Three days had passed since Li Ming's meeting with Jinliang at the tea house. Three days of careful persuasion, gentle arguments, and patient explanations before his mother finally agreed to the move.
"But the rent, Yunsheng," she whispered, her weathered hands wringing the edge of her apron. "Fifteen taels a month—that's more than we've ever paid. What if your work doesn't come through?"
"It will come through, Mother. Trust me." Li Ming took her calloused hands in his. "This is our chance to rise above dock labor and mending clothes."
Now, as their few possessions were loaded onto a hired cart, Li Ming felt the weight of that promise. The stolen silver had bought them this opportunity, but it would be his own abilities that determined whether they could keep it.
The new house sat in a narrow hutong just three blocks from the foreign concession boundary. It was a traditional courtyard home, though smaller than the grand residences of wealthy merchants. The main gate, painted red but fading, opened onto a rectangular courtyard paved with gray stones. Four rooms surrounded it: the main room facing south for his mother, a smaller room for his siblings, a kitchen with a proper stove, and—most importantly for Li Ming—a study room facing east where morning light would fall across a wooden desk.
Meiling walked through the rooms with wide eyes, her practical mind already calculating possibilities. "It's three times larger than the old place," she murmured, running her hand along the wall of what would be their mother's room. "And look—glass windows, not just paper."
Their little brother, barely eight, raced around the courtyard with delighted shrieks, his footsteps echoing off the walls. For him, this was a palace compared to their cramped former lodgings.
But their mother stood in the doorway, her face creased with worry. "So much space," she said quietly. "So much to heat in winter, so much to maintain."
"Meiling," Li Ming called his sister aside. "Tell me again what you learned about our landlord."
She gave him a sharp look. "Still suspicious of Master Tatara? You were the one who arranged this." She lowered her voice. "The neighbors say he's educated, well-spoken. Manchu nobility, but fallen on hard times like everyone else. Owns three properties on this street, all rented to respectable families."
"And personally?"
"They say he's… modern in his thinking. Holds meetings sometimes, young men discussing Western ideas and Chinese reform. Some call him enlightened, others whisper he's forgotten his place." She paused, thorough as always. "His older sister married into the Nara clan, connected to Prince Qing's household. The neighbors are impressed by this, though it's more prestigious than real benefit now. Even high Manchu families are struggling."
"Anything else?"
"The women at the market say he's been trying to rebuild ties with the Beiyang system since his father died, but most of his contacts were lost in the war. They respect his efforts to adapt while keeping his dignity." She studied him. "Why so many questions about a man you've already met?"
Li Ming gave a small smile. "Because the wrong landlord can make life difficult for a tenant. Best to know whose roof you're sleeping under."
That evening, after settling his family, Li Ming sat at his new desk and opened Yunsheng's diary. By oil lamp, he calculated their finances:
Money Remaining After Move:
Original theft: 500 taels
House deposit: 4 months × 15 = 60 taels
Moving: 8 taels
Household necessities: 12 taels
Food & medicine: 20 taels
Remaining: 400 taels
Still substantial, but he needed proper clothing for his interview at the China Merchants Steam Navigation Company. A Western-style suit—something befitting a clerk in foreign trade.
The next morning, he walked to the British concession's commercial district. The shop he sought—Henderson & Company, Tailors—occupied a corner building with glass windows displaying mannequins in English suits.
A brass plate by the door read: English Tailoring for Gentlemen.
Li Ming straightened his shoulders and entered.
The interior smelled of wool and starch. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, and a British man with graying whiskers looked up from his cutting table.
"Yes?" The single word carried volumes of assumption about who belonged in such a place.
"I require a suit," Li Ming said in careful English. "For business purposes."
The tailor's eyes swept over his Chinese clothing and queue. "Well, we do occasionally accommodate… local customers. Twelve taels, in advance."
Li Ming had expected a high price, but it wasn't the number—it was the tone. Henderson spoke as if the suit itself were a favor.
"That seems reasonable. May I see fabric samples before deciding?"
"Samples?" The tailor's eyebrows rose, his voice rich with patronizing incredulity. "My good man, surely you misunderstand. British textiles require no demonstration. Their quality speaks for itself—woven in Manchester, worn across the empire, trusted from Calcutta to the Cape. To question it would be like asking for proof of Her Majesty's crown."
His lips curled faintly. "If you must handle cloth before paying, perhaps one of your own country's tailors would better serve your expectations."
The dismissal was absolute, delivered with the smug certainty of a man who believed the Union Jack itself wove his fabrics. Li Ming's chest tightened with anger.
"I have the money," he said flatly.
