Chapter 96: Li Minority Work (Part 3)
Following pre-planned protocols, everyone shifted to combat-ready posture once they entered the mountain terrain, with advance scouts pushing ahead. The mountains themselves were not precipitous. Along the way, small plots of nearly-harvest rice clung to mountain slopes; gentler inclines showed traces of cultivation—the green forest lay like a patchy carpet, occasionally revealing yellow patches beneath. This was the Li's shanlang cultivation, an agricultural method barely removed from slash-and-burn. Distant slopes were dotted with scattered villages. With time to spare, they did not hurry, walking and admiring the scenery. Though autumn had arrived, Hainan's year-round summer-like climate meant flowers still bloomed and vegetation flourished—the landscape was exceptionally beautiful. Compared to the desolate wasteland outside the mountains, this felt like an entirely different world.
Atop a ridge, everyone paused to gaze around them. Wen Desi could not help but voice his admiration: "Such a wonderful place."
"Much prettier than along the Wenlan River," the others agreed, wiping sweat from their brows and pointing at the surrounding scenery.
"What's that?" someone asked. On a nearby hillside stood exceptionally tall, upright trees—striking because, amid all the lush greenery, they had already shed their leaves.
"That's silk-cotton," Wen Desi said. As someone who had lived in Guangzhou, he could hardly fail to recognize the city's official flower.
"Silk-cotton—I know! Beautiful flowers. I saw many when I visited Panzhihua," Mu Min said.
"Haha, correct. The city of Panzhihua is actually named after silk-cotton."
"But why have these trees shed all their leaves? Southern trees usually don't defoliate."
"They're naturally deciduous," Fa Shilu explained. "Their native habitats have distinct wet and dry seasons. Before the dry season, they shed their leaves to conserve water." Though an agronomist by training, he had also worked in plant protection and knew this subject well.
"This tree is very useful," he continued. "An excellent fiber source."
"Good as it may be, it can't be spun into cloth."
Silk-cotton fibers, compared to herbaceous cotton, were far shorter—unsuitable as textile material. But the tree grew rapidly; its wood was light and soft; the fibers were short and fine, hollow more than 86 percent through, resistant to water absorption, pressure-tolerant, warm, naturally antibacterial, and resistant to insects and mold. All this made it useful for filling pillows and lifejackets.
The transmigrators had found scattered silk-cotton trees along the Wenlan River, but this was their first time seeing such forests. The development potential was considerable.
"Boss Wen, I'd like to collect some samples," Fa Shilu requested.
"Fa Engineer, please ask Team Leader Lu," Wen Desi replied. "I'm just a regular member here—no command authority."
"Right, right, I keep forgetting." The agronomist smiled sheepishly. Wen Desi's title as Committee Chairman always made him forget.
"Old Fa, you say silk-cotton can't be spun—but I've heard Li weaving technology was historically quite advanced? Even Huang Daopo learned spinning from Hainan's Li people." Accompanying him for sample collection was Cui Yunhong, laden with equipment: a laptop, transient electromagnetic meter, anchor-bolt tester, ultrasonic detector, even an African-aid-version small hand-crank generator—there was no choice when everything required power. While Fa collected samples, he would conduct geological surveys.
"Not all silk-cotton is unspinnable," Fa Shilu said, carefully avoiding the thorns on the trunk as he pulled out his measuring tape. "Some varieties can be spun—they're just not comparable to herbaceous cotton. Also, some of what people call 'silk-cotton' is actually Sea Island cotton."
"Sea Island cotton?"
"A high-quality long-staple cotton native to Central and South America. It got its name because it was once widely distributed along the southeastern American coast and nearby islands." Fa Shilu secured his measurements. "Hainan Island has a similar long-staple cotton—very close to this American Sea Island variety."
"I've seen cotton plants—short, grass-like, requiring annual planting. How could something like that resemble silk-cotton?"
"Haha, because cotton can be either annual or perennial." Fa Shilu knew that most people in their original timespace could not distinguish one grain from another—many mistook wheat seedlings for chives; actually seeing cotton was rare. "Under natural conditions, cotton can grow into a perennial woody plant. Perhaps because, like silk-cotton, its seeds have cottony fibers, it was mistakenly called 'silk-cotton.' The Li's weaving material is probably this perennial woody cotton." He continued: "I've seen scattered cotton trees of this type around the island. They're quite common. Our department is considering how to handle the cotton issue."
"So is this silk-cotton, or not?"
