Chapter 264 — Naval Curry and News Censorship
After many days of labor, several hundred cubic meters of timber had accumulated at Yulin Fort. The logs were stacked neatly in the courtyard. Bai Guoshi knew that for long-term preservation, the water-immersion method was best—timber submerged in fresh water was sealed from air and could remain sound for years. But that required a sufficient body of water, and no such conditions existed near the fort.
The dry-storage method was simple and easy to implement. Yulin's rainy season had not yet arrived, and the timber dried quickly. However, if the logs were later shipped out as sea-towed rafts, thoroughly dried wood would absorb water rapidly and sink, making towing a nightmare.
Therefore, he settled on wet storage—the most convenient approach, though it exacted some toll on wood quality. Felled timber was stacked in piles of roughly twenty-five cubic meters each, covered with branches and leaves. Someone was assigned to sprinkle water on them daily, maintaining humidity.
This method could last three months at most before the wood began to deteriorate. According to Wang Luobin, another ship would arrive within thirty days. A month's storage should be fine.
Plenty of leftover branches and scraps remained from logging. Bai Guoshi had all the smaller pieces collected and dried on the beach for use as firewood. He also selected thicker branches for charcoal-making. Charcoal burned steadier and hotter than raw wood, and was more convenient for cooking.
Next, the entire Yulin Fort garrison threw themselves into coconut harvesting. The palms near the shore had mostly been stripped bare by the fleet. Now they ventured further inland, bringing back several hundred coconuts a day. In the evenings, everyone cracked open coconuts and drank the water; excess was poured into clay pots and lowered into the cold-storage well. The meat was spread out to dry into copra.
Wang Tao observed the coconut flesh drying on the beach, spread over palm leaves. Drinking coconut water, he strolled among the rows and suddenly thought of curry. In India, coconut meat was a common ingredient. So he used coconut meat, the mutton Old Man Hu had gifted, pumpkin, and seasonings left behind by the fleet to concoct a mutton curry. The hot, fragrant, spicy sauce was ladled over steaming rice. Though it was the marines' first encounter with chili heat, they found it wonderfully novel. Everyone dug in with gusto. That day happened to fall on a Friday—and thus Wang Tao became the inventor of curry rice and unwittingly established what would become the naval tradition of eating curry rice every Friday.
News of Yulin Fort's activities reached Hu Xun's ears. Using delivery of the finished clothes as a pretext, he personally crossed the bay to inspect these new settlers. Wang Tao prepared curry rice again, leaving Old Master Hu's lips and tongue burning. Combined with a cup of chilled coconut water, the elder exclaimed repeatedly how refreshing it was. He immediately asked for the recipe and inquired about the uniquely fiery flavor—where did it come from? Wang Tao knew that chili peppers had probably been introduced to China around the Wanli era, but this region clearly remained unfamiliar with the crop. He explained that it was fanjiao—"foreign pepper"—imported from overseas. Hu Xun expressed keen interest in obtaining seeds to plant, but Yulin Fort possessed only ground chili powder and paste, no seeds. They could only gift him a bag of powder.
Hu Xun asked whether they were felling timber and harvesting coconuts in such quantities for the overseas trade. He was well acquainted with maritime commerce and remarked that he had never seen any foreign ships carrying dried coconut. Wang Tao quickly countered: Had any merchants from Qiongshan County come to buy copra locally?
"I've heard that merchants from the prefectural capital occasionally travel to Yazhou to purchase dried coconut, but not often. Wenchang lies only two days' sail from Qiongshan and produces a hundred times more coconuts; the route is far shorter. Why would anyone come all the way here for copra? Besides, Yulin is still several days' journey from Yazhou City—too far to be practical."
Wang Tao reflected that the Qiongshan copra merchants were not monopolizing the market as tightly as he had imagined. That Lin Quan'an fellow was either making excuses out of laziness or simply never ventured to such remote locales. Then again, he was a merchant—naturally gravitating toward cities for trade. A pioneering outfit like theirs operated on different principles.
"To be honest," Wang Tao said, "I run an oil-pressing workshop back in Lingao. We use copra to produce oil for export to Australia—quite lucrative. Unfortunately, Lingao doesn't grow coconuts, so we've been searching far and wide."
