Chapter 42 – The Japanese Merchant
“But I heard he knows German middlemen; maybe the machines are made in Germany…”
Lord Bai Jiu said, “The most important thing in a distillery isn’t the machines.”
Bai Mingzhe was confused, and suddenly felt a jolt in his heart: “Y-You mean…”
Lord Bai Jiu paused for a moment and said, “I’ve assigned Zhang Huwei to accompany you. In the past few days, he’s been there with people to escort you and your wife in and out. The distillery is also under supervision. Remember, no matter what happens, people are more important than machines.”
Bai Mingzhe nodded and hurried off.
*
Heihe.
Fang Ji’an was living a hard life.
His small distillery employed only one worker. Ever since moving out of the busiest street several years ago, he had been struggling. Even the 40,000 firecrackers set off during the relocation couldn’t dispel the bad luck; business kept declining. Next to his workshop was a mill producing a lot of dust, which constantly irritated him.
The worker he hired was lazy and careless, barely paying attention to the master’s temper. If scolded, he would get up and do some half-hearted work—there wasn’t much to do in the small distillery anyway.
One day, visitors arrived bearing several expensive gifts.
Fang Ji’an ushered them in while exchanging pleasantries: “Master Sun, long time no see. How have you been recently?”
The visitor was Master Sun of another distillery in Heihe. He politely exchanged a few words and had a middle-aged man in a suit with him—pale-skinned, clean-shaven, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, quite different from the locals.
Fang Ji’an brought them inside and sent his worker out to buy tea and snacks.
When the worker returned to collect money, he overheard laughter inside. The suited man had a strange accent—he was Japanese. The worker glanced at him again.
Fang Ji’an gave him a dime and urged him to leave, then said to the guest: “Please, Mr. Ito, have a seat and try this tea.”
The Japanese merchant, named Ito, smiled and nodded, sipping the tea before speaking: “I know a little about tea, but when it comes to liquor, I know quite a bit. I’ve long admired your brewing skills, Mr. Fang, and wanted to pay a visit.”
He brought many gifts and boasted at length. Fang Ji’an, feeling proud, was flattered. After all, his ancestors had truly mastered brewing, producing unique high-quality spirits in Heihe that others couldn’t match.
Yet he remained cautious. He exchanged pleasantries but didn’t reveal a word about brewing.
Innately proud, Fang Ji’an had become slightly resentful after years of setbacks. Hearing Ito mention Heihe distilleries, he couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness.
Ito had come specifically for the Fang family’s secret brewing recipe, unaware of the family rules. He assumed Fang Ji’an had a copy.
When Ito spoke of wanting to learn brewing, Fang Ji’an went silent, puffing on his cigarette and casting a glance at Master Sun: “Sun, are you vouching for him?”
“Just introducing us. We all share a love for liquor, so let’s understand each other,” Sun replied, smoothing things over.
Fang Ji’an wasn’t naïve. He sneered: “Then why not ‘understand’ each other at your Sun family distillery first? Your Changshan liquor isn’t bad either—excellent strong liquor!”
Sun paused, then said, “Already done. Our family’s secret recipe has been handed to Mr. Ito.”
Fang Ji’an froze and frowned.
Every family’s brewing recipe was tightly guarded; it was the foundation of a distillery. He couldn’t understand why Master Sun would hand over his family’s legacy to this Japanese merchant.
Sun sighed: “Master Fang, times have changed. Mr. Ito brought a ship with three complete sets of brewing equipment, the same as what the Bai family trading company currently uses.”
Fang Ji’an’s eyes widened.
A month—neither long nor short—had passed.
The Bai family convoy had left the provincial capital just over a month ago. Qinghe County remained unchanged, but Heihe had transformed.
When Fang Jiwu returned home from a short holiday at the clan school, the household was different.
Although they still lived in the same courtyard, the hall now had a few new red pine furniture pieces. His younger siblings wore new clothes, and even the usually greedy little sister had a few candies in her pocket.
Not only had the home changed, but the family’s old distillery had also relocated—not to a remote area, but back to the bustling street of a few years prior. They had converted the largest silk store into a liquor shop, announcing the Fang family’s renewed wealth.
Fang Ji’an himself looked different, wearing a silk robe that rustled as he moved, dignified and imposing.
During the day, he oversaw the new shop and three workers. At night, back home, he drank and complained about Fang Yurou and the Bai family, grumbling nonstop about machines and money.
The children were happier than usual. With money in hand, Fang Ji’an’s drinking sessions left them free to sneak a bite.
