Yang Jirong and Li Ming climbed the stairs to the third floor of the CMSNC building, their carefully prepared proposal tucked under Jirong's arm. The corridor was quieter here—this floor housed the senior staff, British advisors, and the few private offices the Tianjin branch could afford.
Captain Jack Morrison's door stood at the end of the hall, distinguished by a brass nameplate that had weathered thirty years of salt air and service. They paused outside, exchanging nervous glances.
"Ready?" Yang whispered.
Li Ming nodded and knocked.
"Enter," came the gruff voice from within.
Captain Jack Morrison's office was a study in organized chaos. Maritime charts covered one wall, showing routes from Shanghai to Singapore, from Tianjin to Yokohama. Ship models crowded a shelf—vessels he'd commanded over three decades in Eastern waters. Books in English filled another shelf: navigation manuals, commercial law texts, journals of maritime trade. The desk was covered with logs, manifests, and correspondence.
Morrison himself sat behind the desk, a mug of tea steaming beside him. He was perhaps fifty-five, with the weathered face of a man who'd spent half his life at sea. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. Unlike many British expatriates in China, Morrison wore simple clothing without ostentation—a working captain's practicality.
He had been a Royal Navy officer once, rising to first lieutenant on HMS Inflexible. But pride and principle had cost him that career. During operations off the African coast in 1873, his captain had ordered a bombardment of a coastal village suspected of harboring pirates. Morrison, believing the intelligence was faulty and that they would be killing innocent civilians, had objected strenuously. When his objections were overruled, he'd delayed executing the order long enough for villagers to evacuate.
He'd been right—the intelligence was wrong, the village held no pirates. But his insubordination and his arrogance to no comply with orders could not be overlooked. The Royal Navy dismissed him, and at thirty-three, Morrison found himself unemployed with a family to support.
The merchant marine took him in. For twenty years, he'd sailed commercial routes throughout Asia, learning that the world was more complex than Navy regulations suggested. He'd worked with Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Japanese crews. He'd seen how British arrogance alienated potential partners, how listening mattered more than commanding, how different cultures had valuable knowledge if one was curious enough to learn.
His pride and arrogance had cost him rank and prestige, but the lesson had been worth it. Now, at fifty-five, Morrison understood that true strength came not from asserting superiority but from recognizing what others could teach you. That's why he gave young Chinese clerks like Zhao Yunsheng a chance when others dismissed them—because he'd learned that competence had no nationality, and that underestimating people was the surest path to folly.
Those eyes studied Yang Jirong and Zhao Yunsheng with what looked like amused expectation. "Well, well. What pleasure do I have to welcome two of the Tianjin branch's brightest young minds to my office so early in the morning?"
Jirong looked embarrassed at being so transparent. Yunsheng felt his confidence rise—Morrison had been expecting them. That made things easier. No need to dance around their purpose.
Morrison set down his tea with a knowing smile. "Come now, Mr. Know-It-All," he nodded at Yang Jirong, "and Mr. Wants-To-Know-Everything," he gestured at Zhao Yunsheng. "You didn't climb three floors at dawn to discuss the weather. What brings you here?"
Li Ming appreciated the directness. "Captain Morrison, we've prepared a proposal for Mr. Huang to present to Deputy Director Xu Run. We believe it could address the company's financial crisis, but..." he paused, "...it requires significant changes to our operating model. We wanted your assessment before submitting it officially."
"A proposal that changes the operating model?" Morrison's eyebrows rose. "That's ambitious for a pair of junior clerks. And you came to me because...?"
Yang Jirong found his voice. "We got the initial idea from Mr. Rupert Montague at HSBC. He mentioned old commercial practices in Europe, specifically how the East India Company worked with private merchants. Based on those few pieces of information, we've developed what we think could work for CMSNC, but..."
"But you need someone who actually understands both Western commercial practices and Chinese operational realities," Morrison finished. "And you're hoping that someone is me."
