She’d known foreign factories were harsh, but not to this extent of bullying!
“So,” Lin Yuchan deduced, “when I arrived earlier, those thugs thought I was also a female worker coming to help, which is why they beat me indiscriminately.”
Aunt Hong woke up, her pale lips moving.
“Right… you’re a person of status, little sister. They attacked you—you can file a complaint with the Municipal Council… make the mill bleed a little too, consider it revenge for our sisters…”
Lin Yuchan pressed Aunt Hong’s shoulder, shaking her head slightly.
“Why didn’t you tell me the mill treated you so horribly?”
Everyone fell silent.
Of course, she’d helped female workers seek justice more than once before. But she’d always thought these were isolated incidents. Most of the time, though the work was hard, the women were earning money and should have been content, right?
At least at every gathering, they’d smile and chat with her about everyday matters. She’d never heard anyone complain.
Only a few people, seeing that Lin Yuchan had also risen from the bottom like themselves, working hard for years, earning just a few dollars monthly, while Miss Lin soared to become a shop owner, felt slightly bitter. When Lin Yuchan learned of this, every holiday, she’d invite her sisters to eat Western food in the foreign settlement and give them clothes and shoes, quickly eliminating any barriers until they talked about everything.
Only now did Lin Yuchan slowly understand. It wasn’t that everyone intentionally hid things from her. In nineteenth-century Qing China, common people had no concept of human rights. Being cursed, beaten, humiliated, having workplace injuries go uncompensated, working sixteen-hour shifts… these working conditions that she found intolerable seemed completely normal to the female workers, not worth complaining about.
If they married and had children, if they unfortunately encountered evil mothers-in-law, they might suffer even worse.
At least at the mill, they earned money. The money was all theirs. A little suffering—endure it, and it would pass.
This was the female workers’ thinking.
Some even thought Wu Juemei was too impulsive, couldn’t think clearly—what a pity.
The trauma doctor arrived then, busily treating the injured female workers.
Lin Yuchan was silent for a long time before standing up.
“Aunt Hong is my employee. She was beaten without cause—naturally, I’ll seek compensation from the mill. As for other sisters, if you’re still willing to seek justice for Wu Juemei, I can join…”
The woman said solemnly, “Of course! How could we let them dismiss us with their stinking money!”
Lin Yuchan: “If not stinking money, then what do you want?”
The female workers were stunned, unable to think immediately.
Most self-combing women were illiterate, acting only on instinctive passion, knowing their sister’s life couldn’t die in vain, which gave them courage to fight the foreign lackeys with flesh and blood.
But asking them to think deeper about their actual demands…
“We need a coffin, funeral rites, money to send our sister home!”
One self-combing woman suddenly shouted.
“Right!” More echoed. “No more body searches by ‘Kong the Skin-Stripper’!”
“Supervisor Kong is most vicious, whipping people constantly. Miss Lin, if you could convince the foreigners to remove him, that would be wonderful!”
“And make him apologize! Kowtow at Juemei’s spirit altar!”
“Eight loud kowtows! Then make him get out of Shanghai!”
…
The female workers grew excited, speaking over each other, some demands becoming unrealistic.
Lin Yuchan took out a paper and a pen, noting the general points.
“Good. Let me prepare, then I’ll negotiate with the mill tomorrow. Take these fifty taels for medical fees and medicine, then rent a mourning hall so our sister can rest in peace.”
The female workers wept: “Miss Lin, we’re useless, still needing your care, constantly making you spend money.”
Lin Yuchan smiled bitterly: “I have a ‘Self-Combing Women’s Mutual Aid Fund,’ remember?”
“Wow—”
Eight Po Leung Kuk girls carefully entered the Saigon Road Western building, exclaiming in various ways.
The female worker dormitory had major problems and couldn’t accept new residents temporarily. With no choice, Lin Yuchan brought them back to the Western building, instructing Aunt Zhou to prepare bedding for them to squeeze into the attic and storage rooms.
