Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

Chapter 23 The Wedding Banquet and Rong Hong

Time flies, and three days have passed in the blink of an eye.

Zhao Sanjin worked diligently for the past three days.

From selecting and purchasing ingredients and checking and inspecting beverages, to scheduling and arranging kitchen staff and preparing utensils and tablecloths, he personally oversaw every detail, ensuring everything was in perfect order. Even the experienced procurement staff couldn't find any faults.

If it weren't for the occasional sighting of him secretly preparing his own meals under the guise of testing the freshness of ingredients, everyone would have thought that Zhao Sanjin had been replaced.

On the day of the wedding banquet, before dawn, the villa was already brightly lit and filled with the faint sounds of people.

The master chef hired by Yuanfanglou was already in charge of the kitchen, slowly and methodically wiping the knives he had brought.

Chefs and kitchen helpers borrowed from other restaurants were already busy preparing the elaborate dishes that required a long preparation time, as instructed.

Dozens of plump ducks and chickens were taken out of bamboo cages, quickly slaughtered, bled, scalded, and cleaned in a corner of the kitchen, and then neatly stacked in a huge basket, awaiting further processing.

Three carefully selected suckling pigs are bled and cleaned, then gutted and deboned. The master chef meticulously rubs every inch of skin and meat with a secret sauce. The suckling pigs are then hoisted up with iron hooks, scalded with boiling water and cooled with ice water, before being repeatedly brushed with a skin-glazing glaze to make the skin red, shiny, and crispy.

"Young man, which store do you work for?"

Perhaps the repeated application of the skin conditioner was getting a bit tedious, so a middle-aged craftsman curiously looked at the rather tall man beside him.

The man raised his head, revealing a simple and honest face, and grinned: "I haven't been in San Francisco for long. A few days ago, I happened to cook a meal for a boss in the gang, and he thought it was pretty good. This time, when he heard we were short-handed, he called me to help out."

The middle-aged chef kept working, clicking his tongue twice: "Wow, you're in for a treat. Let me tell you, the most powerful people in the entire Chinatown of San Francisco are the big bosses of the guild halls and branches."

"Now that we've latched onto their coattails, at least we don't have to worry about being bullied by those foreign devils."

The man, preparing side dishes, asked curiously, "Do those foreigners often bully us?"

"Sigh, sometimes."

The middle-aged man sighed: "Just a few days ago, a young man was walking peacefully down the street, not bothering anyone, when a passing foreigner shot him dead."

"You can make a lot of money here, but you can also easily risk your life."

After a few casual words, everyone went back to their own work.

As dawn broke, the kitchen grew increasingly bustling, filled with the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and hurried calls. No one noticed that Zhao Sanjin had led a foreigner carrying a wooden crate in through a side door.

"Sanjin, what's this foreigner doing here?" The gatekeeper yawned and asked vaguely.

"Don't even mention it. I just checked the drinks and found that we weren't quite enough, so I rushed out and bought a few cases. I felt bad making my brothers run errands, so I asked this foreign guy who sells alcohol to deliver them for me," Zhao Sanjin said.

The two passed through smoothly and went straight to a relatively quiet corner near the kitchen, where there were many spare tables, chairs and sundries, and a small hut next to it temporarily served as a liquor storage room.

Zhao Sanjin pushed open the door to the storage room, where boxes of whiskey, wine, and several jars of rice wine were neatly stacked.

"Hold on tight," he whispered to the foreigner, "I'll keep watch outside. If anyone comes, I'll speak loudly, and you just pretend you're there to serve the wine."

That foreigner was none other than Fleming.

He nodded and quickly pulled out a small packet carefully wrapped in oil paper from his pocket, inside which was a finely ground white powder.

As bottles of expensive whiskey and wine, soon to be served at the main table, were opened, he carefully placed powder into the bottles with a slender spoon, then meticulously replaced the corks and seals, as if nothing had happened.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

As dawn broke, the villa was filled with a festive atmosphere both inside and out.

Upstairs, Chen Jinkui, the head of Yixingtang, was being dressed and groomed by a special servant.

He was only in his early forties, tall and imposing, with a hideous scar on his right cheek that looked like a centipede from a distance, exuding a menacing aura.

At this moment, he changed into a brand-new indigo blue robe, with a black satin jacket over it and a large red silk flower draped over his chest. He looked at himself in the mirror from left to right, a rare smile of self-satisfaction on his face.

After getting ready, he stepped downstairs and into the main hall, when he heard a loud, boisterous shout: "Dragon Head, congratulations on your marriage! May you live a long and happy life together!"

