The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 580 What? Someone in Java wants to massacre the Chinese?
The rainy season in Johor has just passed, and white steam is rising from the red soil road.

The carriage of Xue Rongyue, the father of the two brothers Xue Youyi and Xue Youli, a wealthy Chinese businessman in Singapore, rolled over the bumpy mud road. Moore took off his sweat-soaked bowler hat and looked at the distinct scenes on both sides of the road - the rice fields on the left were lush and green, and farmers wearing bamboo hats were working with short-barreled flintlock rifles on their backs; on the right, weeds were overgrown over the fence, and in front of the dilapidated hut, several Malay children were hitting each other with wooden sticks.

"On the left are the farms of the Chinese, and on the right are the farms of the Malays." Xue Rongyue used his walking stick to lift the curtain of the carriage. The overseas Chinese leader in Singapore wore a thin white suit tailored by a Chinese tailor in Singapore, a western-style sun hat, and a copper dragon emblem of the Zhenyue School on his chest. "With the same ten mu of land per person, the Chinese can build a tiled house and marry a wife in three years, but the Malays can hardly even make a living."

Friedrich was writing down Xue Rongyue's words in his notebook when his pen suddenly stopped. He noticed that there were bamboo poles with scales standing beside the Chinese fields, and pottery jars were buried under each bamboo pole. "What are those jars?"

"Measure the rainfall." Xue Rongyue said, "The Farmers' Association invited European agricultural experts to find out the rainfall conditions and soil fertility in various parts of Southeast Asia so as to compile the most reasonable "Essentials of Farming". In this way, the newly arrived Chinese immigrants only need to learn in the Farmers' Association for a few weeks and they will be able to farm in Southeast Asia."

"What about the Malays?" Moore asked. "Can they get the 'Essentials of Farming' as well?"

"Of course," Xue Rongyue smiled, "If they want?"

Bai Siwen sneered, "What are they doing here? Can they read?"

Xue Rongyue shrugged, "If you are illiterate, you can learn. Most of the Chinese who came from overseas are also illiterate. The farmers' association has set up literacy classes, and the True Covenant priests will teach them to read. Malays can also attend the True Covenant literacy classes and primary schools." He pointed to the children playing in the Malay village, "Chinese children of this age, both boys and girls, are studying in the town's school at this time!"

Bai Siwen laughed, "Mr. Xue, are you kidding? Who in the world likes reading as much as the Chinese?" He turned to Friedrich who was recording, "Everyone knows that the Malays are not as hardworking and capable as the Chinese. Otherwise, why would the British and the Dutch allow the Chinese to come across the ocean? In Southeast Asia, land, minerals, ports, shops, factories and other means of production would not create any value without the Chinese!"

Friedrich wrote in his notebook: "In Southeast Asia, the gap between people is much greater than in Europe."

When the carriage drove into Sungai Pahat, a blacksmith shop on the street was quenching the newly cast barrel of a mountain-splitting cannon. A worker in shorts was hammering at the unfinished iron farm tools. On the white walls on both sides of the shop door were painted blood-red slogans: "We need both farm tools and guns."

The sound of reading aloud could be heard from the town’s primary school, but the texts were "Three Character Classic" and "Thousand Character Classic".

"Stop!" Xue Rongyue suddenly knocked on the roof of the car. He pointed at two villages across the river outside the town: on the east bank, blue brick and tile houses were lined up, and the threshing ground was full of sacks; on the west bank, thatched houses were tilted like drunks, and rags were floating on the clotheslines.

The overseas Chinese leader stabbed his walking stick into the mud: "To the east is Chenjia Village, inhabited by people from southern Fujian. 1,500 acres of paddy fields support 50 families, and every family has enough food to last a year. In Malay Village to the west, seven people starved to death last year, and 18 families sold their land! In three years at most, Chenjia Village will swallow up Malay Village."

Moore looked along the tip of his stick and saw only the plowshares that had rusted to a reddish brown color turned upside down on the riverbank. Several Malay youths were squatting on the bank sharpening hatchets. They looked at the guns carried by the farmers in Chenjia Village across the way and had no choice but to carry their knives and go into the woods.

At this moment, three smoke signals suddenly rose from the northern foothills. Xue Rongyue's face suddenly changed: "It's Huangjia Village, 18 miles away, that has been attacked by the Malays instigated by the Johor Sultan!"

As soon as the signal smoke sounded, the church bells in the town began to rang - this was the order!

All the small merchants and craftsmen in the town put down their work, took out the Brown Bess rifles smuggled from India from somewhere, and ran to the open space in front of the True Jesuit church to gather.

The town's primary school principal, a mixed-race lady in her thirties with British nationality, also ran out with a Bible in her hands - she was an Anglican believer and could report the "truth" of the conflict to the British Straits Settlements, the protector of the Johor Sultan, from an impartial and neutral standpoint!
In Singapore, there are blond, blue-eyed British lawyers who speak up for Chinese immigrants.
At this time, the sound of suona rang out one after another between the ridges of the fields outside the town, so sharp that it could pierce the eardrums.

"Copy guy!"

"Gather at the threshing ground!"

