Chapter 83 — Spring Day
Taking advantage of the railway construction treaty signed years ago, the Russians had seized large stretches of land on both sides of the line, claiming various illegal privileges. Over time, more and more Russian settlers arrived, and several new institutions were established, turning the area into a state within a state.
General Bai had long been eyeing the Eastern Province railway, waiting for the right chance to reclaim full control—management, command, and operations all together.
He had soldiers under his command, and with the millions of silver in tax revenue Bai Rongjiu had funneled across the river over the past year, military funds were suddenly abundant. His spine was straight, his guns were steady, and his voice carried weight.
When provincial politicians came to speak for the Russians, their tone was entirely on the foreigners’ side. If not for their Chinese faces, one might have mistaken them for envoys from the Russian consulate.
General Bai gave such people no courtesy. His tone was cold and sharp, “The Russians now use a mere prohibition on alcohol as an excuse to alter the treaty on their own, exercising foreign powers within our territory. You eat the Emperor’s grain yet speak filth unworthy of men—utterly disgraceful!”
Anyone who dared to come to the Governor’s Office spouting such nonsense was flogged twenty times and thrown out.
By showing such a hard stance, the general made it clear—he wanted justice for the merchants of Nanfang.
The merchants wanted their money; General Bai wanted the lost land.
Everyone knew that the general’s dearest relative was Bai Rongjiu, his nephew. Outsiders thought the old general was simply protecting family, but those who knew the truth only sighed—few men in these turbulent times still possessed a heart as clear as a mirror. General Bai Xiliang was one such man.
The Bai family of the provincial capital had thrived under his support for years, and only the current head, Bai Rongjiu, truly understood the old general’s wish:
“Those who don’t know me ask what I seek. Those who know me know I worry for my land.”
Bai Rongjiu’s uproar in Nanfang fit perfectly into the general’s plan; the rest was a matter of careful coordination between uncle and nephew.
Since the treaty couldn’t be altered, General Bai demanded it be strictly enforced—by the book. The Russians were to retreat twenty li from the railway.
The Russian consulate officials were furious, shouting in protest, but they could do nothing. Bai Xiliang’s stance was always tough. Though he avoided open conflict, he had often clashed with the Japanese—a hard man to move.
When the Russians used the alcohol ban as a pretext, the general countered, “A ban, is it? Then first relocate that Russian brewery inside the Nanfang railway district. If your people are forbidden from drinking, you should start with your own breweries. Set an example, and I’ll see to restraining my men as well.”
The ban, of course, only applied to Chinese merchants, not to Russian factories—a long-standing source of resentment.
Especially after Chinese merchants had their goods confiscated and were expelled several times, some went to the consulate demanding their property back.
When those officials returned from the provincial office empty-handed, they were furious.
In November, the Russians began expelling Chinese traders under false pretenses, clearing all distillers and wine sellers within fifty li of the railway. The crackdown came suddenly and widely—many merchants had no time to react before their shops were raided.
When the wine merchants confronted the Russians, they were rudely driven away.
They could only stall for time—petitioning for the release of arrested workers while requesting a grace period to “transport” their remaining stock. In reality, most sold it off locally. Few Russians truly supported the ban; most saw profit in the liquor or kept it for themselves—it became a coveted treasure.
By early December, talks had gone nowhere. The Russian consulate issued another harsh decree.
Soon after, Chinese wine merchants along the railway gathered under the banner of the Northern Three Provinces Chamber of Commerce to discuss resistance against the ban.
Most attendees were male proprietors; women were few. It was bitterly cold, and everyone was wrapped in thick robes, huddled around a stove, brows furrowed in worry.
A man in a black silk robe spoke first, “At this point, Manager Bai, perhaps you should send another petition upward? Even if the Governor’s Office is hard to reach, the Nanfang Railway Bureau should at least give us advice or a plan?”
Another merchant, looking haggard, said, “Boss He, you only lost two trainloads of goods—I’ve lost several men!”
