Chapter 65: Road Building (Part 2)
With the revised plan in hand, the project's pace accelerated considerably. Wang Luobin proved as good as his word. The Committee scoured the personnel database and summoned everyone with experience operating tractors, construction machinery, or heavy trucks. Bai Yu—the former tank soldier who had been eagerly planning to convert tractors into tanks and farm vehicles into infantry fighting vehicles, dreaming of becoming the father of the Transmigrators' armored corps—found himself ruthlessly conscripted once again and dispatched to the engineering team.
Mei Wan took to the field personally, walking the site and instructing the new laborers in tool handling and earthwork fundamentals. The results were pitiful. Most of these city-bred homebodies could not even grip a shovel correctly. Whether digging soil, trenching, or leveling ground, not a single one performed adequately.
After spending some time with the manual laborers, he moved on to inspect the machinery operators. They were not exactly skilled either, but at least they could function—thankfully, the Committee had arranged some training before the crossing. Good thing we have construction equipment, Mei Wan thought with a shudder. Otherwise, he could not imagine what this so-called construction crew would produce.
During his inspection, he noticed one worker who actually knew what he was doing. Years as a project manager on construction sites had given him an eye for distinguishing amateurs from professionals at a glance. The young man looked sturdy enough, though his movements were a bit lazy and slow. Mei Wan walked over.
"Nice work. You've been on construction sites before?"
"I have. Done all kinds of jobs." The young man paused and looked up. "You're Manager Mei, right?" As a former project manager, Mei Wan had become accustomed to the title.
"That's right. You know me?" Mei Wan was surprised—he did not recognize the man.
"Spotting the boss quickly is a basic survival skill for working stiffs like me." The young man laughed. "When you see one coming, you've got to look busy..."
Mei Wan chuckled. "What's your name?"
"Tan Ming. Everyone calls me Fat Ming." Tan Ming resumed digging as he spoke. "Construction's just one thing I've done. I've been a security guard, an oil worker, an online game gold farmer, a printer..."
"How does a printer end up here?"
"Well, I'm getting old and never made it big. Economy's been rough—lost my job again. Figured since I wasn't going anywhere in that life, might as well try somewhere else entirely."
Mei Wan completed his rounds and returned to the tent, reasonably satisfied with the overall progress. Crew chief Bing Feng ducked inside to report that the kitchen crew had just delivered a one-ton water tank and their salt ration had been allocated.
"Still no hard hats?" Mei Wan asked.
"Commissioner Wang said he sent people out this morning to cut willow branches. They're prototyping now."
"Good. Not having them yet isn't critical—we don't have much hoisting work." He thought for a moment. "By the way, there's a guy named Tan Ming in the crew. He's worked construction before and actually knows what he's doing. Assign him as team leader for now and see what he's capable of. If he works out, we'll train him as a foreman."
"Will do. I'll arrange it now." Bing Feng turned to leave, but Mei Wan stopped him. "From now on, keep an eye out for these things yourself. Find promising people and develop them. You're a structural engineer and deputy group leader—you can't spend all your time being a foreman on-site. Isn't that a waste of your talents?"
Bing Feng looked somewhat confused, not quite grasping his meaning. He mumbled an acknowledgment and left.
Mei Wan lit a cigarette, his mind troubled. His thoughts should have been entirely on this highway, but yesterday's meeting kept replaying in his head. He had not expected the usually low-profile Zhuo Tianmin to make such a bold move. That was grandstanding. Mei Wan thought bitterly: Zhuo Tianmin's architect and consultant certifications were probably very interesting to the Committee...
For a moment, he felt crisis closing in from all sides. He had been quite satisfied with his Building Engineering Group lineup. Bing Feng, his deputy, was a structural engineer—solid and specialized. Xiao Yan was a generalist—broad knowledge but shallow expertise. Li Xiaolu had strong technical skills but was a woman whose expression always conveyed profound disinterest in everything around her.
But now everything had changed. Though he believed his management and coordination experience in civil engineering was substantial, in terms of pure professional credentials, he was clearly no match for Zhuo Tianmin.
Lost in these brooding thoughts, the walkie-talkie crackled to life: Section 1's three-kilometer road-base work was complete, and the paving team needed to move in—but the road-surface material still had not been determined. Mei Wan grabbed a notebook and a small shovel, left the tent, and began walking along the soil-collection ditch. Every few meters he would scoop up some earth, examine it visually, pinch and rub it between his fingers, then jot something in his notebook. This methodical procedure bewildered Yan Quezhi, who was measuring hydrological data on the Wenlan River nearby.
"Manager Mei, what are you looking for?"
"Soil quality." Mei Wan crumbled the sample in his hand. "I'm looking for soil suitable for road surfacing."
"Can't you just use all this excavated soil? The road-base was filled the same way."
"Road-base requirements are simpler than road-surface." Mei Wan explained that soil could be classified by particle size into clay, sand, and silt. Natural soil was usually a mixture of all three, and depending on the proportions, there were nine subtypes—each with different characteristics for road surfacing. Some were ideal; some were completely unusable; some needed modification.
