"See you later!"
"Let's go together, my dear."
The morning sun bathed the humble home in its golden glow as Father took his daughter's hand and stepped outside. For the first time since leaving his job, Father walked his young daughter to school.
Yuna, only ten years old, had just begun attending a foreign school this year—a place offering structured education unlike the local Qing academies.
Classes were taught in British-style English, which proved challenging for her to follow. Yet, sending her to school to meet friends and learn seemed far better than keeping her at home, waiting endlessly for her older brother's return.
Father, too, had supported the decision wholeheartedly. The foreign school was a symbol of prestige among the parents, and he believed it was the best he could do for his child, given his inability to be present as often as he wished.
Watching Yuna's small hand clutch Father's as they left the house tugged at Fang Ming's heart. His younger sister, still so innocent and pure, was stepping into a world that demanded she communicate in a language she had only begun to learn a year ago.
"She'll grow stronger," Fang Ming thought, swallowing the ache in his chest. "Keeping her sheltered forever won't help her."
Yet, despite his resolve, the morning air carried a bittersweet weight, and Fang Ming began his day with the faint sting of unshed tears.
---
It was Friday, a day reserved for weekly reviews and settlements. Fang Ming had built an operation that now employed roughly 80 individuals, most of them teenagers like himself. A handful of workers were in their twenties, bringing a touch of experience to the youthful workforce.
The decision to settle wages weekly rather than monthly had been a practical one. When Fang Ming first recruited the street kids, he couldn't guarantee that they'd have enough to sustain themselves until the end of the month. Many of them had lived day to day, unsure if their next meal would come. Weekly payments gave them security and allowed Fang Ming to make swift adjustments to operations when issues arose.
The challenges were constant.
Most of his workers had never handled responsibilities beyond mere survival. A simple request to procure wood for ironing boards could snowball into confusion—where to buy it, how to find the best prices, or even understanding the difference between cheap and high-quality timber.
Fang Ming had learned to guide them step by step, inspecting every detail himself. Over time, his persistence bore fruit. Though the operation was still far from fully independent, the workers had grown adept at following procedures and resolving smaller issues on their own.
Still, Fang Ming never forgot his origins. Despite managing a burgeoning business, he maintained his original trade: shoe-shining.
On Friday mornings, before reviewing reports, Fang Ming always took his place in the bustling streets near the military base. With a sturdy chair and a footrest ready, he awaited customers. It wasn't a matter of necessity—Fang Ming's financial success had long surpassed what a shoeshine could earn.
"Hey, Fang Ming! You're out here again?"
Fang Ming turned to see Sergeant Brian approaching, his hearty laughter echoing down the street. Beside him stood another man, sharp and imposing in his posture.
"Ah, Sergeant Brian! And who's this gentleman with you?"
" FAng Ming, meet my friend, Lieutenant Lyman Littell. Don't let his short stature fool you—he's an elite officer who earned his rank at just twenty-six."
Fang Ming straightened instinctively, his gaze flickering between the two men. The sight of a sergeant introducing a lieutenant as his "friend" was almost comical—a peasant claiming kinship with nobility. Yet, Brian's easy mannerisms bridged the gap between their statuses, and Fang Ming, ever the strategist, quickly saw an opportunity.
"Greetings, Lieutenant! My name is Fang Ming." He extended a hand but withdrew it quickly, realizing his hands were still stained from the polish.
Lyman chuckled. "So you're the famous fang Ming. Brian's been talking my ear off about you. Says you're a funny one—and quite the businessman."
"He exaggerates,"Fang Ming replied, flashing a modest smile. "I'm just fortunate to meet interesting people like yourself."
Brian grinned. "See? I told you he's amusing. He makes more money than either of us and still shines shoes every morning!"
Fang Ming's smile froze for a moment before he recovered. The comparison of wages grated on him. It was the kind of remark that would start fights among soldiers in his homeland. But Fang Ming, ever the tactician, chose diplomacy.
"What's wrong with shoe-shining?"Fang Ming said lightly. "It lets me meet people from all walks of life. Without it, I wouldn't have the honor of meeting you, Lieutenant."
Lyman studied the boy, intrigued. "So, Ming, do you find value in spending your time like this?"
Ming's pride prickled at the question, but he masked it with an easy laugh. "Until this morning, it was just another day. But now that I've met you, Lieutenant, it's already more valuable than yesterday!"
The lieutenant burst into laughter, his reserved demeanor cracking. "You've got a sharp tongue, boy. I like that. It's rare to see someone so young with such wit."
Fang Ming bowed his head slightly, hiding the satisfaction that gleamed in his eyes. He had secured another ally in his growing network.
---
The conversation turned casual, and Brian's curiosity flared. "Fang Ming, what does your father do? I bet he's as extraordinary as you."
Fang Ming hesitated, then smiled faintly. "He works in shipping, managing logistics on the seas."
Brian whistled. "Shipping, eh? So your family's well-off. Makes even less sense why you'd bother with shoe-shining."
Fang Ming didn't correct the assumption. Let them think what they wanted—for now. One day, perhaps, his father would truly become the shipping magnate they imagined.
Lyman's interest deepened. "If your father's in shipping, he should visit the military base. There's an upcoming contract for large-scale logistics. He might find it lucrative."
"Ah, you mean the supply operation for the forward base being built near the mainland?"Fang Ming asked.
Lyman nodded. "Yes. The Empire's constructing facilities along the coast—both here in Hong Kong and in Quanzhou. They're framing it as diplomacy, but we both know it's about control. Additional troops are being stationed there, and we'll need reliable supply chains."
Fang Ming's mind raced. The logistics of such an operation presented a golden opportunity. His gaze sharpened. This was no mere chance encounter—this was destiny knocking.
"I'll let my father know, Lieutenant. Thank you for the recommendation."
"Good. A man of the sea will find no better time to rise."
Fang Ming nodded, his thoughts already leaping ahead. The Empire's ambitions were vast, but so was his own.