The Bund Chronicles Chapter 43: Undercurrents Surging, Accelerating the Layout

Chenjiawan, this newly named gathering place for refugees.

A cold wind swept across the boundless expanse of thatch and brushed past the mud-brick houses.

In the central clearing of the shack district, all the refugees had gathered, looking remarkably as though they were celebrating a festival.

The clan elders of the ten surnames surrounded mountains of accumulated grain, their rough palms rubbing against the hemp sacks. Tears had long since filled their eyes, some streaming down the wrinkles and falling silently to the ground.

Their emotions these past few days had been wilder than a roller coaster.

Having reclaimed this barren land for several years, they had relied entirely on the young and able-bodied men of their clans running to Shanghai County, carrying heavy loads, building houses, and trading their hard labor for a bite to eat, barely managing to keep their community alive.

Yet a few days ago, officials had suddenly arrived.

The steward had actually sold this land!

They possessed no land deeds.

When they had originally wandered to this place, unable to walk another step, they had stayed. Because the waterways here connected directly to Shanghai County city, it was convenient to go out and pick up odd jobs, drawing more and more refugees to gather here.

According to the rules, the officials selling the land had nothing to do with them.

Yet this was their home.

In the mud-brick houses echoed the cries of children; on the newly reclaimed ridges walked the footprints of the elderly. How could they simply surrender it upon a single word?

Gritting their teeth, the elders led their clansmen to chase away the men who had come to claim the land.

A few days later, several young men of the clans ran back, panting heavily as they relayed the message: "The master of the house will not drive us away, but the land must still be taken."

These words felt like a basin of cold water, leaving everyone dazed and bewildered.

No land? What was the point of staying? To drink the northwest wind?

Yet now, looking at the grain before them—bright yellow millet, gleaming white rice, piled higher than a man—everyone stood with their mouths agape, temporarily struck speechless.

The wind carried the fragrance of grain into their noses, and no one dared to believe it was real.

Shen Jiamu, the elder of the Shen clan, rubbed his hands together and approached Chen Changhe, lowering his voice: "Old Chen, what do you suppose the master is after? People like us know nothing besides hard labor. Nowadays, laborers are everywhere."

His brow was furrowed into a knot, his gaze full of doubt.

Chen Changhe gazed at the grain, letting out a long sigh, his voice somewhat hoarse: "Perhaps the master is fated to be connected with us. In any case, everyone's bitter days are finally coming to an end."

He raised a hand to wipe his face, as if brushing away all the hardships of the past.

"Indeed! Our suffering has come to an end!" A round-faced old man spoke up suddenly; he was the elder of the Ding clan.

Rubbing his rough palms, his eyes shone brightly: "How shall this grain be distributed?"

Urgency could not be concealed in his tone.

"We shall distribute it strictly by headcount, just as the master instructed," Chen Changhe straightened his body, his voice rising slightly. "Whoever collects their grain must first bow toward the west in kowtow to the master. We must never forget our roots."

His gaze swept over the crowd, carrying an unquestionable seriousness.

Shen Jiamu nodded, stepping closer: "Changhe, your surname is also Chen. From now on, we will take you as our leader. If there are any matters to discuss with the master, you shall be the one to communicate, how about that?"

His tone was sincere, his eyes filled with complete trust.

As soon as these words fell, the other elders immediately chimed in.

"Correct! We listen to Changhe!" "It is settled then!" Voices rose one after another, and even the wind carried a sense of relief.

Chen Changhe did not decline and spoke immediately: "The master has stated that we must first dig a ditch along the boundary demarcated by the officials. This task is simple, and we shall begin work today."

He paused and waved his hand. "Distribute the grain first. Once you have collected your provisions, let every household bring their own tools—hoes and shovels will both do. We must start working immediately and not wait for the master to urge us."

His words were crisp and decisive, holding onto authority with a steady grip.

Chen Lin had not expected these refugees to be so honest and simple-minded; the moment he left, work had already commenced over there.

Ultimately, the treatment he offered was simply too substantial.

Grain was supplied in ample amounts, and they were allowed to stay. No one was willing to throw away such an opportunity.

