The Bund Chronicles, Chapter 44: Probing the Enemy for Weaknesses, The Miraculous Medicine Appears

Opening his eyes, another busy day began.

The first thing to see upon waking up was a rugged man, which was certainly not a pleasant experience.

"Chen Lin, everything has been investigated." Pan Qiliang leaned in closely, his breath smelling of the previous night's sour leftovers as it struck Chen Lin directly on the tip of his nose.

Chen Lin quickly covered his nose tightly and took a small step backward, his voice muffled: "There's no rush, take your time."

He turned and walked toward the dining tent. The bamboo shed leaked the wind, yet the aroma of fried dough sticks drifted through the air.

Hu San was already waiting there. A coarse ceramic bowl was filled with salted soybean milk, topped with shredded strips of fried dough, and alongside it were two bamboo steamers of thin-skinned steamed buns with evenly pinched pleats.

Hu San understood Chen Lin's tastes better than Chen Lin understood himself.

Chen Lin preferred working at night and woke up late in the morning.

Every night, Hu San stayed up late to prepare a midnight snack, standing guard outside his bedroom before dawn and turning everyone away, terrified of disturbing him.

With a person like this around, Chen Lin's life was truly much more carefree.

Pan Qiliang sat down alongside him, without even washing his hands, grabbed a bun and shoved it into his mouth, chewing until his face was greasy. "That old scoundrel lives with extreme regularity; his meals are cooked by his own estate's chef."

He swallowed the bun and continued, "However, I tracked down the vegetable vendor—it's always the same few farmers."

"I managed to pry it out of the farmers: that old geezer eats a fish every single day, without fail." Pan Qiliang wiped his mouth, his tone growing slightly heavier. "But it has to be a live fish. Trying to poison him will be difficult."

Chen Lin lowered his head to drink the soybean milk. The ceramic bowl brushed against his lips, and the steam fogged up his spectacles.

When Pan Qiliang finished speaking, Chen Lin raised his eyes and asked, "Do we have anyone skilled in infiltration on our side?"

Pan Qiliang immediately shook his head, swaying it like a rattle-drum. "We do have people, but there are too many people at the prefectural yamen. The prefect lives in the inner courtyard, and eyes are everywhere. Once someone gets in, they're easily exposed. It's too dangerous."

The Small Sword Society had all sorts of people; if they really needed someone for infiltration, they weren't entirely lacking.

However, Pan Qiliang didn't want men to die. More importantly, if anyone were caught and betrayed the Small Sword Society, that would spell absolute disaster.

Chen Lin put down the ceramic bowl. The bottom of the bowl struck the wooden table with a sharp "clack." "Then we'll strike through the fish."

***

Meanwhile, Mr. Benjamin had been hoarded in the study with Lipin for the past few days, the table piled high with translated manuscripts, leaving them barely enough time to grab a sip of water.

Chen Lin had previously had a deep conversation with Lipin, and the two shared the exact same view: translate scientific books first.

Lipin often said that the Qing dynasty lost its wars against the Westerners not because the soldiers lacked bravery or the generals lacked ferocity, but because their science and technology lagged far too behind.

Westerners had a shorter history, but over the past few centuries, they had dedicated themselves entirely to studying science, producing numerous scientists whose technology had long surpassed that of the East.

Take naval warfare, for instance: the Qing dynasty was still using the red-barbarian cannons handed down from the Ming dynasty, which had a pathetic range that couldn't even reach the edges of the enemy's ships.

Therefore, the Qing dynasty now needed to "learn the superior skills of the barbarians in order to strengthen themselves." Chinese culture must be protected and developed, but traditional Neo-Confucianism had to change.

In the study, neither Benjamin nor Lipin maintained any proper composure.

Benjamin's hair was as messy as a bird's nest, Lipin's long gown was heavily wrinkled, and both had dark circles under their eyes, clearly having gone without a sound night's sleep for days.

"Mr. Benjamin, you still don't understand the culture of the Qing Empire." Lipin rubbed his eyes, his voice hoarse. "Our scholars are deeply arrogant regarding culture. If we translate humanities books right now, nobody will read them."

"So you want to translate encyclopedic works first?" Benjamin raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. "But can these books attract scholars?"

A trace of a smile appeared on Lipin's face, though his exhaustion lingered. "Sir, in our world, broad knowledge is called miscellaneous learning. Those who study miscellaneous learning are mostly unsuccessful in the imperial examinations and unable to enter officialdom, but their scholarship is by no means poor. Precisely because they have no official posts, they are much more likely to come to our publishing house."

When chatting with Lipin, Chen Lin had divided current scholars into two categories. One category consisted of those who succeeded in the imperial examinations and entered officialdom; they were the vested beneficiaries who would inevitably defend the imperial examination system. The other category comprised those who repeatedly failed the exams or enjoyed delving into unorthodox subjects; they were scholars who could be won over.

A single good man needs three helpers. If they wanted to expand the publishing house and widen the circle of reformists, they had to win over a portion of these people.

Benjamin nodded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "You're right. I've long wanted to compile a book organizing the latest achievements in physics, chemistry, astronomy, and biology, so that your scholars can see just how far European science and technology has progressed. Let them open their eyes!"

"A brilliant idea!" Lipin sat straight up instantly, his eyes brightening. "I'm willing to help! Let's call this book *New Compilation of Natural History*; that's a name the locals can easily accept."