After traveling thousands of miles from Hong Kong and working nonstop, she could finally sit down at home.
The girls had never entered Western houses before, tiptoeing to avoid soiling carpets, not knowing where to put their hands. Someone sharp-eyed discovered a yellow paper with large seals mounted on the wall, looking like “imperial edicts” from opera stages, frightening them into secretly bowing twice. They also saw photographs hanging on the opposite wall—so not only foreigners could take photos!
Over ten black and white photographs were labeled left to right with years and locations. The first showed a girl under twenty leaning over a billiards table, holding a cue, eyes focused and confident like a crouching wolf. Around her, many big-nosed foreigners held their breath, eyes fixed on the table balls. Only one refined, otherworldly Chinese youth had a rather cold expression, only his gaze gentle, wandering over her face, lips moving slightly as if offering advice.
Another photograph was a large rectangular group photo of dozens of Chinese and foreign men and women in several rows, smiling brilliantly before the newly completed Tushanwan Orphanage school building.
A brand new massive wooden steam warship launched from the wharf, painted with the name “Tianji.” The photo showed a bright, formally dressed young woman surrounded by Chinese officials and scholars, raising a champagne bottle to smash against the bow. The camera captured the glass bottle’s shattering moment like exploding fireworks.
…
“Madam,” the oldest girl, Caifeng, boldly asked, “Are these all you?”
Lin Yuchan hurriedly reviewed account books and last year’s fourth quarter financial reports, smiling: “Yes. Before you board ship to depart, I’ll have someone take your photographs too.”
With too many emergencies, Lin Yuchan called two managers to quickly catch up on Boya Company’s recent situation, making arrangements and instructions, then had Aunt Zhou invite Gao Dewen to help arrange for the Po Leung Kuk girls to attend Yude Girls’ School for cultural classes, preparing for overseas departure in a few months.
With Ma Qingchen transferred to Jinling Arsenal, Gao Dewen was “keeping house alone,” living quite comfortably. She immediately agreed enthusiastically to help.
“Sigh, pity I’m too old,” Gao Dewen laughed heartily. “Otherwise, I’d want to go overseas and see the outside world too!”
Lin Yuchan scoffed. How old was she? Even by the strictest lunar age calculation, only thirty. Still had chances to travel the world!
Though… she’d already outlived the Qing Dynasty’s average lifespan. By ordinary standards, she could start retirement.
“Seriously, would you like to be a female instructor, taking these children overseas to settle?” Lin Yuchan suggested. “I might not manage alone.”
Though Gao Dewen was bold and careful, having spent half her life unconventionally, when it came to crossing oceans, she still instinctively feared and resisted. No matter how Lin Yuchan persuaded, she firmly shook her head, refusing this responsibility.
Lin Yuchan could only give up.
Then she organized her thoughts, focusing on resolving the female worker’s wrongful death.
“One hundred taels still isn’t enough? Though we’re called Dafeng Mill, money doesn’t blow in with the wind.”
The fat comprador sat behind his teak desk like a freshly steamed white mantou bun, radiating arrogant heat from head to toe.
He extended a short, thick hand, pointing at the “Dafeng Mill” sign opposite, making what he considered a humorous joke.
This hand was incredibly fat too, knuckle flesh bulging, skin seemingly unable to contain the fat inside, stretched shiny as if he held a light bulb in his palm.
“One hundred taels! Fifty for that Yao Hong. We hit the wrong person—truly sorry. This money’s enough for three months’ recovery, fair enough? Another fifty taels, considering your sisterhood, is funeral expenses…”
His tone suggested benevolence. After all, the first time they’d only given ten taels. When the female workers refused and brought a prominent female merchant to pursue payment, this time they’d increased fivefold—fifty taels should fill these shrewd women’s appetites, right?
