Chapter 559 - On the Ship

The operational plan had been drilled into the mind of every commander until reaction became instinct. Deviation was not an option.

Unlike a blind assault, the transmigrators possessed a decisive advantage: intelligence. Though Yulin Stockade was too small to offer substantial logistical support, it had served as an invaluable listening post. Since its establishment, Wang Tao had bombarded Lingao with telegrams and dispatches detailing local hydrography, tidal patterns, and weather conditions.

The surveying team had taken twentieth-century maps as a baseline and refined them with fresh data. The Long-Range Exploration Team had cataloged water sources and natural resources. Most recently, a meteorological team had arrived at the stockade, deploying equipment to attempt localized weather forecasting.

Furthermore, the Grand Library had been scoured for every scrap of historical data on the Yulin-Sanya region. Combined with the field reports, this information was synthesized by the Planning Council’s "Project Giant" Operations Office.

The result was a terrifying asymmetry of knowledge: the invaders understood the terrain of Yulin better than the natives who had lived there for generations. On the planning maps, landing zones, camp sites, anchorage points, and pier locations were marked with mathematical precision.

Aboard the flagship, the four members of the Sanya Regional Military Committee—minus the Director of the Tiandu Mining Bureau—waited for the first light of dawn. By their calculations, they would arrive at Yulin Harbor at sunrise.

A signalman knocked and entered, handing a telegram to Xi Yazhou.

"Latest forecast from Yulin: Clear, northeast wind force 3-4, gusts to 5. Wave height 1.5 meters." Xi Yazhou glanced at the slip of paper. "Who wrote this? Where did they get the data? The Ming Dynasty Weather Satellite Network?"

"It's from the Yulin team," Wang Luobin said. "The reliability is... theoretically high." He said this with confidence he didn't feel. Lingao at least had the Fengcheng's radar; Yulin relied on what essentially amounted to a primary school weather station.

"Reliable or not, we move at dawn," Li Haiping said grimly. "The ship is at the door; we can't refuse to enter."

"If we don't get ashore soon, these three thousand people will be combat ineffective," Zhuo Tianmin groaned from his bench. His face was a pale shade of green. "Get us on solid ground today, or we'll be carrying them off on stretchers."

The Planning Council had treated personnel transportation like a logistics spreadsheet: humans were merely volume and weight. They hadn't accounted for the brutal reality of a long-distance voyage in the age of sail.

Three days into the journey, the troop compartments of Sanya No. 1 and the other transports were a hellscape of densely packed hammocks and groaning bodies. Most passengers, despite acclimatization training, had succumbed to seasickness. The air was a thick, suffocating stew of vomit, brine, and unwashed bodies. Seawater splashed constantly through the gratings, ensuring nothing was ever dry. With thousands of people crammed aboard, fresh air was a rationed luxury—ten minutes on deck per person, strictly rotated. In terms of comfort, the great ship was actually worse than the smaller coasters.

Food was the dreaded "Grassland Series" hardtack—indestructible bricks of flour, salt, and water. But only a few had the stomach to gnaw on them; most couldn't keep even water down.

Yet, a few hardy souls were unaffected. In a relatively open corner of the hold, Hu Wumei and several others were playing leaf cards.

Hu Wumei had already been confirmed as the new Mayor of Anyoule Market. Under his command was a migrant contingent of three hundred households.

When the Civil Affairs Committee first approached him about leading the migration to Yulin, Hu Wumei had agreed on one condition: he wanted one thousand mu of land. He didn't care if it was hill land, as long as it could grow trees.

His tenure as estate head at Xuetian Manor had revealed a talent for agricultural management that deeply impressed Wu Nanhai. In the original timeline, Hu Wumei had been a landlord who successfully farmed indigo and medicinal herbs before chaos forced him into piracy.

"Fine," Wu De had agreed without hesitation. "I'll give you three thousand mu. But you manage it yourself—hired labor only. No tenant farming."

"I don't want tenants anyway," Hu Wumei had declared, slapping his thigh. "But where will I find laborers in that wilderness?"

"Don't worry. There will be plenty."

Hu Wumei had dreamed of being a landlord. Now, realizing he was becoming an official, excitement warred with apprehension. To ensure this former pirate walked the straight and narrow, the Civil Affairs Committee had assigned him a support team: a secretary, an accountant, and—inevitably—an operative from the Political Security General Administration.