Someone else chimed in, “If nothing else, please pass a message to Lord Bai Jiu. Life’s getting unbearable for us.”
“Indeed, Manager Bai, we’re all counting on you!”
All eyes turned to Bai Mingyu, expectant.
It was his first time handling such a serious matter. Sitting at the head, face stern, he waited until the voices quieted.
“Gentlemen, this isn’t only the Bai family’s affair, nor your individual troubles. We must act together if we’re to succeed.”
“Speak freely, Manager Bai!” said someone.
Bai Mingyu glanced around and ordered paper and pens to be distributed.
“Write down your losses and grievances clearly. I’ll submit them together when we petition the provincial office again. General Bai is upright and cares for the people—he won’t protect just our family. But if all of you stand together, he’ll have to take notice. Even if it comes to slamming the table at the Russians, we’ll have proof in hand. Don’t you agree?”
Those who had relatives or workers arrested wrote first—they only wanted their people back. Others, after some hesitation, also began to write. They’d long endured Russian oppression in Nanfang, and if the general truly took up their cause, what was there to fear?
After collecting the letters, Bai Mingyu dismissed them and hurried that night to see Lord Bai Jiu.
Lord Bai Jiu still lived in the Nanfang villa. Bai Mingyu arrived late; after some time, Master Bai Jiu allowed him into the study.
Soon, Master Bai Jiu appeared wrapped in a thick coat, with Xie Jing following behind.
Bai Mingyu stole a glance—the elder’s hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been roused from sleep, but his expression was calm as ever. Still, Mingyu couldn’t help feeling nervous and curious—he had never seen this side of Lord Bai Jiu.
“Have you done as I ordered?” Master Bai Jiu asked, seated behind the desk.
“Yes, sir. All finished,” Bai Mingyu said, presenting the letters.
Master Bai Jiu scanned them briefly, nodded, and quietly gave further instructions, which Mingyu memorized carefully.
After nearly half an hour of discussion, Master Bai Jiu waved him away.
Bai Mingyu bowed but hesitated at the door.
“Sir… with all this commotion, how many chances do we have? Twenty percent? Ten?”
Master Bai Jiu shook his head.
“Not even one.”
“Ah? Then why—”
“Even with no chance, they must learn that what’s ours is worth fighting for.”
His tone was calm, but it wasn’t clear if “they” meant the Russians—or the Chinese who had grown complacent under unfair treaties.
Something hot stirred in Bai Mingyu’s chest. He grinned, all hesitation gone.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll get it done!”
When Bai Mingyu left, Xie Jing stood quietly in thought. He had no memory of Nanfang, but his gut said things would turn for the better.
He asked softly, “Sir, how long will the Russians keep the ban?”
Master Bai Jiu glanced at him, eyes gleaming with approval.
“Clever—you’re already looking for the loophole. It won’t last long. The moment it fails, the order becomes scrap paper. That’s why I dared use wine to stir trouble. When it collapses, they’ll have to retreat twenty li and return the land they swallowed.”
Xie Jing frowned. “It’s failed before?”
“Yes,” Master Bai Jiu said, “many times.”
“Why?”
“The reasons are many. Their land is freezing—without spirits, they can’t live. The rulers see alcohol’s harm, but not its necessity.”
He tugged Xie Jing into his arms, sitting him on his lap, fingers entwined as he continued, “Liquor sells because people need it—not because of its production.”
Xie Jing blinked. “You mean… the Russians themselves will rebel? Over wine?”
Master Bai Jiu chuckled. “Yes. I lived there a year—the north already suffered a liquor shortage. Most distilleries went bankrupt, the economy crashed, and homemade alcohol poisoned many. Some even swapped the holy wine in churches just to drink. This ban’s failure is only a matter of time. When merchants lose profits, the treasury dries up. The cycle can’t last.”
Xie Jing looked up at him.
“What’s that look for?” Master Bai Jiu asked with a faint smile.
