Chapter 504 - The Jiazi Coal Mine

Once the public sensation faded, the vessel—now christened Qionghai Coal—moved to the private Hai family dock. The wharf was already a hive of activity, piled high with timber, stone, and lime purchased by Chen Tong.

Zhang Xingpei had arrived days earlier with a specialized construction crew trained by the Lingao Construction Company. Their expertise far exceeded that of modern rural contractors, for they possessed a unique skill: assembling prefabricated structures.

Drawing on American timber-frame techniques, Zhang had developed a system of standardized, pre-cut components produced in Lingao. A two-story, two-hundred-square-meter house could be erected in four days, requiring no drying time for mortar. It was ugly—the wood treated with black tar preservative gave it a grim, industrial look—but it was fast.

Steam derricks on the Qionghai Coal hoisted bundles of these components ashore. The pier itself was a prefabricated assembly brought in by barge. In less than five days, Zhang Xingpei transformed the mud bank into a sturdy, level wharf decked with sawn planks and reinforced with iron fittings.

Wrought iron rails were laid along the pier, anticipating the heavy coal flow to come. For now, they carried flatcars laden with housing modules.

A small diesel cement mixer, hidden inside a shed to avoid frightening the indigenous laborers, churned out concrete for the footings. Unlike traditional buildings, these structures were raised on stilts to separate them from the damp ground.

Using makeshift hoists, the crew assembled the camp at breakneck speed. The speed of construction left the local onlookers dumbfounded.

Within a week, the wasteland had become a functional logistics hub: a wharf, warehouses, a stockyard, and cranes. Local laborers dug a moat and built brick walls complete with battlements and machicolations. A three-story blockhouse watched over the river. In this chaotic era, such fortifications were standard prudence for any remote commercial outpost.

With the base secure, four flat-bottomed transport boats loaded supplies and began the journey up the Nandu River to the mining site.

They quickly learned that "Prefectural Seat" did not equal "Safe." As soon as the boats touched the riverbank near Jiazi, a ragged band of bandits emerged from the tree line. Fortunately, the plainclothes security team was alert. A scattered volley of gunfire dropped several attackers, sending the rest fleeing into the hills.

Undeterred by the welcome party, the boats made another run that same day, delivering more materials and a reinforced security detail led by Huang Xiong. A former Ming junior officer trained in modern tactics, Huang immediately set the men to digging trenches and planting chevaux-de-frise.

That night, shadows lurked at the edge of the camp light, but the defenses and the memory of the "thunder-sticks" kept them at bay.

"Security is nonexistent here," Lin Baiguang observed, standing next to Shan Daoqian, the road engineer.

"It's mountain country," Shan replied nervously. "Imperial law stops at the tree line."

The mine was situated 9.3 kilometers inland from the river. The terrain was rough, necessitating a dedicated transport link. Shan’s crew was tasked with laying a rail line connecting the pithead to the river dock.

"It's a big investment," Shan noted, "but without it, we'd need a herd of oxen to move the coal."

The geography lay in their favor. The gradient from the mine to the river was a consistent ten-degree decline, allowing loaded cars to coast downhill by gravity—a massive saving in energy.

"What about the locals?" Shan asked. "Building a road through bandit country..."

"Bandits we can shoot," Lin said. "The real headache is theft. Where a railroad goes, scavengers follow. Even in the 20th century, we couldn't stop villagers from stealing rail spikes. Here, iron is precious currency."

"That’s why we’re sticking to iron-clad wooden rails," Shan said. "If we laid solid iron tracks, they’d be ripped up faster than we could bolt them down."

Wooden rails were less durable and carried less load, but they were unappealing to scavengers. In Lingao, theft of public property was curbed by the threat of hard labor. Here, in the "Orange Zone"—hostile territory—the transmigrators lacked legal authority.

"If we kill a thief and the local magistrate gets involved, it becomes a diplomatic incident," Lin sighed. "It's a delicate balance."

Finding a director for this remote outpost had been a challenge. The role required a geologist who could handle explosives, a commander who could repel bandits, and a diplomat who could manage indigenous labor—all while enduring total isolation.

The Executive Committee chose Tang Menglong. Into his thirties, physically robust, and skilled in martial arts, Tang was a veteran of the Exploration Team.

He accepted the post on one condition: "I need batteries and a charging station. Paradox games are the only thing that will keep me sane out there."

"Done," Xiao Zishan, the HR director, agreed. "And we’ll assign you a 'lifestyle secretary' to manage your... domestic needs."

Tang Menglong paused. A personal secretary? Until now, that perk had been reserved for high-ranking officials who usually turned them into concubines. The Committee was clearly desperate to keep him happy.

"I accept," Tang said.

(End of Chapter)