Once the students on board had completely adapted to the pitching sea life, Lin Yuchan began organizing supplementary classes for them. These girls had been recruited hastily, and several months of women’s academy study had limited effect. Lin Yuchan borrowed an empty cabin on the ship and, enduring seasickness discomfort, held three hours of English classes daily, striving to quickly catch up to the level of the government-sponsored male students.
Su Minguan walked openly about the steamship. At first, Chinese officials like Chen Lanbin found it strange—where had this man appeared from?
Rong Hong said seriously, “Mrs. Lin’s accompanying family member, originally an American Chinese. He was there from departure.”
Several official gentlemen paid no attention to the “self-funded female students” or Lin Yuchan, this “instructor” of mixed background, so they hadn’t noticed at the time and believed it: “I thought so—how could her family feel at ease letting a woman travel abroad alone? Naturally, someone had to come along to supervise.”
Weeks flew by. The steamship made a brief stop at Honolulu port in the Hawaiian Islands to replenish fresh water and food. Passengers took this opportunity to disembark, stretch their legs, and breathe some earthly atmosphere.
Lin Yuchan was weary from long travel and somewhat lacking energy, but still happily jumped off the ship—not only was this her first time in the Qing Dynasty, but her first time setting foot on foreign soil in this lifetime!
She changed into light summer gauze clothing, pulling Su Minguan into the city for sightseeing while leading elementary school students on a spring outing.
Like the Qing Dynasty, the Kingdom of Hawaii was theoretically independent at this time with a native king, but had already signed various unequal treaties with America, ceding land and harbors. The port displayed a statue of founding emperor Kamehameha, the streets filled with tropical colonial-style buildings, windows extending several American flags.
Summer ocean breezes were pleasant and refreshing, the air floating with plumeria fragrance. Though lacking the luxurious, expansive resort scenery of modern tourist photos, volcanoes stretched endlessly, forests were dense, and unique local outrigger canoes drifted on nearly transparent waters—a distinctive, pristine beauty.
Lin Yuchan was gratified to see that the fifteen girls she had personally trained showed no timidity in foreign lands, even displaying excited boldness with no trace of “fragile orphan girl.” Seeing roadside plumeria blooming magnificently, Lin Feilun carefully asked passersby in English: “Can I pick them?”
And that passerby understood, smiling and nodding.
Five minutes later, all the girls had white and golden plumeria flowers in their hair, and Lin Yuchan’s braids were stuffed with several blossoms.
Honolulu city had a Chinatown with temples, ancestral halls, restaurants, and pharmacies—all complete, housing hundreds of Chinese, mostly men of laborer background, the vast majority from Xiangshan, Guangdong. Seeing dozens of children from the homeland, Chinese people curiously emerged to watch.
The children were terrified—half these people had no queues on their heads, cut short like locals!
Honolulu Chinese quickly donned large straw hats, explaining in local dialect that it was too hot here, sugar plantation work was too harsh, dragging queues was slovenly, so employers had long ordered them cut.
Accompanying officials frowned. But these people had already taken root overseas, some living several generations, intermarrying with local natives, no longer Qing subjects, having “returned to barbarians,” beyond their control.
Lin Yuchan spent her first US dollars, buying each girl a cup of sugarcane juice. Looking back, she was also startled.
Probably encouraged by Chinatown atmosphere, Su Minguan openly changed his appearance, discarding the false queue to reveal a neat crew cut, paired with a long casual Chinese summer shirt—instantly becoming Chinatown’s most handsome man.
Lin Yuchan admired for a while, pointing to a nearby tailor shop displaying “Prêt-à -Porter” (also selling ready-made clothing), laughingly asking: “Dare you wear a Western suit?”
She wanted to see.
“Asked already. A complete outfit costs thirty dollars.” Su Minguan shook his head quite regretfully. “Can’t afford it.”
Once again penniless, he only had the five hundred silver dollars escape money Lin Yuchan gave him, already half used. Now unprecedentedly frugal.
Lin Yuchan laughed heartily, pulling him into the tailor shop to examine the unfinished garments.
The tailor was a British-American who had never seen such distinguished Chinese man and woman, circling them three times, smiling as he said he happened to have a suit abandoned by a customer, similar build to this Oriental gentleman—shirt, trousers, vest, tailless jacket, sack suit, overcoat…
“Notch lapel, hook vent, worsted wool, England’s latest popular charcoal gray, simple, intelligent tailoring, absolutely bold look. If you grew muttonchop sideburns, it would be even more perfect… Oh, same price, free alterations…”
Lin Yuchan suppressed laughter hearing the tailor’s sales pitch. Honestly though, whether this suit was truly stuck in his hands or not, it was absolutely this shop’s signature craftsmanship.
She encouraged: “Try it.”
Bold as Su Minguan was, he had never been so rebelliously contrary, just looking at those oddly shaped garments with amusement.
