When that gracefully elegant Chinese lady walked to Mr. Stanford’s side, everyone gasped “Wow—” in amazement.
She wore a fitted smoke-gray brocade silk jacket with an elaborately embroidered cloud collar draped over her shoulders, holding a peach blossom and butterfly silk fan. Below her waist was a ten-panel moonlight skirt with Cantonese embroidered floral patterns, all in elegant colors that fluttered gracefully in the breeze. From her skirt waist hung a phoenix-tail sash with a bell at the end. As she moved, faint tinkling sounds echoed like wind from distant mountains.
Her features were dignified, with only eyebrows drawn and rouge applied, making her young face appear more vibrant. Instead of the exaggerated hats worn by Western ladies, she had her carefully braided black hair arranged in a chignon, adorned with a bright ruby hairpin that drew people’s gazes from her softly colored dress to focus on her face.
Her eyes weren’t as deep as Westerners’, her nose not as high, her skin not as snow-white as Western ladies—individually, none of these features were particularly striking. But combined, they were extremely pleasing to look at, with gentle and humble Eastern charm hiding hints of intelligence and pride.
After quite a while, someone whispered: “Is this a Qing princess?”
This Eastern beauty’s attire perfectly satisfied all the guests’ fantasies about exotic appeal while avoiding anything that might provoke curiosity or disgust, such as pale, rigid makeup, bulky tailoring, or deformed bound feet…
Everything was so natural, so vivid, so refreshing.
Mr. Stanford dramatically expressed his amazement, turning to signal the band to change songs. The experienced band immediately stopped the cheerful “Oh! Susanna” and began playing a Western-composed Eastern melody. The tonality was somewhat strange, resembling a mix of Indian dance music and Japanese folk songs.
Then Mr. Stanford ignored Lin Yuchan’s extended hand, thinking himself quite proper as he imitated Chinese bowing gestures to greet her, saying “Gong Xi Fa Cai” in Cantonese.
Lin Yuchan smiled it off, taking a deep breath to suppress her inner nervousness.
If nothing happened tonight… she’d just consider it showing off and getting a free meal.
Mr. Stanford then noticed her male companion and hurried to greet him: “You… wait, you are…”
“This lady is America’s guest. Due to unfamiliarity with local customs, she specially invited me to accompany her. I am honored to be her escort for the evening and take this opportunity to greet all the wealthy ladies and gentlemen present—don’t forget to obey laws and pay taxes on time…”
Mr. Stanford’s expression was complex as he listened to His Majesty Emperor Norton I holding forth with his protruding belly.
This penniless madman had stolen his beautiful shareholder!
He thought Lin Yuchan must have been deceived, truly believing this “Norton I” was somebody important!
If she lacked a male companion, couldn’t she have spoken up? He could have introduced her to a dozen!
The guests were delighted, all doffing their hats to salute Norton I:
“Greetings to His Majesty Emperor Norton I!”
“Long live His Majesty the Emperor and your dog!”
“Haha, an emperor and princess together—perfect match.”
Norton, I was calm and composed, as if in his courtyard, waving to his “subjects.”
Mr. Stanford whispered orders to have someone bring wine and refreshments to at least move this intruding madman away from the center stage.
“Uh, as everyone knows, ninety percent of my railroad company’s employees are Chinese…” Mr. Stanford struggled to drag the topic back, “Without these hardworking laborers’ diligent work, our Pacific Railroad could never have been completed so successfully. I’m filled with gratitude toward them. I… uh, have become close friends with many of them, learning much etiquette and philosophy from them, hearing many wise stories. I’m filled with respect and longing for China. But today is the first time meeting a lady from China—I’m deeply honored.”
Lin Yuchan smiled as she watched his performance, inwardly cursing repeatedly.
He touted “hardworking, meticulous Chinese workers” as his company’s selling point while secretly committing countless bloody deeds against Chinese people. This man shouldn’t have invested in Stanford University—he should have built Hollywood.
Mr. Stanford extended his hand in invitation, yielding the speaking position to her. She curtsied in gratitude.
In the bright colored lights, she saw the expectant eyes of the guests below. She knew what they wanted to hear from her.