These words were intended for Hu Xun's ears, to spark partnership interest. Unexpectedly, the old man displayed no such reaction. He laughed the matter off and shifted topics: in a few days, county officials would be visiting the countryside. That would be an opportune moment to help Wang Tao register his estate. Naturally, some entertaining and gift-giving would be required. Wang Tao understood the implication and presented additional white sugar plus two bottles of Guoshi Wushuang liquor, promising further thanks once the deed was done.
After seeing Hu Xun off, Wang Tao felt a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped the elder would proactively request involvement in the coconut-harvesting and timber-felling enterprise. Yulin Fort was short of hands; enlisting a local power like Hu Xun would provide both protection and manpower. But there had been no response whatsoever.
He hadn't realized that gentry from a backwater like this possessed extremely limited vision. They had long grown accustomed to sitting back like tollkeepers, extracting tribute from passersby, waiting for offerings to arrive. Why would they trouble themselves with labor-intensive real industry? So long as Yulin Fort gave them some benefits, whether it was logging or coconut harvesting was simply outside their sphere of interest—as was any notion that greater profits might be had.
Bai Guoshi said, "Such a pity about the population in Anyoule Market and his estate. Otherwise, we could strip every coconut from this area."
Old Di scowled. "That fellow is just being a dog in the manger. We should wipe him out later. Merge all his people into Yulin Fort."
"Wait a few more months. Once the main wave of our immigrants arrives, Old Master Hu will certainly grow restless. By then we'll have to show our hand. Either he submits to our leadership, or he can prepare to sever ties with his own people." Wang Tao sighed. "Such a fine opportunity to join the revolution and he's passing it up—he could at least have been a 'democratic personage,' with his descendants guaranteed a seat in the local political consultative conference. Now he might well end up labeled a landlord, rich peasant, counter-revolutionary, rightist, or bad element."
Sighing was one thing; resource collection pressed on regardless. In their spare time, bored and isolated, Yulin Fort frequently exchanged radio messages with Lingao Main Station and Changhua Fort—sharing living conditions, personal reflections. One day, Dingding at Lingao Telecom's receiving station happened upon one of their incoming messages and was struck with inspiration. Drawing on the telegram's material, she wielded her literary pen, embellished liberally, and composed a prose essay titled Nights at Yulin Harbor, published under the pseudonym "Sentinel of the Southern Sky" in the Lingao Times. It proved unexpectedly popular among the transmigrators. Encouraged, she appointed Wang Tao as a special correspondent, requiring him to file a dispatch every few days for her to edit and serialize. Wang Tao did not disappoint; upon receiving the request by telegram, he immediately cabled another piece. Dingding worked through the night polishing it. The next morning she submitted the draft to Zhou Dongtian for stenciling, ready for the press.
Unexpectedly, before the paper could be printed, Dingding received a phone call from Zhou Dongtian.
"The paper can't go to press." His voice was helpless. "Notification from the relevant higher authorities: the Yulin Harbor Journals series contains secrecy issues and must be edited before publication. Also, the previous issue carrying the series is currently being recalled. Furthermore, from now on, all articles in the Times containing such information must be submitted for pre-publication review—"
"Whose idiotic regulation is this!" Dingding nearly jumped out of her chair. Since D-Day, she and her husband Panpan had been running a two-person, zero-budget, off-the-books operation. She had finally clawed her way to an official position at the Times—and now suddenly the familiar specter of "notification from the relevant higher authorities" had reappeared!
"What the hell! I haven't even written about Executive Committee corruption yet, and they're already giving me the bureaucratic runaround!" She stormed off toward the Executive Committee compound.
Entering the compound, she hesitated. Anyone who had ever dealt with government offices knew that "the relevant higher authority" was maddeningly elusive. When it issued notifications, it existed. When you tried to find it, no one admitted to being that authority.
After a moment's thought, she decided to visit the printing room and extract inside information from Zhou Dongtian. Though his job was printing, he had always maintained a side role with Internal Affairs. Since the cited reason was "secrecy," the "relevant authority" was most likely Internal Affairs or Intelligence.
Zhou Dongtian knew something. He said the matter had been communicated via a phone call from Ran Yao. Dingding of course knew Ran Yao—formerly with the Security Group, transferred to the Internal Affairs Committee after organizational restructuring.
