Chapter 20: The North American Branch

With the First Institutional Conference concluded, the crossing plan moved from theory into action. Specialized groups took charge of drafting operational plans, contingency protocols, and procurement lists within their respective domains, while the stream of personnel reporting for duty grew steadily each week.

Every new arrival, upon registration, was thrown into thirty days of intensive military training: drill formations, field fortifications, obstacle courses, hand-to-hand combat, and wilderness survival. Once that grueling month ended, General Affairs assigned them based on their abilities and chosen fields—either to specialized groups for planning work or to practical training courses. Zhan Wuya's modest machine shop had essentially transformed into a vocational school, its floor littered with discarded practice parts. On group recommendations, some recruits were sent to outside vocational schools for crash courses at the Crossing Company's expense.

Former IT elites now found themselves learning to lay bricks and spread mortar. Office clerks who had never touched anything more industrial than a stapler hunched over sewing machines. People who had spent their lives in climate-controlled cubicles gathered around lathes and workbenches, fumbling through unfamiliar trades with clumsy determination.

Those transmigrators who already held technical positions bore a double burden: beyond their daily documents and meetings, they were expected to train the newcomers.

Wu Nanhai had perhaps the heaviest load of all. He was tasked with transforming a group of people who had never worked the fields into competent agricultural technicians. Though some transmigrators hailed from rural backgrounds, virtually none had actually done farm work. Anyone who could distinguish wheat seedlings from chives was already considered above average.

One rule was ironclad: everyone on base, regardless of assignment, ran long-distance each morning. As Director Wen had put it with characteristic pragmatism: "If we can't fight the natives, we should at least be able to outrun them."

The Athletics Group also organized military-sport games each evening after dinner—an important means of sharpening both bodies and reflexes.

Not everyone who arrived chose to stay. Some hesitated, reconsidered, changed their minds. After all, modern society still held so much worth clinging to. Casting oneself into another dimension, gambling everything on an unknowable future, required a particular kind of courage—one that not everyone possessed. Others had viewed the crossing as an opportunity to escape societal constraints and do as they pleased; when confronted with prolonged training and strict regulations, they grew impatient and drifted away within days.

Those who remained threw themselves into the work. Swept up in the fervent excitement of tampering with history—an unprecedented adventure in human experience—this group labored almost around the clock, drafting plans and proposals with obsessive energy. Every night as Xiao Zishan walked down the corridor, he heard shouting matches, passionate arguments, and the relentless clatter of keyboards spilling from every office. General Affairs distributed generous quantities of tea and coffee daily, though cigarettes remained off the list—those were considered a luxury.

The sheer scale of organizational work posed an enormous challenge to their management capabilities. Had this not been a group preparing for another timespace, the chaos of those early weeks would have been financially devastating. Each time Xiao Zishan handed over envelope after envelope of cash "gifts" to Accounting, he felt a pang of unease—even knowing this money meant nothing to him anymore. When had he ever handled so many bribes in one sitting?

The Executive Committee had not fully grasped what a complex systems-engineering project they had undertaken. Their preparations involved tens of thousands of individual items, many of which only specialists could identify as critical. The staggering complexity of the modern industrial system left Xiao Zishan, who processed procurement lists daily, in a perpetual state of amazement.

Fortunately, IT had established an OA system for the entire organization. This permission-tiered platform allowed the Executive Committee to track personnel status, work progress, inventory, and proposals with clarity. For the first time in months, Wen Desi's desk was free of towering document piles.

Progress on every project was smooth—except for one persistent problem. Athletic equipment remained stuck in its original state.

"Athletic equipment," like the front-organization Athletics Group, was code for weapons—firearms in particular. Knives, though technically controlled, still had plenty of legitimate channels. The internet offered an endless selection of blades: from Director Wen's personally acquired 3-yuan Ming-era Japanese-style Northern border-army folding-steel infantry long sword (80cm handle, 120cm blade), to the legendary Type 56 three-edged bayonet, to Japanese saber-type bayonets and Western M9s and D80s. The debate over which blades to adopt had sparked heated arguments. But guns were another matter entirely. Plenty of people could rattle off encyclopedic data at their fingertips, yet no one had actually managed to obtain a real firearm.