"Simple highways use dirt surfaces, which have many disadvantages compared to hardened roads: more dust, lower load capacity, and surfaces that soften in the rain and develop muddy potholes." He paused to examine another sample. "So selecting and processing surface soil is crucial. Do it right, and those problems are minimized."
"Take sandy soil, for instance—there's plenty of it along the river here." He shoveled some up. "This soil is almost pure sand grains with low cohesion. When dry, it's loose and formless. When wet, it won't hold shape either. A road surface made from this would develop deep ruts in dry weather and have weak binding in the rain. The advantage is it dries quickly—but it needs clay mixed in before it's usable."
"What about this?" Yan Quezhi was growing interested. Spotting different soil nearby, he grabbed a handful. "By that logic, this clay-sand mix should be ideal for roads."
"Theoretically, yes. But practice is never that simple. Different soil proportions create different characteristics." Mei Wan took the sample, examined it, then rolled it between his palms. It formed thin, short tubes. "What you've got there is fine sandy loam. It contains both clay and considerable fine sand, so it has some cohesion. This type is relatively suitable for road surfaces."
"So we use this?"
"What I'm looking for is sandy loam—" Mei Wan brushed off his hands. "Similar to this, but with coarser sand grains. A road surface made with that soil, once compacted, maintains its density and doesn't loosen easily. It produces less dust when vehicles pass, doesn't stick to tires in the rain, dries quickly afterward, and is easy to maintain."
"But how can you tell the difference? Fine sand, coarse sand—can you really see that?" Yan Quezhi squinted at the soil for a long moment.
"You can if you know what to look for." Mei Wan continued his instruction. "There's a simple test: roll it by hand. Fine sandy loam like yours can be rolled into thin short tubes. Sandy loam can't be rolled at all."
"I see." Yan Quezhi's expression had shifted to open admiration. "Very professional!"
"Haha." Mei Wan laughed with obvious pride. "It's nothing, really." But he was thinking: Old textbooks are truly powerful.
Before long, Mei Wan and Yan Quezhi discovered a sandy loam extraction site. Had they not found such ideal material, Mei Wan could have modified other soil to work—but that would have meant extra steps and significantly more labor.
Mei Wan personally directed the road-surface spreading. Simple highways saw light traffic and did not require thick surfaces. A fifteen-centimeter layer with two or three roller compactions was essentially sufficient. The surface was slightly crowned in the center for drainage.
To increase surface strength, the crew mixed pebbles into the surface soil. Since suitable stones were limited, the result could not match a true gravel road. In practical terms, vehicles should avoid driving on it in the rain.
"Rush, rush, rush this half-assed thing out." Mei Wan stared at the completed section, dropped his cigarette butt, and ground it into the dirt with his heel.
Just past the first night watch, the county yamen courtyard lay shrouded in quiet. Only two night-duty runners moved through the compound at intervals, carrying small white-paper lanterns and striking wooden clappers as they walked their rounds.
A dozen or so militia sat or sprawled in the courtyard. Under normal circumstances, these rough-hewn peasants would never have been permitted such liberties on official grounds—but with the city's defenses on high alert and these men having fought pirates just the day before, the runners turned a blind eye.
The militia's leader was Huang Shoutong, head household of Namei Village. Around fifty years old, he remained burly and vigorous, though his short beard was graying at the edges. His brows were broad, his forehead high, and when he opened them, his eyes flashed like lightning. He was one of the county's major grain-producing landlords. His ancestors had followed the armies during the dynasty's founding and settled in Lingao; later generations had passed the scholar examinations and converted to civilian status, building the clan's prosperity over the years. Known for generosity and righteousness, Huang Shoutong commanded deep respect in his village and among his kinsmen.
Lingao had always suffered from pirate raids, and local peace was never guaranteed. Since the Jiajing era's campaigns against the wokou, his ancestors had constructed earthen fortifications in Namei Village and trained militia to defend them. It was one of Lingao's famous "hard territories"—places raiders learned to avoid. By his generation, Namei Village led a mutual-defense alliance of six neighboring villages, capable of mobilizing five or six hundred militia on short notice. In recent unsettled years, whenever troops marched against bandits or rallied to defend the county seat, Huang Shoutong led his militia at the forefront, contributing greatly and earning Magistrate Wu's commendation.
Huang Shoutong held no scholar status himself, but one of his sons was enrolled in the county school. When the gentry were summoned for the emergency meeting, he had been busy arranging village defenses and sent only his scholar son to attend. He had also dispatched a dozen militia along with a cart of grain and vegetables to assist in the city's defense. Now, with the old man suddenly appearing in person, Wu Mingjin felt both surprised and pleased. They sat in the reception hall exchanging brief pleasantries, but Wu Mingjin soon noticed that the old man's headband had been changed to white and his eyes were bloodshot with grief. Puzzled, the magistrate searched his memory—he knew Huang's parents had both passed away years ago. Had his old wife newly died?
Seeing the magistrate's confusion, Huang Shoutong explained: one of his sons had died in action the day before, attacking the pirates.
(End of Chapter)