"Yes, sir," Li Ming said. "You've worked with British shipping lines, you understand Western business methods, and you know Chinese operations. If anyone can tell us whether our idea has merit or if we're being naive, it's you."
"And because you're a foreigner," Yang Jirong added bluntly. "If a Chinese clerk proposes radical changes, the old-style officials will dismiss it as youthful arrogance or improper ambition. But if Captain Jack Morrison endorses the proposal, they'll have to take it seriously."
Morrison laughed—a genuine, appreciative sound. "Honest about using my foreign privilege as political cover. I like that. Very well, show me this radical proposal of yours."
Yang Jirong placed their carefully written document on the desk. Morrison pulled it closer and began reading, his expression neutral.
Li Ming watched the captain's face, trying to gauge reactions. Morrison had spent decades in the British merchant marine before joining CMSNC—he'd seen commercial practices across Asia, survived market downturns, navigated the complex relationships between Western firms and Chinese partners.
More than that, Li Ming had observed Morrison over the past two weeks. The captain was different from most British expatriates in the treaty ports. He showed no contempt for Chinese people, no casual arrogance about British superiority. When Chinese sailors made mistakes, Morrison corrected them with the same gruff patience he showed British crew. When dock workers struggled with heavy cargo, he rolled up his sleeves and helped rather than standing aside in supervisory detachment.
Now Morrison read in silence, occasionally making small notes in the margins with a pencil. His face remained unreadable as he worked through their franchise proposal, the infrastructure monetization strategy, the service fee structure.
Then he reached the final pages—the sections on merchant navy schools, cargo insurance programs, bulk purchasing negotiations, and eventually shipbuilding capacity development. His eyebrows rose higher.
Finally, Morrison set down the document and looked at them both with an expression that mixed amusement and something else—perhaps concern.
"Gentlemen," he said slowly, "do you realize that if CMSNC implements this plan, you'll be putting my compatriots out of work? British sailors and officers currently employed by the company—most will become redundant when private Chinese owners hire their own crews."
Zhao Yunsheng met his gaze directly. "With respect, Captain, that's not entirely accurate. British ship crews might become redundant, yes—but British officers like yourself and the clerks who understand Western commercial practices? You're indispensable. You're the only ones who understand both Western business methods and China's actual operational realities. Without you, this reorganization would be impossible."
Yang Jirong added quickly, "You'd be the cornerstone of planning and execution, Captain. We need your expertise more than ever—not less."
Morrison's expression shifted slightly, acknowledging the point. "So I train Chinese crews to eventually replace British sailors while securing my own position?"
"You help China build maritime capacity," Li Ming corrected. "Which happens to align with your professional interests as well. Is that a problem?"
Morrison stared at him for a long moment, then burst into laughter—deep, genuine laughter that seemed to come from his belly.
"Christ, you've got nerve. I'll give you that." He wiped his eyes. "Alright, let me read this properly. I want to understand exactly what you're proposing."
He pulled the document closer again, this time reading with intense focus. Minutes passed. Yang and Li Ming stood quietly, barely breathing.
Morrison worked through the franchise structure without comment—he understood it immediately, having worked within similar British systems. The warehouse and docking services as revenue generators earned a grunt of approval. Ship repair facilities made him nod.
But when he reached the merchant navy school proposal, he paused. He read that section twice, then looked up.
"A training school for Chinese sailors and officers. Funded through tuition and donations from merchants who hire graduates of the school no need for government subsidies. Curriculum based on Western naval education but adapted for Chinese conditions." He tapped the page. "This isn't just about making money. This is about building China's maritime human capital."
"Yes," Li Ming said simply.
Morrison continued reading. The cargo insurance program—Chinese-owned to compete with foreign insurers. The bulk purchasing arrangements for coal and spare parts, long term bulk cargo orders leveraging economies of scale from multiple franchisee ships. And then the final section that made his eyebrows climb toward his hairline.
