Chapter 261 — Coconuts
"We don't need to station so many transmigrators at these outposts. One leader is enough—perhaps even none." Jiang Qiuyan was warming to his subject now. "We can adopt a settle-the-frontier model. Move ten or twenty native households directly here. Distribute land and houses. Organize them into a collective farm or a military-agricultural colony. Establish strict paramilitary structures: appoint a headman and deputy, issue weapons, conduct regular training. Defense and development problems—solved in one stroke."
"That sounds like the Strategic Hamlet Program the Americans used in Vietnam."
"Call it whatever you like. If it works, it's a good program."
"Furthermore, transplanting entire families benefits the mental health of our stationed personnel. The emotional state of someone guarding an empty fort alone is nothing like that of someone surrounded by dozens of dependent households working the land." Jiang Qiuyan pressed on. "It also instills a sense of belonging and responsibility among the settlers."
"Excellent idea!" Chen Haiyang slapped his thigh. "Not just here—we can handle Changhua the same way. That frees us from leaving so many troops."
Wang Luobin raised a practical concern. "The question is, who do we relocate? Lingao is already short of people."
"People are right here!" Jiang Qiuyan swept a hand toward the stockade of Anyoule Market across the bay. "A hundred or two hundred households live there—fishermen, boat folk. Aren't fisher families ideal candidates for developing coastal bases? Give them enough incentives—land, houses, security—and they'll come over."
"Yes, yes—I think it's feasible." Wang Luobin began pacing with excitement. "And this can serve as a pilot for future local administration—using immigrants to govern immigrants!"
Chen Haiyang nodded. "Let's build the base first, then... recruit—" he caught himself, "—refugees. Given our material advantages, attracting a dozen or twenty households shouldn't be difficult. However, the first garrison must still be our own people. Once everything is running smoothly, we transition to the local settlement model."
Construction of the stronghold was placed under Zhang Xingpei's comprehensive direction. Yu Eshui, as "Chief Supervisor," squatted on the site daily, spirits high. Wang Luobin focused on surveying nearby resources, while Chen Haiyang led a team on an important mission: harvesting coconuts.
Vast coconut groves lined the shores of Yulin Harbor. Grayish-white trunks leaned at angles; huge pinnate fronds drooped and rustled in the breeze. Beneath the leaves hung heavy bunches of fruit. The sea wind blew gently, carrying the unmistakable freshness of salt air and tropical growth.
"Now this is a textbook tropical landscape." Chen Haiyang let out a contented sigh.
"And soon it will all be ours!" Liu Zheng's exhaustion melted away. "I'm contracting five hundred mu here someday and opening a luxury resort."
"Keep dreaming. More likely the Executive Committee assigns you to guard the coconuts."
Coconuts were treasure incarnate. The copious water inside was sterile and could be drunk directly—or, in emergencies, used as a glucose infusion. The meat was rich in fat and protein. Dried copra contained sixty to sixty-five percent oil, making it an exceptional oil crop. Press-cake residue served as premium animal feed or fertilizer. The hard shell could be processed into activated carbon—raw material for gas masks, indispensable to both the chemical and military industries. The fibrous husk outside the shell was elastic, rot-resistant, and durable: ideal for ropes, brushes, woven goods, and padding.
Every part of the coconut was useful. The Executive Committee had coveted this resource for months. Coconuts grew throughout Hainan, but exploitable groves of any scale were concentrated in Wenchang and Sanya. Lingao had a few, scattered and meager.
Here, most palms were wild—ownerless. Whoever picked owned. Chen Haiyang ordered the sailors ashore, intent on stripping every coconut from the surrounding coastline.
Harvesting, however, proved no simple matter. The trees were uniformly tall—typically exceeding ten meters—and ramrod straight without branches. Unlike fruit trees that invited climbing, they defeated even sailors accustomed to scrambling up masts.
Several men attempted the ascent. Without proper tools, they slid back down after two or three meters. One fellow finally reached the crown—only to hang there, arms wrapped around the trunk, unsure how to proceed. You needed one hand to grip the tree and the other to pick—but coconuts didn't grow singly; they clustered in bunches on thick, fibrous stems. He tugged and pulled for what seemed an eternity, unable to detach a single fruit. Exhausted, he slid back down in defeat.
"Use a saw! Take a saw up!"
Another sailor ascended with a hand saw and began sawing at the stem of a bunch. Halfway through, the weight of the cluster—twenty or thirty catties—snapped the weakened stem. The entire mass plummeted toward the man below.
"Ouch!" A sharp cry.
Fortunately, reflexes saved him. The coconuts grazed his scalp and struck his shoulder, which swelled immediately. A direct hit to the head might have meant a concussion.
"Damn it—can't we deal with a few coconuts?" Chen Haiyang's temper flared. "Use guns! Shoot them down!"
"That's a waste of ammunition."
"I'll authorize reimbursement. Fire!"
