The dawn had barely broken when the dock's labor chants began, their synchronized calls echoing through the misty air, blending the spirit of camaraderie with the weariness of their bodies. Huang Xuan, unable to sleep any longer, rubbed his face and got up. Outside, Jiang Yisheng had already been awake, chatting with the shop attendants. Huang Xuan glanced at him indifferently before starting his morning routine.
Zhu, the shopkeeper, had arrived early by horse carriage, even though it was already the sixteenth year of the Republic, automobiles had yet to become a common sight in daily life, let alone for a modest shop owner like Zhu. But these were distant concerns, far removed from the pressing realities Zhu faced—concerns that even someone as prominent as Chiang Kai-shek hadn't fully addressed.
The price of grain had risen another ten percent that morning, a fact that weighed heavily on Zhu's mind. Every grain store faced the danger of running out of stock, and there were rumors that the government was planning to introduce price controls. Determined to maximize his profit, Zhu had rushed to the warehouse as soon as possible.
Huang Xuan, fully awake after quenching his thirst, stretched lazily and emerged from the porter's lodge, greeting Zhu, who had just stepped down from his carriage. "You're early, shopkeeper. Some of the wheat from my family's shipment has already arrived. Shall we go have a look?"
"May I ask where your family is from?" Zhu, ever polite, bowed slightly, though the two attendants behind him were wide-eyed with disbelief. They had been guarding the warehouse since before dawn, awaiting the possible arrival of the ship carrying the grain. But to their astonishment, over a hundred shi of wheat had appeared in the warehouse without a single porter or barge in sight, and not a single grain of wheat had spilled at the warehouse entrance. The two men exchanged puzzled glances, shrinking back as they followed their master, keeping their questions to themselves.
Huang Xuan strode ahead, swinging his arms casually, his demeanor that of a carefree young nobleman out on a leisurely trip. In modern film terms, this was what one might call "playing oneself."
Zhu, the shopkeeper, kept a respectful half-step behind, his long robe gathered in his hands. After a few steps, he asked, "How much wheat was delivered?"
Zhu seemed fond of the phrase "may I ask," but Huang Xuan didn't answer directly. The exact amount of wheat was Lorin's responsibility. He simply pointed toward the warehouse and said, "Let's have a look first."
Zhu took note of Huang Xuan's offhand response, quietly assessing the situation. To him, this seemed like another case of a pampered young master from a wealthy family, here to spend some pocket money. With this in mind, he began to form a plan.
The seeds from the modern world were of superior quality, cultivated in greenhouses and sometimes even in temperature-controlled environments. They were plump and glossy, fetching a price five times higher than that of their descendants. The shop attendants were entranced by the sight, mentally calculating that this wheat was more valuable than the rice already in the warehouse.
Zhu, however, was more experienced. Although Jiaxing wasn't known for growing wheat, he recognized these as seed grains at a glance, and such high-quality seeds would fetch a much higher price than ordinary grains. As for their origin, he took one look at Huang Xuan, who was nonchalantly playing with a handful of wheat, and decided that the matter was none of his concern—it was something for his boss to worry about.
"And what about the price?" Zhu asked, trying to mask his eagerness with a calm exterior.
"Seventy percent of the market price," Huang Xuan responded, holding up one finger. "I'll give you until tomorrow to gather the silver. I only accept silver dollars—nothing else."
At this time, Chiang Kai-shek hadn't yet implemented his currency reform, but merchants generally preferred to be paid in silver dollars, which were considered hard currency. However, gathering such a large amount of silver in a single day might be challenging for a shop like Zhu's. Zhu hesitated, torn between the enticing profit margin and the difficulty of raising enough cash.
Huang Xuan didn't notice Zhu's internal struggle; he was eager to unload the grain as quickly as possible. Without waiting for Zhu to respond, he continued, "Could you also lend me two more warehouses? We can calculate the rent later."
"That won't be a problem," Zhu agreed readily. With grain sales high and purchases low over the past two months, most of his warehouses were nearly empty. After glancing at Huang Xuan and then at the grain in the warehouse, he made up his mind. "I'll send the money over this evening."
"I'll be waiting," Huang Xuan replied with a shrug, his tone nonchalant.
By midday, news that Zhu had secured a large shipment of grain spread like wildfire through the docks. Numerous shop representatives began to hover around the area, clearly interested in making a deal. Huang Xuan pretended not to notice, staying in the warehouse with Jiang Yisheng, watching the shop attendants weigh and count the wheat.
Lorin had placed about fifteen tons of wheat in the warehouse, discarding all packaging materials to avoid revealing any modern clues. His methods of concealing evidence of their time-travel origins were far more efficient than Huang Xuan's. Based on the local counting method, the wheat amounted to around 250 shi, and even more if calculated using smaller shi. Although Shanghai and other places had begun adopting the British measurement system, the attendants in Ganpu were still more comfortable with the traditional methods.
Huang Xuan kept his own mental tally and wasn't too concerned about anyone trying to cheat him. After asking Jiang Yisheng to keep an eye on things, he wandered off to explore the town, uninterested in the tedious details of the transaction. He wanted to experience the transitional era firsthand and perhaps stumble upon a windfall along the way.
