Beiyang Dream

Chapter 70 Crossing Over to the South Seas, Home in Southeast Asia

February 28, 1891, 3:30 p.m. Pontianak Port.

The weather here is unbearably humid. The sun is scorching, and the air is heavy with moisture, making it feel like being in a steamer.

Chang Desheng sat in a Western-style four-wheeled carriage, Zhang Bishi's. The carriage had a black lacquered body with brass trim, and the windows were polished to a shine, making it particularly conspicuous in this dilapidated place. He wore a silk short-sleeved shirt and a straw hat, and was idly fanning himself with a folding fan. His eyes, however, were never idle.

The carriage slowly moved forward along the dirt road beside the Pontianak River. Chang Desheng peered through the glass window at the "port" outside and began to mutter in a very authentic Tianjin accent:

"What is this? This is just a port? Look at those wooden piers, wobbling like an old lady's teeth... If this were Dagu Port in Tianjin, they would have been kicked into the river and rebuilt long ago!"

Several wooden piers, which he considered to be only fit to be dismantled and rebuilt, stretched into the murky waters of the Pontianak River, where two small steamships and a large number of sailboats were moored. The laborers, shirtless, shouted work chants as they unloaded cargo from the boats.

The Dutch flagpole stood at the entrance of the dock office, the flag drooping listlessly. Several Dutch policemen in white uniforms and sun hats, with guns slung over their shoulders, leaned lazily against the wall in the shade, watching the Chinese laborers on the dock unload, load, and transport boxes of goods away, without a single one of them thinking of inspecting them.

Chang Desheng cursed inwardly: Paper tiger!

The Dutch rule here relied on sowing discord and, at best, a mixed colonial army of white and native incompetent soldiers. Then they simply levied exorbitant taxes! The Dutch were shrewd in this business—minimizing costs and maximizing profits.

The carriage continued forward, entering what was known as the "white neighborhood."

There were about ten two-story buildings, white walls and red tiles, surrounded by a low wall, with palm and banana trees planted in the courtyard. The streets were relatively clean, but you could tell they were quite old. Occasionally, a horse-drawn carriage would pass by, carrying foreigners in suits or long skirts. Several local servants squatted in the shade by the door, dozing off. Chang Desheng glanced at them and then memorized them.

The European district in Pontianak covers an area roughly the size of two football fields. The building quality is acceptable, but it lacks maintenance. The exterior paint is peeling, and the waterproofing was not done properly.

As for its defensive value, it's practically zero. With no walls, no fortifications, it's far inferior to the Manchu cities within the Qing Dynasty. What kind of colonial outpost is this? It's just a high-class staff dormitory area!

So if anything happens to Pontianak, those European gentlemen will be the first to run away.

After crossing a narrow street, the scenery suddenly changed.

We've arrived in the indigenous area.

The wooden huts and stilt houses were crammed together, crooked and twisted. The roads were full of potholes, sewage flowed everywhere, and the stench was overwhelming. Men, shirtless and wearing only a piece of cloth, squatted in the doorways, women hurried past carrying water jugs on their heads, and children rolled around in the mud. Everyone looked dark and thin, with numb eyes.

But in the middle of this dilapidated place, two "islands" stand out abruptly.

One is the Sultan's Palace. It's in the Islamic style, with domes and minarets. Although not particularly grand, the walls are high and there are armed guards standing at the entrance, making it look quite impressive.

The other one is a mosque. It's smaller than the royal palace, but cleaner, and the white walls are a bit dazzling in the sunlight.

As Chang Desheng's caravan, consisting of more than a dozen carriages and about thirty mounted guards from the Zhang family, passed through this dilapidated area, the local people who were squatting, lying, or walking by the roadside all stopped what they were doing.

Hundreds and thousands of eyes shot over.

His eyes were like those of a hungry wolf eyeing a fat sheep, but he was intimidated by the hunting dogs around the flock and dared not approach.

Chang Desheng could even clearly see a lean, local youth by the roadside, staring intently at the carriage Luo Jingrou had given Qingzi behind. He swallowed hard, licked his chapped lips, and looked ready to pounce. But when the youth's gaze fell upon the Zhang family's servant riding a tall horse beside the carriage, a revolver at his waist, his fierce glint immediately vanished, replaced by fear. He instinctively took a half-step back and hid in the crowd. "Fearing power but not virtue," Chang Desheng muttered in Tianjin dialect, only he could hear. "Our ancestors' words hold true everywhere. Fine, since you only believe this, then I'll make you fear to the end! A Maxim gun up, barbed wire pulled up—let's see who dares to come forward!" He was already mentally drawing up a defense map of the Luo family manor.

At least three layers of barbed wire, spaced thirty meters apart, must be erected, and ditches must be added to accommodate the terrain.

Eight machine gun positions were initially set up, in pairs to form crossfire. Two pairs occupied the high ground to block the way in and out of the manor, while the other two pairs were positioned under the corner towers of the Luo family mansion wall to cover the surrounding area with firepower.

Mortars need to be deployed flexibly, but several firing positions can be pre-set. First, dig trenches and build sandbags. There should be roads connecting the pre-set positions to facilitate quick relocation.

In addition, ammunition consumption is a major expense. Shells are scarce and need to be conserved, while bullets… require reloading. Fortunately, the reloading machine tools aren't considered military supplies and can be purchased freely. The Luo family already bought them through Schneider Electric, but it's unclear whether they know how to use them.

The carriage finally left the oppressive indigenous area and turned into another neighborhood.