"Negotiating shipbuilding contracts with European yards on behalf of Chinese owners order of more than 50+ cargo ships of various sizes... while simultaneously negotiating 20% of these orders build in china and 40% of these orders use chinese parts there in developing shipbuilding capacity here in Tianjin and complete localization of civilian ships in 5 years" He looked up sharply. "You're planning to use Western expertise to train Chinese shipbuilders, then eventually replace Western yards with Chinese production."
"Long-term, yes," Yang admitted. "But the immediate goal is just getting better prices for Chinese owners through bulk orders."
"The immediate goal," Morrison said dryly, "is creating leverage over Western shipyards while building domestic capacity. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise."
He set down the proposal and leaned back in his chair, studying them both with an expression that was hard to read.
"Do you understand what you've actually written here?" His voice was quiet but intense. "This isn't just a business proposal. This is a strategic plan to reduce Chinese dependence on Western maritime infrastructure. You're proposing to tie rope around every Western shipping company, every foreign shipyard, every maritime service provider currently profiting from China's weakness. You want to control maritime development through commercial means, build shipbuilding capacity and naval personnel training through private enterprise rather than government programs."
Li Ming met his gaze steadily. "Is that a problem, Captain?"
"It's brilliant and dangerous in equal measure." Morrison stood and walked to his window, looking out over Tianjin's wharves where British, German, Japanese, and a few Chinese vessels sat at anchor. "The franchise model itself is sound—I've seen it work with the East India Company, I've seen variants in other industries. The service fees are cleverly structured. The operational details are mostly workable, though you'll need refinement."
He turned back to face them. "But this section on the navy school and shipyards..." He pointed at the final pages. "This isn't just about saving CMSNC or building Chinese maritime capacity. You're proposing to tie rope around every enterprise created by Li Hongzhang's Westernization Movement—the Kaiping Coal Mines, the Jiangnan Arsenal, the Tianjin Machine Factory, the telegraph administration even steel plants in south . You want to make them all part of an industrial chain headed by CMSNC."
Li Ming felt his pulse quicken. Morrison had seen exactly what they'd intended but not stated explicitly.
"Your bulk purchasing for coal ties you to Kaiping Mines," Morrison continued, ticking off on his fingers. "Your ship repair facilities will need machinery from Tianjin Machine Factory. Your telegraph-based cargo coordination system connects you to the telegraph administration. Your shipbuilding plans would feed steel orders to arsenals trying to develop civilian production. You're not just reorganizing one company—you're trying to control the industrialization and westernization movement across the entire country with a single commercial reorganization."
He looked at them with something between admiration and concern. "You want to move China's modernization in the direction you think it should go, using CMSNC as the lever."
Yang Jirong swallowed nervously. Zhao Yunsheng held Morrison's gaze. "Is that... a problem, Captain?"
Morrison returned to his desk and sat heavily. He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface.
Finally, Morrison walked to his bookshelf and selected three volumes, placing them on the desk with careful deliberation:
The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith—the foundational text on market economics and division of labor.
The History and Management of the East-India Company by John Bruce—a comprehensive account of the Company's commercial practices and organizational structure.
Principles and Practice of Commerce by Charles M. Palmer—a detailed manual on British shipping regulations and commercial law.
He pushed the stack toward them. "Take these. Read them thoroughly. Your proposal has bones, but it needs flesh. Specifically..."
He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing as he spoke: The franchise fee structure needs adjustment—15-20% is too broad a range. The service pricing requires more specific calculation. We need to know about current number of ship owner who can join the franchise system. 3 years of financial projections of estimated income and profits.The navy school curriculum needs concrete detail, not just aspirational statements. And the shipbuilding component needs much clearer phasing—you can't appear to be threatening Western yards too directly in the initial proposal."
Yang looked confused. "So you're... rejecting it?"
