Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 142 Those Little Fish Care! (Seeking Monthly Tickets)
Marin County, California.

Lawson rocked back and forth in his rocking chair, a cigar dangling from his lips.

Er Gou stood respectfully to the side, reporting the latest news he had just intercepted from the San Francisco Telegraph Office.

"Boss, the Japanese side has fully accepted the conditions from the US East Coast, offering a 20% price reduction. Moreover, they have passed an internal resolution to prepare for a large-scale export of prostitutes overseas, codenamed 'Miss Tangxing,' with San Francisco as the first stop."

"Oh?" Lawson raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Historically, this scene should have occurred a few years later, after the Satsuma Rebellion completely crippled Japan's finances.

Now, his own naked chokehold plan and those two clean and efficient double-crosses have clearly accelerated this process significantly.

"Miss Tang Xing..."

In his previous life, he had complained that these Japanese women weren't going to the Qing Dynasty to sell themselves, so why were they called "Tangxing"?

I later learned that in the old Japanese language, "唐" (Tang) generally refers to overseas, whether you go to America or Europe, it is called "唐行" (Tang Xing).

"Alright."

Lawson stretched lazily: "Let them come. San Francisco has just been cleaned up and needs some energy to liven up the nightlife. Tell the brothels in San Francisco to get ready to welcome these international friends; they're all walking eagles."

"Yes!"

Japan's response was entirely within Lawson's expectations.

Expanding silkworm farming requires sacrificing food production, and the reason they dare to sacrifice food production is precisely because of the current economic crisis in the United States.
The Great Depression, which began in 1873, is now in its sixth year.

Agricultural prices have plummeted, warehouses in California are overflowing with unsold wheat, and farmers are struggling and crying out on the brink of bankruptcy.

That was the Japanese plan: to feed their silkworm farmers with cheap American food and then make money off the Americans with the silk.

That's quite a clever scheme.

Currently, the United States is experiencing a food surplus and a collapse in food prices, making it a good time to buy food at low prices; meanwhile, Europe is also struggling in a recession...

and many more!

Lawson sat bolt upright!

He suddenly remembered something else!

Something that has been overshadowed by the bloodshed and turmoil of the past few months is a matter that is a billion times more important than the robbery of several ships of raw silk or the collapse of a few companies!

This year is 1878.

In the far east, a purgatory later known as the "Dingwu Famine" was burning fiercely.

The instant this thought flashed through his mind, a piece of information suddenly pierced the depths of his consciousness.

They are suicide squad members.

Of the dandelion seeds he scattered around the world, one finally drifted down and landed on that land of calamity.

When Lawson closed his eyes and opened them again, the world had been turned upside down.

Lawson's consciousness descended into the body of a young, strong assassin who spoke with a Shanxi accent.

The moment he saw the scene before him, he even wondered if the assassin's eyes were broken.

There was no color in sight; all that could be seen was a monotonous, murky gray.

The sky was grayish-yellow, and the sun was obscured by thick haze, leaving only a pale and powerless disc.

The land was grayish-brown, and the landscape was desolate.

There was no grass, not even a single withered blade of grass.

The hillsides were bare, and the fields were cracked, with huge fissures crisscrossing the landscape.

What were once trees are now just twisted, grayish-white remains, their bark stripped clean from top to bottom.

Lawson moved his body, and as expected, it was very strong.

This is the standard template for refreshing.

But on this land, strength itself is a sin.

He was standing on what was called an official road.

On the official road, there was a gray river made up of people, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Numbness, deathly silence.

Even though he had witnessed many tragic scenes, Lawson was stunned at this moment.

These people were all emaciated and walked around blankly, without even the strength to cry.

Not far away, a woman was kneeling on the ground.

She was holding a stone and smashing something frantically.

It was a small corpse, a child.

Finally, she cracked open the bone, then plucked out the contents and stuffed them into her mouth...

"Stop looking." A hoarse voice rang out beside Lawson.

It was another person, hunched over, holding a sharp wooden stick in his hand.

The man's cloudy eyes turned to Lawson, then quickly looked away, landing on Lawson's feet.

"From out of town? Your shoes are very nice."

Lawson lowered his head.

The assassin was wearing a pair of the most ordinary leather boots in California.

On the official road, 99% of the people were barefoot.

Their soles rubbed against the cracked earth, mixing with the loess and hardening into a dark brown crust.