"I'm sure you do. But a Chinese tailor might suit you better—in taste and in budget." Henderson was already turning back to his table.
Before Li Ming could reply,
"Master Henderson." A soft voice interrupted from the back.
A boy emerged, sixteen or seventeen at most, carrying a half-finished waistcoat. Despite his youth, his movements were precise and economical, his eyes bright with intelligence.
"Chen Weiming," Henderson said with mild irritation. "I thought you were finishing Lord Pemberton's order."
"Nearly done, Master Henderson." Chen bowed slightly, then glanced at Li Ming. His look carried understanding. "Perhaps I can assist this gentleman, sir."
Henderson waved him off. "Handle it, then. I have real work to attend to."
Chen waited until the British tailor had returned to his cutting table, then gestured for Li Ming to follow him toward the door. Once outside, Chen spoke in rapid Chinese: "Brother, that man's heart is smaller than a sparrow's, and his mind twice as narrow. You were about to lose your temper—I could see it in your shoulders."
Li Ming's anger deflated slightly. "Was it that obvious?"
"To someone who watches faces all day, yes."
Chen's smile was gentle but knowing. "As the proverb says, 'When the small man is angry, he draws his sword; when the great man is angry, he draws his wisdom.' You need clothing for work, not a fight with a foreign devil who thinks Chinese silver isn't good enough for English cloth."
They walked slowly along the street as Chen continued: "I have a proposal. I keep leftover fabric from the shop—payment in kind for my apprenticeship. Good wool, English weave. I can tailor you a proper suit for six taels, and it will fit better than anything Henderson would grudgingly provide."
Li Ming studied the young man beside him. Chen was slender, almost delicate in appearance, but his hands showed the calluses of skilled work. His manner was gentle, but something in his eyes suggested depths not immediately apparent.
"You work for free?" Li Ming asked.
"I work for knowledge. Henderson teaches me Western tailoring methods in exchange for labor. When I've learned enough, I'll open my own shop."
Chen's voice carried quiet determination. "Come, let me show you where I live. We can discuss details properly."
Chen's room was up a narrow wooden staircase above a noodle shop. Spartan, but meticulously arranged. Bolts of fabric stood in precise rows, tools hung on pegs, and a single table doubled as cutting board, desk, and dining space. On the walls, alongside tailoring patterns, were newspaper clippings and advertisements—sketches of cotton mills, British weaving machines, diagrams of factory floors.
"Humble quarters," Chen said, gesturing to a stool. "But enough for my needs."
"You mentioned opening your own shop," Li Ming said looking at the Newspaper cutouts on the wall.
"What are your plans?"
Chen's eyes lit up with the fervor of the deeply ambitious. "Not just a shop. I want to produce clothing that combines Western construction with Chinese aesthetics. Foreign techniques, Chinese materials, designs that honor our traditions while embracing modern practicality."
He pulled a newspaper from beneath his cutting materials—The North China Herald, several days old. "I read foreign papers when customers leave them behind. The world is changing, becoming connected. Chinese merchants need clothing that commands respect in foreign concessions without abandoning their identity."
Li Ming leaned forward, intrigued. "A fusion approach."
"Exactly!" Chen's quiet demeanor brightened with enthusiasm.
"Western suits make Chinese men look like poor copies of foreigners. Traditional robes make us seem backward in foreign eyes. But clothing that combines the best of both—that would serve our people's real needs."
Li Ming followed his gaze. The ambition was there, though unspoken: a factory beyond the shop.
While Chen measured and cut fabric, they spoke of needs and possibilities.
"Western suits make us look like pale copies," Chen said, adjusting a shoulder seam.
"Traditional robes make us look like fossils. But something in between—practical, modern, ours—that could work."
An idea began forming in Li Ming's mind.
The Mao suit—the "Zhongshan suit" as it would eventually be known—wouldn't be invented until 1912, but its core concept was sound. A formal jacket combining Western structure with Chinese collar styling, practical for modern work while maintaining cultural dignity.
"I have a design idea,"
Li Ming said slowly. "Something that might interest you."
From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper and began sketching with a charcoal stub.
Chen watched with growing excitement as Li Ming outlined a high-collared jacket with clean lines, practical pockets, and a design that was neither fully Western nor traditionally Chinese.
"The collar draws from our scholarly robes," Li Ming explained, adding details.
"But the cut is Western—fitted, practical for modern work. Four pockets for functionality. The overall effect is dignified without being foreign."
Chen's eyes widened. "It's brilliant. It feels Chinese, but not old. Modern, but not foreign."
"Exactly. A suit for men who must walk in both worlds."