This is the Chinese community.

The atmosphere has changed again.

The streets were still narrow, but bustling. Shops lined both sides, their signs bearing Chinese characters: Guangxiangfa Grocery Store, Jishetang Pharmacy, Xinglong Inn, Heji Pawnshop… It was almost lunchtime, and the air was filled with the aroma of cooking oil. More people were around: Chinese men in short jackets and long robes, women with their hair in buns, and naked children running around. Although the houses were old and the streets were dirty, the vitality and lively atmosphere were something the indigenous areas lacked.

There's a Guandi Temple at the street corner, and it's quite popular with worshippers. Further ahead is the Lanfang Academy, and in the distance you can see the eaves of the Mazu Temple.

Chang Desheng was looking around when his gaze was suddenly drawn to several buildings with different styles on the roadside.

There were several two-story wooden buildings in a Japanese style, with lanterns hanging at the entrances—not red, but white paper lanterns with characters written in ink on them. Several young women stood in front of the buildings, dressed in brightly colored kimonos. As soon as they saw the Zhang family's conspicuous procession passing by, the women immediately put on smiles, waved, and called out in broken Hakka and Hokkien.

Chang Desheng raised an eyebrow and turned to ask Zhang Bishi, who was sitting opposite him, "Third Uncle, how come there are Japanese women in this area?" Zhang Bishi fanned himself, smiled, and seemed somewhat unsurprised. "Nanyang women. They're unfortunate women from poor areas of Japan, tricked and sold by human traffickers to Nanyang, where they...make a living. There are several Japanese brothels in Pontianak, all in this area."

Chang Desheng said "Oh," and remembered.

Japan's Meiji Restoration, with its factories, railways, and warships—that massive industrialization—cost far more than just government funds and landowner taxes. It's said that the sex workers of Southeast Asian women also contributed significantly. These women were one of the "blood and flesh fuels" that fueled the rise of the Japanese Empire.

He took a closer look at the Japanese-style buildings. The signs read "Songyelou" and "Sakuraya" in Chinese characters. There were not only women from Southeast Asia soliciting customers at the entrances, but also several old men, some sitting and some standing. They were also wearing kimonos, with samurai swords at their waists, short hair, and stubble beards, looking downcast and destitute.

But those people's eyes... were far more ferocious than those of the locals!

They don't look like nice guys at first glance; they might even be from the Genyosha or the Black Dragon Society!

He covered his mouth with his fan and whispered to Zhang Bishi, "Third Uncle, we need to send someone to keep an eye on these Japanese-owned buildings... There's definitely a Japanese ronin group behind this place, and further back, it might even be connected to their military headquarters!"

Zhang Bishi was somewhat skeptical, but he still nodded: "Understood, I will arrange it."

The carriage continued its journey, heading towards the outskirts of Pontianak city.

The atmosphere was completely different in the carriage behind Chang Desheng.

Luo Jingrou took a handkerchief and gently wiped away Qingzi's tears as she leaned on her shoulder.

Haruko wore a simple light blue kimono today, her hair simply tied up without any jewelry. Her eyes were red, and tears streamed down her face like broken beads. Her hand holding the handkerchief was trembling slightly.

Her gaze, through the carriage window, was fixed on a figure at the entrance of "Pine Leaf Pavilion" by the roadside.

She was a girl who looked no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She was also wearing a kimono, but the fabric was rough and the color faded to a pale white. Her small face was covered in heavy makeup inappropriate for her age, and her eyes were timid and filled with despair. She was terribly thin; the kimono hung loosely on her body, and bruises were visible on her bare neck and wrists. She didn't solicit customers; she just stood there blankly, watching people come and go on the street…

"Jingrou-jie..." Qingzi's voice choked with sobs, "Look at her... she looks about the same age as my younger sister in Japan... how could she have left her parents and hometown at such a young age... to come to a place like this..."

Luo Jingrou felt as sad as her best friend. She put her arm around Qingzi's shoulder and gently comforted her, "Qingzi, don't cry... These women are really pitiful... How about we come back here and help her redeem herself, so she can be your maid?"

"Jingrou, you're so kind. Let's go there tomorrow and help that little girl, okay?"

Luo Jingrou was slightly taken aback and subconsciously shook her head: "What would it look like if just the two of us girls went to that kind of place? If Dad finds out, he'll definitely scold me to death and will never let me go out."

Besides... Brother Zhenbang has always believed you're a spy for the Xuan Yang Society!

Why not give it a try?

Thinking of this, she said to Qingzi, "Why don't you ask Brother Zhenbang to go with you?"

Upon hearing Luo Jingrou's words, Qingzi was taken aback, a blush rising to her cheeks. Her voice was low and soft: "Sister Jingrou... would you... would you let Brother Chang accompany me? This... how could I trouble him... Besides... Brother Chang just arrived, he must have a lot of important things to do. To delay him for such a small matter..."

Seeing her shy and timid appearance, Luo Jingrou was also a little unsure, so she went along with her and said, "Then... in two days, after Brother Zhenbang finishes his work, I'll ask him to accompany you."

Haruko blushed and nodded gently, "Okay, then I'll trouble him..."

And just one day earlier, on February 27th, at the Singapore port, at 6:00 AM.

The Borneo slowly departed the port and sailed into the azure sea. Ryohei Uchida stood on the ship's railing, arms crossed, watching Singapore gradually disappear into the distance. In just over thirty hours, he would reach Pontianak and take Chang Desheng's life!