Chapter 185: New Year

Over the preceding months, the Security Team had conducted an exhaustive investigation into local conditions in Lingao. They had interrogated prisoners, held conversations with recruited laborers and soldiers, maintained regular contact with locals at the East Gate Market, and even stationed operatives in the East Gate's teahouses to eavesdrop on casual talk. From this wealth of raw intelligence, they had assembled detailed dossiers on persons of interest—and Zhang Youfu's file was particularly thick. Given his frequent dealings with the Executive Committee and his intended role as a bridge to the local power structure, knowing him thoroughly was essential.

As an impoverished landlord, Zhang Youfu was economically negligible. His standing in Lingao derived entirely from his connections to the various pirate syndicates operating along the coast. The man was shrewd and capable, possessed of a silver tongue that made all parties comfortable with him as a go-between. Such a multifaceted character had obvious utility to the transmigrators—messages could flow through him in many directions—but he required careful watching.

Wen Desi continued drinking and chatting with their host, and Zhang Youfu basked in the attention. Having attached himself to the baldies, surely comfortable days lay ahead? He matched drinks enthusiastically, and the atmosphere at the table grew warm and convivial.

As the wine flowed, Zhang Youfu grew eager to demonstrate his value. He lowered his voice to share that most of the local gentry actually supported the transmigrators' "joint militia defense" proposal. The small and medium-sized villages especially—those that could not afford to maintain large militia forces on their own—hoped to pay a modest fee in exchange for rural security. At minimum, such an arrangement might buy them peace, sparing them the fate of the Gou Manor. The larger fortified settlements like the Huang stronghold remained more ambivalent. Old Huang, Zhang reported, had kept silent during the gentry discussions, and when finally pressed for his opinion, agreed to the proposal—though he had added pointedly that villages should not place all their hopes in "you people." They ought to keep their own young men under their own control. Otherwise, if all the armed forces fell into outside hands...

Xi Yazhou nodded silently. This old man had vision.

Seeing their interest, Zhang Youfu warmed to his subject and began to embellish. He described how Huang Shoutong had thrown himself into drilling his militia and stockpiling grain within his fortress walls. After this year's harvest, aside from mandatory tax payments, he had sold nothing—every bushel went into storage. He had even put his tenants to work repairing the fortress walls during the winter slack season. "He's planning something," Zhang concluded darkly.

Wen Desi understood well that Zhang Youfu's connections to pirates had long earned him Huang Shoutong's contempt. On several occasions, Huang had nearly had him arrested for pirate collusion, only to be restrained by the intervention of other gentry. Zhang was clearly seizing this opportunity to settle old scores through slander. Still, his words rang true enough. Huang Shoutong was a man the transmigrators genuinely admired. Everything in their collected materials suggested he was remarkably loyal and righteous by this spacetime's standards—not the sort who would submit easily.

"Besides him, who else opposes?" Wen Desi asked.

"A few poor scholars. The most vocal is Liu the Cripple."

"Liu the Cripple?" The name drew blank looks. Wen Desi and Xi Yazhou knew roughly every scholar, degree-holder, gentry member, and landlord in Lingao by name and nickname. Neither had ever heard this one.

"That's Liu Dalin," Zhang Youfu explained. He was a true creature of the marketplace, harboring no reverence whatsoever for Lingao's only historical jinshi. He had simply nicknamed the man for his disability.

"The jinshi Liu."

"That's the one." Clearly Zhang Youfu nursed grievances against the esteemed scholar as well. "Relying on his jinshi status, he insists—" He caught himself, realizing he had said too much, and quickly pivoted. "This Liu Dalin keeps going on about 'no compromise with traitors' and scolding the gentry for 'bargaining with tigers' and 'serving tigers' and such. Always tigers with him."

So Lingao's most distinguished figure held quite a negative opinion of them. Wen Desi and Xi Yazhou exchanged glances and smiled bitterly. According to their plans, Liu Dalin was a key figure to cultivate—his stance would largely influence how the local scholars and gentry positioned themselves. But recruiting him now seemed very difficult indeed.