The shout was like a command, followed immediately by dozens of voices speaking in unison: "Dragon Head, congratulations on your marriage! May you live a long and happy life together!"

Chen Jinkui was taken aback at first. When he looked up, he saw more than fifty burly men of varying heights and builds standing in the hall. They were dressed in long gowns or short jackets and were all bowing to him in unison.

These people were all the staff of Yixingtang in San Francisco, USA, and also the entire team that Chen Jinkui had to establish himself in this foreign land.

He waved his hand and laughed, "You bunch of bastards, you always come up with new tricks! Alright, alright, I appreciate your gesture, we're all brothers, no need for such a big show."

Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere relaxed. Chen Jinkui waved his hand: "Go back to work, everyone. Uncle Ma, you stay behind for a while."

The crowd dispersed and went about their business, except for the one called "Uncle Ma," who stood still.

He was the same Master Ma whom Zhao Sanjin had visited at the opium den a few days ago. His real name was Ma Ge, and he was a trusted old man who had followed Chen Jinkui for many years, managing many affairs and accounts of the den.

"Boss, what are your orders?"

Chen Jinkui sat down in the central mahogany armchair and gestured for Ma Ge to sit as well. "It's nothing major. I have an idea, and I'd like to discuss it with you to see if it's feasible."

"I want to take over California Street, which intersects with Kearney Street, and expand Chinatown's territory further!"

In 1855, San Francisco's Chinatown was far from the behemoth that it became in later years, occupying more than twenty blocks.

At this moment, most of the more than 5,000 Chinese are crammed into a narrow area formed by the three main streets of Sacramento Street, Dupan Street and Kearney Street, with cramped living space.

Margo frowned: "Boss, let's not even talk about how few Chinese people live on California Street right now. And those foreign gangs that occupy the street aren't easy to get rid of either."

Chen Jinkui picked up his teacup, took a sip, and chewed on the tea leaves, saying, "Things are different now. A while ago, the Hound Gang of Clark Point was wiped out, and the remaining casinos, brothels, and taverns are all juicy morsels."

I heard that the foreign gangs on California Street are all fighting each other to the death over there, and they simply don't have the spare energy to deal with the scattered territories on California Street.

He put down his teacup and tapped his finger lightly on the table: "Let's seize this opportunity and take over the street."

"Moreover, as long as you have land, why are you afraid that no one will come? Boats arrive from my hometown every month, bringing hundreds or even thousands of young men to make a living."

Once we establish a firm foothold and operate for a few years, Yi Xing Tang will become the largest and most powerful Chinese community center in all of San Francisco!

As Ma Ge listened to Chen Jinkui's idea, his breathing quickened, and he became somewhat tempted.

After all, a larger territory means more shops, more protection money, more manpower, and greater bargaining power...

"It seems like it might actually work?"

Chen Jinkui said slowly, "So I want to take this opportunity of the wedding banquet to invite many directors and fellow members of the Hongmen to inform them of this matter."

"Those who are willing to lend a hand can share in the street's profits. I won't force those who don't want to participate, just don't drag us down."

The two discussed some details in hushed tones. Margo glanced at the clock on the wall, stood up, and said, "Boss, it's almost time. I should go to the door to greet the guests."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Mago stood on the stone steps in front of the villa gate, a familiar smile on his face, bowing to each invited guest with a clasped fist, his voice loud and clear yet attentive.

"Director Chen, it's been a long time! You're even more impressive than before!"

He greeted Director Chen of the San Yi Association with a smile, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, his gaze fell on the young man with a very different temperament standing next to Director Chen.

The young man was about twenty years old, with neat short hair and wearing a gray double-breasted long suit, which made him stand out among the guests with long braids and gowns.

"Director Chen, who is this young man next to you?"

Director Chen chuckled, patted the young man on the back, and introduced him: "Brother Ma Ge, let me introduce you. This is Rong Hong, Rong Chunfu."

He was the first Chinese person to graduate from Yale College, equivalent to a scholar who passed the imperial examinations in the Qing Dynasty—a true scholar of great learning, well-versed in both Chinese and Western knowledge, and possessing extraordinary insight.

"His father and I are old friends. He happens to be staying in San Francisco, so I shamelessly brought him along to share in the joy and see the liveliness of our Chinatown. I hope Longtou and Brother Mago won't hold it against me?"

"Oh dear, what are you saying?"

Ma Ge clapped his hands and laughed, looking Rong Hong up and down, and exclaimed, "So you are the reincarnation of the God of Literature! What a talented young man! Today is a day of great joy for the Dragon Head, and we are more than happy to have someone like you here."

