John Weddell stared at Zheng Sen as though the boy had just proposed something completely absurd.
His eyes widened slowly, confusion flickering across his face.
He had been defeated in battle. He was a prisoner. Reparations were being arranged. In every logical sequence of events he understood, this should have been the end of negotiations.
And yet here sat a youth calmly proposing trade.
Zheng Sen did not give him time to linger in disbelief.
This meeting itself existed in a narrow crack between authority and convenience. Zheng Zhilong had paid the guards well and ensured no word would travel upward. The higher ranking imperial officials must not know of this conversation. If they did, outrage would follow.
Those stiff and self righteous literati officials had behaved one way when cannon smoke filled the sky and British guns roared at Humen. Then they had trembled like frightened birds, urging compromise, whispering about appeasement, desperate to avoid catastrophe.
But the moment victory had been secured by the combined strength of Zheng Zhilong and Gao Family Village, their posture had changed.
Now the arrogance of the so called Celestial Empire had returned in full bloom.
They declared the Ming superior to all under heaven. They proclaimed no need for barbarian trade. They demanded that the English be expelled permanently and forbidden ever to return.
Their pride was loud.
Their understanding was shallow.
Zheng Zhilong had no patience for such blindness. If the court wished to posture, then he would act quietly where profit lay.
Zheng Sen spread out a rough sea chart on the table between them.
His finger tapped a point on the southern coast.
"Macau," he said.
The port, under Portuguese control, was a bright mark of foreign foothold on Ming soil.
"You cannot enter there, correct?"
Weddell gave a bitter nod. "The Portuguese seek monopoly over Far Eastern trade. They will not allow English ships into their harbor."
Zheng Sen had learned from Li Daoxuan's lessons that monopolies suffocate markets. Without competition, prices distort. Producers are squeezed. Consumers are manipulated. A single foreign power controlling access would only weaken the coastal economy in the long run.
Competition was necessary.
His finger slid northward.
"Quanzhou," he said, tapping the port in Fujian. "Currently under our Zheng family's control. We can allow your fleet to dock and trade there."
Weddell studied him carefully. "You speak boldly for a prisoner's visitor. Is this real?"
Zheng Sen looked at him evenly. "Do we need to lie to a prisoner?"
Weddell paused.
Then he exhaled lightly. "Fair enough."
Zheng Sen's finger continued tracing the coastline.
"Shanghai," he said. "Also within our sphere of influence. We can permit docking and trade there as well."
At the mention of Shanghai, Weddell's pulse quickened.
Its position was excellent. From there, one could sail efficiently to Nagasaki in Japan, connecting silver flows and goods across East Asia. It was a node in a web of opportunity.
Excitement surged in him, but caution quickly followed.
"And what," he asked carefully, "would Britain owe in return?"
Zheng Sen folded his hands calmly.
"One simple demand."
"Name it."
"Fair dealings," Zheng Sen replied. "Honest trade with all. No coercion. No violence."
Weddell stared at him.
"That is all?"
"That is all."
The simplicity unsettled him more than a list of demands might have.
But after a long moment, he nodded. "That is acceptable."
And so the negotiation concluded, quietly, unofficially, and decisively.
The bribed guards returned to their positions at the door, faces composed as if nothing had occurred.
Zheng Zhilong, Zheng Zhihu, Shi Lang, and Zheng Sen left together, walking along the road outside the prison compound.
Zheng Zhihu scratched his head, still perplexed.
"Elder Brother," he said, "I do not quite understand."
Zheng Zhilong smiled faintly. "What troubles you?"
Zheng Zhihu frowned. "The English sailed thousands of miles, brought cannons, and fought a battle just to force trade. Clearly trade benefits them greatly. Otherwise they would not risk so much. Since we won, should we not deny them anything that benefits them? Why agree? It feels like we are the ones conceding."
Zheng Zhilong laughed softly. "Xiaosen, explain to your Second Uncle."
Zheng Sen did not hesitate.
"Second Uncle," he began, "the fact that they believe trade benefits them does not mean they are correct."
Zheng Zhihu blinked.
