Chapter 1023 Eve of the Storm
Lin Baiguang had read the entire wargame simulation and artillery destructive power test reports. Like a man holding an unbeatable hand of cards, he could afford to tolerate his counterpart's few minutes of stalling.
The Zheng family's delay was merely an attempt to win back some points and gain additional leverage in the upcoming salt negotiations.
Thinking of this, he could not help humming contentedly: "...I was originally a carefree person on Wolong Ridge..."
In another dimension, a county leader where Lin Baiguang worked had loved Peking opera, so Lin Baiguang had learned a few passages to entertain the leader. He sang reasonably well.
After three or four days, Lin Baiguang was finally invited to "discuss specifics."
Once both parties expressed intent, commercial cooperation proceeded smoothly. The two sides conducted a series of negotiations on price, payment method, and ship sailing safety.
On supply price, Lin Baiguang remained relatively flexible—the Senate's salt production costs were minimal, so quoting slightly lower presented no difficulty. But on payment, he refused the method of year-round supply with settlement at the three festivals.
"This will not do." Lin Baiguang shook his head. "Setting aside other matters—Zheng family's Anhai ships sail to Japan, but do they collect payment the following year? Japanese local merchants pay on the spot."
You collect cash from the Japanese; naturally I must also collect cash from you. Lin Baiguang would yield no ground on this point.
The Japanese paid cash because goods carried by Chinese merchants were all sought-after commodities. And the contraband salt he controlled was equally sought-after in Fujian.
However, he did make a small concession: The Zheng family could pay half the salt price with Fujian local products—indigo, medicinal herbs, timber, porcelain, and tea. These goods could either be used for foreign trade or directly by the Senate, making them quite valuable commodities comparable to silver.
Both sides quickly reached agreement. Senate ships flying Great Wave Shipping flags and Morning Star flags could enter Weizhou Bay, limited to three ships per visit and fifteen ships maximum per month. Ship size did not matter. As for cargo, besides each ship requiring half the hold space for salt, other goods were unrestricted. Zheng Hongkui indicated they also had substantial demand for grain. If the Senate was willing to transport and sell it, they would offer competitive prices—Fujian at that time was also a grain-deficient province. Lin Baiguang immediately said he would "consider it."
Senate ships entering Weizhou Bay had to follow established rules: block cannon touch-holes, centralize and seal powder magazines and weapons, fly Zheng family pennants, and so forth—these were standard conventions of the time, not humiliating terms, and Lin Baiguang agreed to all.
As long as ships could continuously enter Weizhou Bay, they could conveniently survey the entire bay's defenses and hydrographic tidal conditions, collecting sufficient data for the "final solution."
Lu Wenyuan wore a cloak and rode an unremarkable Mongolian horse, patrolling along the "Willow Palisade." Around him marched a group of foot retainers carrying clubs, knives, and spears.
November in Shandong was already bitingly cold. Wind made the willow fence rustle loudly. The previous night's frost still had not completely thawed.
The planted willows had taken root, but now all their leaves had fallen, leaving only bare branches.
"Willow Palisade" was his name for the willow fence erected on Qimu Island—his retainers, tenants, and servants did not understand why, but they adopted the term nonetheless.
Daily inspection of the Willow Palisade had become his fixed routine. Wherever damage appeared, workers immediately made repairs. Half the able-bodied men among the recruited tenants, whether militia or not, patrolled, repaired, and reinforced the Willow Palisade daily. The barrier had grown from a single fence wall to a double fence wall. Starting a month ago, they had also added chevaux-de-frise and wooden obstacles between the two walls.
His subordinates thought this merely reflected Master Lu's excessive caution—after all, soldiers, bandits, and refugees ran rampant in Shandong. Any wealthy household either lived within city walls or built fortified compounds for self-protection. But they considered his Willow Palisade unnecessary: Master Lu had already constructed a very solid brick and stone fortress on Qimu Island. Ordinary bandits and rogue soldiers could not crack it, and such men would not venture to this desolate coastal island anyway.
Only Huang Ande understood they would soon face a highly mobile rebel army with Liaodong cavalry as its core—formidable in combat and requiring considerable defensive measures.
The patrol group walked through the biting sea wind to the Willow Palisade gate. This was a simple wooden structure, though much more substantial than the crude palisade. The solid gate had a gatehouse above with firing ports, was covered, and was watched day and night by militia.
Lu Wenyuan personally climbed the gatehouse to inspect the blankets and charcoal for militia to keep warm at night, whether torch illumination was adequately stocked, and whether the signal rockets for alarms were kept dry and usable. He was thorough and meticulous. Only if he took it seriously would his subordinates take it seriously.