Lin Yuchan again suppressed her irritation, saying neither humbly nor arrogantly: “Manager, you know too that female workers were unjustly treated, leading to death. This isn’t something dozens of taels can resolve. At a minimum, the perpetrator should face legal action. If you insist on not dealing with that supervisor surnamed Kong…”
“So what?” The fat white mantou suddenly trembled all over, slapping the desk and sneering: “Go sue! Your Boya Company has a reputation and connections—sue at the Municipal Council! So many people witnessed that female worker stealing thread from the factory—she was guilty first! A thief! The supervisor just followed regulations, punishing thieves. What’s wrong with that?”
“Then why did she crash to her death?” Lin Yuchan grew agitated too, standing up. “Half a tael of thread doesn’t merit death—who drove her to death? Who’s responsible?”
“We wouldn’t know,” the comprador sneered sarcastically. “Maybe she had a serious illness and didn’t want to live, using this to extort money for her family—we’ve seen such cases before, we’re used to being scammed. Maybe she had private grudges with the supervisor, wanting to frame and drag him down. Maybe she just wanted to scare people, didn’t know her strength, and accidentally died. Maybe she was bullied elsewhere, depressed, and couldn’t think straight… all possible! Madam Lin, you’re young and don’t know how cunning these workers can be! Even at the Municipal Council court, how would you prove that her death directly relates to us? Waste litigation fees! Hehe…”
Lin Yuchan wouldn’t waste words with this rotten mantou, saying coldly: “I want to see your foreign boss.”
“Mr. Forman just became Municipal Council director—very busy.”
Lin Yuchan heard the implication. The other party’s boss was one of the capitalists controlling the concession. Even in court, she had no chance of winning.
She pushed back the hundred taels, tore up the receipt before her into pieces, throwing them in the wastebasket.
“Fine then. Goodbye.”
Outside the female worker dormitory, a small mourning hall was set up. Not daring to be too conspicuous, they only hung white lanterns, a pair of white candles, burned two sticks of incense, and hung several strings of paper money. Several patrol officers lingered at the street corner, ensuring no disturbances.
Lin Yuchan entered the courtyard grimly, slowly pushing the door.
Su Minguan held incense, also cold-faced, meeting her eyes.
Nian Gu patted his shoulder comfortingly: “People have unexpected fortune and misfortune. Young master, don’t be too sad.”
Wu Juemei was among the first batch of self-combing women from Guangdong to Shanghai. She’d known Su Minguan for over ten years. Though life was cheap in this era—any cold or flu could kill—and he’d long grown accustomed to people around him living and dying, Wu Juemei’s death was unjust and wronged, not covered by “unexpected misfortune.”
Wu Juemei had no relatives in Shanghai. Following custom, the self-combing sisters had arranged her funeral, cremated her body, waiting for the opportunity to send her home to find a temple to buy a spirit tablet for worship.
After paying respects, over ten self-combing sisters gathered around Aunt Hong’s sickbed, weeping and talking.
“They won’t let us cause trouble, but we will anyway,” the strong-willed Yao Zhaodi said, clenching her fists. “The more we swallow our anger, the more it intensifies. I’d rather lose this salary than give that Kong the Skin-Stripper a beating!”
Some loudly agreed. But Aunt Hong struggled to speak, reminding: “You’ll go to jail.”
“Then secretly!” Another schemed. “We’ll wait on his way home from work… no, what if we can’t beat him…”
Someone realized big shots were present, quickly lowering voices: “Young Master Minguan! You know righteous brotherhood leaders who rob the rich to help the poor, right? We’ll pay to hire…”
Su Minguan raised a hand, shaking his head.
“Dealing with one supervisor is easy—making him disappear silently is possible,” he said calmly. “But would the next supervisor treat you kindly? Kill one after another? This is pure venting—even if you requested it, I wouldn’t help. Sorry.”
He observed from outside, weighing only risks and benefits. This sounded somewhat cold-blooded to the grieving sisters’ ears.