So she marched out of the compound in one breath and headed for the Internal Affairs Committee premises—a place few ever visited. But the two sentries at the gate stopped her cold. She had neither registered for a visit in advance nor obtained a pass; they flatly refused entry. She threw a fit, pulled rank as an official, stamped her feet—still no luck. "No registration, no pass, no entry. Those are the orders." The sentries could barely speak Mandarin, but that sentence they had down pat.
Dingding retreated from the gate like a defeated rooster. She was about to return to the newspaper office to dig Ran Yao's phone number from the directory and come back to argue when she spotted a portly fellow waddling out of the compound, belly first, looking perfectly unhurried. Seeing the commotion, he ambled over.
"Comrade, is there something I can help you with?"
"You're still calling me 'Comrade'! It's only been—" Dingding sputtered, her outburst missing the point entirely. "I want to see Ran Yao! Ran Yao, get out here! You're suppressing freedom of speech!" In Bairencheng's heart, such an outburst might have drawn a crowd. Here at the remote Internal Affairs compound, she could shout herself hoarse and no one would notice.
"Don't shout. Ran Yao is in Bopu chairing a meeting." The portly fellow remained amiable. "You're Dingding, aren't you? Let's have a chat."
"Who are you?"
"Oh, just a clerk at the committee. A nobody." The fatty smiled genially.
This was Dingding's first time inside the Internal Affairs compound. The instant she passed through the gate, past the gray brick walls draped with thorny vines, a chill ran from her heels up her spine. She shivered involuntarily. In the center of the compound stood a two-story gray brick building with two wings. Mature trees shadowed the courtyard, casting the grounds in perpetual gloom.
The fatty led her into a simple prefab room near the entrance—furniture, stationery, clearly a reception area. Someone brought tea in a bag.
Dingding sneered. "Is this 'inviting me for tea'?"
"Plain boiled water works too." The fatty's expression remained soft. "We don't have coffee here."
Dingding launched into a rapid-fire account of the publication restrictions. She demanded to know what purpose such "secrecy" served. Why couldn't the broad mass of transmigrators know the current state of affairs? Did anyone respect the transmigrators' right to know?
"Well, that right is of course respected. The Internal Affairs Committee is just an ordinary institution, after all." The fatty wore a lukewarm smile and did not directly answer her questions. "How many copies is the Lingao Times printing each day these days?"
"Three hundred." Dingding replied sullenly. She had originally wanted to print over a thousand, but ink, paper, and equipment were all in short supply.
"According to figures the Times office reported to the Planning Committee, a little more than half of those papers go to transmigrators—copies for departments, enterprises, dormitory reading rooms. The rest go either to the county yamen or are sold retail at Dongmen Market, correct?"
"Correct. If I were allocated more resources, circulation could be even higher—"
"The more copies the Times distributes, the louder our voice becomes, and the greater our influence over the indigenous masses. This is the Executive Committee's established policy." The fatty spoke slowly and methodically. "But consider this: once a paper reaches indigenous hands, a great deal of information is inadvertently leaked—"
"Just for this? So from now on, do Wen Zong's and Ma Dugong's appearances in the paper need pseudonyms and their faces pixelated? Why not just publish nothing at all—write 'All is peaceful today,' or fill the paper with Du Wen's interminable essays!"
"No need to get worked up." The fatty remained gentle as a spring breeze. "The Yulin Harbor series is quite well-written. It's received high praise from readers. The Internal Affairs Committee's objection to publishing it as-is arises from concern for the safety of our comrades at the overseas stations. The reports include time, place, people, equipment—everything. If that paper leaks and happens to fall into the hands of Liu Xiang or another hostile party—a little fort with just a dozen people could be wiped out in an instant."
Dingding was startled. Thinking about it, this was an oversight on her part. But unwilling to concede, she said stubbornly, "Yulin isn't even called Yulin right now! Do you expect Ming Dynasty people to deduce where it is?"
"Dadonghai is still called Dadonghai, isn't it?" The fatty's voice was mild. "And Anyoule Market—those are all contemporary names from this spacetime. Why would Ming people not recognize them? The article even wrote that Anyoule Market is 'right across from Yulin Fort.' How much clearer could it be?"
Dingding fell silent. She felt she was in the right, yet this enormous hat had been placed on her head and she had no comeback. The interests of transmigrators came first—she could hardly argue that the right to information trumped these people's personal safety.
(End of Chapter)