"Let's go." The man withdrew his gaze, as if the boots had dissuaded him from something: "If we don't leave now, none of us will be able to leave."

Lawson didn't move; his brain was still rapidly processing the memories of this body.

This is Shanxi province.

The core area of ​​the "Dingwu Famine".

He began to recall historical records.

In the early stages of the disaster, people were able to barely feed themselves, but as the drought continued, the food chain collapsed rapidly.

The grass roots and tree bark were all stripped clean.

Then, there is Guanyin soil.

Kaolin cannot be digested; it swells when it comes into contact with water and solidifies into stones in the stomach and intestines.

Countless people suffocated to death in excruciating pain as their bellies swelled up like drums.

As the disaster entered its second year, even Guanmingtu could no longer deceive his stomach...

Lawson's gaze drifted to the back of the hillside.

Two or three shadowy figures were furtively dragging something along.

It was a body that had just collapsed.

He sighed.

The record in the *Shanxi Gazetteer* surfaced in Lawson's mind, carrying a bloody stench:

"When the grass is exhausted, they peel the bark from the trees; when the bark is exhausted, they dig up ground squirrels; when the squirrels are exhausted, they eat human flesh."

“There are husbands who eat their children and wives who eat their husbands, yet they weep as they eat.”

Initially, it involved digging up graves and stealing corpses.

Later, it turned into hunting and killing living people.

Lawson even saw in this body's memories the corpses that were chopped up, dried, and sold as jerky at the market...

"damn it!"

The words in the book were tragic enough, but when he was actually in that environment, no matter how calm Lawson was, he could hardly suppress the evil fire in his heart.

He wasn't criticizing the horrific scene, but rather those who should be held responsible!

Local officials, in order to protect their positions, lied and claimed there was a minor drought to cover up the true situation.

The life-saving silver obtained by Governor Zeng Guoquan, who cried out that "millions have starved to death," was embezzled at every level, and less than 30% of it ultimately reached the disaster victims.

In this hellish year, in the capital, Empress Dowager Cixi's forty-second birthday banquet was being held with great fanfare, and the Summer Palace was being built.

An official risked his life to plead for the use of funds from the birthday banquet to aid disaster relief, but was instead rebuked for "not knowing the rules" and immediately demoted!

On one side, there was wine and meat; on the other, there were corpses of the starving.

1300 million people!

These are no longer just cold, hard numbers; they represent countless souls trapped in despair.

There are only about 800,000 people in all of California right now.

Lawson's heart was pounding!

He finally took a step forward, moving against the flow of people.

He walked quickly, his strong body weaving through the emaciated crowd, attracting countless greedy, fearful, yet hopeful glances.

Then he saw two more people behind a large rock by the roadside.

A father and a daughter.

The father's body had collapsed. He leaned against a rock, his chest barely rising and falling. His only movement was to futilely shield his daughter from the sandstorm blowing towards her with his hand.

The girl was about eleven or twelve years old, and was also skin and bones.

Lawson felt another sharp pang in his heart.

In California, 16-year-old Lucy O'Dell would cheer for a muffin covered in jam.

Here, this eleven or twelve-year-old girl is silently evaporating.

Lawson pulled an oil paper package from his pocket.

Inside was half a loaf of bread.

A piece of bread that is the cheapest in California, and is even a bit dry and hard.

And at this time and place, this is the nectar of the gods.

Lawson quickly glanced around.

When those numb, unresponsive zombies smelled food, their eyes lit up and they instinctively swarmed towards the food.

"roll!"

Lawson roared, his strong physique and undisguised killing intent in his eyes causing the closest refugees to instinctively tremble and stop in their tracks.

Lawson ignored them, squatted down, and stuffed the half-bread into the girl's father's hand.

The man paused, looking down at the food in his hand with disbelief.

Food! The food just appeared in my hand by itself!
"This is all I have left to eat. You two can share it," Lawson said hoarsely.

"Food, it's food..." The man's chapped lips trembled, and two streams of turbid tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.

He used all his strength to hold the half-bread to his daughter's mouth.

"Daughter, eat, eat quickly."

The girl looked at the piece of bread, and her empty eyes finally regained some sparkle.

The little head craned forward with difficulty, trying hard to reach the piece of bread...

Just as she was about to put the bread into her mouth, she stopped.