"Good, good!" Benjamin repeated the word twice and pointed at the manuscript. "And for some of the technical terms, we must consult Mr. Wang to see how best to translate them."

Benjamin spoke Cantonese, but his Mandarin was far from fluent.

When translating books, the most agonizing part was how to render technical terminology.

Wang Lipin happened to be able to fill that exact gap.

Just as the two were deep in conversation, the study door was slammed open with a loud crash.

An elderly white man wearing a Western suit rushed in, out of breath, his necktie askew.

This man was dressed in a cheap Western suit, instantly identifiable as a butler.

Benjamin's face immediately darkened—the man hadn't even knocked.

"Reverend Benjamin!" The elderly white man grabbed Benjamin's arm, his hands trembling. "My employer has had a sudden attack, I beg you to save him!"

"Are you Mr. Giffard's butler?" Benjamin asked, frowning.

"Yes, yes!" The butler nodded like a pounding pestle, his voice even more urgent. "Please hurry! My employer has severe chest pains, excruciating pains, he's dying!"

Benjamin dared not delay; he snatched the medical kit from the table and rushed out, hurrying alongside the butler toward the Renji Foreign Firm.

The concession area at this time was not large, and the consulate and major foreign firms were close by; they reached it in just a few steps.

Benjamin rushed into the Renji Foreign Firm. Giffard had already been carried onto a bed by his family.

His lips were a bruised, dark purple, beads of sweat covered his forehead, and he pressed his hands against his chest, groaning without even the strength to struggle.

"What happened, Mrs. Giffard?" Benjamin looked toward the aristocratic lady by the bedside; she wore a silk dress, and her hair was disheveled.

"Today he drank a cup of coffee while talking with his subordinates, and suddenly became agitated, and then it turned into this." Mrs. Giffard's voice trembled, tears swirling in her eyes. "We bled him, but it didn't help at all."

At that time, the mainstream European method for treating heart disease was bloodletting.

In the past, Benjamin could only have done the same.

This time, however, he fished a small pottery vial out of his medical kit and poured out a brown pill.

"Have Mr. Giffard hold this under his tongue." Benjamin's voice was deep, carrying an unquestionable tone.

"Quick, pry open his mouth!" He stepped forward to help support Giffard's head.

Giffard's family had no other options left and could only obey.

With great effort, they finally managed to force the pill into Giffard's mouth.

"What is this?" Mrs. Giffard tried to ask, but Benjamin raised a hand to cut her off.

His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Giffard. This was his first time using this medicine called "Heart-Ease Pill," and he had no certainty in his heart either.

After a moment, Giffard still showed no movement, his lips remaining bruised and purple.

Mrs. Giffard was so anxious she was on the verge of tears, tugging at Benjamin's sleeve as she lowered her voice to a whisper: "Reverend, please think of another way, I beg you." Giffard's son also turned to leave, saying he was going to find Consul Balfour—who was also a physician.

Benjamin looked at Giffard, his heart turning half-cold as well, preparing to give up.

Yet right at that moment, Giffard suddenly drew in a sharp breath, his chest heaving once.

His bruised, dark-purple lips slowly began to turn red.

"Oh... what is wrong with me?" Giffard's voice was very soft, as if he had just been fished out of the water. "Just now I seemed to see my great-grandmother, and she's been dead for many years."

"Oh, dear heaven!" Mrs. Giffard covered her mouth with both hands, tears instantly streaming down as her shoulders shook uncontrollably.

"What is it, my dear?" Giffard looked at his wife, his gaze still somewhat hazy. "Am I dead? Are you weeping for me?"

He turned his head to look at Benjamin, twisting the corner of his mouth into a weak smile. "Oh, the Reverend is here too. Have you already finished praying for me?"

The corners of Benjamin's mouth twitched as he managed a forced smile. "Mr. Giffard, you are still alive, so hurry up and get back to making money. However, you need to lose weight—I told you last time not to eat so much sugar, your heart can't take it."

"Ah? Did you save me?" Giffard froze for a moment, then suddenly furrowed his brow and smacked his lips. "Why is there such a bitter taste in my mouth?"

"It doesn't matter." Benjamin waved a hand dismissively, clearly remembering a common saying among the Qing people: "The Qing people have a saying: good medicine tastes bitter."

He raised the small pottery vial in his hand and shook it. "This thing saved you."

"What kind of medicine is this?" Giffard stared at the small pottery vial, his eyes wide with astonishment. "It can actually cure my heart disease?"

"This medicine must be very expensive, right?" He turned to Mrs. Giffard, his tone urgent. "Quickly fetch the medical fee for Reverend Benjamin!"

"There's no need to rush." Benjamin waved his hand again, his tone calm. "You needn't thank me. This medicine was given to me by Jack of the Jardine Firm. If you have the chance, thank him instead. As for the medicine fee, I cannot accept it—I only have this little bit of medicine left, and I cannot spare it for you."

Giffard's eager rush to pay the medical fee earlier was actually an attempt to buy the medicine in Benjamin's hands.

This wasn't the first time his heart disease had acted up, and each episode felt like walking through the gates of hell.

Being so wealthy, how could he possibly not fear death?

"Jack? That Chinese boy?" Giffard frowned in thought before suddenly nodding. "Oh, I remember now!"

"Yes, but he is certainly not a boy." Benjamin smiled, his eyes filled with gratification.

He was truly happy today—Giffard's reaction proved that the medicine worked. If it truly proved effective, he, as its promoter, would undoubtedly make a name for himself in the European medical community.