Hu Wumei had wanted to bring his entire clan—nephews, cousins, old pirate comrades—to Yulin. Rushing to a new territory with a relative in power seemed like a golden opportunity. But the Committeemen saw right through it. They had no intention of turning Anyoule Market into "Hu Family Village." In the end, only his closest relatives were allowed to accompany him.

Sitting across from Hu Wumei was Zheng Ergen.

After the "Night of the Rebellion," Zheng Ergen had been arrested. He spent three days in terror, undergoing intense interrogation. Then, just as he resigned himself to execution, he was released, announced as the new Police Chief of Anyoule Market, and ordered to pack his bags.

He wasn't alone. Several colleagues from the East Gate Market station were also transferred, all receiving a one-rank promotion. To the dull-witted, it looked like a reward. To the sharp, it smelled like exile. They had seen something that night—Dugu Qiuhun mobilizing his forces against Bairren City—and now they were being scattered to the ends of the earth.

Reward or punishment? Who knew. But keeping their lives was a blessing. Zheng Ergen had learned his lesson: keep your mouth shut. When Hu Wumei probed about the incident, Zheng Ergen simply repeated, "I forgot," or "I can't remember clearly."

This stonewalling annoyed Hu Wumei, as did Zheng Ergen's refusal to gamble.

"Damn it," Hu Wumei cursed, tossing down a few paper slips used as chips. "Continue. Continue."

"We can play," Zheng Ergen said quietly, "but no betting."

"What's the point of playing cards without money?" Hu Wumei grumbled.

"I won't take a single coin from you," Zheng Ergen said, returning the slips. "If the higher-ups catch me gambling, I'm finished." Chief Ran had recently hammered the "No Gambling" rule into their heads, and Zheng Ergen was taking no risks.

"Boring!" Hu Wumei threw down his cards. Without the thrill of gambling, the game was tasteless. He felt a stir of lust and thought about his concubine, but looking around at the swaying forest of hammocks, he realized there was absolutely nowhere to seek relief.

Nearby, Lin Gonglao lay in his hammock, staring at the deck beams. Born to a family of boatbuilders, the sea didn't bother him, but his spirit was crushed.

He had gone from being "Young Master Gonglao" of Baitu Village to a nameless laborer at Bairren Commune, waking to the factory whistle like everyone else. The villagers who once bowed to him now ignored him, their status as "Formal Workers" elevating them above his clumsy craftsmanship. Even his father, Lin Xianming, couldn't get him a job in the shipyard; the Australians' new machines required skills the old masters didn't possess.

Now, he was being shipped to Yazhou—the "Edge of the World," a place for exiles and criminals. Why? He couldn't understand.

He wasn't the only one. A significant chunk of the Lin and Lu clans were on this ship.

The transmigrator collective had never trusted these large clans. The Lin clan alone boasted nearly two hundred adult males and hundreds of women and children. They gathered for festivals, worshiped ancestors together, and maintained a tight-knit web of loyalty that deeply unsettled the Australians.

Investigation by the Political Security General Administration revealed a resurgence of clan power. Lin Xianming and others were actively recruiting poor "Lin" immigrants into a "linked lineage" system, offering aid in exchange for loyalty. The most aggressive organizers were the disaffected "second generation"—men like Lin Gonglao and his brother Lin Gongxun, who, unable to succeed in the new industrial meritocracy, sought power through traditional blood ties.

Wu De, the Civil Affairs Commissar, had decided to strike. The solution was "Divide and Conquer."

A second breakup of the Lin family was ordered. The agitators were identified. Lin Gonglao and his brother were marked for relocation. Their father pleaded for mercy, and eventually, the administration compromised—taking one son, leaving the other.

Along with Lin Gonglao, a dozen other "problem households" from the Lin and Lu clans were uprooted and sent south. Some were bitter reactionaries; others were simply ambitious families looking for a fresh start. To ensure they behaved, Wu De had instructed Hu Wumei to watch them closely, and had even assigned Wang Sangou—a man once bullied by the Lin clan—to monitor them specifically.

Hu Wumei didn't know the full political intricacies, but he understood the core truth: The Leaders' word was absolute. It was more terrifying than an Imperial Edict, for the Emperor was far away and ignorant, while the Leaders seemed to know everything.

He recalled a pirate captain who had submitted to Lingao with him. The man had secretly plotted to steal his ship back and flee. The Australians caught him before he even made a move. They summoned him, recited his exact conversations, names, dates, and intentions, and then... simply let him go.

The man was broken. He donated his ship to the collective and sent his children to Australian schools the very next day.

(End of Chapter)