The light in his eyes disappeared again, until they turned gray.

She tilted her head slightly, rested it on her father's arm, and remained still.

"Nannan?" the man called tentatively, but there was no response.

"Nannan, eat up! We have food now, it's white flour."

"Eat up! Open your eyes and look at your father!"

"Nah!"

A heart-wrenching scream finally erupted from the man's mouth!
His parents died, his wife died, and he was on the verge of not being able to go on living. His only daughter had passed away before him!

Why can't God open his eyes and look at these ordinary people who just want to survive?
Lawson knelt there, staring intently at the little girl's body.

She was so hungry, so extremely hungry, that she couldn't even wait to eat the last bite!
Lawson clenched his fists tightly, a single hot tear rolling down and landing on the dry soil.

"Hold!"

"Fuck you, this damn world!"

The surrounding refugees, who had been itching to join the fray, were terrified by the sudden outpouring of grief and indignation emanating from him and retreated one after another, looking at the burly man with faces full of fear.

Lawson slowly stood up, a raging inferno burning in his chest!
Although he was angry, he also knew that with his own strength, he was still too insignificant in the face of this natural and man-made disaster involving tens of millions of people.

He couldn't save everyone; he couldn't even save a girl who starved to death in front of bread.

but……

Lawson looked at the father who had cried until he lost his voice, and then glanced at the pitiful disaster victims around him.

He can take them away, take them away from this hell!
Give them food and let them live!

In the instant his consciousness returned, Lawson was almost overwhelmed by a flood of senses.

The hellish gloom was slowly washed away by the California sunshine.

"Hehe, got you, you lazybones!"

A small hand suddenly ripped off the wide-brimmed hat covering his face.

Lawson opened his eyes, and the world before him returned to its pleasant state.

Lucy O'Dell was bending over, looking at him with her eyes crinkled.

She was ready; the moment Lawson opened his eyes, she would scream to scare him and then jump away.

This is a game they've been playing a lot lately.

But today, the expected scare did not occur. The face beneath the hat was unusually calm.

Lucy's smile froze on her face; she had never seen Lawson like this before!

Those eyes, which always carried a hint of languor and playfulness, were now a deep crimson!
What surprised her even more was that a tear, still glistening and not yet dried, clung to the corner of her red eye.

Mr. Lawson cried?

In her mind, Mr. Lawson was omnipotent.

He descended like an angel, driving away the scoundrels who bullied my mother; with a wave of his hand, he built this beautiful house.

On ordinary days, he can hunt down the most ferocious black bears with ease and humor.

How could such a strong and mighty man cry?

“Mr. Lawson, you…” Lucy panicked a little: “Are you feeling unwell?”

She awkwardly reached out to wipe his tears, but then quickly withdrew her hand. In the end, she patted his shoulder instead.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

Lawson was lost in thought for a few seconds until the scent of soap emanating from Lucy filled his nostrils, and he finally snapped out of it.

Lawson slowly sat up, took the straw hat and put it back on his head.

His hat brim was pulled low, obscuring his entire expression.

"Lucy."

"I'm here!" Lucy quickly replied.

"Let me tell you a story."

"Huh?" Lucy was taken aback for a moment, but quickly nodded, "Okay, okay!"

She obediently sat down on the grass next to Lawson, hugged her knees, and looked up at him.

"On the beach after the tide has gone out."

Lawson slowly began, “It left behind countless puddles of all sizes, with hundreds and thousands of small fish trapped inside, struggling helplessly. Before long, the sun will rise, these puddles will dry up, and their lives will be over.”

Lucy listened with a mixture of understanding and confusion, and the beginning made her feel somewhat oppressed.

“A passerby walked by and noticed a little boy not far away. The little boy would stop at each puddle, bend down, carefully pick up the small fish inside, and then throw them all back into the sea.”

"A passerby watched for a while, then couldn't help but walk over and say to the little boy, 'Son, don't waste your energy. Look, there are hundreds and thousands of small fish in the puddles on this beach; you can't possibly save them all.'"

The little boy didn't even look up; he picked it up while answering, "I know."

"The passerby was even more puzzled. He asked, 'Then why are you doing this? It doesn't change anything anyway, and who would care?'"

Lawson suddenly stopped.

Lucy held her breath and instinctively pressed, "What did the little boy say?"

