Chapter 85: Peace Negotiations (Part 1)

The delegation approached the earthen berm with obvious trepidation. The camp gate stood closed, but something puzzled them about the trench—it had no drawbridge, only an unexcavated section of roadway crossing it like a permanent causeway. What they could not know was that drawbridges were impractical here; the weight of heavy machinery coming and going would have destroyed any such structure.

When they reached arrow-range, they halted and sent a man forward to announce their presence. The gate guards seemed to have been expecting them, responding to the first call. Zhang Xingfu, a man seasoned by years of dealing with various pirate factions, spoke passable Mandarin, Cantonese, and Min dialect. The camp guards spoke a peculiar hybrid of Mandarin that was neither one thing nor another, but they managed to make themselves understood. After Zhang Xingfu explained their purpose, there was a brief commotion behind the gate before it swung open and a dozen people emerged.

Zhang Xingfu had learned from long experience that bandit leaders—whether they ruled mountains or seas—loved putting on theatrical displays of power to intimidate negotiators into offering higher ransoms. He had witnessed this performance countless times. But these pirates showed no such pretension. The group that came out consisted of ordinary men in green short coats, rifles with fixed bayonets slung over their shoulders. Their apparent leader startled him most of all: dressed identically to his subordinates in a dark-green jacket and trousers, dusty boots, and a leather belt at his waist, he was completely indistinguishable from the common soldiers. His appearance, manners, and speech carried a refined, scholarly quality—nothing at all like the rough-hewn heroes Zhang Xingfu was accustomed to dealing with.

This shaven-headed chief dresses so plainly! Zhang Xingfu marveled to himself.

The newcomer proved unfailingly courteous, introducing himself as Xi Yazhou, though he did not invite them inside the camp. Instead, he had chairs and benches brought out and arranged on the riverbank outside the gate where they could sit. Others emerged with wooden bowls and buckets of water for the porters to drink.

What was served to Zhang Xingfu and his companions, however, made these local landlords' eyes grow wide: glass cups. Though they lived on Hainan Island, they knew well the value of such vessels—two or three taels of silver would barely purchase a colored glass bowl, let alone cups of such crystalline clarity.

The contents proved less remarkable: a small white paper packet floating in the water, slowly dyeing it a pale green. Sniffing cautiously, they detected a vague tea-like fragrance, though of rather inferior quality.

What grandeur! Zhang Xingfu felt both pleased and apprehensive. Pleased because pirates willing to display such fine wares clearly meant to show great sincerity. Apprehensive because such a show of wealth suggested the price negotiations ahead would not settle for modest sums.

Xi Yazhou spoke passable Cantonese, and they exchanged pleasantries for a time before a rumbling sound emerged from within the gate. A small four-wheeled vehicle came bumping toward them, causing a stir among the gathered delegation. Word of the shaven-heads' vehicles that moved without oxen or horses had already spread throughout the city. Some claimed they were powered by sorcery, driven by ghost-gods; others insisted the pirates had somehow obtained the creative techniques of Heaven and Earth itself. Theories abounded.

Zhang Xingfu knew from scouts and militia reports that those who rode in covered vehicles like this were invariably high-ranking pirate chiefs. The vehicle's occupants, therefore, must be important indeed. He rose quickly, trembling slightly.

Those who stepped out of the vehicle wore the same plain attire as the others—nothing to distinguish them. Then several more arrived on foot, including one shaven-headed man dressed in local cloth garments, presumably a captured local who had thrown in his lot with the pirates.

The interpreter Xiong Buyou spoke the Lingao dialect with an accent that struck Zhang Xingfu as peculiar, though the meaning came through clearly enough. Xi Yazhou proceeded to explain that they were not pirates at all, but overseas Chinese merchants engaged in industry and trade who had now returned to establish businesses. When did we become "sea turtles"? Xiao Zishan thought with private amusement. Since arriving in Lingao, Xi Yazhou continued, they had never disturbed the common people or opposed the government. Then his tone grew stern: he accused the local "evil gentry" of groundlessly organizing militia attacks against them, causing significant losses. They had acted only in forced self-defense, he declared, and reserved the freedom to take further action should circumstances warrant.

Zhang Xingfu could only agree meekly, offering praise for their non-disturbance of civilians. He then presented the gift list: one hundred taels of silver, eight bolts of red satin, twenty bolts of assorted silk, twenty bolts of Songjiang cotton, ten shi of grain both coarse and fine, two pigs, four suckling pigs, one Sambar deer, and two hundred jin of wine. Xi Yazhou accepted the list and passed it to those standing behind him. Finding everything useful, he smiled:

"We are building here and have inevitably disturbed the locality. How could we dare accept such generous gifts? And yet, to refuse would slight the gentry's goodwill. So we must accept everything. Truly—refusing would be impolite, but accepting feels undeserved."