Chen took the paper with reverent care. "This is... brilliant. It addresses exactly what I was trying to achieve. Where did you learn design?"
Li Ming improvised carefully. "I've traveled, observed clothing in different places, and thought about what our people actually need."
He paused. "I'd like to call it the zhongshan suit—the Chinese mountain suit, representing the strength and endurance of our people."
"Zhongshan suit"
Chen repeated, testing the name. "I love it. But... you're sharing this design with me? Why?"
"Because ideas become reality only when skilled hands bring them to life. I need proper clothing for work, and you need designs that will set your future shop apart from competitors. This could benefit us both."
Chen was quiet for a long moment, studying the sketch. When he looked up, his eyes held a new intensity.
"Six taels for your suit, as promised. But I'd like to propose something more. Let me make you several of these suits, and in return, I want to produce this design for other customers. We could be partners—you provide designs and , I provide the craftsmanship."
Li Ming considered. Chen clearly had skill, ambition, and the kind of methodical mind that could build a successful enterprise. More importantly, he seemed to be a man of integrity—rare in any era.
"What kind of partnership did you have in mind?"
"Equal shares,"
Chen said without hesitation. "I can contribute one hundred fifty taels in silver—my savings from three years of apprenticeship. You contribute your designs. We find a proper shop, buy equipment, and launch together."
Li Ming felt a familiar excitement—the thrill of building something new. "I can match your capital contribution," he said.
"One hundred taels from me, and we split ownership fifty-fifty."
They shook hands over the small table, sealing what would prove to be the first of many partnerships that would reshape both their lives.
Over the following five days, Chen worked on Li Ming's suit with meticulous care. Each afternoon, Li Ming visited to check progress and discuss their business plans.
They talked of shop locations, supplier relationships, target customers, and the broader vision of Chinese-owned enterprises competing with foreign firms. Chen shared his own background during these conversations. His family had served the imperial household for three generations—tailors and weavers who had crafted clothing for palace ceremonies.
But the decline of court life and general economic chaos had driven them to poverty. Chen had come to Tianjin alone, seeking to master Western techniques that might restore his family's fortunes.
"My grandfather used to say that clothing makes the man, but the man makes the clothing meaningful," Chen reflected while adjusting the jacket's shoulders. "Foreign suits make Chinese men look like actors playing roles. Traditional robes make us seem like relics of a dead dynasty. But this..." He gestured at the nearly completed zhongshan suit.
"This makes a man look like himself, but a better version."
On the sixth day, Chen presented the finished suit. Li Ming tried it on in the small mirror Chen had mounted on the wall. The reflection showed a young man who looked neither foreign nor backward, but confidently modern while retaining distinct Chinese identity.
"It's perfect,"
Li Ming said, adjusting the high collar. The fit was impeccable, the construction solid, the overall effect exactly what he had envisioned.
"Now you're ready for any interview," Chen said with satisfaction. "And I'm ready to start looking for our shop space."
The next morning, Li Ming walked through the foreign concession toward the offices of China Merchants Steam Navigation Company. The zhongshan suit drew appreciative glances from Chinese passersby and respectful nods from foreign residents. He felt armored in dignity, prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
The China Merchants Steam Navigation Company offices occupied a substantial building near the wharf district, its Western architecture proclaiming the company's modern ambitions. Above the main entrance, a brass plaque announced in both Chinese and English: "China Merchants Steam Navigation Company - Tianjin Branch Office."
At the gate, a uniformed guard looked Li Ming up and down with approval. "Good morning, young master. How may we assist you?"
"I have an appointment regarding a clerk position," Li Ming replied, straightening his shoulders.
"Ah, you're well-dressed for the occasion. May I ask who tailored your suit? It's quite distinctive—Western construction but with Chinese dignity."
Li Ming smiled, remembering his promise to Chen. "Chen Weiming's workshop, near the British concession. Exceptional craftsmanship, and he specializes in modern Chinese designs."
The guard nodded approvingly. "I'll remember that name. My son needs proper clothing for his wedding next month."
As Li Ming walked through the gateway into the company compound, he felt the weight of opportunity settling on his shoulders. Behind him lay days of preparation, new friendships, and successful partnerships.
He paused before the imposing entrance of the largest Western-style enterprise in northern China, where the future of Chinese commerce would be decided by men who understood that adaptation, not tradition, would determine survival.
The stolen silver had bought him time and position. Chen's friendship had provided him with proper presentation and a first business alliance.
Now it was time to prove that Li Ming—former PLA major, logistics entrepreneur, and reluctant time traveler—could earn his place in the world that was dying and help birth the one that would replace it.