The evening air had turned cool by the time Jinliang returned with Xu Mingzhe. The young law intern carried himself with careful formality, his Western-style suit neat but showing signs of long wear. His face was composed, almost severe, until Jinliang made the introductions—then a flicker of genuine interest crossed his features.
"Xu Mingzhe, law intern at the British Judicial Court," he said, his Mandarin carrying a slight southern accent. "Jinliang tells me you're attempting something ambitious with treaty port commercial law."
Zhao gave him a quick briefing on the franchise proposal, the legal complexity of operating across multiple jurisdictions, and their four-day deadline. As he spoke, Xu's expression shifted from polite interest to focused attention.
"This will require careful structure," Xu said quietly. "Treaty port law, Chinese commercial regulations, international maritime conventions—they don't align naturally. But with proper framework..." He glanced at Jinliang, then back to Zhao. "I can work with this."
"We'd be grateful for your help," Zhao said.
"Jinliang's judgment is usually sound. If he thinks this matters, I trust his assessment."
Moments later, Meiling returned with Chen Weiming, who entered with his characteristic quiet grace. The gentle tailor looked slightly overwhelmed by the assembled group of professionals, but his eyes showed the same steady determination Zhao had come to rely on.
"Everyone, this is Chen Weiming," Zhao introduced. "My friend and business partner. He's the craftsman behind this suit I'm wearing."
That drew immediate attention. Jinliang examined the zhongshan suit with new appreciation. "This is excellent work. The cut, the stitching—this is professional quality."
Chen flushed but managed a small bow. "Thank you. It's a design Zhao and I developed together."
Fu studied the suit with a naval officer's eye for practical details. "Functional without sacrificing dignity. Well done."
Even Xu showed interest.
Zhang Shufen appeared with tea, fussing over the guests until Zhao gently suggested they move to his study where they could work undisturbed. She nodded, though her eyes showed both pride and confusion at seeing her son command such respect from educated men.
---
Zhao led them down the narrow corridor to his study. He opened the door and stepped aside, letting them enter first.
The room stopped them in their tracks.
A massive map of China held court on the main wall—not the abstract administrative charts seen in bureaucratic chambers, but a precise, topographical canvas. It rendered the vast sweep of the Yellow River across the central plains, the jagged spine of the Kunlun Mountains, and the fertile life of the Yangtze Delta with startling fidelity. The coastline, traced with an almost prophetic care, jutted into the high seas.
But the map was also a stark ledger of humiliation and loss. Territories irrevocably ceded or governed by foreign rule were starkly delineated. Japan's victory was etched in a harsh red: the entire island of Taiwan (Formosa) and the Penghu Islands had been torn away and marked as newly Japanese territory by the Treaty of Shimonoseki. Elsewhere, the permanent cessions to Britain—Hong Kong Island and Kowloon—remained a deep, unyielding blue, while the numerous, intrusive Concessions—self-governed enclaves like the International Settlement in Shanghai—were shaded to show the foreign presence eating into the vital organs of the nation.
The map had taken Zhao six nights to complete, working by lamplight after everyone slept. He'd needed it—a visual reminder of what China had been, what it had lost, and what it might yet become. Each stroke of ink was a meditation on the long journey ahead, though he couldn't quite name where that journey led.
Fu was drawn to it immediately, walking forward as if pulled by magnetic force. His weathered hands traced the coastline, his fingers following sea routes and naval chokepoints with the instinct of someone who'd spent years studying maritime strategy.
"I've seen world-class maps at the Naval War College," Fu said quietly, his voice thick with something between awe and pain. "But I've never seen China mapped with this level of detail. Not even in Beiyang headquarters."
His finger came to rest on the Yellow Sea, precisely where the Battle that had shattered China's naval dreams took place. He stood motionless, staring at that point as if seeing the burning ships, the drowning sailors, the end of everything he'd trained for.
"Where did you acquire this?" Fu asked without turning around.
"A British merchant in the concession was selling off his possessions," Zhao said carefully. "I bought it from him."
Fu's eyes swept across the map once more, cataloguing every detail, then he turned back to the room. His expression was unreadable, but something had shifted in how he looked at Zhao—a reassessment of what kind of person would hang such a map in their private study.
Jinliang had moved to the bookshelf that occupied the right wall. His aristocratic fingers traced the spines of books—most in English, a few in Russian, covering an astonishing range of subjects. He pulled out a worn copy of Vom Kriege.
"On War, von Clausewitz," Jinliang said, opening it with obvious familiarity. "I didn't expect to find this here. Have you read it?"
"Parts of it," Zhao admitted. "The translation is difficult."
