Chapter 1139 - Friendship and Railway
The walk from the trading house to the church wasn't far, but on foot it took over twenty minutes. The siblings strolled along the road, breathing in fresh air laced with the sea breeze, while taking in the bustling construction scenes on every side. Westerly found everything on the work sites fascinating: steam cranes, manual tipcarts, concrete mixers—these clumsy, blackened, roughly-hewn machines and vehicles from Lingao kindled endless curiosity in the boy.
"What a pity I didn't bring my sketchbook," he said, voice caught between excitement and regret. "I absolutely must fetch it when we return from church!"
"Yes, yes," Cleadia replied with an indulgent smile.
They walked on and discovered a new route running parallel to the road ahead—no, "road" wasn't quite right. Two iron rails lay across wooden beams, stretching toward the horizon.
"Sister, this must be a railway," Westerly declared. "I heard sailors say Australian docks all have these rails for moving heavy carts—similar to what the English use in their quarries."
Rail-laying had temporarily halted due to a shipment delay; only roadbed materials and equipment lay piled about. Unable to suppress his curiosity, Westerly stepped off the road and clambered onto the embankment.
He squatted down to examine the rails and sleepers, then bent to inspect the spike connections. Cleadia knew her brother's nature well and waited patiently beside him.
"No climbing on the roadbed!"
Westerly had taken only a few steps when someone shouted. He didn't understand Chinese, so he simply stared blankly in the direction of the voice.
A manual handcar came flying toward them along the rails. Westerly studied the contraption with interest. "If we could ride that thing to church," he mused to Cleadia, "it would be much faster..."
As they were speaking, they recognized the young woman pumping the handcar alone: it was Zhong Xiaoying. She had been visiting the trading house daily to chat with Cleadia and teach her Mandarin. The three had become fast friends.
Zhong Xiaoying wiped sweat from her brow. "Eh? It's you two? Why aren't you resting at the trading house? What are you doing climbing around on the railway?"
"Our vaccination scabs have healed," Cleadia answered first. "There's a church over there—we decided to go look."
Westerly stepped forward and greeted her in halting Cantonese: "Miss! Might I catch a ride?"
Zhong Xiaoying smiled and shook her head, gesturing: "This car isn't safe..."
Westerly shrugged in defeat. Then, struck by sudden inspiration, he fished a pretty little cloth bag from his pocket and waved it at her. "Not a free ride—I have a gift..."
Zhong Xiaoying still shook her head. But Cleadia had her own methods. She approached, leaning in to whisper, gesture, and negotiate. At last Zhong Xiaoying smiled at them both: "Very well then—hop on."
Overjoyed, Westerly leapt onto the car and immediately began scrutinizing every detail, brimming with questions about its workings. Zhong Xiaoying grasped his intent and waved her hands. "I only know how to operate it—don't ask me how it works. You'd better ask my Honorable Father."
"Dr. Zhong? I shall certainly seek his instruction." Westerly's curiosity about Zhong Lishi was immense. "Where is he now?"
"At Customs. Specifically: on the Customs Clock Tower—installing the great clock." Zhong Xiaoying pointed. "Grab that handle there and push down. That's it—we need to pump together."
Zhong Xiaoying and Westerly worked the handcar together, propelling themselves toward St. Anthony's Church. Along the way, Westerly peppered her with questions: "Might I see the great clock Dr. Zhong is installing? I'm terribly interested in mechanisms of all kinds—" Worried his request might be refused, he added, "I learned metalwork and carpentry skills from an artist. I can be useful."
This lengthy speech tested Cleadia's rudimentary Cantonese to its limits. She had to summon all her linguistic resources to convey her brother's meaning.
"Of course." Zhong Xiaoying smiled. "Honorable Father's carpentry skills aren't his strength. He'll be delighted to have a free worker."
Cleadia asked, "All these people here—are they immigrants you brought from China?"
"Yes. Taiwan originally had no civilized people. Only headhunting natives."