Zhang Xingfu, seeing the gifts accepted, seized the moment to raise the gentry's three requests. First, with the autumn harvest imminent, they hoped the pirates would not rob farmers working their fields. Second, they wished to ransom the captured prisoners. Third, they requested the return of the battle-dead so their families might bury them properly.

He added a promise: if these terms were agreed upon, the county gentry would "assist with provisions"—they would not be shortchanged. Specific figures could be negotiated.

Xi Yazhou nodded politely but offered no answer—a significant gesture. He glanced inquiringly at Wen Desi and the others behind him. They exchanged meaningful looks, then withdrew to the tower guardroom to confer. All agreed that this matter involved their future policy direction, and it would be improper for just a few people to decide unilaterally. But since the other side was actively seeking reconciliation, they needed to respond positively.

When Xi Yazhou returned, he directly agreed that the villages could send people and carts to retrieve the bodies. Guides would be provided to show them the burial locations. As a gesture of sincerity, they would also release a few of the wounded prisoners. As for the other two points, he explained that further discussion was needed—Zhang Xingfu should return tomorrow.

Zhang Xingfu had never expected to settle everything in a single visit. Seeing them readily agree to the body retrieval and even offer to release prisoners—clearly giving him face—he felt confident the remaining matters would not prove difficult, just a matter of haggling over prices. That prospect did not worry him; the gentry would bear the costs, and his commission would remain intact regardless. Better still, he had now established relations with these shaven-heads, and he already sensed that this group of pirates was unlike any he had ever dealt with before.

Before the delegation departed, following Wen Desi's instructions, Xi Yazhou presented Zhang Xingfu with a freshwater pearl necklace—originally priced at 25 RMB—and gave each porter a fifty wen tip. Everyone, high and low alike, departed satisfied with this strange group.

Magistrate Wu and all the city's officials and gentry had been anxiously awaiting Zhang Xingfu's report. When he returned that afternoon bearing word that the shaven-heads would return the bodies and release some prisoners, relief washed through the gathering. When Zhang Xingfu described the leaders as steady, plain people without the airs of bandits, they were all surprised.

In past dealings with kidnappers, even when victims had died, families wishing to retrieve bodies for burial were required to pay substantial ransoms. This time, the shaven-heads had agreed so readily it seemed almost suspicious. The villages quickly conscripted laborers and rushed to construct thin coffins in preparation for collecting the bodies the next day. Magistrate Wu, knowing that many from each village had perished, ordered the county poorhouse to assist—any unclaimed bodies would be collected as well.

The following day, village laborers arrived with carts, coffins, reed mats, and packets of lime. The transmigrators arranged guides to show them the burial sites, then quickly withdrew. They monitored the proceedings only from afar through high-power binoculars. The Sanitation Group checked the wind direction and confirmed it would not carry the smell toward camp. Even so, everyone donned masks without needing to be told.

Xi Yazhou and several others watched from the watchtower. Through his binoculars, he observed cloth-wrapped laborers digging, periodically carrying dirt-stained objects aside. With each exhumed body, elderly relatives and women rushed forward to identify the remains. Some wailed to heaven; others fainted dead away. After watching for a time, he could not bear to continue. Killing in battle had never troubled him, but this post-battle horror was truly chilling.

"We should have cremated them from the start," Xi Yazhou muttered. "Why did we bother with burial? The state of those bodies must be gruesome." He knew the corpses had been buried for over ten days—exhumed now, they would be decomposed beyond recognition, identifiable only by their clothing.

"Burning the bodies would have bred resentment," Xiao Zishan replied, refusing to put his eyes to the binoculars. "That would have been seen as 'scattering ashes'—the ultimate desecration. This way, at least the families can collect the remains and find some peace in a proper burial. They will feel somewhat better for it. Call it winning hearts."

Originally, the Sanitation Group had suggested, for purely hygienic reasons, either pyre cremation in the field or dumping all the bodies in the sea at Bopu. Most had agreed with this practical approach. But Yu Eshui had opposed it, arguing that the ancients placed enormous value on the proper treatment of corpses. "Collecting bones" had always been seen throughout history as a righteous act. Destroying the bodies would severely damage the transmigrators' image—and after all, this was going to be their permanent base.

So they had buried the dead in remote areas, thinking it merely a prudent precaution. Unexpectedly, the county negotiators' third condition had been precisely this—body retrieval. Any previous doubts about why Yu Eshui—this eloquent, theatrical speaker—occupied a seat on the Committee completely vanished after that.

After a full day's labor, the villages finally collected and transported all the bodies. Some of the dead had been village "refuse"—worthless men sent as cannon fodder—and naturally no one came to claim them. The county poorhouse collected these unclaimed remains and buried them in the public cemetery.

(End of Chapter)