“Woo—woo—”
A blue-funnel steamship sailed out of the vast Victoria Harbor. Tropical monsoon winds gently swept across its deck, blowing onto shore and into the scattered colonial-style Western buildings nestled at the foot of Victoria Peak.
Coolies gathered along Wyndham Street, where massive amounts of sand and stone left over from road repairs were dumped directly into the sea, creating uneven patches of reclaimed land. Pigtailed vendors hawked seafood, while sun-darkened Tanka women sat barefoot on low red-painted boat bows, smiling and waving at passing Western sailors.
At a newspaper stand, a middle-aged Chinese man in a long robe gazed at the varied newspapers: The China Mail, Daily Press, Hong Kong Gazette, The Friend of China, The Chinese and Foreign Gazette…
These newspapers had different styles, yet today’s front pages coincidentally carried similar news.
“Qing Dynasty Minister Zeng Guofan Dies in Nanjing, British Consul Sends Letter of Condolence…”
The reader sighed almost imperceptibly, glancing at today’s Western calendar date: April 1872.
That is, the eleventh year of Emperor Tongzhi’s reign. The thirty-first year since Hong Kong’s opening as a port.
A buzzing sound arose from nowhere as a cross-harbor ferry approached from Tsim Sha Tsui. The open deck was packed with people, overloading the engines. The paddle wheels feebly slapped the water, bringing the ship to a crooked stop beside the crude bamboo wharf.
A petite, beautiful female passenger jumped off the ferry, casually tossing five cents’ fare into the money box at the bow. She wore a raw silk blue-collared lake-colored summer hemp shirt, with a plain-colored Guangdong fragrant cloud silk pleated skirt below. Her entire outfit was simple with little decoration, save for the gleaming gilt bronze buttons at her chest. Due to the heat, sweat beaded at her temples, sliding down her fair cheeks to her chin, which she wiped away with a handkerchief.
Several nearby British police officers’ eyes lit up. They exchanged glances and approached in unison, questioning her in Cantonese mixed with English:
“What business? Where from? Carrying any smuggled goods?…”
As they spoke, an arm reached out, making to grope her chest.
Nearby Tanka women vendors watched the show. Who told this young woman to dress so respectably and still take the ferry? Didn’t she know to hire a private boat?
Lin Yuchan didn’t dodge at all. Beside her, a dignified elderly gentleman hurriedly blocked them. The old man had graying braids, carried a walking stick, and wore a badge on his robe’s front with the English letters “JP.”
—Justice of the Peace.
“Sorry, Sir, please give face…”
Hong Kong’s Justices of the Peace had status roughly equivalent to mainland gentry—propertied, prestigious civilians specially appointed by the Governor to govern the lower-class Chinese population and maintain social order and stability.
Seeing the Justice of the Peace intervene, the British police didn’t make things difficult. After a few words of warning, they dispersed.
Lin Yuchan turned back with a smile: “Thank you.”
“Hong Kong is like this—you get used to it. The foreign devils all live in Central. When you reach Sheung Wan, it’s Chinese territory.” The Justice of the Peace walked quickly alongside her, somewhat struggling to keep pace. “But it’s still much freer than the mainland. No taxes on land purchases or business, and the courts are somewhat reasonable, unlike the Qing… Madam, choosing Hong Kong to buy land is the right choice—permanent contracts guaranteed by the British Empire. This land will be British territory for generations, never to be reclaimed, haha…”
Lin Yuchan listened absently, unable to suppress a smile.
“Hehe, generations forever, hehehe, you’re right.”
Finally unable to hold back, she covered her mouth and laughed aloud, leaving the Justice of the Peace completely baffled.
She turned back to gaze at Victoria Harbor, remembering the postcard Rong Hong had sent from Hong Kong nine years ago.
Today’s harbor was busier than the photo on that postcard, its shape slightly different—probably from land reclamation. More buildings, more crowded ships, denser population. Every drop of water in the harbor seemed ready to take flight.
It was so different from the mainland…
Just looking at this small Central district, the modernization level completely rivaled Europe. Shanghai port could barely compare. As for other provinces of the Qing Dynasty, they lagged by at least a century.