Gunshots cracked. Bang! Bang! Type 1644 rifles barked in rapid succession. Coconuts rained from the canopy amid shredded leaves and branches. Danger forgotten, everyone rushed forward to gather them.
"Ha—not small at all." Chen Haiyang hefted one and shook it; the sloshing weight inside was palpable. "Crack it open. Let's taste."
After splitting two, everyone drank coconut water until satisfied. Cool, sweet, and refreshing—it chilled them to the core.
"Good stuff. Definitely good stuff." The unanimous verdict.
"But shooting with rifles is no long-term solution. Bullets cost money." Liu Zheng gnawed at the white meat. "Far too uneconomical. And one at a time is painfully slow."
"I have an idea!" A sailor wiped his mouth. "Back home, we used climbing spikes to scale utility poles. Much easier than bare-handing it."
"Right—why didn't I think of that?"
The ship's carpenter set to work at once: bending steel rods into hooks and fastening them to leather boots to fashion crude "climbing spikes." With this gear, plus a safety rope around the waist, ascending became quick and safe. A man climbed up with a machete; a few strokes, and an entire bunch dropped. Those below needed only to dodge.
By dusk, they had harvested thousands of coconuts—heaped like a small mountain on deck.
That night, the Hangzhou blazed with light. The generator was running, and the ship's lamps shone brilliantly.
Li Huamei, clad in black night clothes, crept silently toward the stern from the darkness.
She had not come to assassinate anyone, nor to sabotage the vessel. She was simply consumed by curiosity about these "Australians"—above all, about their ships that could sail without wind. The question had clawed at her mind for days.
Since boarding the Hangzhou, she had observed covertly, searching for the propulsion mechanism. Apart from two "propellers" beneath the stern—iron leaf–shaped objects she could not fathom—she found no oars, no sweeps, nothing. And those iron leaves had stopped rotating the moment the ship dropped anchor. What, then, made it move?
Tonight, with most of the crew ashore building the fort and the shipboard watches exhausted from labor, she resolved to infiltrate the hold and test her hypothesis.
She scaled the stern along the anchor chain with practiced ease. The deck was silent save for a rhythmic chug-chug-chug emanating from somewhere amidships. That, she knew, was the "machine" at work.
She approached the engine room door. Unlocked. A wave of heat, thick with the smell of oil, washed over her. She slipped inside.
The compartment blazed with light. A massive iron hulk roared at its center. An enormous flywheel spun so rapidly it blurred, making her dizzy.
So this is the machine? Li Huamei stared at the steel monster in shock. She could not comprehend how something that consumed neither grass nor meat could contain such terrifying power.
She edged closer. The machine radiated ferocious heat. Beside it stood an iron drum connected to the main body by a copper pipe. She touched the pipe—vibrating faintly, liquid flowing within.
Could it be drinking water? Curious, she followed the pipe to the drum, unscrewed the cap, and dipped a finger in.
She spat immediately. The taste was pungent and bitter—definitely not water. It resembled oil, yet the odor was utterly foreign, nothing like the vegetable oil or tung oil she knew.
So this monster drinks oil? Amazement deepened. Oil was expensive. A beast this size must consume staggering quantities. No wonder these Australians were so wealthy—merely feeding this iron creature was beyond ordinary means.
As she studied the machinery, footsteps sounded on the stairs above. Someone was coming down.
Li Huamei's heart lurched. She scanned the compartment for a hiding place, but the engine room was starkly open; cover was nonexistent.
"Little Zhao, check the oil pressure. The sound seems off."
"Yes, Squad Leader."
Two men in blue work clothes descended. Li Huamei had no choice. She gritted her teeth, rolled swiftly across the deck plates, and slid beneath the diesel engine's mounting frame.
The space was cramped and slick with sludge. She pressed herself flat, scarcely daring to breathe. The thunderous roar of the engine drowned her hammering pulse.
The two mechanics walked to the machine, checked instruments, felt various components.
"Everything looks normal."
"Maybe I misheard. This Changchai engine is getting old—some looseness is inevitable."
"Squad Leader, how much longer are we stuck down here? I'm suffocating in this heat."
"Bear with it. Once the fort ashore is finished, we can rest below."
They exchanged a few more words, then climbed back up. Li Huamei waited until their footsteps faded before worming out from beneath the frame. Her black attire was now smeared with black oil stains—a wretched sight.
Phew—that was close. She wiped cold sweat (and grease) from her forehead. Though she still did not fully understand the principle behind this "Changchai," she had confirmed one thing: the iron beast did indeed "drink oil" to generate force. As for how oil became power—that remained beyond her grasp.
These Australians are truly unfathomable. She sighed softly, retreated from the engine room with utmost care, and vanished into the night.
Note: This explanation is free.
Changchai refers to Changzhou Diesel Engine—a very common brand in China, widely used in agricultural machinery and small watercraft.
(End of Chapter)