Though Lu Wenyuan was stationed on Qimu Island, occupied with construction and agricultural projects daily, wireless radio kept him fully informed of the entire operation's progress. A month ago, the Ocean Fleet had officially landed in Taiwan, raising the curtain on Operation Engine.
Three weeks later, he received a telegram: Taiwan's purification camps had reached capacity to process two thousand people. He was to prepare to receive refugees from the southern Shandong region—Daoist Zhang was working on gathering refugees, and the first batch would soon be transferred to Qimu Island.
On Qimu Island, necessary facilities were largely complete. The finished temporary barracks could accommodate three thousand people. Grain, medicine, and necessary cold-weather supplies had been stockpiled in considerable quantities.
Due to limited conditions, Qimu Island served only as a transit station, not performing complex "purification"—merely providing refugees basic food and warmth, then rapidly transferring them out. The current primary destination was Taiwan; transfer to Jeju would await the following spring. This was partly due to scheduling constraints, and partly to avoid Jeju's harsh winter. Transporting to Taiwan at least saved large quantities of cotton clothing, bedding, and fuel.
Gazing out from the gatehouse, Shandong's land stretched bleak and desolate. This was a famine year. The already barren and mountainous eastern three prefectures appeared even more forsaken. Though nearly noon, not a wisp of cooking smoke was visible anywhere. Longkou Bay showed scarcely any ships.
In the distance came the sound of mule bells. That was the "people-gathering team" Lu Wenyuan had organized returning—in truth a refugee collection patrol. Each team consisted of several two-wheeled mule carts and a squad of militia, traveling to nearby villages and main roads to collect refugees. Each trip brought back quite a few people. Women, children, the elderly, and those too weak from hunger to walk rode the carts. Those able to walk did so. Batch by batch, they were delivered to the island's temporary refugee camp.
In less than half a month, they had collected over five hundred people. Many were already dying of starvation when found. Among them were numerous infants and toddlers abandoned by roadsides and in empty buildings. Due to lack of food, clothing, and care, even when rescued, many could not survive.
Every day, quite a few corpses were carried out through the Willow Palisade gate to be buried in distant wastelands.
"Too tragic," Lu Wenyuan murmured. Since beginning his posting, he had witnessed many scenes that shook his nerves to the core. Even so, all of this still frequently disturbed him. Especially every morning when militia carried out the bodies of refugees who had died overnight from the barracks area—he always averted his gaze, afraid he could not bear it.
Death, famine, and destruction—for those who had not experienced them firsthand, they were forever merely topics and statistics. Only when truly confronting them did one feel the horror.
The militia hurried to open the gate, admitting the cart train and stream of people. The refugees walked in scattered and sparse, finally all entering with difficulty. The militia had to call out and guide them while distributing a piece of millet pancake to each refugee to help them regain strength—they dared not give more, fearing they would eat themselves to death.
Lu Wenyuan descended from the gatehouse and asked Wang Qisuo, who had led the team: "How many people collected?"
"Reporting to Master," Wang Qisuo replied, his face reddened despite his thick cotton jacket and hat, clear snot running from the cold, "There aren't many people remaining nearby. Today we collected over forty total—mostly children and women, plus some old men and women. Several are nearly starved to death; I don't know if they'll survive the night."
"You've worked hard. After delivering them to camp, you and the brothers may rest."
"Thank you, Master!"
Lu Wenyuan then returned to the farmstead. On the leveled ground before the buildings, women were rubbing sea asparagus on reed mats. The tender leaves of sea asparagus harvested from coastal mudflats and grasslands were sun-dried, then bundled and vigorously rubbed to remove bitter juice. Dried another afternoon and rubbed again, the leaves became supple and resilient—strands like tea leaves. Dried another day until moisture completely evaporated, and sea asparagus jerky was ready, stored in bags for consumption anytime.
After Lu Wenyuan introduced this species to the mudflats, this extremely hardy coastal weed had immediately flourished. Sea asparagus possessed exceptional vitality and was highly salt-tolerant. Where salinity was low, it grew tender green; where salinity was high, it turned red. The higher the salinity, the deeper the red—but this did not affect growth.
He ordered tenant families' women to harvest it, then taught them hands-on how to process it. No one understood why the master was processing so many wild vegetables until the first batch of refugees was collected—then this dried sea asparagus jerky found its purpose.
Dried sea asparagus lacked the unusual bitter taste common to wild vegetables and possessed a light, mild flavor. Its nutrition was also quite rich. During the Three Years of Natural Disasters, it had saved many lives. In the old dimension, some people mixed it with pork crackling for buns or ate it cold-dressed. Lu Wenyuan was less particular here—he used dried sea asparagus as filler, mixing it with relief rations and cooking it into porridge for refugees.
As for cooking fuel, they burned sea asparagus stalks.
(End of Chapter)