Lin Yuchan recalled that even in the twenty-first century, many older generation people had superstitious worship of Hong Kong, feeling everything across the river was wonderful, beautiful, people and scenery, civilized and advanced, with gold sprouting from the soil. Even washing dishes or sweeping streets, they were paid hundreds of times the mainland wages.
Now she understood the source of this superstition. Hong Kong at this time truly stood alone at the forefront, worthy of being called the Pearl of the Far East.
An ordinary Qing citizen who had never seen tall buildings or ridden steamships, stepping onto Hong Kong soil for the first time—when he looked up at the endless rows of Western buildings, rode an elevator for the first time, used a flush toilet—nine times out of ten, he’d think “I want to stay here and never go back,” wouldn’t he?
The Justice of the Peace opened a door: “Please enter, Madam.”
The Justice of the Peace himself was in real estate, with considerable connections in the Hong Kong British government. He invited Lin Yuchan into his office, where a large Hong Kong topographical map hung on the wall.
“Hong Kong Island is expensive. A few acres filled the year before last were very affordable—twenty pounds could buy a plot, but unfortunately, all sold to British merchants. I recommend here—Kowloon Point, Yau Ma Tei, which Madam also saw today. There are also shops along Nathan Road—half went bankrupt in the sixth year of Tongzhi, still not fully occupied… If Madam can wait, there’s also a development proposal for west of Mount Davis, though funding isn’t sufficient yet… By the way, Madam does business in Shanghai, right? Shanghai and Hong Kong were connected by telegraph last year, so you can monitor anytime…”
Lin Yuchan smiled: “Not such a big operation. Let me just look at Kowloon land.”
Lin Yuchan had operated Boya Company in Shanghai for nine years now. These past few years, with domestic politics stable and foreign relations friendly, she’d managed carefully. Through annual dividends from several subsidiaries and various investments, she’d accumulated tens of thousands of taels in savings.
In the wicked old society, wealth disparity was extreme. The poor couldn’t eat their fill, working hard all year without saving a penny. But once primitive capital accumulation was complete, as long as one didn’t indulge in drinking, gambling, whoring, and opium smoking, or foolishly provoke the court, achieving financial freedom was quite easy.
Today Lin Yuchan came to Hong Kong on business. Thinking of modern Hong Kong’s expensive pigeon-coop housing, she suddenly had an idea to check today’s Hong Kong land prices.
The Justice of the Peace was excessively attentive, describing things fantastically. Lin Yuchan knew he was taking advantage of her unfamiliarity with local conditions and Hong Kong ecology, promoting hot and cold properties together, inflating remote areas as bustling commercial districts, just waiting for her to pay.
But Lin Yuchan didn’t mind. Even today’s most remote areas would be worth their weight in gold a hundred years later!
Besides, she wasn’t completely ignorant about Hong Kong. At minimum, those place names frequently appearing in Hong Kong dramas—Kowloon Tong, Yau Ma Tei, Nathan Road, Repulse Bay, Mid-Levels—choosing them couldn’t be wrong.
She estimated her available funds. Prime waterfront mansion areas were already occupied by foreigners. For instance, Victoria Peak forbade Chinese residents—she couldn’t buy there even with money. But on the newly ceded Kowloon Peninsula, one hundred pounds could buy a fine flat plot, suitable for rental buildings or shops. The government only sold licenses and didn’t collect taxes. Though the Kowloon Peninsula was still largely rural at present, against the backdrop of late Qing political turmoil, over the coming decades, it would develop into an ideal political and economic haven, with investment returns inevitably substantial.
Lin Yuchan was studying the latest Hong Kong government land sale terms when someone knocked.
Lin Yuchan stood up, smiling: “Mr. Rong.”
Rong Hong had his attendants wait outside. Ignoring the Justice of the Peace, he strode enthusiastically into the office.
“Miss Lin, you made me search everywhere. Your telegram.”
The office happened to have a New Telegraph Code. Lin Yuchan borrowed it to decode the message, jumping up from the sofa in excitement.
