Chapter 95: Li Minority Work (Part 2)
The strange procession made its way along the road toward Lipan District. Eight Li porters carried salt for trade while the transmigrators marched fully armed—there was no telling whether they might encounter Ming troops or bandits along the way, and either would prove equally quick to seize wealth on sight.
The road was not empty. Travelers who spotted this peculiar column approaching gave it wide berth, though the farmers tending their fields paid little heed. They remained absorbed in their pre-harvest labors: draining paddy water, watching their rice approach ripeness. The Agriculture staff accompanying the group estimated potential yields as they walked.
After less than an hour's march, the county seat appeared on the horizon. Two months ashore and the transmigrators had already clashed with the local Ming government, yet except for the monitoring personnel from Military and Communications, most had never laid eyes on Lingao's Ming administrative center. The tension of earlier days had dissipated. Militiamen on the walls had thinned considerably, the gates stood open, and people came and went with an air of ordinary bustle. Villagers had set up near the gate to hawk vegetables, chickens, ducks, and bundles of firewood. A peaceful scene.
Still, as their party drew near, a momentary ripple of tension passed over the walls. Team leader Lu Rong spotted an armored figure watching from above. To avoid any misunderstanding, they gave the gate a wide berth and passed at a distance. Farmers who had been readying to flee relaxed visibly when the strange procession moved on without incident.
According to their prisoners' accounts, their dong village lay more than a hundred li from the county seat—impossible to reach in a single day. They would need to stop overnight.
"I didn't expect such desolation!" Mu Min exclaimed as they walked. The landscape offered few cultivated fields; instead, vast grasslands stretched away, choked with head-high weeds.
"Lingao is itself a remote small county," Wen Desi replied. He had joined the party purely from curiosity and a desire to unwind. Since D-Day, an endless succession of meetings, documents, and drafts had consumed his every waking hour—far busier than life before—leaving no time for the outdoor activities he loved. This expedition was a chance to recover.
As for safety, he saw no danger whatsoever. A man who never removed his stab-proof vest, kept pepper spray close at hand, and delighted in carrying and wielding everything from long folding knives to 1.2-meter Western hand-and-a-half swords—Chinese pirates, Ming soldiers, rural militia, bandits—they were all mere trash to him. Moreover, his twenty-odd companions bristled with weapons. In place of steel helmets, which would have hindered mobility, they wore rattan safety hats—the Industrial Department's first successful batch after a month of research. Originally intended to emulate colonial-style pith helmets, the results looked somewhat mismatched. Still, with leather suspension systems installed, they felt decent enough, and rear flaps had been added with sunshade cloth—colloquially dubbed "butt-curtains."
"Strange," Mu Min mused. "With so much wasteland, why isn't anyone cultivating it? Those prisoners—Li or Han—are all either tenants or laborers. There's water available, and the soil doesn't look poor."
"Lack of water," Wen Desi said. He had never farmed himself but understood the basics.
"Nonsense—with a river that size, you're telling me there's no water?"
"The water's still in the river. Getting it into the fields is another matter entirely. Irrigation is a great science unto itself—lifting mechanisms, channels, sluice gates..."
"Then why not dig channels?"
"Water projects are laborious." Wen Desi shook his head. "Individual households can't dig irrigation channels on their own. Throughout history, such projects have required government organization—massive investments of labor and money."
"So that's how it is. Nothing's ever simple." Mu Min sighed, then looked at him with sudden curiosity. "So why did you all come here, anyway? Wasn't staying in the twenty-first century perfectly fine? Why risk traveling to this timespace?"
Wen Desi smiled mysteriously. He could hardly tell her he had come to become a god. But Mu Min apparently interpreted his enigmatic expression as something lecherous, because she curled her lip in disgust. "How revolting—you men are the worst!"
Far behind them, Ming Lang watched his wife chatting and laughing with the bandit-chief "Boss Wen" and felt the urge to rush forward and slash the man. These past days had truly depressed him. Ever since learning they were in Ming-era Lingao, their family of four had been semi-detained. Their wonderful Hainan vacation had transformed into permanent exile in the Ming Dynasty—these lunatic bandits had wanted to come here, but his family certainly hadn't!