"Regular silk-cotton." Fa Shilu sounded somewhat disappointed. If this had been a Sea Island cotton forest, they would have struck gold: this long-staple variety could produce fine-spun fabric with a texture and feel approaching silk, and it was also essential raw material for the cord thread that future tire industries would require.
"It can be used for guncotton," Zhang Bailin interjected from where he stood guard nearby. "Any fiber works for guncotton."
"That's not quite right—" Fa Shilu was saying when he suddenly spotted two or three figures approaching in the distance. Their dress was clearly non-Han. Li people. He quickly gathered his things and retreated to the main group.
Two native soldiers approached, calling out while still some distance away. They wore cloth shirts; their lower bodies were wrapped in triangular cloth strips resembling loincloths—similar to Japanese fundoshi. This was traditional Li male dress. At their waists hung hook-knives, the traditional tool-and-weapon combination carried by all Li men. Crossbows and arrows rode on their backs. Lu Rong addressed them in Qiongzhou dialect and learned that they had entered the territory of a particular dong. The dong chief lived ahead in a place called Nanan Village.
While they talked, the prisoners behind them grew agitated. Despite the heavy salt packs on their backs, they rushed forward. Both groups met in an embrace—weeping—for these two soldiers were from their own village! Early that morning, hunters had reported a strange party approaching: not many in number, clearly not official troops, and not the individual peddlers or small groups of Han merchants who sometimes passed through. The dong chief, who also served as a Ming-appointed local administrator responsible for maintaining order, had dispatched men to investigate.
From the ensuing conversation, the transmigrators learned that of the thirty Li soldiers originally sent against them, five had escaped home alive. Throughout Li territory, word had spread that a powerful pirate force from the sea possessed formidable firearms. Han peddlers from the lowland areas had embellished tales of the Bairren Rapids battle until the transmigrators' terrifying reputation was common knowledge.
Upon learning that these were indeed the "pirates" with supernatural power, the two soldiers showed obvious fear. Lu Rong hastened to explain that they were not pirates but merchants; the fighting at Bairren Rapids had been forced self-defense. This visit had two purposes: first, to return these eight prisoners; second, to trade. He opened a salt packet—snow-white refined salt gleaming in the sunlight. The power of salt was tremendous. After licking the crystals to confirm they were real, both soldiers sprinted off at full speed.
Lu Rong ordered everyone to wait. If the Public Security Group's intelligence from Li prisoners was accurate, the power of salt would suffice. Still, tension ran high. Everyone feared a revenge attack. Twenty-odd SKS rifles could handle one or two hundred enemies, but conflict would prove difficult to manage afterward, and any casualties on their side would constitute an irreparable loss.
Before long, more than ten Li soldiers arrived, escorting a middle-aged man dressed far more elaborately than the near-naked warriors around him. He wore what appeared to be traditional Li brocade, and his head was decorated with pheasant feathers—evidently a headman of some importance. According to the prisoners, this was their dong's aoya, the term Li commoners used to address upper-class headmen—meaning roughly "old man." His rank stood second only to the local administrator.
This aoya spoke excellent Qiongzhou dialect. He approached alone to the clearing between both groups, then drove his hook-knife into the ground.
"What does that mean?" Lu Rong asked, somewhat nervous.
"Apparently—no hostile intent." Wen Desi recalled watching a documentary about Amazon rainforest exploration, in which expedition members encountering forest natives had also placed machetes on the ground to demonstrate friendliness. "Just do the same."
So Lu Rong walked forward and placed his machete on the ground. He was not the only one sweating—everyone in the party was. He stood only fifty-odd meters from those soldiers, and a single crossbow bolt to any area not protected by his stab-proof vest... The arrows were tipped with jianxuefenghou—blood-sealing-throat poison.
They talked for more than ten minutes before Lu Rong returned, looking somewhat helpless. "He won't let us enter the village. They'll buy the salt. The prisoners he'll ransom with goods we want."
Wen Desi thought: returning empty-handed would be useless. But Lu Rong was team leader, and interfering in his decisions would violate Committee command-authority policy.
So he asked tentatively: "Perhaps try negotiating a bit more? Offer some gifts—"
"Gifts!" Lu Rong laughed. "A year and more of retirement—I'd forgotten standard practice." He returned to the aoya, and both talked further. Shortly, Lu Rong came back beaming.
"Done. He agrees to take us near the village—though we can't enter. We can only trade outside the village perimeter. But he's willing to let us meet the dong chief."
This breakthrough had cost them one small fruit knife. The knife was not tool-grade steel, but it was still a steel blade—incomparably superior to their crude iron hook-knives.
Apparently, commercial bribery worked everywhere.
(End of Chapter)