“Approved! Fifteen approved!”
Telegrams truly were wonderful! These five Hong Kong dollars were well spent!
Rong Hong shook his head, smiling: “You’re quite skilled with this new device.”
The underwater cable was only completed last year, connecting Hong Kong and Shanghai from Steel Point on the west side of Hong Kong Island. But the Qing court wouldn’t allow foreign cables on land, so the telegraph company could only hire a barge to float permanently in the Huangpu River, bringing the underwater cable to the deck to send and receive messages, then dispatching small boats to shore.
Even so, from Shanghai to Hong Kong—half of China’s distance—communication time has been shortened to just a few hours, no longer requiring several days round-trip.
After more than ten years in the Qing Dynasty, Lin Yuchan could finally indulge in nostalgia, experiencing communication speeds approaching modern society.
Rong Hong asked her, “Planning to recruit how many in Hong Kong?”
“Hmm…” Lin Yuchan admired the telegram while calculating mentally. “Shanghai orphanage has six qualified candidates, Guangzhou has only found one. Families don’t want to let girls travel far… Need to find eight here in Hong Kong. I heard Po Leung Kuk recently rescued a group of girls trafficked from the mainland. I’ll visit this afternoon—should be able to fill the quota.”
Rong Hong beamed: “Good, I’ll book you an extra ship ticket. Don’t worry, definitely first class.”
She turned to ask: “How’s your progress here?”
Personnel complete. Mostly Cantonese. Thanks to your comprador friends’ connections—they promoted extensively in their hometowns, otherwise I’d be stuck.” Rong Hong smiled, then sighed suddenly. “Pity Duke Zeng passed away and can’t see his personally cultivated students blooming across the ocean.”
Seeing them chat, the real estate Justice of the Peace found himself sidelined but didn’t mind. He had servants bring Rong Hong a white-backed chair and apologetically excused himself: “I have other business. Please excuse me.”
Land buyers were all major clients—patience was warranted.
After Rong Hong left his position at Jiangnan Arsenal and became a fourth-rank expectant magistrate, he spent his days idly at Suzhou headquarters, drawing a government salary and translating a few books, with no political achievements.
Of course, he persistently promoted his “overseas student exchange” plan, finding opportunities to raise it once or twice yearly. But either funding was tight or superiors were busy, or someone was in mourning, someone on sick leave, or they simply forgot him… Years passed like this until last year, when luck finally smiled—or perhaps the officials above were finally tired of him. So Governor-General Zeng Guofan and Jiangsu Governor Ding Richang jointly memorialized the throne, requesting “adoption and implementation of the proposal,” approving the establishment of the “Bureau for Youth Overseas Education” in Shanghai, to depart for America when the timing was right.
Rong Hong was ecstatically delirious, like Fan Jin passing the imperial examination. At over forty, he stripped and jumped into Suzhou River, planning to swim against the current like a young hero, forgetting his last swim was with Yale’s rowing team…
Finally rescued by a young apprentice from “Yixing Charity Ferry,” he was sick for three days before recovering fully and jumping up to work.
Tentatively 120 students in four batches of thirty each, ages ten to twelve, clean family backgrounds, qualified physiques, proficient in both Chinese and English. After passing preparatory school examinations, Rong Hong would recommend them to American higher education institutions to learn all advanced Western science, technology, and systems.
Rong Hong’s vision was beautiful, setting high student selection standards. Only upon implementation did he discover: no one wanted to send their children overseas…
Even in Shanghai with its prevalent foreign influence and dense population, few families would send a bright, healthy boy to suffer unknown fates in that barbarian land of raw meat eaters and lewd god worshippers, facing uncertain life and death for fifteen years, unable to serve parents, take imperial examinations, or marry on time…
For traditional Chinese families, this was worse than selling their sons.
By comparison, Japan, just beginning Meiji Restoration, had started sending students to America three years ago. Applicants were all from noble samurai classes—over a hundred sent at once.