Lawson turned his head and his gaze fell on Lucy's small face.

The little boy did not answer directly. He bent down again, picked up a small fish that was still struggling slightly from a nearly dried-up puddle, and threw it back into the sea.

"Then, he looked at the passerby and said very seriously, 'But this little fish cares.'"

"After saying that, he picked up another fish and ran, throwing it forcefully into the sea while muttering to himself."

"This is something I care about."

"It cares about this too."

"And this one too!"

The story is over.

Lawson got up, brushed the grass clippings off his pants, and walked towards the small building without saying a word.

“Mr. Lawson!” Lucy shouted from behind him.

“That little fish…it…” Lucy’s eyes also reddened a little: “That little boy, he was so silly, yet so kind.”

Lawson's shoulder twitched slightly.

"Yeah, that's really silly."

He didn't linger and went straight into the house.

Lucy sat alone on the grass, reliving the story over and over again.

She seemed to understand something, yet she also seemed to understand nothing at all.

In the room on the second floor.

The overwhelming hostility that had been deliberately suppressed downstairs was now rising again.

But this time, Lawson did not lose control of his emotions.

That story was told to Lucy, but also to himself.

He thought it through.

Yes, he can't save everyone.

It cannot save the thirteen million innocent souls who are about to or have already starved to death.

He is not God.

But, so what?
He can't just stand by and do nothing because he can't save them!

We'll save as many as we can within our capabilities!

That land has hundreds of puddles, each teeming with millions of small fish.

He can't save them all, but he can scoop out the small fish from the nearest puddle!

Pack them up, load them onto ships, and ship them to America, to his territory!
This might seem like a thankless task, or just asking for trouble.

Perhaps in the eyes of those bastards in Beijing who are celebrating their victory, in the eyes of those self-proclaimed civilized Westerners, and even in the eyes of the already numb disaster victims themselves, who the hell would care about the life or death of those lowly "piglets" as insignificant as ants?

Nobody cares, but Lawson does!

"It cares about that little fish too!"

Once the emotions subside, it's time to execute.

What obstacles lie in going to the Manchu Qing dynasty to pick up people?

The Manchu government, transportation, and resettlement.

The first question is about the Qing government...

In 1878, the official stance of the Qing Dynasty was that it tacitly permitted people to go abroad to work and find a way to make a living.

This realization surprised even Lawson.

This is mainly thanks to Anson Burlingame, the former U.S. Minister to China, who was half-clear-headed and half-confused in 1868.

After leaving office, this guy was actually rehired by the Qing government as a minister to various countries, representing the Qing dynasty in negotiations with the Western world.

The first major thing he did was to run back to Washington and sign the "Sino-American Supplemental Treaty," also known as the "Burningson Treaty," with the US government.

This is the most crucial document for understanding the Qing Dynasty's attitude in 1878.

Article 5 of the treaty clearly states: "The people of China and the United States are eager to travel, travel, trade, or reside in one another."

This treaty, in the form of international law, recognizes the right of citizens of both countries to freely migrate and reside abroad.

Although the treaty would be partially torn up by the Americans themselves two years later, and then trampled into the mud in 1882 with the infamous Chinese Exclusion Act.

But now, it's 1878!
The Burlingame Treaty remains in force!
This is practically tailor-made for Lawson!
As long as he gets through to the local authorities, he can openly and legitimately take people away from the port under the guise of recruitment!

With the first problem solved, the next issue is transportation.

He needs boats, lots and lots of boats.

It wasn't one of those "piglet ships" where people were crammed into the hold and faced a near-certain death.

What he needs is transport capacity, efficiency, and large transport ships that can bring back the "small fish" he has his eye on alive!
This idea quickly became a command, which was precisely aimed at downtown San Francisco.

……

San Francisco, Police Department Headquarters.

Aoyama was fiddling with the brass police badge.

On his desk, one side was piled high with municipal documents about the reconstruction of San Francisco, and on the other side was a progress report on the rayon factory that had just been delivered from Oakland.

Just then, he paused slightly in his play with the police badge.

"Boats, everything, to the Qing Dynasty."

Aoyama immediately pulled the cord next to the table, and the bell rang.

A few seconds later, the newly appointed deputy director, British-born assassin Li Ang, pushed open the door and entered.

"Director."

"Go and fetch Patrick O'Malley, and those other boatmen in town."