Zheng Sen continued, voice steady and patient.
"The Westerners believe they can gather goods from across the world and sell them to us at profit. They think the Ming is merely another market. But they misunderstand something fundamental."
He looked toward the coastline in the distance.
"In the eyes of the common people of the Ming, many of their goods are of little value. Before long, something interesting will happen. Our goods will sell easily in their lands. Their goods will struggle to sell here."
Zheng Zhihu tilted his head.
Zheng Sen elaborated.
"Our farmers shape clay into porcelain so fine that Western nobles treasure it. That porcelain exchanges for their gold and silver."
"Our peasants plant mulberry trees, raise silkworms, weave silk of astonishing texture. That silk exchanges for their gold and silver."
"Our growers cultivate tea leaves that refresh the mind and soothe the body. Those leaves exchange for their gold and silver."
He smiled faintly.
"We create goods from earth and leaf. They pay us with precious metals."
Zheng Zhihu's eyes widened slowly.
"And what," he asked, "do they have that we truly need?"
Zheng Sen spread his hands.
"That is the difficulty they will face. They will find it extremely hard to take our gold and silver away."
He paused briefly, recalling Li Daoxuan's lectures.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun taught that this is called a trade surplus."
Zheng Zhihu repeated the unfamiliar phrase awkwardly.
"Trade… surplus?"
"Yes," Zheng Sen said. "When we sell more to them than we buy from them, silver flows into our country. Their wealth diminishes. Ours accumulates."
Zheng Zhihu let out a long breath.
"So that is the plan."
Zheng Sen nodded.
"That is why I advised Father not to let the imperial officials interfere. If the court refuses to open ports officially, we will do so quietly. Let the Westerners search the world for gold and silver. Let them bring it to us willingly."
Zheng Zhihu looked at his nephew with renewed admiration.
"Xiaosen," he said, "you have grown astonishingly sharp. Your explanations are clearer than many scholars."
Zheng Sen chuckled lightly.
"I only repeat what I learned at the Naval Academy on Zhoushan Island. Now that fighting here is finished, I must return to classes. Everything there is fascinating."
Beside him, Shi Lang made a face.
"Not for me," he muttered. "I prefer battle. All this talk about surpluses and deficits makes my head ache."
Zheng Sen laughed. "If you avoid study, you will grow dull."
Shi Lang grinned without embarrassment. "Then you be clever. I will charge forward in war, and you devise the strategies. Together, we remain undefeated."
The two youths laughed, their confidence bright and unburdened.
Several days later, the English delivered the agreed compensation.
Twenty eight thousand silver dollars were paid to the Ming as war reparations. John Weddell and his companions were released.
The moment he regained freedom, Weddell sent word to the East India Company that Quanzhou and Shanghai would be open to English trade.
In London and among Company merchants, excitement flared.
"A fortune awaits in the Ming," they declared.
Ships were prepared eagerly. Swords polished. Ledgers opened in anticipation.
They sailed toward what they imagined to be a golden land.
And upon arrival, they found abundance beyond expectation.
Tea of countless varieties.
Porcelain of exquisite craftsmanship.
Silk shimmering like flowing water.
Everything seemed desirable.
Everything seemed profitable.
They wanted it all.
But when they attempted to sell their own goods, they encountered a problem.
What did the common people of the Ming actually want from them?
Metalware? Inferior to local production.
Wool cloth? Ill suited to southern climates.
Curiosities? Novel for a moment, then forgotten.
They found themselves purchasing far more than they could sell.
Silver began to flow outward.
They puzzled over the imbalance.
In conventional history, such imbalance would persist for generations until a destructive solution was found in opium. When tea and silk drained Western silver reserves, merchants would eventually turn to narcotics to reverse the flow, culminating in conflict during the Opium War and figures such as Lin Zexu at Humen.
But that was another timeline.
In this world, guided by Li Daoxuan's foresight, events would not unfold so easily toward barbarity.
Here, the game of trade had only just begun.
And whether surplus would remain a blessing or provoke a new kind of conflict in the future was a question still waiting for its answer.