Jinliang began leafing through the pages, finding passages marked with notes in the margins—not in English, but in Chinese characters. His eyebrows rose.
Yang, given permission by Zhao's gesture, moved eagerly to the bookshelf. "Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations... Mackinder's geographical works... Mill's Principles of Political Economy... Zhao, this collection must have cost a fortune."
"About four hundred taels," Zhao said. "Plus five hundred pounds from a pub bet."
Tan Wei had found the mathematics section, pulling out Elements of the Differential and Integral Calculus by William Smyth. He opened it with trembling hands—this was advanced material, the kind he'd only dreamed of studying. His face showed pure longing.
Xu examined the legal texts with professional interest—Blackstone's Commentaries, various treaty compilations, international law primers. His expression remained controlled, but Zhao noticed him making mental notes. For someone who'd studied at Cambridge, this was a respectable private library.
Chen wasn't surprised—he'd helped Zhao track down several of these books through various sellers in the concessions. But he appreciated the completeness of it, the systematic coverage of subjects. Zhao's hunger for knowledge matched his own, though their fields differed.
On the opposite wall hung a blackboard covered with Chinese characters—elementary lessons for teaching literacy. And in the corner sat Zhao's younger brother, hunched over a small desk, practicing his writing with the solemn concentration of an eight-year-old trying very hard to impress.
The boy looked up at the sudden influx of strangers, his eyes growing wide. When he saw Fu—tall, imposing, carrying the austere bearing of a military officer—his lower lip began to tremble.
"Xiaohu," Zhao called gently. "Come show me your homework."
The boy scrambled up, clutching his paper, and hurried to Zhao's side. Zhao examined the writing, made a few corrections with patient explanations, then gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze.
"Very good. Now go find Mother—she needs help in the kitchen."
The boy nodded, stealing one last frightened glance at Fu before scurrying out.
On the desk were several medical books, Western anatomy texts with Chinese translations written in neat margins. Medical terminology lists, basic physiology notes.
Zhao gathered them up. "Meiling!" he called.
His sister appeared in the doorway, her expression still showing traces of irritation from earlier.
"These are for you," Zhao said, handing her the materials. "I've translated the key sections. Study them, and let me know if you need clarification on anything."
Meiling's eyes widened as she took the books, quickly scanning the translations. Advanced medical knowledge, carefully prepared for her education. Her throat tightened.
"I've also asked you to handle logistics for our working group," Zhao continued. "Food, tea, writing materials, anything we need. But you're welcome to listen to our discussions when you have time."
Every man in the room gave her a second look—not with disrespect, but with surprise. Educating a daughter? Allowing her to observe important business discussions?
Yang, recovering first, smiled. "Does Zhao's sister want to become a doctor, then?"
Meiling's head snapped up, her eyes flashing. "If Her Majesty Empress Dowager Cixi can rule the entire country, I'm perfectly capable of studying medicine. Women hold up half the sky."
She turned on her heel and left, taking the medical books with her.
The room fell silent. Then Yang chuckled, breaking the tension. "Your sister has spirit."
Xu spoke quietly, almost to himself: "More families should educate their daughters. The waste of potential..." He didn't finish the thought, but something painful flickered across his face.
Fu nodded approvingly. "My younger brother is studying marine engineering at MIT—Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I send him money monthly from my salary. Education should go to those with ability, regardless of gender or convention."
The comment hung in the air, revealing more about Fu's values than any political statement could have. Meiling's sharp retort had earned her unexpected respect from these men who'd bucked convention in their own ways.
---
Zhao moved to the center of the room, gesturing for everyone to gather around the desk. "We have four days to revise this proposal. Captain Morrison needs detailed implementation plans, financial projections, legal frameworks—everything that turns vision into executable strategy."
He paused, recognizing he needed structure that could actually work. His mind reached for organizational methods from his other lifetime—committee frameworks, work divisions, clear accountability.
"I propose we form a Franchise Planning Committee," Zhao said. "Clear divisions of responsibility, coordination mechanisms, someone to lead the overall effort."
"You should lead it," Yang said immediately. "This was your vision."
But Zhao shook his head. "Captain Fu should lead. He has the most relevant experience—military organization, systematic planning, institutional design. He's the most qualified."
Fu looked startled. "I'm not—"
"You've studied training programs for the US Naval War College " Zhao interrupted. "You understand how to build institutions from scratch. You know what Morrison will look for because you've worked under similar systems. This needs your expertise at the top."
Yang nodded enthusiastically. "I agree. Captain Fu should lead."
Tan Wei, still clutching the calculus textbook, added his quiet voice: "Captain Fu."