"Yes!"

after an hour.

The smoke in the director's office was so thick that people could hardly see their faces.

Patrick O'Malley, the nominal Irish shipping magnate, was fidgeting as he stubbed out his third cigar.

There were two other men sitting next to him.

One was a Dutch-born ship captain named Van der Meer, who controlled several cargo ships traveling to and from Panama.

Another representative was the Sforza family, whose ship owners were responsible for transporting supplies to mines in South America.

These three individuals controlled almost 80 percent of San Francisco's ocean shipping capacity, excluding NPC Corporation.

They were all agents who were pushed to power during the bloody reshuffle in Los Angeles.

"Director Qingshan."

O'Malley finally couldn't hold back any longer: "You called us all here with such a big fuss, did those damn bastards at the docks cause you trouble again? Don't worry, I'll break their legs when I get back!"

“O.Malley,” Aoyama said slowly, “how many large ships do you have that can cross the Pacific Ocean?”

O'Malley was taken aback, wondering why the new director had suddenly become interested in this.

"Well, there are about six ships that can go long ocean voyages, Chief. They are all top-quality ships, with plenty of power and large cabins!"

Aoyama nodded, then looked at the other two: "And you two?"

Van der Meer quickly replied, "I have four!"

“Our family owns five ships.”

“Very good.” Aoyama took out a shipping chart of San Francisco and spread it on the table.

"Starting tomorrow, all sixteen of your large transport ships will cease all operations and go to this location to pick up people for me."

"Go...go to the Manchus?"

O'Malley's smile was more like a grimace: "Chief, you're not kidding, are you? That's the other side of the world!"

The Dutchman van der Meer exclaimed, "That damned place is far away and fucking dangerous, with pirates and typhoons... and we don't have any trade routes with them at all. Who knows how long it would take to go back and forth!"

"That's right, Chief!"

Sforza's representative also panicked: "Our ships all have fixed contracts, and the mines in South America all have hard-and-fast contracts. If we breach these contracts..."

"I'll pay the penalty for breach of contract." Aoyama's calm words silenced everyone's complaints.

He stood up and walked in front of the three people, a murderous aura suddenly pressing down on them.

“You don’t seem to understand. I’m not discussing this with you; I’m informing you.”

O'Malley felt a chill run down his spine under his gaze: "But, Mr. Aoyama, are we going to pick up people? Pick up 'piglets'? That stuff has a profit margin lower than shit, and those yellow-skinned monkeys on the ship are smelly and prone to disease. If we bring them over, 30% of them will die en route. We..."

Snapped!
O'Malley was knocked off his chair.

"O'Malley." Aoyama withdrew his hand. "First, I don't want to hear that word again. Understand?"

O'Malley covered his face, knelt on the ground, and didn't dare to utter a sound.

"second."

Qingshan looked around at the other two boat captains, whose faces were already deathly pale: "You think you're the boss? No, you're just managing these boats for my boss. These boats, and your lives, belong to the boss!"

"He needs his ship to get things done. All you have to do is shut your stinking mouths and carry it out!"

"As for the price." Aoyama walked back to his desk, took out three prepared checks, and threw them on the floor.

"This is the rent. Your boat is to go to the Manchu Qing Dynasty to pick up my compatriots. Only after you have picked them up and brought them back safely can you continue to be your boat captains."

"If I can't get the job, then I'll replace it with three obedient people to be the captain."

“Now,” he raised his eyelids, a chilling smile on his face, “anyone else has a damn problem with that?”

The office was silent for two seconds.

O'Malley immediately picked up the checks from the ground, and the other two also picked up theirs, trembling.

They really wanted to have something to say, and they especially wanted to throw those insulting checks right in Aoyama's face.

But they simply didn't dare!
They had no doubt that if they dared to say no, three more corpses would appear in the office the next second!

Tomorrow, the Global Chronicle will only have one more headline: "Three shipping businessmen die in gang shootout."

"No, no objections, Chief!" O'Malley forced a smile, his face swollen. "We'll get ready right away and guarantee the mission will be accomplished!"

"Very well." Aoyama waved his hand: "Get lost."

The three men felt as if they had been granted a pardon and quickly fled the bureau chief's office.

……

The boat is here.

Next, we'll go into that gray hell and scoop up the little fish struggling in the puddles.

We'll take whatever we can!

(End of this chapter)