Chapter 9: A Vocational College?

“Did you withhold my name when you were caught just now?”

“No, you heard wrong. I said my friend is Qian Weiming. Isn’t your reputation well-known?”

...

The two returned to Huimin Qian Bank, and the fundraising efforts proceeded smoothly. It was time to initiate the next phase of the expansion plan.

“By the way, did you try the Great Prime Minister’s Temple? I recall their loans for charitable causes have very low interest.”

Qian Weiming nearly rolled his eyes back into his head.

“The abbot heard it was you borrowing money and kicked me all the way from the inner Buddha hall to the main gate. Do you really think they don’t hold grudges? Just think about the trouble you caused with Su Zizhan back in the day!”

He thought to himself, What did I do? It was just a debate. Which monk doesn’t debate? They’re the ones disrespecting tradition.

The conversation returned to the school’s planning. They might have forty thousand strings of cash now; small-scale tinkering would be pointless.

Qian Weiming insisted strongly that sufficient office space and staff expenses be reserved for him. The talent cultivation for the Financial Weekly must begin immediately.

“Alright, as you say! We’ll invest twenty thousand strings in hardware construction and use the remaining twenty thousand for operating funds. Then, start with single-issue financial commentaries and gradually launch a comprehensive weekly.”

“...Hmm? What do you mean by hardware?”

He slipped again, but Qian Weiming seemed used to it now, as long as Li Chang’an could explain.

“Hardware means essential, tangible items: school buildings, dining halls, desks and stools. Teachers, assistants, supervisors—those are soft elements and negotiable.”

“No way! My weekly reporters are hardware. No negotiation!”

This fellow was a bit paranoid; mention the weekly and his mood went off.

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On the third day, Young Lord Wang Pang visited again, truly presenting an official treasury receipt for twenty thousand strings.

This time, the young lord was radiant with pride, his manner as arrogant as when he was a junior clerk years ago, as if no one in the world could impress him anymore.

“Is a thank-you in order? Three years interest-free, even the Duke of Pu or the Duke of Jin don’t get such treatment.”

“Thank you, of course! Choose any restaurant in the city, any lady you like!” Li Chang’an finally tasted the joy of being the contractor’s partner.

As he said this, he grabbed the young lord to leave—broad daylight, just before noon.

“Hey! Hey... Hey...! Let go of me! I am the prime minister’s son and a court lecturer. How could I go to such a place of ill repute? Your gratitude is enough. When the school opens, remember to erect a statue of my father. It must be big, tall, and I’ll pick the jade myself!”

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To open a truly vocational university, a few craftsmen teaching skills won’t suffice.

First, a preparatory committee had to be formed.

Experts in design and planning, construction supervisors, heads of academic departments, specialists in faculty recruitment...

A proper structure was needed; relying solely on enthusiasm and courage would risk failure.

The fifth day of the fifth lunar month was a festival.

Old Zhang sent his steward—father of Guanghe and Guangxiao—with rice dumplings as a message.

“Great-grandfather has forgiven you. Go apologize, and the two of them will reconcile. Our family’s vast estate depends on you to inherit it.”

Hehe, the dumplings were delicious.

Returning home was absolutely out of the question!

The old man, perhaps secretly changed his surname—his ancestors were actually Gao—insisted on forcing a marriage with his cousin to preserve the legacy he built in this lifetime.

“Uncle Zhang, look at how busy I am; I don’t even have time to brush off mosquito bites. If grandpa is so concerned, either have another child or urge my uncle. He’s only in his thirties, still in his prime, not yet at the age when pear blossoms crush crabapples.”

After sending off the steward, he also sent Guanghe and Guangxiao back to celebrate the festival.

After a day’s work, he secretly returned near home, called his mother out for tea, and presented her with a mirror and a jade bracelet inlaid with gold.

He wouldn’t enter the house, wouldn’t see the old man, nor give notice.

It wasn’t rebellion; after all, he once ran away from the firewood room. Who knew if the old man might slip him some knockout drugs—an old Gao family specialty.

On the sixth day, the first preparatory committee meeting was held.

Liu Sanqiang, with dark circles under his eyes and dry hair, finally completed his assigned task—a comprehensive survey of the entertainment industry in Bianjing.

No one knew how he conducted the research, but he had squeezed himself dry like a mangy dog.

The original team consisted of Li Chang’an, Liu Sanqiang, and Qian Weiming; capital and educational resource partner Ai Yecheng; master designer of Song dynasty construction Feng Shouli; and Zhang Guangli, current principal of the cook school.

Six people in total, but they still needed someone dedicated to recruiting teaching staff.

The first item on the agenda: school location.

There was certainly no space inside the city, and even if there was, it would be unaffordable. Based on the average price in the eastern and western districts of the Song capital, one foot of land cost five hundred wen, and building a school would exhaust every coin.

The western city had Jinming Pond and the flood control embankment, so it was unsuitable.

The northern city was marshland, used as a defense against the Liao army.

The southern city was a good area but had been enclosed by wealthy families, with no contiguous land available nearby.

That left only outside the eastern city. The foundation was poor, with no broad, flat official road or convenient and cheap canal.

Qian Weiming and Feng Shouli were responsible for purchasing the land. After selecting a site, they brought everyone to inspect it.

The school was planned to accommodate two thousand students per term. Besides school buildings and dining halls, the largest land use would be for various practical training scenarios.

Vocational training could not rely solely on books and lectures; realistic practice was essential.

Feng Shouli estimated that to reserve room for future expansion, they needed at least ten hectares.

This wasteland in Dongguo cost fifty strings per mu; a hundred mu would be five thousand strings. If farmland was converted to residential land, taxes had to be paid.

Half the loan would probably be gone just after buying the land.

“Chang’an, if we’re short of funds, we can accept donations. I didn’t waste my time these past two weeks; I got to know many wealthy families. If you’re willing to erect statues of them, one or two thousand strings might not be out of reach; seven or eight hundred is guaranteed. Otherwise, you name a figure, and I’ll ask around again.”

Li Chang’an looked at Liu Sanqiang’s blissful expression and worried he might die on the road fundraising.

But the brothers came from the Minyue noble lineage; they surely had secret remedies to maintain their health and should endure.

“Seven or eight hundred strings isn’t enough. Here’s the plan: we’ll ask Master Feng to design a monument pavilion featuring a group portrait of donors. I’ll ask Ouyang Xiu to write the inscription. If the old gentleman refuses, we’ll use Chancellor Wang Anshi. At worst, I guarantee Su Shi!”

“If anyone still feels that’s not flashy enough, I’ll erect ten one-zhang-high stone pillars in front of the teaching building, each topped with a carved figure. Those who donate more will be placed higher.”

There was more to it?

Everyone scrambled to claim the business. Qian Weiming wanted Confucius; Feng Shouli wanted Lu Ban; Zhang Guangli wanted Yi Ya; Ai Yecheng wanted their own deities.

Who cared? Not all might be sold anyway.

“For external pricing: to be featured on the monument pavilion, five hundred strings per name, including a relief and inscription. For the Roman columns, two thousand strings per person, with a separate inscription and a three-dimensional statue.”

Fortunately, Wang Anshi and Wang Pang weren’t present. If they saw these profiteers making money like this, they’d have them bound and locked up in the government office.

This was no charity—it was a blatant money grab!