Chen, Xu, and Jinliang all indicated agreement.
Fu stood rigid, something working behind his eyes. For years, he'd been shut out of leadership despite his qualifications. And now these young men—most of them strangers until today—were voting to place him in charge of their most important project.
"If you trust me with this," Fu said slowly, "I'll do my best to earn that trust. But I'll need help. Yang should serve as deputy—he understands the commercial operations better than anyone."
Yang straightened, honored by the appointment.
Zhao pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing. "Work divisions based on expertise:
Commercial Operations — Yang Jirong, Chen Weiming
- Franchise model refinement
- Service pricing structures
- Market analysis and projections
- Partnership agreements with private ship owners
Financial Analysis — Tan Wei, with Zhao Yunsheng support
- Three-year financial projections
- Profit and loss statements
- Cash flow models
- Statistical analysis of revenue streams
- Creating visual presentations (charts, graphs) to make data accessible
Naval Academy & Shipbuilding— Fu Weihong, with Zhao Yunsheng support
- Merchant navy school curriculum and structure
- Current status of various shipyard in the country
- Shipbuilding capacity development plan
- Technical training programs
- Integration with existing Beiyang institutions
Legal Framework— Xu Mingzhe, Tatara Jinliang
- Treaty port law compliance
- Franchise contract structures
- Multi-jurisdictional navigation
- Strategies for bureaucratic approval
Research Support — Zhao Yunsheng
- Providing materials from Morrison's books and personal library
- Bridging between teams
- Filling gaps where needed"
Fu studied the organizational chart, his naval training appreciating the clarity. "This is solid. Clear responsibilities, logical groupings. But you've made yourself support staff when you designed the whole framework."
"I'm better at helping others work than leading directly," Zhao said. It was partially true—though the real reason was that he needed to be everywhere, filling gaps, guiding without it being obvious. "Think of me as the brick that fills whatever hole needs filling."
Jinliang watched this exchange with fascination. Here was a sixteen-year-old systematically assigning sophisticated work to professionals while positioning himself as mere support. Either remarkable humility or sophisticated political maneuvering—possibly both.
Xu observed Zhao with narrowed eyes. This organizational instinct, this comfort with committee structures and work division—it spoke to education and experience far beyond a dock worker's background. But he said nothing, filing his suspicions away.
Fu felt something shift in his estimation of Zhao. The boy—no, young man—had proposed Fu for leadership and immediately found ways to support that leadership rather than undermining it. Having been excluded from authority for years, Fu recognized the gift being offered: genuine delegation of power, not political theater.
Chen smiled softly. He'd seen Zhao's organizational mind before, when they'd structured their tailoring partnership. But watching him coordinate a group of strong-willed, educated professionals was something else entirely.
Tan Wei felt relief flooding through him. Clear assignments, defined responsibilities, someone promising to help him make the numbers accessible to non-specialists. He could work within this structure.
Yang grinned. "Deputy to Captain Fu, partnering with Chen on commercial operations. I can work with this."
"Then we begin," Fu said, his voice taking on the crisp authority of command. "Yang, Chen—start mapping every private ship owner in northern Chinese waters. We need to know their fleet sizes, routes, financial situations. Tan—gather all existing CMSNC financial data. Xu, Jinliang—review the franchise contracts Morrison mentioned and identify legal vulnerabilities. Zhao and I will outline the naval academy curriculum."
The room transformed into organized activity. Papers were distributed, reference books were pulled from shelves, people claimed spaces at the desk and floor.
Meiling returned with a large pot of tea and cups. She moved quietly, distributing refreshments, but her ears caught fragments of discussion: "port access rights under British treaty law"... "depreciation schedules for aging vessels"... "Mahanian principles adapted for commerce protection"...
Her brother was orchestrating something vast and complex, and these men—accomplished, educated men—were following his lead while thinking Fu was in charge.
She set down a cup of tea beside Zhao, catching his eye briefly. He smiled at her—a quick, genuine expression—before turning back to help Tan organize financial ledgers.
As darkness fell outside and oil lamps were lit around the study, the Franchise Planning Committee worked deep into the night. Different combinations huddled over documents: Fu and Zhao sketching academy organizational charts; Yang and Chen calculating market sizes; Tan covering pages with numbers while Zhao showed him how to convert data into visual forms; Xu and Jinliang debating treaty interpretation while checking precedents in Zhao's law books.
The room hummed with focused energy—the sound of capable people finally given meaningful work that matched their abilities.
And in that moment, something began that none of them fully recognized: not just a business proposal, but the formation of a core group that would eventually reshape far more than one shipping company.