Chapter 99: Salt Fields (Part 2)

Even today, with large-scale mechanization, solar salt production remains extremely laborious and grueling—far from the simple matter of digging evaporation pools on beaches for batch output. The ancients knew early on that seawater pooling on coastal rocks could evaporate into small amounts of salt, yet until the Yuan Dynasty, boiling seawater remained the dominant method. Solar evaporation was not as simple as it seemed; applying theory to practice required systematic production processes.

Wang Luobin had witnessed salt-field production in rural Guangxi. The process worked as follows: seawater entered storage channels through tidal intake ditches outside the dikes, then mechanical pumps lifted the water through branch channels into evaporation pools. When the brine reached five to ten Baumé degrees, it moved to concentration pools, where it was further concentrated to twenty to twenty-five degrees before flowing through brine channels to pump houses. Power lifted it to brine pools, then into crystallization pools. Brine depth was maintained at six to eight centimeters and concentration at twenty-six to twenty-eight degrees—only then would salt crystallize.

In ancient times, such production conditions were obviously impossible. How did they increase brine concentration under primitive conditions? This question intrigued him greatly.

The village head led him and Xiong Buyou onto the dike. Below lay numerous inkstone-like stone salt-evaporation troughs. Their arrangement was deliberate—what appeared to be haphazard piles were actually precisely layered at varying heights, designed to maximize sunlight exposure. The troughs encircled central expanses of blackish salt fields. The head explained that the village currently maintained more than seven thousand troughs, all carved and polished by ancestors and passed down through generations.

The salt field itself was a muddy tidal flat they called "salt mud." During the dry season's strong sunlight, twice-monthly spring tides flooded this mud. The salt mud absorbed the seawater's salt content; when tides receded, workers raked the mud loose and sun-dried it for several days to evaporate the water, leaving highly saline mud behind.

Putting salt mud into brine pools was entirely manual labor: workers used wooden scrapers to move the sun-dried mud into pools. These "pools" were simply pits dug in the salt fields—two meters wide, three meters long, and one meter deep—with bottoms lined with bamboo strips and grass for filtration.

After the mud entered the pools, workers trampled it firm and added seawater. Filtered water flowed through pre-cut outlets into adjacent brine ponds, producing a pond of concentrated brine.

How was brine concentration judged? Workers broke stems of huangyu thornbush growing at the field edges and dropped them into the brine pools. Only when the stems floated was the brine truly saturated—otherwise, more sun-exposure was needed.

The brine was then carried to salt troughs made of volcanic stone. Wang Luobin examined them closely—the stone possessed tiny, dense pores, perhaps for drainage. Before sunrise, workers poured brine into the troughs. After a day beneath the blazing sun, by dusk, salt could be scraped out with boards and collected in bamboo baskets. During the hottest, clearest season, one trough could evaporate two or three brine refills.

At present, most troughs stood empty, but some still held crystallized salt—gleaming beautifully in the sunlight.

Wang Luobin gazed at these seven thousand-plus troughs. Using such primitive labor methods, this place produced more than two hundred tons annually. He could not help marveling at the ancients' boundless ingenuity.

A tool shed stood on the dike. Curious about ancient salt-field implements, Wang Luobin looked inside. Many tools lay piled there—not dramatically different from what he had seen at modern salt fields. He tried the raking tool and found it much heavier than modern versions. Ancient manufacturing limitations meant only the clumsiest methods sufficed. Working under the scorching sun with such heavy tools—truly grueling.

He approached a salt trough. Inside, a layer of white salt had crystallized—sparkling, beautiful, and remarkably fine. It resembled modern factory-refined salt, which surprised him greatly. Sea salt achieving this quality without refinement was something he had never encountered. He tasted a pinch—much milder than the refined salt they had brought, melting immediately on his tongue.

The sodium-chloride content remained unknown—he had no instruments here for analysis. But Wang Luobin knew this salt's appearance alone would make it highly marketable.

Yet this place was so impoverished—completely unexpected. Ancient laborers truly lived in dire straits.

Just as he stood reflecting, he spotted a group approaching the dike. The leader rode on horseback—a rare sight locally—trailed by a large crowd in blue robes. Village Head Tan's expression shifted to something between fearful and disgusted. "It's Landlord Gou," he said to Wang Luobin.

"Landlord Gou?" Wang Luobin had a vague sense he had heard this name somewhere, though he could not recall where.

"Mm, mm." Head Tan seemed terrified of this landlord's power—he had no time even to explain further—and hurried down to meet them, bowing and scraping with extreme deference.