Rong Hong was overwhelmed. A mere thirty people couldn’t fill the quota in Shanghai, so they went to Guangzhou. Couldn’t fill the quota in Guangzhou, so came to Hong Kong. With numerous missionary schools and merchant families here, surely someone would try.
While Rong Hong worked on his overseas student plan, Lin Yuchan helped make connections. When learning of the study abroad approval, her first reaction was—
“Can we also send girls?”
Rong Hong was stunned. He truly hadn’t considered it.
Then he smiled, telling her the authorities wouldn’t approve. Boys returning could become officials, industrialists, or national pillars. What could girls learn? In most literature and the arts. Even becoming world-shaking, talented women, they’d still marry and bear children. Even if talented women left their names in history, it wouldn’t benefit national strength or improve people’s livelihood.
The Qing Dynasty had limited silver and wouldn’t do such ineffective things.
Lin Yuchan wasn’t discouraged, smiling: “Girls can study medicine and nursing! Huang Hu from the orphanage is very talented. During the cholera outbreak, at such a young age, she organized care for dozens of younger siblings—you saw her. Feilun is also ten now. Though hot-tempered, her studies are outstanding. A Western doctor saved her life—I want her to pursue advanced studies in medical science. Several other girls are kind and careful, matching your newly recruited boys… When they learn Western medicine and return to establish schools, training more Western medical nurses, treating countless women and children, improving national physique, never again letting foreigners call us weak… Or like me, doing business and earning foreigners’ money…”
One logical argument after another—essentially, roundabout national salvation. The saying “studying medicine can’t save Chinese people” existed, but when choices were limited, medicine was the most reasonable justification for studying abroad.
Surely she couldn’t say these girls should learn politics, law, engineering, military science—how to make weapons and start revolutions! That would terrify Rong Hong.
Get them out first. Afterward, through exposure and influence, they’d naturally acquire the spirit of freedom and lively thought.
“…Oh right!” Lin Yuchan remembered something else, arguing forcefully. “Japan is reforming now. Two years ago, when sending students to America, they also sent five girls! ‘When women are strong, the nation is strong’—they understand this principle!”
Convinced, Rong Hong submitted another application, saying since this was experimental exploration, why not also send some girls overseas for Western medical nursing training and learning Western household management skills? Returning home, they could serve the official women. When they married and had children, they could cultivate superior, stronger citizens.
This already accommodated the officials’ acceptance capacity considerably. Even so, Rong Hong felt it too radical. Today’s telegram approval somewhat surprised him.
Lin Yuchan beamed: “Probably Hede put in a word for me.”
The telegram also granted her a nominal title—”Chief Female Instructor for Overseas Studies”—with a symbolic monthly salary of dozens of dollars and numerous restrictions. Overall, she must obey Rong Hong and his superiors in everything.
“However,” Rong Hong examined the telegram, suddenly pointing out, “Approved, yes, but see this line? ‘Self-funded.'”
The Qing government ultimately refused to spend money educating female students. The Zongli Yamen’s approval was: if families truly wanted to send girls to study, they could use this opportunity, but they must pay for themselves, limited to fifteen people.
And strict propriety guarantees were required—they couldn’t marry foreigners, couldn’t do reputation-damaging things, could only enter strictly disciplined girls’ schools… Another pile of restrictions.
Lin Yuchan: “…”
Everything else was manageable, but finances were non-negotiable.
She took a deep breath, pointing at the distant HSBC Hong Kong office building.
“I’ll pay. I’ll pay right now.”
Then drained her tea and left the real estate office.
“Wait, Madam, weren’t you buying land…”
Lin Yuchan looked back at the land sale listings, reluctantly: “Later!”
Of course, she couldn’t pay everything. She cleverly thought—organize a fundraising meeting after returning.
That afternoon, Lin Yuchan visited Po Leung Kuk on Puren Street in Sheung Wan—a charity organization advocated by Chinese gentlemen. Because human trafficking from the mainland to Hong Kong was rampant, Chinese merchant leaders cooperated to establish shelters for women and children, organizing donation drives and flag sales to raise funds and combat trafficking.
