Chapter 29: No One Came Out a Loser

September 21, 1938, Office of the Provisional 2nd Division, Jiangcheng

Many things in life appear to be to your advantage, yet the other party never truly loses. The people at the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics were well aware of Wang Yue’s background, and they knew clearly that he would never defect to the Eighth Route Army. By granting him the designation of the Provisional 2nd Division, their true intent was to have Wang Yue contain or suppress the Eighth Route Army from within their base areas.

Furthermore, to better antagonize the Eighth Route Army, the authorities upgraded Qifeng Town directly to a county. With a population of only a few thousand, the Second War Zone suddenly boasted a new, unconquered county seat. Naturally, the Japanese, always obsessed with face, would be compelled to launch more incursions deep into the Taihang Mountains, inevitably causing the most trouble for the Eighth Route Army, which had yet to secure its footing.

The Military Affairs Commission was not composed of fools; they knew that if you wanted someone to act as a lightning rod, you had to provide sufficient benefits. Therefore, not only did they refrain from questioning the military expenditures of the previously established Independent Detachment, but they also advanced one year’s worth of military funding for the Provisional 2nd Division—a modest sum of 600,000 legal tender.

In theory, a provisional division’s monthly budget was 250,000 legal tender, but in practice, there was significant flexibility. For the current Provisional 2nd Division, a portion of the funding was expected to be raised locally at their garrison; how that was achieved was of no concern to the higher-ups. Upgrading Qifeng Town to a county was also a way to appease Wang Yue—the tax revenue from a county seat should, at least in theory, be enough to sustain a 3,000-man provisional division.

Xu Zhongyi had been thrilled to hear that the 600,000 legal tender would be provided without any skimming. However, upon arrival, he was stunned. While the total was indeed 600,000, only 200,000 was provided in cash. The remaining 400,000 was designated as an "equipment allowance," from which the previously allocated equipment funds were immediately deducted. Surprisingly, it was somewhat fair—they only took 150,000 back, but the remaining 250,000 couldn't be spent as one pleased; one had to accept whatever equipment the military saw fit to provide.

In 1938, 250,000 legal tender was a significant sum. Xu had hoped for some artillery—four vintage mountain guns to add a bit of prestige to a provisional division wouldn't have been too much to ask. The rest of the money, he reasoned, should go toward grain, as they were ostensibly on the verge of starvation.

In the end, all Xu brought back were four "Sentinel" steam trucks, open-top models at that. Upon inquiry, he learned these had been confiscated from the Japanese Concession, and since there was no available transport to move them west, they were simply offloaded onto the Provisional 2nd Division. As for anything else, there was nothing—well, not quite nothing, as the trucks were filled with coal. But the problem was, they didn't lack coal. That desolate place, Qifeng Town, might have lacked other resources, but it certainly had coal mines. Was it really worth hauling coal all the way from Jiangcheng?

"Milong, how did that pile of junk turn out?" Wang Yue wasn't particularly angry at the Military and Political Ministry’s offerings. This was nothing; wait ten years, and everyone would look back and think the current Ministry was surprisingly honorable.

"It’s hard to sell. With millions of troops gathered around Jiangcheng, there are too many people selling weapons," Milong replied, curling his lip. His own business was booming, but it relied on the ‘Western medicine’ provided by his Commander. As for the weapons, he couldn’t move them, and honestly, he didn't want to sell them at a loss. If he didn't have his own channels to buy cheap Japanese weapons, he would have been buying them off the market instead—they were just that cheap.

"Is such a small business worth showing off?" Wang Yue asked, surprised. So many quality weapons remained unsold, yet the cheapest ones had moved. But on second thought, it made sense; a simple, single-shot pistol on the market cost only one silver dollar—the kind of thing any roadside blacksmith could forge, and thus, essentially worthless.

"Ten barrels of gasoline, siphoned off foreign freighters. It’s better than the military’s own fuel; it could fetch 2,500 silver dollars on the black market. They sold it to us cheaply because they were afraid of being swindled by higher-level racketeers," Milong laughed. It was wartime, and the black market was flooded with sellers. If things continued, prices would likely rise.

"Keep that line open. No matter who is in charge, the people doing the work remain the same. Don't let them lose out; pay them what is due. We don't lack that little bit of money. How are the medicine sales going this week?" Wang Yue nodded. This kind of theft was unavoidable, even with modern shipping containers, let alone in an era where 90% of cargo was moved by hand. You could watch one or two people, but once the workers united, it was impossible to stop. As long as one wasn't greedy, no trouble would arise. Like the gasoline—siphon a canteen from every barrel, and no one would notice. Accumulate enough, and ten barrels from a single ship was easily achievable.

"Don't you worry, sir. I’m an expert at this. The Umbrella Corporation has been restricting supply lately, so my prices have skyrocketed. Right now, one tablet of sulfonamide goes for seven and a half silver dollars, one tablet of quinine for four and a half, and a bottle of morphine powder for sixty. We’re pulling in 20,000 silver dollars a day. In this time, we’ve accumulated 430,000 silver dollars." As he spoke, Milong pulled several Citibank cashier’s checks from his coat and pushed them toward Wang Yue. Everyone knew legal tender was unstable, so Milong converted all profits into silver dollars immediately.

"Moving forward, have Alexei continue to control the output, and you tighten things up as well. We don't have much stock left." Wang Yue wanted to continue profiting from the "Western medicine," but the processing capacity couldn't keep up, and raw materials were scarce. The daily supply of penicillin, sulfonamide, and quinine was strictly limited, and the medicinal herbs used as primary ingredients couldn't be sourced indefinitely. Between the limited supply and the lack of advanced refining technology—he was still using the equipment from Laojun Temple, augmented only by a centrifuge now that they had electricity—he was at a bottleneck.

The Umbrella Corporation hadn't sold large quantities of "Compound Sulfonamide" for a week, limiting sales to ordinary citizens with a prescription—two tablets per person, per day, capped at 1,000 tablets total. Once they were gone, they were gone.

"Should we continue the free clinic?" Milong asked, concerned. The medics who had come with them to Jiangcheng had been treating wounded soldiers abandoned around the military hospital. It consumed a massive amount of medicine daily. If they stopped, he feared thousands might die, and those were living, breathing human lives.

"Continue. Even if we don't make a profit, we continue. At the same time, identify suitable people to recruit. Veterans, technical specialists, and junior officers are our most precious assets," Wang Yue said firmly. The troops gathered around Jiangcheng, even the irregulars, were the elite of their kind. In a year’s time, that would no longer be the case.