Wang Luobin did not know who this Landlord Gou was, but from Head Tan's terrified behavior, the man was clearly no benefactor—probably a local tyrant or bully. They were currently outnumbered; directly confronting such people would prove difficult. Better to remain on the dike and observe.

The horseman appeared to be berating someone while Head Tan bowed repeatedly, seemingly pleading. This pantomime continued for some time before Head Tan dejectedly led people toward the village—completely ignoring the visitors on the dike. Wang Luobin quickly radioed those loading salt in the village, warning them to stay alert.

But the visitors clearly did not dare provoke them—the shaven-headed pirates' ferocity had become common knowledge throughout Lingao. After a while, the village head returned to the dike looking miserable and led them back to the village.

After much questioning, Xiong Buyou finally pieced together the situation. According to government regulations, salt fields used the commutation system—salt workers did not directly pay salt quotas to the government but converted salt into rice or silver. The old rule stipulated that each yin equaled one shi of rice. Later, rice-commutation became silver-commutation: first converting salt to rice, then rice to silver at market prices. Ma'ao Salt Field's quota was "1,417 yin, 230 jin"—commuting to more than 1,400 shi of rice, which at Tianqi- and Chongzhen-era prices meant nearly 2,000 liang of silver.

Commutation offered some benefits for salt workers: production was no longer government-supervised. As long as you paid salt taxes on time, you could do whatever you wished—no need to dedicate yourself night and day to Ming salt affairs. After producing salt, merchants would naturally come to buy it. If production was high and prices favorable, life could be decent. Some workers, finding salt labor too grueling, paid their taxes using income from trade or farming instead.

But after the earthquake, everything changed. Old Landlord Gou exploited the destroyed fields and the unpayable tax debts, gradually gaining control over most salt sales through loan-fronting. His purchase prices fell far below market rates—salt workers' back-breaking output could not even cover their rolling debts. He also colluded with officials, manipulating salt taxes and claiming rice prices had soared until each shi now commuted at three liang of silver. High-interest debt mounted on one side, tax arrears on the other. Salt workers knew he was scheming, but they had no choice except to beg him to intercede with officials. Over time, the Gou family became the village's de facto rulers. The salt fields might as well have become Gou family property. Exploitation intensified; to make matters worse, every time pirates raided Lingao, they also robbed salt certificates and killed people. The village grew increasingly desolate. Able-bodied workers usually did not dare come home—they hid inland and farmed for survival.

As for today's visit—it was merely to collect this month's "regulation silver" and to order all able-bodied men back to make salt. Otherwise, the landlord threatened to imprison the village's women, children, and elderly.

"Prison?" Wang Luobin asked. "Is he an official?"

"No—it's his family's private prison." Head Tan shuddered. "The Gou family is formidable. Never mind a private prison—anyone who offends them gets arrested and tortured to death—"

He quickly fell silent, probably feeling he had said too much, and simply urged them to take their salt and leave. Wang Luobin sensed that the salt-village situation was complex—issues here might truly require a land-reform work team to handle properly.

To obtain Committee guidance, he returned to Bairren Fortress that night. Though some Committee members were absent, the remaining members discussed the matter and approved his work-team approach: deploy a competent team to the salt field to help villagers restore production, arm the salt workers, and eliminate the threats from landlords and pirates, transforming Ma'ao Salt Field into a key salt-chemical raw-material base for the transmigrators.

Since this represented the transmigrators' first comprehensive social-level transformation of a locality, all groups took it seriously and seconded personnel to form a Salt Field Work Team.

The Committee originally wanted Wang Luobin as team leader, but he felt the position better suited someone both militarily capable and socially adept. Finally, Xi Yazhou was chosen.

Propaganda and organization work went to Du Wen—since landing, beyond reading radio scripts that no one heard, she had received no real assignments. Hearing about "land reform," she volunteered enthusiastically. The entire work team comprised thirty people, including one doctor—nicknamed "River Horse" (Hema).

Everyone carried sufficient weapons: pistols, rifles, daggers, and ample ammunition. River Horse brought many medicines and simple surgical instruments. Considering the possibility of long-term deployment, the team also brought wind generators and other equipment. Food posed a problem—besides their own needs, they might have to provide relief to locals. Though Xiao Zishan had already taken people to Guangzhou for major procurement, the first grain shipment remained some time away. Wu Nanhai dared not allocate much—just one week's food and provisions.

(End of Chapter)