In their first year, they rescued dozens of girls trafficked from Guangdong. Half were sent home; the rest adamantly refused to return and could only remain in Hong Kong. First quarantined to restore health, then Po Leung Kuk found them work as servants, factory workers, or arranged marriages.
Learning that someone wanted to fund their overseas education, several Po Leung Kuk directors were both delighted and puzzled. After examining business cards, they immediately took Lin Yuchan on inspection tours.
Looking around, Lin Yuchan saw her past reflection in those destitute girls’ varied expressions.
All girls were illiterate, docile to the point of timidity. Though some were clever, their academic aptitude was unclear.
But considering Rong Hong faced similar dilemmas recruiting bright boys for “wandering to the world’s end,” the difficulty was doubled.
At least these girls were very adaptable, with no family opposition. Hearing about studying in America, most complacently agreed, as long as it didn’t involve prostitution.
Girls matured early in this era. By fifteen or sixteen, they were marrying and bearing children. The girls themselves felt “middle-aged” with little interest in study. So Lin Yuchan set standards: eight to twelve years old, unbound feet, quick reactions, and ambitious.
She barely screened out eight. Lin Yuchan took the list, asking Po Leung Kuk to help mobilize and pack, setting a date to collect them.
With evening approaching, Lin Yuchan returned to the “Li Yuan Inn” in Sheung Wan.
The Sheung Wan area housed Chinese residents. Streets were dilapidated, completely lacking the Western buildings and orderly gas lighting prosperity of Central, even comparable to Guangzhou slums. Dense, low brick houses occasionally echoed with chickens and ducks, ditches reeked, and barefoot male and female coolies walked these muddy narrow alleys.
But Lin Yuchan wouldn’t stay at the fifteen-Hong Kong-dollar-per-night “Hong Kong Hotel”—despite earning tens of thousands of taels annually, she remained frugal as always, even appearing somewhat stingy in certain aspects. No choice—history’s iron fist hung overhead; no amount of money could buy complete security.
Like most Hong Kong Chinese shops, Li Yuan Inn had a small facade with prominent signs extending outward, an inconspicuous triangular symbol in the corner. Sounds of mahjong gambling came from inside.
Lin Yuchan crossed her thumbs and forefingers, forming a triangular gesture. The doorkeeper lifted the curtain, leading her around the underground gambling den through twisting passages for two minutes into a large room.
Red flags hung on walls, and a row of lush green bamboo plants stood in corners. Under the gaslight sat several people who appeared to be rough characters from all walks of life. Only one young man stood out with an outstanding bearing. He wore neat moon-white summer clothing, moving with confident ease. Speaking softly, his mouth’s stubborn, slight downward curve and gentle eyes seemed to hold light forged through countless trials.
Hearing footsteps, he didn’t look up, but his lips already curved upward.
“The big landlord returns.”
Lin Yuchan feigned disappointment: “Didn’t buy a single plot. No money left.”
Su Minguan sat on a stool. She sat beside him naturally. Her palm cooled as he pressed a bowl of vanilla ice cream into it—snow-white ice shavings with a small wooden spoon.
The others at the table laughed. Clattering, a heavily made-up old woman, shook her jewelry-laden head, laughing loudly. Her lipstick gleamed, tongue bright red, like she’d just eaten three pounds of red dragon fruit.
“The ice house ice all ships from America, normally doesn’t sell to the Chinese. I struggled to get two blocks for honored guests. You wouldn’t eat, scaring us into panic thinking we’d been negligent—who knew you were saving it for someone else?”
After teasing, the old woman heavily patted Su Minguan’s back with considerable strength. Su Minguan’s body shook accordingly; he smiled slightly, accepting this enthusiasm.
The old woman also greeted Lin Yuchan: “Sit! Don’t be shy—we Red Flag Gang don’t understand rules. Visitors are guests. Pick any young man you fancy to accompany you tonight!”
The attending group of pimply young men laughed heartily.
Su Minguan coughed lightly. The young men’s laughter was restrained, faces reading “don’t dare move.”
Lin Yuchan smiled and bowed to the old woman: “We must thank Sister Feng for looking after us along the way.”