Good impressions of America, praise for the railroad company, appreciation and thanks for Californian hospitality…
“Wait, Mr. Edison!” Lin Yuchan suddenly called loudly, “Don’t leave yet! I’m very optimistic about your phonograph project. I’ll contribute one thousand dollars to fund your research. Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, meet me in the lobby of the ‘Painted Stone Sculpture Hotel’!”
At the crowd’s edge, a lonely figure stopped abruptly.
After the silence, Mr. Stanford led the applause.
Then, tsunami-like cheers swept over, mixed with countless whistles. Colored lights and balloons swayed wildly as someone opened champagne, golden liquid splashing everywhere.
“Wow, the Chinese princess throws money around!”
Of course, everyone present was wealthy and could easily produce a thousand dollars. But who could be as generous as her, deciding to throw such a huge sum at a pie-in-the-sky project after hearing just a few far-fetched scientific tall tales?
This was an angel among angels. Even Jesus probably didn’t have such a broad heart.
Lin Yuchan waited for the cheers to subside, then looked around. People’s gazes had less curiosity and staring, more respect and envy.
Only then did she begin her formal speech, sincerely praising California’s beautiful scenery and San Francisco’s advanced municipal facilities, briefly introducing the Qing government’s overseas student program…
“I must admit China lags in many aspects, which is why we need to send students to America to learn from your strengths. Today I’ve deeply felt American people’s wisdom and kindness. I believe in time, you will definitely help this ancient Eastern empire regain its glory, so we can stand as two equally great nations at opposite ends of the earth…”
These were all stock phrases that, without damaging national dignity, made Americans very comfortable. Most guests had heard of the Qing’s overseas student program and murmured praise.
“I also have deep ties with America.” Lin Yuchan changed direction with a smile, “I have a younger brother named Liang Xian. When our family was still poor, hearing that America was full of knowledge and opportunity, he resolutely used his savings to buy a ship ticket and came to California as an ordinary railroad worker. In his letters home, he often described the wonderful life here—friendly neighbors, fair employers, generous wages… This was one reason I decided to invest in the Central Pacific Railroad. A great country, a great enterprise, needs support from around the world…”
The guests continued nodding and smiling. As shareholders, who hadn’t invested based on optimism about the company’s prospects? They felt deep resonance.
But Mr. Stanford’s expression was somewhat stiff.
He didn’t know who this “brother” actually was. But he was quite certain this fellow’s letters home were pure good news without bad—no, outright lies. He knew his own company best—how could it be fair to workers, how could it give Chinese workers generous wages?
God forbid she suddenly decided to visit the worksite to reunite with her “relative.”
As if reading Mr. Stanford’s mind, the Eastern beauty smiled at him: “If not for this busy official trip, I’d like to visit the worksite to see my long-unseen relative. Mr. Stanford, could you briefly describe conditions at the worksite to satisfy my longing and curiosity?”
At a shareholders’ banquet, this was a perfectly normal question. Major shareholders had the right to hear company updates, ensuring company executives worked diligently without slacking.
The guests smiled and listened attentively.
Mr. Stanford coughed lightly, rarely blushing, somewhat.
Of course, he had prepared data and speeches telling his shareholders how smoothly railroad construction was proceeding, how skilled the workers were, how he used various administrative and legal means to deal with lazy, slacking workers, ensuring everyone embodied company spirit with efficiency first…
But what to do now? He couldn’t say: your poor brother, regardless of which worksite he’s assigned to, has probably been whipped by us, covered in injuries, and hasn’t slept in a proper bed for three months?
Why had he impulsively had someone send this foreign beauty an invitation?
Why hadn’t he asked whether she had relatives at the worksite…
Most Americans now, like Mr. Stanford, had a schizophrenic attitude toward Chinese people like Lord Ye’s love of dragons: they loved Eastern porcelain, tea, crafts, and ancient history; they praised the noble character and ancient wisdom in Chinese classics, contrasting them with corrupt European morals, believing “the world’s orthodoxy lies in the East”; those dignified, elegant Eastern men and women depicted in picture books seemed like Europe’s and Arabia’s declining nobility—distant yet intimate, respectful.
