Chapter 519 - A New Opportunity for Office

The Sanya Special District's military-committee system resembled a "standing committee" arrangement, but the committee's authority was limited strictly to military operations. Wang Luobin's policies in Sanya did not require the approval of the other four members.

The garrison forces in the Sanya region were permitted to operate only in the vicinity of Yulin Harbor, primarily performing local defense and public-security duties. Their jurisdiction extended from Tiandu Township as the center: north to Damao, south to the Luhuitou Peninsula at Yulin, east to Daan Ridge, and west to the eastern shore of Sanya Bay—roughly the entire area surrounding Yulin Harbor.

Within this zone, the Military Committee was authorized to sanction unlimited military action by the Army and Navy, including "pacification" operations against local villages and Ming garrisons.

As supreme authority in the Sanya Special District, Wang Luobin enjoyed governor-like powers similar to Tang Menglong's. He possessed the authority to appoint and dismiss all transmigrator cadres under his jurisdiction—except that this power did not extend to the heads of the Army and Navy garrisons, the Director of the Tiandu Mining Bureau, or the Construction Commander-in-Chief, all of whom were members of the Sanya Military Committee and directly appointed by the Executive Committee.

Only if the full Military Committee, when necessary, voted four-to-one in favor could the leadership of any one of those four be removed. Such a removal, however, was treated as a grave matter; afterward, all committee members would be relieved of duty and recalled to Lingao to face a hearing.

The Greater District Chief was exempt from this constraint: even if the other four Military Committee members reached a four-to-one vote, they had no authority to remove him. Any attempt to strip him of power would be treated as "mutiny."

This framework had been designed as an experiment in future local-government checks and balances—avoiding, on the one hand, a garrison degenerating into a "Kwantung Army"-style cabal that acted autonomously and ran roughshod over the region, while preventing, on the other, the local government from controlling the garrison and becoming a semi-independent power with its own grain and guns. The Executive Committee's leaders clearly did not want a secondary power center—or worse, a splinter transmigrated collective—to form in Sanya.

As for the five senior administrators' subordinate department heads, those would be nominated and appointed by the respective committee members. The tier of officials below them would be filled as far as possible by indigenous personnel trained at the Military-Political School, so as to observe their capacity for independent administration and inform adjustments to the next phase of cadre training.

While the Executive Committee busied itself convening meetings on personnel—the critical issue in this process—and debating departmental structures and cadre assignments for the Sanya Special District, the transmigrator masses were also actively maneuvering.

The Executive Committee's communiqués on the Sanya development project had already run to more than twenty issues, each containing "releasable content" from the meetings, mainly for the purpose of soliciting suggestions. Attentive members of the public had noticed that, to date, the communiqués had not touched on specific personnel assignments.

Without a doubt, once Sanya was developed and its administrative framework erected, a number of the Five Hundred would be promoted to office. For rank-and-file transmigrators who had not secured even a minor post during the previous round of institutional expansion—those who remained ordinary "titleless chiefs"—this was an excellent opportunity to advance on the board. Moreover, rumor had it that cadres dispatched to Sanya would, following the precedent set in Qiongshan, be issued personal secretaries. This stirred considerable imagination among those with a keen sense of career advancement. Some began actively jockeying for the vacant positions.

As a result, the Executive Committee's discussion forum on the Sanya development project overflowed with all manner of opinions and proposals. The more sophisticated petitioners used their own expertise and skills as an entry point, eloquently arguing the importance of establishing relevant departments or enterprises in the Sanya Special District, citing precedents and drafting feasibility reports. Most of these individuals possessed specialized skills; those more qualified than themselves had already been promoted to leadership positions in earlier rounds, so the creation of any such new post would naturally fall to them.

Those less adept simply hammered away, over and over, at the importance of certain agencies and posts—typically ones requiring no particular professional expertise.

Those with neither skills nor inclination for roundabout office-seeking bluntly asked for posts outright: having served as basic labor for so long, surely they deserved credit for their pains if not for accomplishments—surely it was only fair to be given a minor administrative post now.

Members already holding positions in the various departments were more circumspect, mainly calculating whether they might move up another rung. After Xi Yazhou became commander of the Expeditionary Battalion, he had spent several consecutive days hosting banquets and distributing cigarettes to fend off the envy of his many transmigrator colleagues in the Army. Everyone knew that, though his official title was merely a humble battalion commander, being the first to receive an independent major command was a harbinger of future ascent.

Xi Yazhou's fortunes set many others into motion.

At the Lingao Construction Company, one man had begun scheming.

