dragon-slaying warrior, and to my youth." Li Hao stroked the cast inscriptions on the body of the coarse steel knife, his face tinged with nostalgia and melancholy. "It is called Quel'Serrar."