The Bund Chronicles - Chapter 42: Claiming Turf and the Revolver's Might

The sun hung high above the shanty town, and the wind, carrying the fishy scent of the river, twisted the blue smoke rising from the campfire.

Standing in the center of the clearing, Chen Lin looked tall and straight in his royal blue satin waistcoat. The brim of his fedora cast a shadow over his eyes, and though his voice was not loud when he spoke, it carried an unquestionable steadiness. "Everyone, please sit down."

The faint trace of contempt that had previously lingered among the crowd was instantly suppressed and dissipated by these words.

An old man raised his eyes to appraise him, his rough fingers clutching his tattered collar as he slowly shuffled closer to the campfire.

"Our young master employer is truly young and promising!" The first to speak was Chen Changhe, who broke into a smile that revealed his toothless gums, his voice tinged with a probing, eager warmth.

"You flatter me." Chen Lin raised a hand in a vague gesture of modesty and turned his gaze to Han Zhongxin beside him. "Old Han, do introduce everyone to me."

The initial liaison in this region had been handled entirely by Han Zhongxin, and today marked his first official appearance. Han Zhongxin stepped half a step forward, pointed at the gray-haired men gathered around the campfire, and called out their names one by one: "This is Elder Chen Changhe of the Chen clan, the Clan Head of the Shen family, and the principal representatives of the Li and Wang families..."

With over a dozen surnames and names all different, Chen Lin did not remember them all, but he firmly etched Chen Changhe of the same surname into his memory, the man's toothless mouth leaving a particularly deep impression.

Once Han Zhongxin finished the introductions, Chen Lin spoke in a steady tone, "Gentle-men, elders, Manager Han must have already spoken with all of you. Our firm has bought this land, but we are not driving people away. For those who stay, there is only one condition: you must work for our firm."

"That is only right!" Someone in the crowd immediately echoed, and the others nodded along, heads lowered, their fingers instinctively scratching at the dirt beneath them.

No one brought up the earlier disturbance. When Han Zhongxin had originally purchased the land from the Chuansha Sub-Prefecture, the yamen runners had merely claimed it was barren alkaline wasteland. It was only when he brought people to measure it that he discovered the shanties were packed densely together.

The refugees, assuming the bailiffs had come to evict them, had grabbed their hoes and swarmed forward, nearly coming to blows.

When Han Zhongxin returned to complain to Chen Lin, he cursed the officials of Chuansha for their black hearts, noting that they had pocketed two thousand taels of silver (equivalent to a year's taxes for them) while concealing the presence of the refugees, even leaving behind the remark that "we won't help drive them out."

At the time, Han Zhongxin thought he had completely bungled the task, but Chen Lin had only smiled—he was currently fretting over a shortage of manpower.

"With me, hard work pays off handsomely." Chen Lin leaned slightly forward, the heat of the campfire brushing against his face. "Those with specialized skills who can learn technology will even be appointed to management roles, with higher salaries."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the gathered faces as his tone grew somewhat heavier. "However, there is one rule: once you enter my doors, you must not harbor divided loyalties, and above all, you must never betray us from within."

In truth, he did not need to say so much. To these refugees who could not even fill their stomachs, simply being given a way to make a living was enough.

"My boy told me that Young Master Chen possesses the ability to turn stone into gold in the foreign concessions, and he is a man of great righteousness!" Chen Changhe spoke up first, his voice sounding somewhat brighter than before. "To be able to follow Young Master Chen is our good fortune!"

"Indeed!" The Shen clan head immediately chimed in, shuffling his seat a bit closer. "Since Master Chen is giving us a meal, our Shen family will follow you from now on! The able-bodied men and women of our clan—whatever work you have for them, just arrange it however you see fit, sir!"

The rest of the people chimed in with their pledges as well, speaking all at once, their voices laden with a sense of eager urgency amidst the wind. Watching the scene, Chen Lin knew in his heart that today's trip was merely a formality to establish the master-servant hierarchy.

Lowering his head in thought, he finally said, "This land had no name before. From now on, it shall be called 'Chenjiawan'."

In the future, Chenjiawan would become an industrial zone.

The first step was to dig drainage ditches and canals, which would drain the alkaline water while also serving as a buffer zone from the outside world. The second step was to zone the area—building docks, freight yards, and warehouses along the river, a coking plant adjacent to the yards, and a dye factory further down. The coking plant would supply raw materials to the iron and steel works in the foreign concession, and coal tar could be used to manufacture dyes; both were surefire "money-printing machines."

Only with capital could they expand to a larger scale.

Halfway through the conversation, Chen Lin suddenly brought up a demand: "A school must be built here. All the children in the shanty town must go to school."

As soon as these words were uttered, the crowd fell instantly silent.

The firewood in the campfire crackled sharply, but no one spoke.

Chen Lin continued to elaborate, "What they study will not be the Four Books and Five Classics. First, they will learn to read and do arithmetic, and once they pass those, they will study physics and chemistry..."

The refugees looked at one another, their eyes filled with confusion.

It was enough for the master to provide food; why on earth would he care about the children getting an education? Wasn't this like smoke billowing from their ancestors' graves? Yet, "when abnormal things happen, there must be demons afoot." Some quietly clenched their fists, wondering if the master was plotting something against their children.

It was only when Chen Lin added, "The school will be built inside the industrial zone, meals will be provided, and the children can return home every day," that the crowd finally relaxed and nodded in succession.

No one knew that this school was, apart from Chen Lin's publishing house in the foreign concession, another one of his "talent reserves."