"Director Chen, young brother Rong Hong, we've prepared some fine tea inside, please!"

He warmly invited the two into the gate, then turned to greet the next group of guests, and a loud welcoming voice rang out again.

Stepping into the villa's front yard, Rong Hong frowned slightly. Taking advantage of the moment when no one was around, he lowered his voice and asked, "Uncle, why did you insist on bringing me here? I really can't imagine what kind of knowledge I can gain from a gangster boss's wedding banquet?"

Director Chen's smile remained unchanged as he led him to a quiet spot against the wall to sit down. "Ah-Hong, do you think the people in your gang are just gangsters who fight and collect protection money?"

Yung Wing frowned: "Isn't that right? I've also seen some Irish or Italian gangs in New Haven and New York, and they all operate on the same principles."

"Yes, but it's not just that."

Director Chen shook his head and said in a deep voice, "Most of the branches in San Francisco belong to the Hongmen lineage, which are the overseas branches of the Heaven and Earth Society. They worship Lord Hongwu and Lord Guan; they recite the oath to overthrow the Qing and restore the Ming."

Rong Hong was taken aback, a look of surprise flashing in his eyes: "They're from the Heaven and Earth Society? But what does that have to do with me?"

"What's the relationship?"

Director Chen glanced at him, then changed the subject: "Ah-Hong, you've even cut off your queue during your years in America. Do you think you can adapt to life there after returning to China?"

Rong Hong frowned even more deeply: "Uncle, why are we bringing up personal matters again? And what does this have to do with my being here?"

"Let me finish."

Director Chen glared at him, and Rong Hong finally pursed his lips and quieted down.

"I know you are young, proud and ambitious. You want to use Western learning to help China catch up with the pace of other countries in the world. Your idea is good."

But do you think that by going back and submitting a memorial outlining the pros and cons, the court will readily adopt your suggestions and let you carry them out? That won't work!

Rong Hong couldn't help but retort, "Uncle, do you also believe in the idea that ancestral laws cannot be changed? Besides, how will you know if it will work if you don't try?"

"The world is developing too fast. The Qing Dynasty was still using carriages and horses to send messages, while a telegram could travel from New York to San Francisco in just a few minutes. A day of machine spinning could replace several months of labor by female workers in Suzhou, and a railway could transport thousands of tons of goods at a time."

If this continues, the nation will decline. If we do not seek change, I fear that Britain, France, the United States, and other countries will provoke a second, third, or even a fourth trade war!

By then, it will be too late!

"What utter nonsense about ancestral wisdom! If I believed in that stuff, I wouldn't have come to America to start a company!"

Director Chen snorted coldly and said, "Let me tell you why it won't work. It's because the Qing Dynasty is rotten to the core! The Manchus treat us Han people like pigs, dogs, cattle, and sheep. They are more wary of Han people than of foreigners."

What they wanted were lackeys, obedient craftsmen, not a wild and unruly scholar. Who do you think the literary inquisitions during the Kangxi and Qianlong eras were targeting?

"In their eyes, your tricks are not a way to save the country, but a strange and frivolous skill that shakes the foundation and a heretical doctrine that bewitches people!"

At that point, you'll be expelled at best, and imprisoned and severely tortured at worst, your life in danger!

Seeing Yung Wing's bewildered expression, he softened his tone and said, "Now that the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom has established its capital in Nanjing, half of Jiangnan is shaken, and Hongmen and Nian armies in various places are rising up in response."

This momentum is reminiscent of the grandeur of Emperor Hongwu's expulsion of the Manchus and restoration of Chinese civilization.

"Although there are many problems, at least it was a Han Chinese regime."

"If you insist on doing it, instead of going back to playing the zither on a rotten tree, you should use the Hongmen connection to find a way to get in touch with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom."

At least in Han Chinese countries, your ability to strengthen the nation and enrich its people will not be considered a crime, or even lead to your death, simply because you are Han Chinese and want to save the country.

Rong Hong was completely stunned: "Uncle, you brought me here with this in mind?"

"Otherwise what?"

Director Chen rolled his eyes. "Otherwise, why would I be so bored as to drag you to this kind of underworld setting that you look down on? It's so you can get to know people, make an impression, and have more options. In this world, having an extra path is never a bad thing."

Alright, I've said what I needed to say. You can decide for yourself what to do. Now come with me to greet some important people and get acquainted with them.

The two got up, dusted off their clothes, and walked toward the main hall where more and more guests were arriving.

Unbeknownst to them, right behind the wall where they had just been talking, a kind-looking kitchen helper wearing an apron had overheard their conversation.