After a pause, Xie Jing shook his head.
Master Bai Jiu was brilliant—he could read the world’s pattern from a single clue. How could he not see what lay ahead?
Xie Jing nestled closer, looping his arms around the man’s neck and planting small kisses along his jaw. The touches made Master Bai Jiu laugh softly, his Adam’s apple shifting.
Then came a playful nip, followed by a soothing lick.
Master Bai Jiu ran his fingers through Xie Jing’s soft black hair, silky and cool to the touch, and murmured something low by his ear.
Xie Jing didn’t lift his head—he just nodded in his arms.
Then Master Bai Jiu lifted him onto the desk, and their lips met again beneath the drape of a fur cloak, their silhouettes melting into one.
At the provincial capital, General Bai received the letters and responded swiftly.
He sent a company of soldiers to seal off Ai Hu’s tax-free zone—a hundred-li territory originally granted for border trade. Russians had long exploited it to import foreign goods tax-free, then re-export them back to Russia.
The general shut it down and imposed heavy tariffs on all Russian goods entering the area—mirroring their own tactics by unilaterally suspending the “tax-free zone” clause. The troops seized Russian merchandise, then combed through the original treaty word by word, pointing out seven or eight “errors,” and demanded the Russian consulate re-negotiate—or the land would remain sealed, for Russians only, not Chinese.
Negotiations dragged on from winter into the following spring.
Eventually, minor progress was made: both sides released the detainees. The rest, however, remained deadlocked.
For the merchants of Nanfang, though, some compensation arrived through the railway bureau. Their workers were freed, and while the payments were partial, it was better than nothing. Given their earlier profits, few truly lost money.
Lord Bai Jiu stayed in Nanfang until late spring.
Rumors spread that he was mentoring young Bai Mingyu with exceptional care—why else stay so long instead of returning to the capital?
Even Bai Mingyu began to half-believe it himself.
Proud but with no one to boast to, he’d flaunt it before Bai Hongqi.
She only sneered, “If Uncle gives you this much credit and you still can’t accomplish anything, you’d better go back to Qinghe.”
Bai Mingyu waggled a finger at her. “Jealous—you’re just jealous because he favors me most!”
She smacked his hand away, fuming.
Still, her pride was stirred. As Master Bai Jiu’s first student, she had always seen him as mentor and elder, believing herself his favorite. Now, with Bai Mingyu vying for attention, she threw herself into bold business moves—acquiring two carriage companies in the capital and securing twenty percent shares in another in Shanghai.
She also began sending delicacies to the villa frequently.
When Master Bai Jiu mentioned wanting lighter dishes, Bai Hongqi promptly dispatched her entire kitchen staff to serve him. The cooks at the Eastern Courtyard grew wary.
One day, while preparing bone broth for Xie Jing, the head chef cautiously asked, “Young Xie, how long will that southern chef stay? Has sir really changed his tastes?”
Blowing on his soup, Xie Jing replied slowly, “Not long. Maybe a day or two.”
The chef beamed in relief.
That evening, at dinner, Xie Jing deliberately avoided the light dishes, eating braised chicken with mushrooms and red-cooked lion’s head meatballs instead.
As Master Bai Jiu added food to his bowl, he asked, “Didn’t you say you wanted bamboo shoots before?”
“Got tired of them after two days,” Xie Jing said, eyes on his rice. “I prefer this now.”
Master Bai Jiu served him more, and watching him eat so heartily, found his own appetite improving too.
The next day, the “light-dish chef” was indeed sent back to Bai Hongqi’s residence.
The Eastern Courtyard cooks cheered quietly.
That evening, when Xie Jing came for soup, the chef gave him an extra-large bowl—along with a plate of crispy sugar cakes, golden outside and soft within, sweet but not sticky.
“Eat more,” the chef said happily. “You’re one of ours!”
And indeed, whatever else might be uncertain, in that household—his meals, at least, would never fall short.