If time had permitted, Lorin's data could have yielded profits a hundred or even a thousand times greater. However, whether due to Huang Xuan's limited access or Lorin's capabilities, Lorin had only granted Huang Xuan three days to stay in this world. He couldn't even guarantee how much time would pass in Huang Xuan's world during his absence—perhaps only a day, perhaps three. Faced with this uncertainty, Huang Xuan didn't dare linger too long.
Reflecting on the information Lorin had provided, Huang Xuan felt a twinge of regret. The late 19th and early 20th centuries were a time of explosive creativity. People, having just experienced technological advances, economic crises, and world wars, had a wealth of emotions to express. The fruits of these expressions would later become the obsessions of countless collectors.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the sheer volume of information generated during this period was overwhelming. Many of those who lived through it didn't receive the recognition they deserved during their lifetimes. Van Gogh, for example, sold only one painting, "The Red Vineyard," during his life, and it was reportedly out of sympathy for his brother Theo. When Van Gogh learned that his painting had sold for 400 francs, he joyfully told Theo, "Can you believe it? My paintings will sell for at least 500 francs after I'm gone." However, a century later, Van Gogh's "Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers" would sell for $48 million, the highest price ever paid for a Western painting at the time.
In 1890, Van Gogh took his own life. Thirty-seven years later, in 1927, $10,000 could have bought all of his works. Seventy years after that, those works would be worth enough to land anyone on the Forbes billionaires list. But alas, Huang Xuan didn't have the time to hunt them down.
It wasn't just Van Gogh—many artists of this era, and perhaps of all eras, rarely found success during their lifetimes, and the prices of their works fluctuated accordingly. Picasso, Malevich, Henri Rousseau—over the course of a century, their works increased in value a hundredfold, making art one of the most lucrative investments of all time.
But Huang Xuan's lament had nothing to do with the artists' lives. He simply regretted that he didn't have the time to visit Paris, where he could have bought a few pieces to bring back. Given the transportation conditions of the time, even a trip to Shanghai or Beijing would be a hassle. Otherwise, he might have tried to acquire works from Qi Baishi or Xu Beihong, the latter of whom had just returned to China in April—a prime opportunity to commission new pieces.
It was all time's fault. Huang Xuan sighed again, abandoning the tempting idea.
"Why the sigh, young man?" A voice startled Huang Xuan out of his thoughts.
It was just after midday, and the dock workers were toiling shirtless, their oiled arms gleaming in the sun as they labored for their evening meal. The rhythmic chants of their work echoed in the distance. Huang Xuan steadied himself and turned to find a man with a fine beard standing before him, his hair and beard jet-black, and his silk clothing of the finest quality. Although not elderly, his demeanor was that of someone much older.
"It's nothing serious," Huang Xuan replied, though in his heart, he thought, It's very serious. He was inwardly bleeding at the thought of how transporting a batch of masterpieces back home would have made him the wealthiest of his generation in the Huang family. He could buy any luxury he desired—a sports car, a yacht, even a gaming company...
The man before him, unaware of Huang Xuan's musings, gracefully stroked his beard. "Might you be Mr. Huang?"
"Indeed," Huang Xuan replied, his curiosity piqued. "And you are?"
Unfortunately, the same gesture lacked the gravitas when performed by a fifteen-year-old boy. The man smiled warmly. "My name is Zhou Shuming. I've heard that a young merchant has recently arrived in Ganpu with a thousand shi of grain, and I've come to see for myself."
"Oh?"
"I wonder if Mr. Huang might be willing to part with some for my firm?" Zhou Shuming didn't seem to underestimate Huang Xuan because of his age. In fact, in these tumultuous times, many warlords and politicians made their fortunes amidst the chaos, and their children and relatives served as their eyes and ears. Huang Xuan's age made it quite plausible that he had a powerful father somewhere. Although Ganpu was a small town, Zhou had seen his fair share of such scions.
Huang Xuan offered a shy smile, still unaccustomed to conducting business without a script. Or rather, he wasn't used to acting out a business negotiation without a carefully rehearsed performance. Despite this, he discreetly scanned the dock, half-expecting a band of thugs to spring out at him.
The dockworkers' chants continued, and Huang Xuan couldn't help but chuckle at his own cinematic imagination. Returning his gaze to Zhou Shuming, he maintained his smile. "It's not that I'm unwilling, but rather..."
"Is it because of your relationship with the Xieqiao Grain Shop? If so, I have some influence there, so you needn't worry," Zhou Shuming said, addressing Huang Xuan as "Mr. Huang" three times, to which Huang Xuan found himself stifling a laugh. He shook his head, replying, "I'm not concerned about Mr. Zhu; it's just that I'm here for other reasons and don't want to be troubled with too many distractions."
"What might those reasons be? Would you care to share them with me?" Zhou Shuming inquired.
Now feeling more at ease, Huang Xuan weighed his words carefully. "My father is a lover of classical Chinese studies, and he has heard that in recent years, many books in the Jiaxing area have been lost, causing him great distress. This time, I've brought grain not only to aid the people of Jiangsu and Zhejiang but also to purchase a batch of books to take home. Making money is only a secondary concern."
His words, a mix of truth and fabrication, carried a sense of pride that came naturally to someone raised in privilege. This left Zhou Shuming both intrigued and uncertain, unable to fully discern Huang Xuan's true identity.