Aunt Hong softly called: “Young master.”
Then looked at Lin Yuchan, meaning for her to speak.
Lin Yuchan was silent momentarily, then recounted her earlier negotiation with the comprador, selecting key points.
“I agree with Minguan’s opinion. This matter’s main contradiction isn’t with the supervisor,” she said. “It’s that foreign bosses don’t treat us Chinese workers as humans. Sisters, if we just can’t swallow this anger, then fifty taels’ funeral expenses are indeed enough. But I know what everyone wants isn’t money, but dignity. Today we replace the supervisor, tomorrow they’ll find other reasons to make life difficult. Maybe no one else will crash to death, but people will still be harmed for various other reasons, harmed beyond human dignity. Then we’ll make another round of trouble, get some compensation, still marking time—worker treatment will never improve.”
Everyone was speechless, looking at each other.
“Then what can we do?” Sister Jing said. “Can’t expect foreigners and compradors to grow consciences.”
“Exactly. A female worker died, but the mill kept operating normally these days, not even a sound. Human life is so cheap!”
Aunt Hong smiled bitterly: “Could you strike?”
That casual remark made Lin Yuchan’s eyes suddenly widen, leaning toward Aunt Hong.
“Wait, you said—strike?”
Aunt Hong nodded.
“How do you know…”
Aunt Hong smiled: “Didn’t you mention it?”
Only then did Lin Yuchan remember that while managing Boya Company, she had indeed mentioned “strike” as a concept. For instance, when assigning difficult sales tasks, joking that if they couldn’t manage, strikes were welcome; or on quiet holidays, facing empty factories, saying: “Oh, on strike?”
Unknowingly, Aunt Hong had remembered it.
Others asked curiously: “What’s a strike?”
As the name suggests, it wasn’t hard to understand. Su Minguan smiled, explaining: “Just quit working. You all walk away, machines can’t run, and foreign bosses make no money. When you make demands, they can only agree.”
The dozen-plus sisters in the room all lit up.
“That’s right! Foreigners have no conscience, but they recognize money! Sisters, let’s strike tomorrow!”
“The principle is right, but it won’t work,” Su Minguan’s tone shifted, mercilessly pouring cold water. “You few strike while others work normally. Foreigners give them extra bonuses to cover your portions, and you’ll never need to work again. Foreigners still make money, and still won’t pay attention to you. Others will mock you for losing jobs for nothing.”
Cunning merchants understood how to analyze from the capitalists’ perspectives. The female workers had nothing to say, finding no flaws in his reasoning.
Everyone said disappointedly: “Then… there’s no solution?”
“Unless,” Lin Yuchan suddenly interjected, her raised eyelashes revealing bright, sparkling dark pupils, “unless there’s a factory-wide female worker united strike. Hundreds forming an alliance, advancing and retreating together, using collective power—only then would foreigners be helpless against you.”
Momentarily, the room fell silent, everyone captivated by this nearly impossible scene.
“Factory-wide strike…”
All machines stopped, foreign bosses helpless, compradors jumping frantically, supervisors idle—what a satisfying picture!
But this was too unrealistic. Yao Zhaodi said, “Foreigners would fire us all, then hire hundreds more. There are plenty of female workers.”
“Training a mill worker takes at least half a month. To reach your skill level takes at least a year. How many skilled workers does a mill need? At least thirty percent, right? They’d either pay high prices to poach from other mills or operate crippled for a year without skilled workers. Do you know how much money the mill would lose from this year of abnormal operation, plus training costs?”
Lin Yuchan calculated for Mr. Forman, confidently scheming: “Capitalists pursue profit. As long as foreigners can’t bear this cost, we might succeed in the struggle. Not only seeking justice for Juemei, but forcing them to improve all previous unfair treatment of female workers.”
The female workers looked at each other, faces showing eager anticipation.
“Possible?”
“If there’s potential for success, would everyone be willing to try?”