The company's headquarters was a two-story frame building of industrial style designed and built by Bing Feng—wrought-iron trusses, fair-faced brick walls. The atrium rose the full height of both floors, with a clearance of five or six meters to the roof. Several enormous, sturdy wooden tables stood in the atrium. On the first table sat a scale model of Bairen Fortress; the second was currently under construction, surrounded by plaster powder, paper, glue, and assorted fine woodworking materials.

The model-maker was Ji Runzhi, planner for the Lingao Construction Company. He was a fervent architecture devotee. As a licensed urban and architectural planner—the only one in the entire Construction Company—Ji Runzhi had credentials that entitled him to look down on everyone else. He frequently submitted planning and design proposals at the company, all of which shared the hallmarks of "big," "huge," and "elaborate." Shortly after D-Day, the Executive Committee had commissioned the Construction Company to erect a simple monument on the beach where the landing took place. Ji Runzhi promptly submitted a drawing for a grand Baroque-meets-Neoclassical triumphal-arch structure. The proposal won unanimous praise at the Executive Committee—and was immediately rejected as wildly unrealistic. In the end, no marker of any kind was erected.

Ji Runzhi had become a transmigrator for two reasons: first, to see the Bao'en Temple pagoda with his own eyes; second, to fulfill his dream of becoming the new Speer. He adored the visionary architecture and urban plans of the Soviet Union and the Third Reich; his computer was stuffed with such drawings. He fantasized that one day he would personally design the "Palace of Transmigration" and the thousand-year imperial capital—which he privately called "Divine Capital," though it overlapped somewhat with Empress Wu's "Divine Metropolis."

Later he had submitted designs for the "Lingao General Hospital," the "National School," the "Lingao Transportation Hub," the "Customs Building," and the "Army Headquarters"—proposals he himself regarded as woefully compromised with reality, reduced to unbearably spartan standards. Without exception, all were shelved by the Planning Commission. The designs actually adopted were invariably the simple structures by Mei Wan and company. The most horrifying was the ox-cart transfer station overseen by Mei Lin: a bamboo-pole truss with a rush-mat roof.

"That's a soup kitchen, not a transportation hub," Ji Runzhi grumbled in private.

Such comments, of course, did not win him many friends at the Lingao Construction Company.

So far, the only projects accepted had been the Cuigang Martyrs' Cemetery and the Construction Company's sole external contract: the East Gate Market Catholic church.

The initial design drawings for that church had nearly given Lu Ruohua a heart attack. The building would be larger than the Church of St. Paul in Macau, which had taken over a decade to build. The Jesuits' entire missionary budget would not cover even the façade.

The plan was eventually slashed to an "economy church" before Lu Ruohua gave his approval and construction began.

"I thought the Church would have more money," Ji Runzhi said, disappointed. He had not crossed into the seventeenth century to build ordinary little structures like these.

Even General Manager Mei Wan finally told him: what was the point of churning out all this useless work every day? He should design buildings that matched the transmigrated collective's current capabilities and requirements. Ji Runzhi, however, turned a deaf ear. Most of his time went to sketching "grand architecture" on his drafting board and drafting "master plans" for one new city after another.

His long-standing neglect of practical work eventually led to Ji Runzhi being relegated to on-site supervision as a project manager. His professional expertise was consulted only when certain projects required planning input. As for architectural design—he was entirely shut out.

The moment the Sanya Special District plan appeared in the communiqué, he threw himself into action. Sanya—Yulin—such wonderful places! Ji Runzhi had visited Dadonghai in the modern timeline and praised its natural environment. Unfortunately, the area was already crammed with hotels, resorts, and luxury housing—no room for him to stretch his legs. And here in Lingao, the "Lingao Bauhaus School" dominated by Mei Wan was both distasteful and offered no future. So he set his sights on the Sanya Special District as the place to exercise his talents. If he stayed here, his dreams would die.

The Sanya Special District's raison d'être was construction and development. That being the case, comprehensive planning for the region would be essential. The communiqué laid out only a rough framework; there was ample room for detailed elaboration. If he could seize this opportunity to submit a complete planning proposal, the Executive Committee's regard for him would soar, and his ambition of transferring to Sanya as a dedicated planning and architectural designer would be realized.

Driven by this ambition, Ji Runzhi threw himself wholeheartedly into designing a planning scheme for the Sanya region. To strengthen his case when presenting himself to the Executive Committee, he began constructing a topographic model of Yulin Harbor in the Construction Company's atrium. Ji Runzhi knew that mere proposals would not persuade; a professional planning document would likewise mean little to laymen, who would find it excruciatingly dull. The best approach was to demonstrate visually with a model.

(End of Chapter)