Chapter 865: Who Agrees, Who Objects?
During the Ming Dynasty, wool weaving was quite a rarity in the Central Plains. Han people typically worked with cotton and silk. Usually, only nomadic ethnic minorities engaged in wool weaving. However, due to the Silk Road, Shaanxi had significant interaction with various ethnic groups and the West.
Consequently, the wool weaving techniques in Shaanxi at the time had absorbed the craftsmanship of the Han, Tuyuhun, and Tibetan peoples, combining ethnic styles with Han delicacy and beauty. This particular textile was called a "local specialty."
It was incredibly valuable! So much so that it could be presented as tribute to the imperial palace.
This was precisely what Liu Maopao and Zhebu's small textile factory was producing!
Zhebu’s mother, An Jile, also came to the factory, bringing with her the wool weaving techniques of the ethnic minorities. Then, a group of Han women were hired to join the factory, applying Han craftsmanship to the process.
After several days of fine-tuning, the Warm and Sleepy Textile Factory's first "wool blanket" made its grand debut.
This was tribute-grade quality, and the moment it left the factory, it was instantly snatched up!
Who among the slightly wealthier residents of Gao Family Village wouldn't want one?
However...
The Village Chief was highly respected; who among Gao Yiyi, Gao Laba, or Gao Chuwu would dare to contend with him for something he wanted to buy? Even though Gao Chuwu swept through battlefields with immense power, facing the Village Chief’s staff, he would kneel and declare, “Grandpa, I was wrong.”
As for those not named Gao, they steered even clearer.
Besides, the Village Chief was old; wasn’t it perfectly reasonable for him to want a cozy blanket to sleep wrapped in? For younger people to compete with an elder for such a warming item would be unreasonable.
“Brother Maopao!” Zhebu exclaimed excitedly, holding the large sum of money the Village Chief had paid. “Look, look! Our factory’s very first product already earned so much!”
Liu Maopao smiled. “It’s decent, decent.”
An Jile was also slightly thrilled. “I never imagined that something made with just a little wool could sell for so much money! This money can buy so many useful things: iron pots, iron shovels, tea leaves...”
Liu Maopao suggested, “You can write a letter and talk it over with your father. From now on, send all the wool from your tribe to us. We’ll process the raw wool and turn it into a lot of money, which can then be used to buy all sorts of supplies to send back to the Wushen tribe. Your people will all become wealthy.”
“Oh?” Zhebu mused. “If I help my tribesmen become rich, they’ll definitely be very grateful, right? And when I become chief, they’ll be even more obedient.”
Liu Maopao affirmed, “Exactly! If anyone doesn’t listen to you, their family’s wool won’t be sold, and they’ll starve to death.”
“Brother Maopao is truly amazing!” Zhebu declared.
Liu Maopao chuckled heartily.
Zhebu, of course, quickly set about writing the letter. He had attended school at Gao Family Village for a while, and now he no longer needed Liu Maopao’s help to write simple family letters. Picking up a brush, he managed to scrawl out some basic Chinese characters, clumsily explaining his factory’s success and requesting his father to send more wool, and so on.
This letter was quickly sent by a Gao Family Village messenger to Wangjia Fork fortress, and then transported by Zao Ying’s cavalry unit to the Wushen tribe.
At this time, the Wushen tribe was eagerly preparing for action, clashing with various groups.
After Zao Ying's last conversation with the Wushen Chief, the chief's ambitions had flared. He had organized the several tribes he had already conquered into a coalition army, systematically crushing the smaller, unsubdued tribes one after another.
Such actions were nothing new on the Mongolian steppes; this was how they had always lived.
So, it was no surprise when other tribes were beaten; those who could resist did so, and those who couldn't surrendered. It was straightforward, decisive, without any pretense or melodrama.
However, the Wushen Chief had encountered a slight difficulty.
That was the issue of supplies!
The weather on the steppe was growing colder by the day. If they only fought among themselves and didn't raid the Han people, they wouldn't acquire any supplies, making this winter difficult to endure.
It was under these circumstances that the Wushen Chief received the letter from his son.
He focused his gaze on it and couldn't help but become greatly excited. “Well, well! Zhebu and An Jile are doing quite well, aren’t they? To think they can sell cheap wool for so much money! In that case, I can send even more wool over there, earn more money, and this winter won’t be so hard after all.”
The Wushen tribe now effectively controlled six or seven other tribes. All the sheepskins and wool these tribes had accumulated were collected, bundled up, handed over to the trading caravan sent by Gao Family Village, and transported back!
The reserves of several tribes were completely depleted.
And so, massive quantities of wool were frantically shipped to the Warm and Sleepy Textile Factory...
Consequently, wool blankets, wool sweaters, and all sorts of other wool products began to be churned out at a furious pace. The common folk of Gao Family Village could now exchange their thick, cumbersome cotton clothes for light and flexible wool sweaters.
The Wushen Chief’s prestige soared because he “was not only formidable in battle but could also provide sufficient supplies for his tribesmen.” The tribes he had conquered now followed his lead with even greater loyalty.
In the seventh year of Chongzhen, early winter arrived.
The steppes were already bitterly cold...
In Ordos, a grand council was convened.
The moderator of the meeting was Bo'erzhijin Elinchen, a descendant of Genghis Khan, a representative of the old Mongol Yuan nobility, and the de facto ruler of the Ordos.
“Tribal chiefs,” Bo'erzhijin Elinchen began slowly, “Ligdan Khan is dead. Now, our Great Yuan dynasty is without a leader, and the various tribes are fragmented. The Great Ming no longer trades with us nor sends us supplies. The Jin are also eyeing us greedily, stirring up trouble one day, sending troops to attack the next. Our situation is extremely difficult right now; it looks like we won’t make it through this winter.”
The tribal chiefs remained silent.
Bo'erzhijin Elinchen then spoke, “After much thought, I believe it would be better to simply surrender to the Jin. The Jin are currently stronger than the Great Ming, and following the stronger power should not lead us astray. Who agrees? Who objects?”
“I object!” a man suddenly declared, springing to his feet.
Everyone fixed their gaze on him; it was the Wushen Chief who was voicing dissent.
Bo'erzhijin Elinchen’s heart immediately filled with rage. *Someone dares to oppose my words? This is an insult!*
He was a descendant of Genghis Khan, the helmsman of the Ordos. How dare this petty Wushen Chief be so bold?
Bo'erzhijin Elinchen leaped up, his hand shooting out to slap the Wushen Chief across the face, intending to knock the insolent man sprawling in front of all the other chiefs.
To his surprise, the Wushen Chief did not stand passively to be struck. Instead, he twisted his arm, grabbing Bo'erzhijin Elinchen’s wrist, and their hands locked, frozen in mid-air.
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