***

Chen Lin returned directly to the foreign concession. His criminal record had not yet been erased, and for the past few days, he dared not go to Yangjing Town for fear of running into government runners.

As soon as he returned to the construction site, James trotted over hurriedly, his blond hair dazzling in the sunlight: "Jack! Where on earth did you go? The boss has been looking for you for ages!"

His tone carried a sense of urgency.

Chen Lin stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow: "Didn't I explain? I had to take the craftsmen to source some materials. What is the matter?"

"The Gu family has sent people here!" James lowered his voice, stepping closer.

"Let them come, then." Chen Lin's tone remained flat, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Anxious, James waved his hands: "But they specifically named you! They won't talk business unless you are present!"

A thought stirred within Chen Lin's heart. Old Master Gu was truly thoughtful; the Gu family was giving him face.

Without further delay, he followed James toward the Jardine Matheson firm's temporary office building.

The office building was constructed of brick and timber, the stairs creaking underfoot.

The visitor was Gu Shousong, the eldest young master of the Gu family. Dressed in a silk long gown, he sat in the chair of Bell's office, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the tabletop.

Seeing Chen Lin enter, Gu Shousong immediately stood up with a smile plastered across his face, extending a hand to shake: "Mr. Chen, without you here, I had no confidence in my heart at all."

His tone was warm and enthusiastic, bearing no resemblance to his arrogance from a few days ago—it seemed this eldest young master was also someone who knew how to bend and stretch.

Bell sat behind his desk, watching the Gu family representative treat Chen Lin with such warmth, and quietly furrowed his brow.

A cigar was pinched between his fingertips, smoke curling around them, while a trace of displeasure rose in his heart.

How much time had passed? Why did he feel as though he could no longer control this young man?

"Jack," Bell called out, his voice low yet carrying authority.

"Yes, Boss," Chen Lin answered promptly.

Bell lifted his eyes, swept a glance over the two of them, and said, "You handle the liaison with Mr. Gu. Let James assist you."

His tone was calm, knowing well that continuing to participate in the negotiations would only make a fool of himself.

Chen Lin nodded and led Gu Shousong toward the firm's reception room.

The windows of the reception room were open, and the wind carried the sounds of the outside world, faintly bearing the whistle of ships at the dock.

As soon as they left, Nicholas emerged from the dressing room behind Bell's desk. His black suit made his expression look even gloomier: "Boss, this Chen Lin must have connections with the anti-foreign resistance forces outside."

He lowered his voice further. "I have already found out; someone used force to rescue him."

Bell took a puff of his cigar, smoke spilling from the corner of his mouth: "Therefore, this boy is far more complicated than we imagined."

"Indeed," Nicholas nodded, stepping closer. "He is also on close terms with Pastor Hoason. This subordinate believes it would be best to dispatch him to our branch in the East Indies—that way, we can utilize his chemical knowledge while keeping him firmly under our control."

Bell leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest: "Would he be willing to go? What if he gets pushed into a corner and runs off to another foreign firm?"

Nicholas smiled, his eyes icy: "We merely need to get him onto a ship. At that time, we will simply announce that the firm has entrusted him with a great responsibility, and no one will pursue the matter further."

Bell leaned back against the chair, exhaling a long plume of smoke that dissolved into the air: "Handle this matter yourself. Remember, do not let James and Jenny find out."

Ever since the Ren Ji firm had attempted to poach Chen Lin last time, Bell had been pondering how to keep Chen Lin firmly in his own grasp.

In his eyes, Chen Lin was someone he had excavated himself, belonging entirely to Bell's firm.

Primarily, Chen Lin's capabilities were simply too formidable. The coagulant he produced possessed enormous profit potential.

Such a fine asset naturally had to be clutched tightly in his hands.

Yet recently, Chen Lin's behavior had grown increasingly "disobedient"—he seemed far less manageable than before.

Suddenly remembering something, Bell asked, "By the way, of the fifty thousand Mexican dollars we previously gave him, how much is still deposited in the Chartered Bank?"

Nicholas's gaze darkened: "Half of it has already been withdrawn by him. Today, he sent people to withdraw another large sum."

He could sense that the light in Bell's eyes was growing increasingly frigid, resembling the ice of deep winter.

