Chapter 20: The Gambit Succeeds, A Clash at the Banquet

With half an hour left before the banquet, negotiations continued inside Dent’s office.

Twilight seeped through the gaps in the blinds, casting long, thin shadows across the floor. The air, once heavy with tobacco, now carried the rich, mellow aroma of coffee.

As Chen Lin finished outlining his factory proposal, Dent tipped his chin toward James. "Get Jack a chair."

James hurried to the corner and brought over an oak chair, its legs scraping against the floor with a faint sound. This was a form of recognition—an acknowledgment that Chen Lin was now qualified to sit and converse with him.

As James handed over the chair, envy flickered in his eyes. When Chen Lin sat down, however, he felt a tightness between his shoulder blades. A Latin man with chestnut curls was standing nearby, his hazel eyes fixed on Chen Lin like a hawk. He did not say a word, but his presence exerted a heavy, oppressive weight, like an invisible predator.

"Name your price, Jack." Dent placed his pipe in the ashtray, pressing his palms onto the desk until his knuckles turned white.

Chen Lin raised his hand, holding up three fingers, his fingertips taut.

James’s brow furrowed instantly. He shot Chen Lin a secret look, mouthing "too much," terrified that his excessive greed would provoke Dent.

Dent also frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk. Dent & Co. had an annual turnover of about two million silver dollars, with the opium trade accounting for seventy percent of its profit; exports were propped up by tea and raw silk. Based on Chen Lin’s vision, this patent could eventually generate over a million in annual revenue and help balance the cargo capacity of their ships. Three fingers—was he asking for three hundred thousand silver dollars?

"Thirty thousand silver dollars," Chen Lin’s voice rose calmly. "Mr. Dent, that is all I ask. You know as well as I do that this patent will pay for itself in less than a year."

The heart that had been pounding in James’s chest dropped, and he let out a silent sigh of relief.

Dent’s brow smoothed, the appreciation in his eyes deepening, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Jack, are you certain? If this price gets out, people will accuse me of bullying a child."

"Without your support, I could never have created the coagulant," Chen Lin said, leaning forward slightly with a sincere tone. "This success belongs to you as well."

"Very well." Dent suddenly raised his hand, spreading all five fingers. "I will give you fifty thousand. But you must take charge of building the coagulant factory and oversee mass production. If the output doesn't meet demand, the patent is worthless."

The extra twenty thousand was not an act of kindness; it was a way to bind Chen Lin firmly to his interests. If the coagulant was to be used on a large scale, it required industrial production, and that burden had to rest on Chen Lin’s shoulders.

"Consider it done, sir!" Chen Lin replied immediately, his back straightening. "As long as the equipment is provided, I will get the production line running."

Dent turned to James, his tone grave. "Assist Jack. Have the fleet transport the equipment from Calcutta." As for the suggestion regarding the cement plant, he had adopted the idea, but he had other plans for it and did not entrust it to Chen Lin.

"I am to assist him?" James looked astonished, his voice rising. "Sir, I am a manager at the firm..." It was highly irregular for him to assist a junior clerk who had just been promoted.

"He was recruited by you; it is only natural that you assist him," Dent said, his tone brook no argument, his eyes resolute.

Chen Lin looked at James and bowed with a smile. "I leave it to you, Manager James."

"Fine, I'll assist you," James sighed, then gave a wink. "But when the new factory is built, I’m claiming a share of the credit."

"Of course," Chen Lin nodded.

***

"That is all. Take him to the banquet hall, but don't wander off." Dent waved his hand, his gaze returning to his documents. "The banquet is about to begin."

After the office door closed, only Dent and the Latin man remained. The warmth vanished from Dent’s face, his eyes turning cold as he rubbed his thumb against his pipe. "Nicholas, what do you make of this boy?"

"Sir, do you really think he is a boy?" Nicholas countered, his voice low and raspy. "I see a level of maturity in him that even most adults lack."

His judgment of people was always sharp. At Dent & Co., while he seemed less conspicuous than James, he managed the opium trade—the core business that accounted for seventy percent of the firm’s sales in China—and was Dent’s most trusted confidant.

"Oh?" Dent raised an eyebrow, picking up a file to leaf through it. "What did you see?"

"His words are watertight, and his actions are planned," Nicholas said, leaning against the wall with his gaze fixed on the door. "His asking price of thirty thousand showed sincerity without making you think him greedy. And now, taking the initiative to build the factory—he is no simpleton."

***

Outside the office, James led Chen Lin toward the banquet hall.

Wall lamps glowed in the corridor, their warm yellow light illuminating oil paintings—scenes of the River Thames, bustling with ships and activity. The banquet hall was already filled with the sound of voices. Silverware was laid out on long tables, crystal glasses sparkled under the lights, and waiters were arranging pastries on trays, the scent of buttered bread drifting through the air.