It takes ten years to grow a tree, but a hundred years to cultivate a person. Laying the groundwork now was not too early.

Han Zhongxin had his men distribute the provisions they had brought to each household. When the burlap sacks were undone, the fragrance of unpolished rice drifted on the wind, and the children buzzed excitedly around the sacks. Only then could this "ceremony of allegiance" be considered truly complete.

As the fleet of boats made its return journey, Pan Qiliang could no longer contain himself. He sidled up to Chen Lin, scratched his head, and asked, "Chen Lin, why did you choose this place? Hauling coal requires passing through Dianshan Lake; wouldn't it have been better to build the industrial zone over by Boss Zhou's place?"

Leaning against the gunwale, Chen Lin trailed his fingertips through the river water and smiled. "Haven't you ever heard the saying 'golden edges, silver corners, grass belly-button'? Chuansha may be a bit out of the way, but tucked away in a corner where no one is watching us—isn't that much safer?"

"I suppose that's true," Pan Qiliang rubbed the back of his head. "It's just a bit of a hassle."

"As long as navigation is open, the transportation costs won't differ by much." Chen Lin withdrew his hand and flicked away the droplets of water.

What he left unsaid was that Chuansha offered other distinct advantages as well. Just across the Yangtze River to the north lay Haimen Sub-Prefecture, and further north still was the salt-producing region populated by hundreds of thousands of salt workers; to the east, the tidal flats of Pudong offered vast tracts of land that could be reclaimed. If he invested capital to repair sea dikes and dig drainage canals, this alkaline wasteland could be transformed into fertile farmland within a few years.

Yet, for these benefits to materialize, there was a prerequisite: he had to take control of Chuansha Sub-Prefecture.

With Chuansha as his rear base and the foreign concession as his forward outpost, a grand master plan slowly crystallized in his mind.

"Old Han, start the work on the industrial zone immediately," Chen Lin turned to Han Zhongxin. "Remember to file the application and draw the funds from the accounting department."

Han Zhongxin nodded hastily, a beaming smile plastered across his face. "Rest assured, Master! My handling of affairs has always been entirely reliable!"

Chen Lin glanced at him sideways—having just been cheated by the officials of Chuansha, the man now claimed to be reliable. Still, he did not expose him, merely offering a faint smile.

As the fleet of boats passed a stretch of barren beach, Chen Lin suddenly called for a halt. "Slow down."

He felt around his waist and fished out a heavy, dark, gleaming chunk of iron, which felt weighty in his palm.

"Is that a pocket pistol?" Pan Qiliang asked, his sharp eyes instantly latching onto it as he hurried over.

"It's a revolver," Chen Lin corrected, his fingertip tapping against the frame.

"You actually own something like this?" Pan Qiliang widened his eyes, then drew his own small, purple-handled dagger and flourished it in front of Chen Lin. "Still, this gadget of yours isn't as fast as my blade."

Chen Lin raised an eyebrow. "Really? Care to test it out?"

In truth, he simply wanted to test-fire the gun while there was no one around. In his past life, aside from mandatory military training, he had never touched a real firearm. Furthermore, the revolvers of this era were far more complex to operate than modern weapons; if he didn't practice, the next time he encountered danger, he might fail to fire it altogether.

The chambers were already loaded with bullets, the brass percussion caps neatly lined up at the rear of the cylinder.

Aiming toward a distant patch of reeds without taking deliberate aim, he pulled the trigger.

*Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!*

Five gunshots merged into a single continuous roar, the concussive force making the air itself tremble.

A flock of waterfowl burst abruptly from the reed thicket, beating their wings frantically as they surged toward the sky.

Chen Lin felt his entire arm go numb, and the web of his thumb stung sharply.

Pan Qiliang stood beside him with his mouth hanging open wide enough to stuff an egg into, unsure whether he was stunned by the gunfire or shocked by the spectacle.

He stood frozen in a daze for quite a while before stammering, "Th-this thing can fire consecutively?"

He had seen pocket pistols before, but they were always single-shot muzzle-loaders; he had never witnessed a weapon capable of firing five shots in succession.

In their usual brawls, close-quarters combat was the norm. If a pocket pistol missed on its first shot, the wielder was left entirely at the mercy of others, which was why he had always believed a blade was the most reliable weapon.

Yet Chen Lin's weapon was entirely different—firing five consecutive shots with sufficient accuracy meant taking on five opponents at once posed no problem at all.

Deep down, he knew full well that no matter how formidable one's martial prowess might be, it could never outrun a bullet.

Chen Lin blew stylishly on the muzzle of the gun and asked with a smile, "Well? Is it faster than you?"

"It's fast, all right," Pan Qiliang stubbornly retorted, "but at this distance, I wouldn't give you the chance to draw."

"Never mind then." Chen Lin put the gun away with an expression of mild regret.

Pan Qiliang froze for half a second before registering the implication. "What do you mean, 'never mind'?"

The corners of Chen Lin's mouth curled upward as he drawled, "I was actually planning to give you one. Since you look down on it, I suppose we'll just drop the matter."

"Ah!" Pan Qiliang's expression shifted instantly. He grabbed Chen Lin's sleeve, his voice turning pleadingly soft. "No, Mr. Chen! No, Brother Chen! I was just running my mouth earlier! You're fast—you're truly fast!"

He shook Chen Lin's arm with the air of a spoiled child. "I want one! Give me one!"

As James had once said, firearms were a man's toys. Who could possibly refuse such a thing?