Chapter 997 Kong Lingyang's Ambitions

At the kennel, Kong Lingyang had prepared his most spirited animal for the demonstration—a German Shepherd named Burundi, a direct descendant of the six breeding dogs Yang Baogui had brought from the old dimension. The animal stood tall with an alert bearing, clearly a well-trained working dog.

Burundi was a creature of many talents. He served primarily as a breeding stud while moonlighting at Changhua Fort, occasionally accompanying patrol teams on their rounds through the county. His reputation had spread far and wide, for no dog of such size and wolf-like bearing existed among local breeds. Rumors soon circulated that the Australians had tamed actual wolves for patrol duty—an unintended boon to local governance, adding a potent element of intimidation to their rule.

Under Kong Lingyang's commands, Burundi performed a series of simple maneuvers that drew unanimous praise from the assembled visitors. In truth, his repertoire amounted to little more than the basic curriculum of civilian dog training schools back in the old dimension—nothing close to what real military or police dogs could demonstrate. Burundi's training had been kept deliberately light to preserve his energy for breeding duties.

"I think our mountain infantry could benefit from these animals," Wei Aiwen said, excitement evident in his voice. "They'd prove immensely useful in mountain combat. And Operation Engine will require substantial security forces to manage the refugees—equipping them with police dogs would reduce our manpower requirements considerably."

"A worthy goal, but difficult to realize, Director Wei." Kong Lingyang signaled for an assistant to return Burundi to his specialized kennel. "You know working dogs are in demand everywhere. Supply simply can't meet the need—everything hinges on whether we can get them to breed fast enough. And even when the pups mature, they can't be deployed immediately. They need months of training first. Right now, only Yang Baogui possesses the necessary expertise, and he's stretched impossibly thin."

Wei Aiwen was a man well-versed in bureaucratic undertones and recognized immediately where this was heading—he'd sung similar tunes himself many times over the years. "Your request for additional dog training personnel is entirely reasonable," he said. "I'll advocate for it at the Planning Bureau. I imagine the program should fall under military jurisdiction—perhaps as a formal military dog instruction unit."

Kong Lingyang's expression brightened. "That would be ideal. Yang Baogui has long hoped to take on more apprentices to pass on his skills."

The tour continued through the kennels. Though constructed of brick and wood, the facilities adhered to old-dimension design standards, with rigorous disinfection protocols observed throughout. Changhua had been selected as the primary animal husbandry base for numerous reasons, but for Kong Lingyang, Yang Baogui, and their colleagues, the region's greatest advantage lay in its sparse population and near-total absence of commerce or transient visitors.

The great success of newly established pastoral regions in the 19th and 20th centuries—Australia, Hokkaido, and their ilk—had largely stemmed from their isolation, which protected their livestock from imported infectious diseases. For animals raised in dense concentrations without access to developed vaccines, a single epidemic could devastate an entire region's livestock industry overnight.

From a certain perspective, Kong Lingyang knew, the Senate would inevitably leave Hainan Island someday. The industrial faction and their beloved machine factories would all relocate, but the Imperial Veterinarian's breeding farms would necessarily remain. Hainan Island was a natural isolation zone—even if its conditions couldn't rival uniquely advantaged locations like Hokkaido or New Zealand.

"Our current scale here remains modest," Kong Lingyang explained. "We're primarily focused on breeding dog reproduction. External influences are minimal, making outbreaks of canine distemper far less likely. Once we have sufficient handlers, we'll relocate the Lingao dog farm here as well. In truth, Lingao's horse farm should eventually follow."

They observed Burundi's feeding regimen: not merely lamb, but eggs as well—a luxury even Senators received only in rationed quantities.

"Quite a lavish food standard," someone remarked.

"Breeding stock expends tremendous physical energy," Kong Lingyang replied. "To produce strong, healthy offspring, both parents require exceptional nutrition."

Mu Min maintained her silence throughout the tour. Breeding farms invariably inspired crude associations among the male Senators—the topic of "pushing the rear" was an evergreen joke among them. Despite the undeniable utility of police dogs to the police system she oversaw, she found the whole business vaguely embarrassing.

After the kennel tour concluded, Kong Lingyang presented Mu Min with an unexpected gift: a quality marbled cat. The dog breeding facility maintained an attached cattery, breeding several fine specimens as working cats. Lingao's chemical industry couldn't yet produce rat poison, leaving traditional biological control—cats—as their only recourse.

Unlike dogs, cats were far more abundant. Kong Lingyang wouldn't dare bestow dogs as personal favors to Senators, but cats posed no such concern.

Mu Min, like most women, possessed no immunity to "adorable creatures" such as kittens and puppies. She accepted the gift happily—company during late-night office duty would make the hours pass more pleasantly. On D-Day itself, a female member had brought along a cat that became the collective pet of all the women Senators.

Previously, the Senate had prohibited Senators from privately keeping cats and dogs unless the animals had received rabies vaccinations in the old dimension. Though every Senator had been inoculated before D-Day, the vaccine's protection lasted only a year. The Health Department had stockpiled enough vaccines and anti-rabies serum for three consecutive years of coverage, but quantities were limited and expiration dates loomed. Only recently had the biology lab successfully manufactured vaccines using the crude Pasteur method and trial-produced anti-rabies serum from horse blood. After clinical trials yielded satisfactory results, the ban was finally lifted.