James greeted various foreigners as they passed, casually handing a croissant to Chen Lin and patting him on the shoulder. "Jack, congratulations. You’re about to become a small fortune-maker."

"I have Mr. James to thank for the introduction," Chen Lin said, accepting the bread with a modest tone.

"Don't thank me; the coagulant was your own invention," James said, scratching his head with curiosity. "How on earth did you come up with it?"

"Alchemy, I suppose," Chen Lin said, biting into the bread and speaking vaguely. "Just pondering in my mind—deciding what I wanted, and then trying to find similar things to convert..."

He spoke in riddles, leaving James utterly confused. Just as James was about to press for more, a crisp female voice rang out from behind them: "If I want gold, what do I need to convert it?"

"Miss!" James’s expression instantly turned deferential. He spun around and bowed so low his waist nearly touched his knees.

Chen Lin turned as well. The young woman before him wore a white Western-style gown embroidered with delicate lace, her skin as white as snow. Most striking was her appearance—her dark hair was styled in a Western updo, and her black eyes resembled obsidian submerged in water. Yet, her features held the deep-set grace of a Western woman; this blend of East and West was so beautiful it was hard to look away.

"Greetings, Miss," Chen Lin followed suit with a bow, secretly guessing her identity.

"You are Jack? The 'chemist'?" The girl tilted her head, her eyes full of curiosity. At that time, there was no standard term for "chemist" in Europe—the words for chemist, pharmacist, and alchemist were used interchangeably. That she used this term suggested she was well-read.

"You flatter me, Miss," Chen Lin lowered his head, feigning shyness. His earlobes flushed red—not from nerves, but because the scent of her perfume was cloyingly sweet, like freshly picked strawberries.

Yet, Jenny caught a glimmer of composure in his lowered eyes, not a trace of which seemed feigned.

She couldn't help but press further: "You said earlier that similar things can be converted? Then what is closest to gold?"

In this era, people only knew that gold was panned or mined; the idea of "conversion" had never crossed their minds.

James broke into a cold sweat. This was Miss Jenny, Dent’s daughter. She was as difficult as her father, and if Chen Lin answered poorly, he would be in trouble.

Chen Lin looked up, meeting Jenny’s gaze. He tapped his temple lightly, his voice clear: "Knowledge."

"Hahaha..." Jenny suddenly covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling as her laughter rang out as clear as wind chimes.

The foreigners nearby turned to look, their eyes darting between the two.

"How interesting," she said once her laughter subsided, her interest deepening. "You are right—you used knowledge to trade with my father for fifty thousand silver dollars, enough to buy a mountain of gold."

Just then, a young man in a tailored suit approached. His blond hair was braided, his bangs slicked back with pomade until they shone, and his mustache was perfectly trimmed. His eyes held a look of flippancy.

"Young Master Shawn!" James hurried forward, reaching out to greet him.

But Shawn didn't even look at him. He walked straight to Jenny, his gaze clinging to her, his tone suggestive: "Miss Jenny."

"Shawn? I thought you had already returned?" The smile on Jenny’s face vanished instantly, her tone distant.

Shawn laughed. "Aren't you returning to Hong Kong? I am waiting for you so we can travel together."

Shawn was the youngest son of Jardine of the Jardine Matheson firm. He had known Jenny since childhood but was a notorious playboy and a sadist—at age ten, he had shot and killed one of his family's servants. He had always believed he was the only one worthy of Jenny.

Seeing Jenny laugh at Chen Lin had stirred his jealousy.

Seeing Jenny reject him in public, Shawn turned his gaze to Chen Lin. He feigned surprise, his voice rising: "Huh? Why is there a Qing person here?"

He paced around Chen Lin as if inspecting merchandise, a sneer curling his lips. "Lad, isn't your suit a bit too big? Suits must be custom-made to fit properly."

"Do you know?" he raised his voice so the surrounding foreigners could hear, "Last time I was at the London Zoo, I saw a chimpanzee in a suit—he looked exactly like him from behind!"

"Hahahaha!" Several young Westerners nearby broke into raucous laughter, the sound grating, their gazes filled with contempt.

Jenny’s face darkened instantly. Chen Lin was an employee of Dent & Co.; mocking him was an insult to the firm itself.

She was about to speak, but she saw Chen Lin standing still, his expression unchanged. He looked as if he hadn't understood the English, his eyes as calm as a deep pool of water.

In Chen Lin's eyes, these young foreigners were no different from white pigs in a sty—relying on their families' influence to bully others, forgetting that they were only living comfortable lives thanks to the dividends of "colonialism."

He gripped the bread in his hand, his nails sinking into the soft dough. One day, he would make these people understand who the real target of mockery should be.

James was sweating profusely, wanting to defend Chen Lin, but Chen Lin stopped him with a glance.