“The bank? That’s the Bai family’s! They all look down on me… Hah! Now I can wear a marmot coat, my wallet is full! Wait and see; one day, they’ll have to treat me politely…” Fang Ji’an drunkenly grumbled.
Fang Jiwu helped his mother put him to bed. Fang Ji’an slept soundly, unaware.
Fang Jiwu glanced at the new furnishings and frowned: “Mother, what’s going on?”
“Ah, your father now does business with Master Sun. I don’t understand much, but it seems Sun produces the liquor and your father sells it. We have more silver than before,” his mother stammered.
It didn’t take long for Fang Jiwu to understand.
Fang Ji’an was doing business with Japanese merchants. In recent years, more Japanese had arrived in the North, and the provincial government’s stance was unstable. The governor of the three northern provinces was hot-tempered, showing no favor to Russians or Japanese. Last month, a Japanese merchant injured a civilian in the street. The governor, furious, had one Japanese man’s leg broken in public and sent to their consulate.
When Fang Jiwu tried to reason with his father after he sobered up, he received only a slap and sarcastic remarks: “You eat my food, drink my wine, and still want to manage my affairs?”
Fang Jiwu remained silent, covering his face: “Father, I want to see it too.”
Fang Ji’an looked at him, smirked, and said, “That’s right. Come, I’ll show you our new shop. Don’t be like Wang Jingqiu, reading till your brain rots. Life’s about money—money brings a few good days.”
Fang Jiwu followed to the new store. It was grand, but the jars of liquor on the counters were in new packaging, not the familiar ones.
“New bottles, old liquor. Our secret recipe is handled by Master Sun. We just take the shares and wait for dividends,” Fang Ji’an said proudly, recounting the past few days’ events.
Fang Jiwu quietly listened.
Soon, there was a visitor—the Japanese merchant Ito.
Fang Ji’an took Ito to a small room on the second floor to talk, with Fang Jiwu standing behind his father.
Ito was a smooth talker, humble even toward a minor figure like Fang Ji’an. This pleased Fang Ji’an. Flicking his ash, he said: “I’ve been to the trading company you mentioned. Nothing new—just new bakeries, coffee shops, sausage shops. When my old master was alive, I supplied them with liquor. Winter was bitterly cold, toes would freeze…”
Ito smiled: “Yes, I’ve heard. I brought a gift—a fine marmot coat with knee guards and boots, two sets in total. Please accept it.”
Fang Ji’an eyed it covetously but didn’t take it. He knew his “secret recipe” wasn’t worth such gifts.
Ito sipped tea and talked from stored liquor jars to this year’s grains—sorghum and wheat. He knew the rainfall well.
Fang Ji’an laughed: “Yes, sunlight and rain were good this year; soil is fertile. Our harvest is fine. I heard the provincial capital had floods, maybe grain won’t be easy to buy. High demand there… Mr. Ito, do you want to buy soybeans and sorghum, sell at a high price? Even the British order soybeans.”
Ito shook his head with a smile: “This year’s sorghum is abundant, perfect for brewing.”
One of Fang Ji’an’s liquors was strong, using sorghum as the main ingredient.
Fang Ji’an flicked ash, silent.
Ito continued: “Master Fang, new machines will arrive soon—three sets. But how much liquor can six distillation units produce?” He tapped the table, implying: “Investing in a distillery can be big or small. Small requires 20–30 thousand silver; big up to 50 thousand. Maximum usually under 100,000… Please consider carefully.”
Fang Ji’an said: “Different fields, different mountains. You sell machines but don’t understand brewing. Our brewing budget isn’t just for machines. Did you check grain prices? Consider where to sell? Have you thought this through?”
Ito said: “I’ve never brewed, but I long to learn real brewing techniques. My technicians want hands-on experience at your site.”
Fang Ji’an’s heart skipped a beat.
Ito still smiled but with calculated composure: “Money and equipment aren’t a problem. We’re preparing a large distillery. The machines are from Germany, fully equipped. We can cooperate. But using your and Master Sun’s recipe for mass production—do you think it will sell well?”
Fang Ji’an broke into a cold sweat. He realized Ito had come prepared: dangling a hook before offering a piece of meat, holding a long line, waiting for him to bite.
Ito said: “I heard you and Ms. Fang Yurou of Heihe Distillery are close. Then in her distillery…”
Fang Ji’an suddenly turned, scolding: “Jiwu, go out! Close the door. I have matters to discuss with Mr. Ito.”
Fang Jiwu hesitated, took the reprimand, and left, shutting the door behind him, leaving only the shadows of his father and the gradually fading conversation.