For Wei Aiwen and Fang Jinghan, Kong Lingyang's gifts took a different form: bottles of his self-brewed "secret three-whip wine." Which three whips, precisely, he refused to divulge. Allegedly the formula was an ancestral secret—besides the whips themselves, more than a dozen Chinese medicinal herbs were added, steeped in premium high-proof baijiu procured from Guangzhou. Since arriving in Changhua, he had prepared more than ten jars, keeping some for personal use while reserving the rest for hospitality. For any male Senator passing through on business, Kong Lingyang invariably offered a bottle. South Sea Farm's limited-edition cigars and Changhua Pasture's secret three-whip wine had become fashionable status symbols among the men. Ever since male Senators acquired life secretaries, though they all publicly claimed "three minutes maximum, can't do more," privately they were like parched earth finally meeting rain—inevitably given to overindulgence. Combined with daytime work exhaustion, a powerful demand for tonics had emerged, and three-whip wine fit the bill perfectly.

Seeing the central visitors well-pleased and the earlier tensions forgotten, Kong Lingyang seized the opportunity to expound upon his grand ambitions—particularly regarding Changhua's animal husbandry prospects. Apart from Mu Min's visible disinterest, the male Senators like Wei Aiwen and Fang Jinghan all regarded horse-raising as the Senate's paramount undertaking. No matter how ignorant they might be about horses, or even if they couldn't ride at all, every man among them harbored romantic notions about the animals. Like maids, cannons, and ironclads, horses touched one of the male Senators' most sensitive nerves.

Kong Lingyang himself held no particular attachment to horses. Despite his animal husbandry background, he'd never focused on equine breeding during his studies—in China, horse breeding wasn't a priority of agricultural education. Outside traditional pastoral regions, virtually no breeders took interest in horses, and the market was minuscule. Unlike those romantic enthusiasts such as Nick, Kong Lingyang believed they should first solve the fundamental problem of existence—acquire usable horses from wherever possible and expand the population.

Even poor-quality horse populations could serve as parent stock for mules. Domestic horse breeds weren't exceptional, but China produced quite a few quality donkeys. Large breeds like Dezhou donkeys averaged shoulder heights no less than ordinary Mongolian horses, sometimes even superior. Mules were strong, tolerant of coarse feed, and could work continuously for more than twenty years—far more economical than horses in every respect.

From a practical standpoint, both the Fubo Army and civilian sectors primarily needed draft animals for towing vehicles, artillery, and machinery, and for transporting materials and equipment. In these roles, mules proved more practical than horses, with lower rearing costs. The demand for riding horses wasn't particularly large; introducing and breeding them wasn't an urgent priority.

Compared to Lingao, Changhua offered far superior conditions for animal husbandry. However, the estuary area proved too humid and hot during summer months, ill-suited for mass livestock breeding. After extensive investigation, Kong Lingyang had set his sights on Changhua Grand Ridge, situated more than four kilometers east of the Changhua River estuary. At over four hundred meters elevation, with predominantly tree and grassland vegetation and a cool climate, it would make an ideal summer pasture. He planned to begin preliminary planning and construction that autumn and winter, with operations commencing the following summer.

Expanding the pasture's scale would inevitably require additional manpower—especially technical personnel. Whether animal husbandry specialists or veterinary professionals, available naturalized citizen candidates currently numbered precisely zero.

Besides Yang Baogui's success in securing a few students as apprentices, Kong Lingyang had thus far managed to recruit only four apprentices of his own. He'd brought them to Changhua for intensive instruction: remedial classes in the evenings, internships during the day. They'd acquired the rudiments of veterinary knowledge and could handle simple tasks like livestock birthing and breeding assistance. But in the long run, this cohort's foundation was too weak. At best, they might accumulate enough experience to become "old technicians"—hardly the stuff of great achievements.

He was now posted externally, and Changhua County was a small jurisdiction—conveniently, few administrative matters but considerable authority, with ample leisure time available. If he could secure enough students to teach, starting with one or two years of foundational courses combined with practical internships, they could learn by doing until they developed a solid grounding. Those showing the most promise could then rotate to Yang Baogui for advanced clinical instruction. From among these, the finest talents could be further cultivated, ultimately becoming faculty in the veterinary department of the military supply university Kong Lingyang envisioned.

To realize this grand goal, Kong Lingyang and Yang Baogui had made repeated attempts to reserve a few Class B diploma holders from Fangcaodi's student body for veterinary studies. However, naturalized citizens holding Class B diplomas were far too few for the competing demands upon them; the animal husbandry and veterinary fields could never secure a single slot.

And so, while enthusiastically discussing long-term plans, Kong Lingyang occasionally inserted complaints about the shortage of trainable students, conveying his intentions and seeking their support for his proposals at Senate meetings. After all, the several influential figures before him wielded far more persuasive power at the Executive Committee than he ever could.

(End of Chapter)