Wen Desi pressed for more details about Liu Dalin. He learned the man had earned his juren degree in the forty-third year of Wanli. After passing, he had traveled to the mainland for further study, reportedly to Jiangxi, where he became a disciple of a former Hanlin Academy editor. Four years later, he passed the jinshi examination. Appointed magistrate of some county in Anhui, he had become paralyzed shortly after passing and never took up his post. He returned home to live in quiet seclusion.

(Note: Liu Dalin jinshi's biography comes from Lingao cultural history. The Jiangxi study claim is legendary and unverifiable.)

Wine loosened Zhang Youfu's tongue further, and personal grudges began spilling out. He had once disputed water rights over hillside land with a neighbor and, drawing on his connections, had hired local ruffians to injure the other party. Ordinarily, commoners had no recourse but to swallow such losses. Unfortunately for Zhang, the victim happened to be a relative of Liu jinshi. One calling card dispatched to the yamen, and Zhang Youfu found himself arrested and sentenced to forty strokes. Though his connections within the yamen spared him the worst of the beating, the public flogging—trousers removed before a jeering crowd—remained a humiliation he had never forgotten.

Both transmigrators suppressed their laughter. But the story was illuminating: Liu jinshi was not above human concerns. Since he looked after his relatives, he was still a reasonable and approachable man. Their greatest fear was encountering a Hai Rui type—someone impervious to both soft and hard approaches, acknowledging neither kin nor reason, stubborn as stone, fixed on a single principle. You could not recruit them, could not attack them, could not kill them, and you had to pretend magnanimity while they cursed you to your face.

"Does Liu jinshi have militia?"

"Where would he get militia? Just some household guards." Zhang Youfu, thinking the transmigrators intended to move against Liu jinshi, became even more helpful. He explained that Liu's residence was not far—only seven or eight li to the city's West Gate, where he lived inside the walls. But he also maintained a manor outside the city, three or four li from the West Gate, where he sometimes stayed for ten days to half a month at a stretch.

Wen Desi noted this down in his notebook, and Zhang Youfu preened with satisfaction, growing ever more attentive. Meanwhile, Wen Desi steered the conversation toward Zhang's relationship with the Liu Xiang organization—according to their intelligence, his connection to that pirate syndicate was the closest of his various affiliations.

Zhang Youfu did not hide it. His wife was related to a "steward" in the Liu Xiang organization, and both families hailed from Qiongshan County. The steward's family still resided there. Communicating through this channel was both convenient and safe.

"Can you relay a message to Chief Liu for us?" Xi Yazhou asked.

"Certainly! You honor me." Zhang Youfu was eager to please.

"Tell him to send someone to negotiate. Let's prioritize peace. As long as we can sit down and talk, we'll let bygones be bygones."

"Consider it done. I'll send word tomorrow." Zhang Youfu agreed readily. Host and guests parted in high spirits. Zhang also attempted to probe the transmigrators' origins, but Wen Desi deflected smoothly with pre-prepared standard answers. Zhang was clearly unconvinced, but that hardly mattered.

They left Zhang Youfu's home around eleven o'clock. Declining the sedan chairs he offered, the group set out on foot. Lingao's winter nights were pleasantly cool without being truly cold, and walking through the countryside was surprisingly agreeable. Looking up, they saw the sky crowded with stars—a splendor impossible to witness through the polluted atmosphere of the other spacetime. Yet normally, they rarely had the opportunity to stargaze. Having established themselves so precariously, the transmigrators faced threats lurking in every shadow. After dark, everyone except the guards withdrew to safe fortresses and buildings.

Now, walking beneath that canopy of stars, Wen Desi felt instinctively that the most dangerous period had passed. In three short months, the transmigrators had built a brand-new city with their own hands, constructed a hydropower station, produced this spacetime's first batch of cement, raised buildings, paved streets, and even used biogas for cafeteria cooking. The seeds of modernity were beginning to sprout in this age. Everyone was alive—more than alive, actually. The labor and regular living had made them healthier than before. The transmigrator group had fought bloody battles and repulsed enemy attacks, expanding their sphere of influence from Bopu's beach to both banks of the Wenlan River's lower reaches while securing control of the salt fields. Critical transportation, energy, and industrial facilities were under construction, and no one doubted that once completed, their power would grow geometrically.