The farmers who were working in the fields also put down their work and rushed to the gathering place that had been designated long ago. They had foreign rifles on their shoulders and were ready to join the battle at any time!
"Last month, a farmers' association in Kelantan was attacked," Xue Rongyue said proudly when he saw the Chinese brothers quickly assembled and headed towards Huangjia Village. "A few hundred Malay mobs hacked seven Chinese to death, and three days later, the True Yue Crusaders burned down their six villages." He suddenly smiled strangely, "Now the Malay Sultan of Johor dares not collect taxes from the True Yue villages."

Not long after the militiamen from Chenjia Village left, Bai Siwen suddenly shouted, "Look at the west bank!" Shouts suddenly broke out from the other side of the river. Dozens of turbaned men rushed out of the Malay village on the west bank, holding machetes and rushing towards the stone bridge. But as soon as they stepped onto the bridge, seven or eight gun muzzle flashes flashed from a bamboo forest on the other side. Lead bullets hit the leaders and they fell face down into the river!
"The rifle platoon crosses the bridge!" A leader of the farmers' association wearing a bamboo hat rushed out of the bamboo forest, waving a command flag.

A group of Chinese militiamen emerged from the bamboo forest. The ones in front, holding brown bass with bayonets, stabbed the "corpse", while those behind them fired their guns at the fleeing attackers.

A young Malay man just raised a hatchet when a bloody hole the size of a bowl exploded in his chest!
Xue Rongyue sneered: "They are not qualified to lure our people away and then launch a surprise attack and play military tactics with us!"

As dusk fell, the smoke of war and gunpowder in the north had dissipated. Three ox carts creaked over, piled with captured machetes and homemade muskets. Xue Rongyue lit a cigar: "It seems that the Sultan of Johor is going to lose a few more villages!"

On the return journey in the carriage, Friedrich opened his notebook and began to record what he had seen and heard today. At the end, he added a comment: "The productivity of capitalism will always turn into combat effectiveness."

As Moore and his entourage rode through the cobblestone streets of Singapore, the air seemed to be filled with an uneasy smell of gunpowder. The Chinese shops in Chinatown closed early, which was unusual, and the shop assistants were reinforcing the doors and windows with wooden strips. A team of British infantrymen wearing peaked helmets ran past, and all of them had bayonets on their rifles - a rare scene of martial law in the Straits Settlements.

"The Governor's Mansion was under martial law half an hour ago," Xue Rongyue whispered to a Chinese businessman and knew what had happened. "The informant at the dock said that the Dutch warship Java was being refueled with coal. It seems that the big shot from Batavia has arrived!"

Friedrich asked: "Even if the great men of the Dutch East Indies come, there is no need to impose martial law, right?"

Xue Rongyue snorted coldly: "The Dutch have Chinese blood on their hands. The British are afraid that the assassins sent by Zhen Yue will shoot the Dutch!"

Bai Siwen laughed, "Great, chaos is about to break out. There's going to be something interesting to watch!" He glanced at Xue Rongyue who was glaring at him, "Archbishop Wei must be looking forward to a fight soon, right?"

A map of the South Seas was spread out on the long teak table in the conference hall of the Governor's Palace, and the kerosene lamp cast a long shadow on the Dutch Governor-General Charles Ferdinand Pahud.

This red-faced Frisian with a Napoleon III-style grey beard and stubby sausage-like fingers was poking at Java Island: "Wei Jun's Farmers' Association annexed twelve plantations outside Batavia in three months. Even the white officials in the customs at the Port of Jakarta were bribed by him with women and gold! I don't know how much arms have been smuggled into Java Island these days!"

Edmund Brandel, the governor of the Straits Settlements, held a silver-plated pipe in his hand and spoke in typical London civil service language: "But the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1841 stipulates that we cannot interfere with the other party's territories."

"Then revise the treaty!" Pahud roared, "If we don't fight this battle, you will have to. If we lose, the next place Wei Jun will annex is the Straits Settlements!"

Governor Brandel looked embarrassed: "We have just signed a thirty-year friendship treaty with the Chinese. And the more Chinese there are in the Straits Settlements and Malaya, the more prosperous the economy will be, and the more tax revenue the colonial authorities will collect. If there are no Chinese, we can't stay here!"

Pahud's face turned pale. "As long as the Royal Navy blocks the sea route and prevents the Lan Fang troops from moving south from Borneo, we can replicate the Red Sea Cleansing of 1740 in Java!"

In the corner, British commander Major General William Stirling suddenly sneered. The short and stocky Scotsman wore a black eye patch on his left eye and held a cigar in his mouth: "Is it really possible? More than a month ago, Shi Dakai, the Wing King of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, led his troops to capture the Russian Sevastopol Fortress!"

Pahud's face became even uglier, and he clenched his fists tightly. "No matter what, we must defend the Dutch East Indies. This is our most valuable colony! We don't have as many colonies as your British Empire, so we can look down on the Straits Settlements. And please note that south of the Dutch East Indies is your Australian colony!"

Upon hearing this, the faces of Edmund Brandel and Major General William Sterling changed.

Brandel said: "Britain cannot be directly involved in the conflict on Java!"

"That's enough!" Pahud sneered, "On the island of Java, Chinese people account for less than 10%!"

(End of this chapter)