On the other hand, they hated those illiterate males with dirty long braids squatting at gold mines and railroad worksites, considering them inferior, capable of witchcraft, eating rats, worshipping idols, evilly coveting everything white people had—jobs, wealth, land, women…
Many respectable merchants and politicians, including Mr. Stanford, were strongly advocating banning Chinese workers from entering and reproducing in America to defend white people’s inherited land and avoid racial contamination.
When Mr. Stanford and numerous respectable guests warmly welcomed Lin Yuchan, even with ten times their imagination, they could hardly connect her with those cowering Chinese workers.
“Uh, of course, I will.” Mr. Stanford had to reorganize his language for an impromptu speech: “To satisfy this Eastern lady’s curiosity and give all shareholders an explanation, I can proudly announce that our company’s labor welfare ranks among the best of Western railroad companies. Latest scientific research shows that when workers are happy, they work more energetically. Compared to those complaining, forced-overtime laborers, they’re superior in both speed and quality…”
Post-Civil War America had seen the birth of early worker organizations, with “labor welfare” entering social discourse—though not mainstream, it was fashionable.
Capitalists were natural liars. Mr. Stanford’s improvisation was quite convincing—he almost believed it himself.
Lin Yuchan smiled her thanks, walked down from the podium, took a champagne glass from a waiter, and raised it to Mr. Stanford.
“To labor welfare.”
Though following Mr. Stanford’s speech, this phrase was somewhat inappropriate at a gathering of capitalists. The surroundings quieted for half a second.
But someone immediately chimed in: “To labor welfare! As the saying goes, ‘All lands under heaven belong to the king’s subjects.’ In my realm, all races live in harmony—everyone should be equal, and everyone should enjoy welfare! Cheers to the great railroad workers! Cheers to the age of steel and steam! Cheers to America’s enterprising spirit!”
The guests laughed and raised their glasses together in unprecedented enthusiasm.
Many people toasted Lin Yuchan. Norton I, like a kindly old father who loved his people like children, declined for her: “My guest isn’t used to strong American liquor—why not prepare fruit juice for her?…”
Amid the clinking glasses, suddenly came the sound of hoofbeats. Several police officers in “SFPD” (San Francisco Police Department) uniforms jumped down from horses, apologizing while pushing past security and doormen to approach Mr. Stanford.
Mr. Stanford was bewildered: “Officer Brown, what is this…”
“Sorry to disturb your banquet,” Officer Brown apologized very politely, “but the station received an urgent case. We must take a bit of your time to ask a few questions.”
The shareholder guests noticed something unusual, whispering and looking over.
Lin Yuchan’s heart tightened. She set down her full glass and calmly took two steps forward.
Mr. Stanford’s entire body tensed. His first reaction—had something happened to his family? With his enormous wealth, many people coveted his property. Just last year, a gang of criminals had tried to kidnap his only son for ransom.
He dared not delay, following Officer Brown aside.
“Someone reported a gunfight at the Mission Bay railroad worksite.” Officer Brown expressionlessly read from a telegram, “A group of outlaws attacked Chinese railroad workers on strike under your company, but fortunately didn’t succeed and were instead repelled and captured by the workers. The captured thugs confessed that someone paid them to teach these Chinese a lesson. And the person who paid them… was reportedly one of your secretaries.”
After hearing just a few words, Mr. Stanford sensed something was wrong and frantically signaled, pulling Officer Brown further away.
“For God’s sake, my old friend, look at the current occasion…” he lowered his voice, “Can’t these matters wait? It’s just some workers filing complaints… they often lie and speak poor English—maybe it’s a misunderstanding… how could robbers target these penniless workers… There are no valuable portable items at the worksite…”
He was secretly shocked. How could workers “counterattack”? He had hired the notorious “Bloody Charlie” gang—bandits that struck fear into Western prospectors, skilled at riding and shooting, equipped with the latest rifles, never failing before!
Officer Brown apologized again, saying sternly: “Unfortunately, this time it wasn’t workers filing complaints, but a formal complaint from the Qing Empire’s diplomatic mission in America.”
He waved the official document in his hand.
“Mr. Stanford, please answer a few questions. Don’t worry, we won’t take much of your time.”