She had the tailor drape the jacket on him. He didn’t object.
But immediately broke free, laughingly finding fault: “Too tight.”
This was natural. Accustomed to loose Chinese robes, fitted Western suits naturally felt different. At least from Lin Yuchan’s momentary observation, it seemed quite well-fitted.
She bargained with the tailor. Su Minguan said somewhat unconvinced: “You should also make a Western dress.”
Meaning: if you dare wear it, I dare wear it.
Lin Yuchan lightly rolled her eyes, whispering: “Three nightgowns—which do you want to see tonight?”
She’d worn Western clothes for over ten years—what wouldn’t she dare wear?
Su Minguan’s gaze indicated a lady wearing a feathered hat on the street: “That kind.”
Lin Yuchan was speechless.
Western women’s fashion these days was much more elaborate than men’s. She could wear it, but needed to carefully select colors and styles…
Su Minguan felt he’d won a round, lips curving as he was about to leave when Lin Yuchan looked at him pitifully: “I don’t want to wear a corset.”
Su Minguan: “…”
Indeed, though naturally slender, her waist shape differed from Western ladies who’d worn corsets since childhood. To fit into a dress’s hourglass-narrow waist required at least whalebone or steel-ring corsets.
The tailor shop had ready-made ones. He imagined her smooth, pale curves squeezed into lace-adorned cages, tightened and retightened until rigidly barely spanning a grip…
Just thinking made breathing difficult. No concern for whether it looked good.
Speechless, he could only watch Lin Yuchan smilingly negotiate with the tailor. A suit folded, wrapped, with a small leather case included.
Brown-skinned native vendors pushed carts over, faces bright as sunshine, hawking local specialties:
“Aloha! LauLau?”
Fresh-caught thick tuna mixed with pork, sprinkled with sea salt, wrapped in local taro and banana leaves, roasted in scalding stone pits, emitting robust fishy aromas.
Accompanying Chinese officials and children, including Rong Hong, all fled to Chinatown to satisfy their stomachs with stir-fries and noodles. Only these two troublemakers quietly debated trying foreign delicacies.
“Laulau?” Lin Yuchan was somewhat tempted: “Cheap.”
Su Minguan hesitated, observing the roasted taro leaves and exposed meat, quietly analyzing: “Looks like preserved vegetable braised pork.”
The native vendor smiled at them, cutting open a piece of “laulau” and chewing fragrantly himself.
Lin Yuchan decisively paid.
But this bore no resemblance to preserved vegetable braised pork. Lin Yuchan bit through the soft leaves, about to savor the taste, when her tongue suddenly touched fishy-sweet fish oil, momentarily feeling back in the stormy Pacific, rushing roadside to retch.
Still… still not as good as Su Minguan’s pan-fried steak…
The vendor was extremely embarrassed, clutching dollars, unsure whether to refund.
Su Minguan set down his own “preserved vegetable braised pork,” embracing her, also regretful.
“Come, drink some sugarcane juice.”
Lin Yuchan felt so embarrassed! She thought herself a nineteenth-century Western cuisine expert, but still lost to Hawaii. French stinky cheese had never made her this sensitive.
But an empty stomach was also uncomfortable, so she ultimately retreated ingloriously to Chinatown, finding a reasonably clean restaurant and slumping on a bench.
Looking up, Rong Hong sat opposite, observing her complexion with schadenfreude.
“I also passed through Honolulu on my last return trip, forgot to warn you—the native food here is very fishy and rank, ordinary Chinese can’t stand it.”
Rong Hong looked up, calling the restaurant’s server: “Sun Mei! Serve this young lady a bowl of seafood porridge to settle her stomach.”
Lin Yuchan: “…”
No wonder he rushed to the Cantonese restaurant upon landing!
Lin Yuchan was so angry she couldn’t even drink the seafood porridge.
Evening return to ship, the steamship started, leaving the completely dark Honolulu port, returning to the ocean’s embrace.
Lin Yuchan remained listless. Fish smell lingered on her tongue, seasick all night, regretting eating randomly, hoping not to fall ill.
The next day, she woke dizzy and disoriented—already afternoon.
Su Minguan had substituted for the girls’ English class, claiming superior results. Lin Yuchan later learned he’d given each person a piece of cake, making the children extremely well-behaved, and completing triple homework.
Finally, in the season of rising autumn winds, the steamship docked at San Francisco’s noisy harbor.
The students combed their queues smooth, changing into their most presentable blue crepe jackets, brown robes, brocade hats, and satin boots, like a row of obedient ducklings, orderly disembarking onto California soil composed of flowers and coastline.
Newspapers had already reported extensively on “the ancient Eastern empire pursuing progress, embracing Western knowledge and institutions by sending their finest gentlemen and ladies to study in America.” Streets crowded with onlookers viewing Oriental prodigies, countless carriages and bicycles jamming together.