"I'm telling you to make it better," Morrison said firmly. "You have until Thursday. Bring me a revised proposal with proper detail, especially on the navy school and shipbuilding aspects give me a seprate proposal with complete vision for the next 5 years. Those are what will get Beiyang leadership interested, but they need to be concrete, not abstract."
Li Ming felt hope surge. "You'll endorse it if we refine the details?"
"I'll consider endorsing it," Morrison corrected. "If your revisions are solid, if you can demonstrate you've thought through the practical implementation, and if you can show how this benefits all parties rather than just undermining Western interests... then yes, I'll put my name behind it."
He stood, signaling the meeting's end. "But understand this: if I endorse your proposal and it gets implemented, I'll be training my own replacement. Chinese captains will eventually take positions currently held by British officers. Is that what you want?"
"What China needs," Li Ming said, "is maritime capability that isn't dependent on foreign goodwill. If that means training Chinese captains to replace British ones, then yes, that's what we want."
Morrison studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "At least you're honest about it. Most Chinese reformers dress up nationalism in flowery rhetoric about mutual benefit and cooperation. You're straightforward: China should control its own maritime destiny."
"Should every nation control its own destiny, Captain? Or only Britain?"
A smile tugged at Morrison's lips. "Touché, Mr. Zhao. Very well. Thursday morning, bring me your revised proposal. Make it good—because if I'm going to commit career suicide by supporting a plan that replaces British sailors with Chinese ones, it had better be a plan worth falling on my sword for."
Yang and Li Ming bowed and turned to leave. At the door, Morrison called out:
"One more thing. That idea about bulk purchasing arrangements and negotiating ship orders with European yards and localization of shipbuilding —that's clever thinking. Who came up with that specifically?"
"Zhao Yunsheng did the shipbuilding part, I was responsibile leveraging shipping capacity for bulk order of cargo and coal" Yang Jirong said.
Morrison's eyes fixed on Zhao Yunsheng. "You're not just thinking about saving this company, are you? You're thinking about how to build Chinese maritime capacity and Industrial strength more broadly."
"Is that a problem?"
"It's ambitious. Possibly too ambitious for a dock worker turned clerk. In Britain such planning and such execution is done by the cabinet and Civil servants, this is more like a national policy than a revenue generating plan for the company" Morrison's gaze was penetrating. "But I suppose ambition isn't a sin. Just be careful that your ambitions don't outrun your capabilities."
"We'll do our best, Captain."
As they descended the stairs, Yang let out a long breath. "I can't believe that worked. He's actually going to help us."
"He's going to help us if we prove we're serious," Li Ming corrected. "We have four days to refine this proposal until it's bulletproof. Those books he gave us—we need to read them cover to cover."
"Four days to read three dense books while working full time?" Yang looked daunted.
"Then we don't sleep much. This is our chance, Yang. Morrison understands what we're trying to do, and he respects it enough to consider supporting us despite it threatening his own position. We can't waste that."
Yang clutched the books to his chest. "Alright. We split the reading—I'll take the shipping regulations, you take the economics text, we'll both read the East India Company history. Meet at my place tonight to compare notes?"
"Every night until Thursday. We're going to make this proposal so detailed and comprehensive that Morrison has no choice but to endorse it."
As they reached the ground floor and headed to their respective offices.
Morrison was right—the proposal wasn't just about saving CMSNC. It was about building the foundation for Chinese maritime independence and Industrial development. If it worked, it would demonstrate that Chinese enterprise could compete with foreign firms through superior organization and strategic thinking rather than just cheaper labor.
And Morrison, despite being British, despite facing unemployment if the plan succeeded, was willing to help—because he valued what was right over what was personally convenient.
Li Ming had served under many officers in his PLA career. Some had been competent, some incompetent, some politically connected but militarily useless. But the best—the ones he'd respected most—were those who put mission before ego, who cared more about doing things properly than protecting their own positions.
Morrison reminded him of those officers. And that made Li Ming more determined than ever to prove worthy of the captain's trust.
Thursday morning couldn't come soon enough.