"What you've accomplished is truly remarkable," Cleadia said with genuine admiration. Tayouan had existed for years, yet it remained a desolate trading outpost. Were it not for Fort Zeelandia under construction, Tayouan would scarcely qualify as a town.
"The Committee is remarkable," Zhong Xiaoying replied, her face radiant with devotion.
The church established by the Lingao mission in Kaohsiung was modest—a wooden structure of humble proportions. It stood adjacent to the New Daoism temple, separated only by a road. The two institutions coexisted peacefully enough, their goals identical: continuing the battle of "eradicating heresy" that had begun on Qimu Island. He Ying's instructions to both major churches explicitly required them to "save souls" with the utmost rigor.
The missionaries dispatched from Macau were bent on surpassing New Daoism in this contest of souls. They pursued "heretics" in the refugee camps with such fanaticism that one priest carelessly contracted an infectious disease and was called home to the Lord. Since Macau had no replacement available immediately, the Lingao Church sent John Dermot instead. The red-headed Irishman was only too happy to escape the endless labor of painting stained glass and frescoes, and he took up the post with enthusiasm.
However, when Zhong Xiaoying accompanied the siblings into the church, John Dermot was still crouched gloomily by the wall, painting frescoes. This prefabricated chapel manufactured by the Lingao Construction Corporation had been delivered bare; all decoration fell to him.
And the demands didn't stop there. Ever since that Committee member Zhong with the receding hairline arrived in Kaohsiung, he had been alternately cajoling and pressuring Dermot to forge iron hands and numerals for the great clock—and he specifically demanded Gothic lettering.
John Dermot found it impossible to balance church beautification, soul-saving, and Committee service. The first two were supremely important to him. But recalling the Bishop's admonitions before his departure, he dared not refuse Committee Member Zhong's requests.
Today Committee Member Zhong had appeared again. Just as Dermot felt his predicament becoming untenable, the arrival of Zhong Xiaoying's group temporarily rescued him—for Dr. Zhong was immediately entangled by Westerly. The boy's curiosity about the great clock proved inexhaustible; he peppered the older man with one question after another.
"Mr. Zhong, might I examine the mechanism inside the great clock?" Westerly finally asked.
"Certainly. Won't you rest a few more days first?"
"This child cannot wait..." Cleadia smiled. "Dr. Zhong, rest assured—my brother knows metalwork and carpentry. You'll find a use for him."
"Very well. Come find me directly at the Customs Clock Tower tomorrow." Zhong Lishi nodded. "Xiaoying and I are residing at Customs these days."
"Then might Sister and I also move into Customs?" Westerly pressed. "That way we can seek your instruction at every hour."
Zhong Lishi considered for a moment. "Yes, you may. But you'll need to apply to the trading house and complete the necessary procedures."
The next day, the siblings moved into the Customs Building with their luggage. Though Kaohsiung Customs was operational, actual business volume remained negligible, leaving many empty rooms above the second floor. After settling into their quarters, Westerly couldn't wait to join the clock construction team.
Several craftsmen were at work on the clock tower, mostly carpenters, led by Ma Linxi—a refugee recruited from Shandong.
After nearly drowning in the frozen sea and being hauled back from death's edge, Ma Linxi was shipped to Jeju Island. He remained there forty days. As a skilled tradesman, he attracted favorable attention in the refugee camp and was swiftly incorporated into a direct-subordinate labor team for Jeju Island construction projects. Naturally, his rations were of better quality than the average refugee's.
Within a few months, he passed a Class C diploma examination. He was then slated for transport to Taiwan, en route to Lingao, where he would augment the Lingao Construction Corporation's skilled workforce. But Ma Linxi's reputation had preceded him—Hong Laojun intercepted him and folded him into the direct-subordinate engineering team. Shi Dafu, recognizing his potential, taught him simple blueprint reading and drafting techniques.
(End of Chapter)