No one immediately nodded, but no one spoke discouraging words either. Everyone looked around, seemingly waiting for others to voice opinions first.
Lin Yuchan was also somewhat surprised that she’d spontaneously spoken such mature reasoning—struggle, collective, alliance… these concepts seemed naturally stored in her heart, only emerging today.
She stood up, leaving a basket of smoked ham for the injured female workers, bidding everyone farewell.
“Everyone quietly discuss this and let me consider too. Keep working normally these days, wait for my news.”
Three days later on Sunday, a “Shanghai Women Workers’ Hometown Association” quietly convened at Yixing Business Association premises.
News spread by word of mouth among Dafeng Mill female workers. They said Business Association Chairman Mrs. Lin was giving back to society, organizing Shanghai female workers for tea and hometown fellowship during Sunday factory rest, for fun. All participating female workers could take home half a jin of millet.
For this half-jin of millet, the association became a women’s center for the first time, crowded with over a hundred people before dawn.
Mill compradors and managers paid no attention. Female workers usually worked hard, and those without family burdens often spent rest days together visiting gardens, watching opera, or with rustic hairstyles touring the concession—they called it the foreign settlement. Spending money at foreign goods stores to reward their week’s hard work.
In management’s view, these lower-class women didn’t know how to save money, only spending recklessly—no wonder they were born poor.
The female workers happily drank tea for a while, conversation naturally turning to recently deceased Wu Juemei. Sharing similar fates, they inevitably sighed and cursed the heartless Kong the Skin-Stripper.
“Kong the Skin-Stripper is just a tool foreigners use to tame you. He’s bad, but not the worst,” Lin Yuchan held a tea cup, already familiar with her sisters, chatting intimately. “The key problem is that foreign bosses don’t treat us female workers as humans. With foreigners’ attitudes set, the compradors and supervisors below naturally abuse their power to torment people. Think about it—besides Kong the Skin-Stripper’s humiliation, are there others good to you? During other moments working at the mill, is it fair?”
Her guidance immediately prompted female workers to express dissatisfaction: “That’s right! The general manager gives no time for lunch—just cold water with rice, finished in five minutes. Even my former mother-in-law wasn’t so harsh! My stomach has hurt constantly these two years, maybe from swallowing cold rice. The general manager and comprador have it good—one hour lunch breaks daily, chewing slowly, holding plates while urging us to work!”
Someone showed scarred fingers, saying: “Machine injuries never get compensation, plus docked wages for missed work. Can’t recuperate too long or get fired directly, losing a month’s pay!”
“Also!” People’s emotions gradually stirred as someone said loudly: “To save gas, making us use cold water to wipe floors and machines in deep winter. So many got frostbite, working slowly the next day, blood staining thread, getting whipped instead!”
Blood-sucking faces were all similar; trampled poor people each had their sufferings.
Someone’s eyes reddened: “Two years ago, my little sister got seriously ill. The doctor said she lacked nutrition—just one tael of meat daily would cure her. But meat was expensive that year. I knelt and kowtowed, begging the general manager for advance wages, but got kicked instead… I remember clearly—he held a chicken leg then, his chin covered in grease! Sigh, poor little sister died skin and bones… Everyone says, Do these masters have consciences?”
“Heartless! Consciences eaten by dogs!”
Female workers roared in unison.
Lin Yuchan: “Want to struggle?”
“Yes!”
She glanced around. Teahouse attendant Liu Wu timely closed the door. The hall held only the sisters ‘ voices that couldn’t escape this courtyard.
“Mrs. Lin!” Someone suddenly said: “Enough talk—you’re educated, just tell us how to ‘strike’ to make foreigners bow their heads once!”
Lin Yuchan’s heart lit up with delighted surprise. These sisters hadn’t come purely for half a jin of millet. Seeds of anger had long been planted in their hearts, waiting for the opportunity to quickly take root and sprout.