The Chinese Empire’s official study abroad hadn’t chosen historically rich, industrially established Britain or France, but selected young Americans for their first overseas learning destination, making Americans burst with pride.
“Look, all girls! Heavens, is that the Amazon daughter country?”
“No, no, their girls all bind feet. Look at these children’s feet… the boys just braid their hair.”
“These must be girls, see how shy they are… I bet…”
“If there are no girls, why is there a beautiful lady leading them? Is she a nanny?”
…
The children somewhat understood these discussions, faces red as shrimp, walking with lowered heads and small steps, stealing glances at unprecedented sights—tall buildings, gas lamps, marble porticos in rows, cable car tracks under construction, police on magnificent horses…
Chen Lanbin’s face darkened hearing translations. Originally wanting to display Qing Dynasty flowers’ elegance, but immediately people couldn’t distinguish male from female…
Fortunately that surnamed Lin “female instructor” lowered herself to smilingly explain to passersby—there were both boys and girls, the difference being boys wore hats…
Suddenly, a tall gentleman approached with a walking stick. About fifty or sixty years old with unusually bright eyes, wearing a blue naval uniform with gold epaulettes, a beaver hat decorated with peacock feathers and fresh roses. Two mixed-breed dogs wagged their tails behind him.
Two policemen dismounted, cheerfully saluting him.
“Who comes to my land?” he asked in a resonant, cadenced voice using classical English. “Quickly state your names, and I shall immediately order hospitality for distinguished guests, touring the glorious radiance of my United States of America—ah, your hairstyles are quite peculiar, come closer for my examination.”
The group of Qing envoys and children froze. Rong Hong looked baffled, translating these words.
Minister Chen Lanbin immediately dusted his sleeves, bowing in standard long salute with theatrical intonation: “First Qing Dynasty minister to America, paying respects to… respects to…”
Who was this person?
Before finishing, laughter erupted from the crowd.
“This is Norton I! Emperor of the United States! Haha! The Emperor comes to receive envoys!”
Uniformed “Norton I” smiled and waved to San Francisco citizens, kindly inquiring about their and their families’ recent conditions. Truly a beloved, people-friendly good emperor.
Only Chen Lanbin stood dumbfounded. Having done homework beforehand, America’s highest administrative official translated as “Great Uncle Administrator Seal Heavenly Virtue,” abbreviated President, not Emperor.
Moreover, the correspondence only mentioned that the highest welcoming official would be San Francisco’s mayor. “Great Uncle Administrator Seal Heavenly Virtue,” Mr. Grant should be working in the distant Washington capital.
The children reacted first. Lin Feilun suppressed laughter, quietly telling Lin Yuchan, “Probably a madman.”
But a lovely and harmless madman. Onlookers laughingly explained that Norton I had self-proclaimed “Emperor of America” for over ten years, issuing countless “imperial edicts” including dissolving Congress, ordering bridge construction, and immediately stopping the Civil War. Of course, no one ever paid attention. He often strode head-high through streets, inspecting “territorial” municipal infrastructure, hearing citizens’ opinions, and urging his “subjects” to make timely improvements. Even when short of cash, he’d issued several debt-settling banknotes…
San Francisco theaters and concert halls permanently reserved seats for him; respectable restaurants welcomed his free dining. People cheerfully accepted his printed money as interesting souvenirs. Norton, I had become San Francisco’s city mascot. Learning of today’s foreign delegation visit, he naturally came for “audiences.”
Minister Chen Lanbin, hearing his entourage’s chattering explanations, stiffened from head to toe, like a stick, completely stupefied.
Wasn’t this a standard “rebel”? How had he not been captured and sent to the officials?
Hadn’t Hong Xiuquan started exactly this way? A madman claiming to be ruler of all under heaven…
In our Qing Dynasty, flesh from the lingchi execution would already be snatched clean.
Here police bow to him?
This America was strange everywhere. Chen Lanbin warningly looked at the children nearby, secretly praying they wouldn’t be corrupted by proximity.
Amid laughter, suddenly from behind a lush cork oak came a sharp, hoarse, discordant sound:
“Chinamen go back to your pigsties!”
The street crowd quieted.
Shouted in a Western accent using extremely vulgar slang that even Rong Hong took several seconds to process.
His Majesty Emperor Norton I flew into imperial rage, abandoning the Qing envoys to stride toward the sound source with a raised walking stick.
“How dare you be rude! They are all respectable students and officials, my distant guests! Who are you to speak so offensively? Guards, seize him!”
Police cooperatively leaped onto horses, chasing away the troublemaker.
Street gentlemen and ladies also sighed relief, showing apologetic smiles to the children.
California sunshine fell on the seaside boulevard. Lin Yuchan maintained a full smile, suddenly feeling somewhat weary.