***

Meanwhile, inside the reception room.

Chen Lin, James, and Gu Shousong sat around a table spread with raw silk delivery manifests.

The matter was straightforward, and they quickly settled the details—delivery times, locations, and quantities were listed clearly line by line.

Once concluded, James escorted Gu Shousong out.

Using the excuse of seeing them off, Chen Lin accompanied Gu Shousong out of the foreign firm.

As soon as they reached the entrance, Gu Shousong stopped, turned to look at Chen Lin, and spoke with eager haste: "Little Mr. Chen, my father has instructed me to coordinate with you—when can the dye workshop commence operations?"

He rubbed his hands together, his eyes filled with anticipation.

Chen Lin smiled, continuing his walk: "Is Mr. Gu in such a hurry? You are also a businessman; opening a large-scale dye workshop is no simple task."

Gu Shousong nodded, his tone relaxing slightly: "Mm, what you say is true. But we must get things moving first."

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice: "Little Mr. Chen, rest assured, capital is not an issue."

He had to report back to his father—Gu Fuchang had more than one son, and if he fell behind by even a step, the opportunity would vanish.

Chen Lin pulled a blueprint from his breast pocket and handed it over: "Take this."

Gu Shousong took it and lowered his gaze. The blueprint illustrated the layout of the dye workshop, along with the tools and equipment needed to manufacture the raw materials. Both diagrams and text were densely and clearly marked.

"This here represents my conceptual design for the workshop's layout," Chen Lin explained as they walked. "All these items can be found locally. As for the reaction vat, remember to call for me when it is time to install it."

Gu Shousong glanced over the blueprint, and his eyes lit up—it was his first time seeing matters explained in such a straightforward, transparent manner without the need for guessing games.

Collaborating with this young man seemed like a rather good prospect after all.

He raised his eyes, feeling somewhat uncertain: "Just this..."

"That's right," Chen Lin nodded, his tone casual. "Are there any other questions? Your family certainly has no shortage of manpower and money. As for my end, it will take two months to procure the primary raw materials. By then, the workshop will only need to process the primary materials I provide."

Chen Lin was employing a modern approach—simple, efficient, and direct.

For Gu Shousong, who was accustomed to the treacherous backstabbing of the business world, this method felt refreshing, freeing him from the need to guard against schemes from behind.

"Splendid, splendid, splendid!" Gu Shousong uttered the word three times, carefully folding the blueprint and tucking it into his robe. "I shall return and see to this immediately!"

Just as he turned to leave, he suddenly recalled something and halted. "Ah, by the way!"

Gu Shousong drew a bank note from his chest and handed it over.

The bank note was red, printed with intricate patterns, and exquisitely crafted.

"The old master has prepared this bank note so that you may draw funds whenever you have need of them."

Chen Lin looked at the note with some hesitation: "This..."

Gu Shousong smiled, pressing the note into his hand: "You are the chief manager of the dye workshop; consider this your pre-drawn salary."

Chen Lin accepted the note, glancing at the figure written upon it—one thousand taels of silver.

He clicked his tongue inwardly: The Gu family was truly magnanimous.

"Help me thank Old Master Gu," Chen Lin tucked the note away, cupping his fists in salute. "Please rest assured regarding the affairs of the dye workshop."

He was indeed lacking in funds at present.

The construction of the Chenjiawan industrial zone required money, and much of the equipment had to be imported from overseas at terrifyingly high prices.

Then there was the Small Swords Society. Chen Lin had invested in Zhou Lichun's fleet, shelling out ten thousand taels of silver in one breath to enable Zhou Lichun to recruit men and purchase vessels.

This fleet centered around Dianshan Lake, capable of reaching Taihu Lake and the Jiangnan Canal to the southwest, connecting the various prefectures of southern Jiangsu and northern Zhejiang—from which raw materials could be transported to Chen Lin.

This investment could be considered returning a favor—repaying Zhou Lichun for saving his life earlier.

Once news of this spread, the various factions under the Small Swords Society grew green with envy, which also significantly elevated Chen Lin's status—no longer did anyone dare treat him as a soft persimmon to be kneaded at will.