But in every story, there's always a golden finger—just as transmigrators always seem to get struck by lightning.

One day, a mysterious visitor appeared at Director Wen's office.

Well, that's not quite accurate. The visitor was a man approaching forty, utterly unremarkable in appearance, with an intellectual air about him. He dressed simply but with understated elegance. When Xi Yazhou was summoned, the man was already deep in conversation with Wen Desi. The Committee members gathered around them wore expressions of barely contained excitement.

A weapons dealer? Xi Yazhou's guard went up instantly. The Executive Committee had been discussing weapons more than anything else lately. Had they actually invited such a character? This was reckless—these types were not to be trifled with. Annoyance at Director Wen's carelessness flared within him.

"Let me introduce you," Wen Desi said, noticing Xi Yazhou's expression. "This is Shi Niaoren. A doctor."

"Hello, Dr. Shi. I'm Xi Yazhou."

"Pleased to meet you!" Shi Niaoren shook his hand warmly. "We'll be comrades-in-arms soon." He burst out laughing.

"Dr. Shi came back from America specifically to join our operation," Wen Desi explained. "He's the helmsman of the North American Branch."

"Please, don't say that." Shi Niaoren waved the title away. "We have four people total in North America who've committed to crossing. Xiao Rui even sold his house—he's preparing to buy guns for everyone!"

"Buy guns!" The words sent a jolt through Xi Yazhou. He hadn't been particularly enthusiastic about acquiring firearms, knowing how slim the odds were. At best, they might source some additional five-shot revolvers through online channels. But someone who could directly purchase modern firearms? That wasn't just a step up for combat capability—it was a leap into another category entirely.

"That's right, buy guns." Shi Niaoren was actually an infectious-disease specialist by profession. As a longtime internet lurker, he had learned of the operation and flown back specifically because he knew of the transmigrators' weapons shortage—to discuss how he might help.

"Tell us—what guns can you get?"

"The Type 56 semi-automatic, of course. Cheap and plentiful." Shi Niaoren explained that SKS-series semi-automatic rifles, though their prices had risen in America, remained relatively affordable. Yugoslav variants ran under $300; Northern Chinese ones around $400. Gun stores kept plenty in stock. With sufficient funds, you could buy as many as you wanted.

"Can you buy AKs? Machine guns?" Wang Luobin's voice rose with excitement.

"Semi-auto AKs, yes. Automatic weapons are out." Shi Niaoren shook his head with genuine regret.

"Really? Aren't some states more relaxed? Plenty of Americans legally own automatic weapons."

"True enough—buying automatic weapons requires a Class III license and annual taxes. That part isn't the major obstacle; some states are quite lenient. The problem is that automatic weapons must have been on the market before 1987, thanks to the Firearms Owners' Protection Act passed in 1986. Consequently, automatic weapons today are not only prohibitively expensive but generally old and in poor condition."

"I see..." Disappointment rippled through the room. To them, machine guns had seemed the ultimate guarantee of security.

"It doesn't matter—semi-automatic weapons are already quite formidable." Xi Yazhou's tone made clear he wasn't particularly concerned about the distinction between full-auto and semi-auto.

"We're mainly here to ask what guns we should buy," Shi Niaoren admitted, looking slightly awkward. "Actually, I don't shoot myself. Xiao Rui is more familiar with firearms, but he's no professional either. You have soldiers here and serious enthusiasts—you probably understand our needs better than we do."

"Then let's go with the Type 56 semi," Wang Luobin said, his voice still tinged with disappointment. "Most people here fired and field-stripped them during military training. It's a weapon we know."

"No, I don't see it that way. The Type 56 semi is not a good choice."

The speaker was none other than Xi Yazhou—the military veteran who theoretically should have felt the deepest affection for the Type 56 semi.

(End of Chapter)