The transmigrators had planted themselves firmly in this soil. The local people were slowly beginning to trust them, willing to interact and work in their service. Now the transmigrator group was no longer satisfied with purely commercial and employment relationships. They would gradually adopt administrative methods to control and manage Lingao's manpower and resources.

"Mr. Wen, isn't Spring Festival almost here?"

"I'd have forgotten if you hadn't mentioned it. It's already 1629, and nobody even celebrated New Year."

"What day is it now?"

"December 26th of Chongzhen Year One. The solar calendar is already January 19th, 1629."

"Let's have a proper Spring Festival. Everyone's been running themselves ragged for over three months without a single quiet day."

For the transmigrators, celebrating New Year was not particularly important. The Executive Committee had posted notices announcing seven consecutive days off starting New Year's Eve, yet work had not slowed as year-end approached. The phenomenon from the other spacetime—nominally on holiday from the first but effectively slacking off from December 20th—simply did not exist here. When everyone knew their labor was building their own future, work became pleasure rather than drudgery. It was something none of them had ever felt in the old spacetime.

Preparations for the Joint Defense Assembly proceeded intensively alongside the holiday bustle. Zhang Youfu had become genuinely busy, constantly running between villages to promote the initiative. Wu De gave locally domiciled laborers a few days off to return home for New Year, tasking them with spreading word of the assembly's necessity to village elders along the way. Since Spring Festival preparations occupied everyone's attention, the assembly would be delayed until after the holiday. The Executive Committee saw this as an opportunity—they could use the gathering to promote agricultural reform, killing two birds with one stone. The final meeting date was set for February 1, 1629: the ninth day of the first month, Chongzhen Year Two.

New Year's Eve arrived at last. To ensure that every transmigrator could properly enjoy their first Spring Festival in this spacetime, the Executive Committee supplemented the holiday with extra special supply vouchers. Within dozens of li around Bairen Fortress, poor villagers had all benefited from trading with or working for the transmigrators, and their circumstances had improved noticeably. The autumn harvest had escaped storm damage, conditions were favorable, and there had been no pirate or bandit incursions. The normally bleak and difficult "lean year" actually showed signs of modest prosperity. Nearly every household posted spring couplets; some hung peach charms on their doors. Villages that had seemed depressed now had smoke rising cheerfully from every chimney. Even the children's sallow faces showed a glimmer of life.

From villages within a hundred li, New Year gifts poured in for the transmigrator group. Pigs, sheep, rice, wine, chickens, ducks, fish, and meat filled the East Gate's trading hall. Dugu Qiuhun and Dongmen Chuiyu beamed at the bounty—though they could only look, since Dai Xie ultimately carted everything away for distribution.

This New Year was celebrated with light hearts, suffused with the joy and confidence of victory. Everyone saw unlimited prospects stretching before them. The nervous tension of the first three months was beginning to ease. If on D-Day their confidence in success had been incomplete, now they all believed their future was bright. Spirits soared.

Spring couplets appeared on every door in the family dormitories, bringing festive cheer to Bairen Fortress. Someone even petitioned the Chemistry Team to manufacture firecrackers—they had a craftsman with the necessary skills available. But the proposal was rejected. Soon afterward, someone discovered that firecrackers were sold in the Lingao county seat, and from New Year's Eve morning onward, people ventured out boldly to purchase them. Before long, firecracker-buying had transformed into a "Lingao County One-Day Tour." Most transmigrators had not set foot in this nearby Ming dynasty county seat since D-Day. With the situation improved and New Year leisure beckoning, everyone wanted to explore. The gate runners and militia naturally did not dare block them. Fortunately, the transmigrators had earned a good local reputation, so the crowds did not cause panic—though plenty of idlers and curious children gathered to watch. The foreigners' experience in those early days of Reform and Opening Up China must have been something like this, everyone finally understood.

Beyond a handful of history enthusiasts excitedly photographing everything in sight, most transmigrators came away disappointed. This county seat was worse than even the smallest modern towns. Shops were few. Though it was New Year, with every house displaying couplets and peddlers crowding the streets to create a holiday atmosphere, most buildings along the thoroughfares were dilapidated. Anything relatively well-maintained turned out to be either a government office or a temple. Stranger still, this city—small enough to see from the East Gate clear through to the West Gate—still contained large tracts of wasteland within its walls.

(End of Chapter)