He resented his wife's meddling as well. She had insisted on helping some Public Security Group, donning that hideous training uniform, cheerfully heading off to work each day and returning late, then chattering endlessly about everything she had seen. His father was no better. Initially the old man had brooded in silence, but upon hearing his daughter-in-law's reports, some nerve had been triggered. He had actually volunteered for a work assignment and was now supposedly serving as "naval advisor"—whatever that meant. Hearing this, Ming Lang wondered if the old man was feverish. His own father, a longtime Party member, a former PLA Navy man, was now collaborating with these people? As for his mother—always a social butterfly—she had befriended local women within days, was never home anymore, and had recently begun talking about starting some kind of women's welfare cooperative for trading.
Looking around at his family, only he was doing worst. Apparently useless to everyone, he had received no proper assignment—just day after day as a wretched "basic laborer," toiling alongside local coolies. When his wife mentioned this expedition to Li territory for work, he had signed up immediately. Xiao Zishan had wanted to refuse him, but reconsidered—they were legally married, after all. Denying the husband seemed unreasonable.
So he had barely scraped onto the team. But his wife served as the team's "ethnic advisor," clearly core personnel, ranking far above his porter-level status. Since departure, she had been at the leaders' sides—discussing work, chatting and laughing with them. He was furious. Consequences would be serious.
During the noon rest, the Communications Group radioed Bairren Fortress headquarters as routine, reporting all clear. They had agreed before departure to make contact every three hours; the expedition would report their position so headquarters could track their movement. Everyone sampled the Agriculture Department's newly developed field rations: Wu Nanhai's personally made "Jinhua Flaky Biscuits," which featured a bizarre flavor; "Japanese Rice Balls" seasoned with rice vinegar and dried plums; and walnut-sized lumps of unknown composition wrapped in bamboo tubes labeled "Soldier Provisions Pills" in nonstandard Chinese—supposedly one equaled one meal.
"What is this stuff!" Lu Rong had eaten a rice ball so sour his teeth nearly fell out. Unpalatable as it was, it successfully killed his appetite after half a day's walking. Mission accomplished.
"Everyone rest a bit longer—we're leaving soon." Just then he spotted Mu Min emerging slowly from behind a rock, patting her hands.
"Lost weight—not fun to fight—"
The remainder of the journey proved uneventful. As they approached Li territory, the terrain grew rougher—gentle slopes gave way to rolling hills. Transmigrator travelers became scarce. Occasionally they encountered Han peddlers carrying goods into Li areas, or Li people bearing goods out for trade, but everyone gave them wide berth. Lu Rong could not find anyone willing to share information about conditions ahead.
Progress slowed. Survey team members stopped periodically to correct their maps; some ran off to collect stone samples and plants. Everyone used these pauses to rest and stretch.
The survey results proved exciting: a coal belt distribution existed here! Though of poor quality—low-caloric-value lignite with limited reserves—the belt should extend far to the south; the modern Nanbao Coal Mine was roughly in this direction. Lignite made poor fuel but excellent fertilizer. Most thrilling of all were the many traces of brown iron-ore veins, shallowly buried and suitable for small-scale open-pit mining.
"We must open this trade route quickly," Wen Desi said, visibly excited.
"The Ming troops along the way are troublesome," Lu Rong replied with a frown.
They had passed two Ming military checkpoints and one camp. Seeing their full armament, the guards had not bothered them. Wen Desi used the opportunity to observe their future military adversaries: the soldiers were sallow and thin. Forget armor—they could not even find complete clothing. He wondered: could such troops, a few hundred of them, really hold the Li-area border? Either they were formidable fighters, or Li combat capability was extremely weak.
"Mm," Wen Desi nodded. "First we negotiate terms with the Li. We send technicians; they handle extraction. We exchange products—saves establishing a secondary base."
After breakfast the next morning, according to the prisoners' account, they had reached the edge of Li territory. Han peddlers still passed occasionally. Ahead lay Juti Village with a large Ming camp called Nanlu Camp, garrisoning the strategic Fanbao Shan pass into Li territory. Though the camp's soldiers were all Li themselves, and some extortion occurred, nothing truly serious happened there.
Wen Desi had learned from the Intelligence Group's Li Affairs Bulletin that the Fanbaoshan terrain was treacherous, with only a path wide enough for one person. This was the main pass along the Han-Li boundary. Without security guarantees, it was best not to cross. The prisoners' dong villages lay north of the pass; beyond Fanbaoshan lived mostly "raw Li," whose dialects and customs differed markedly from the "cooked Li." Interactions between the two groups were rare—they came together only during rebellions.
(End of Chapter)