Chapter 100: Mass Work
Zhang Xingjiao had returned after only three or four days away, arriving at precisely the moment Xi Yazhou needed him most. Xiong Buyou, the anime-company otaku who served as the sole Lingao-dialect translator, had become so desperately sought after—needed everywhere for communication—that some were even begging him to teach Lingao classes. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this obscure dialect from the other timespace would bring such unexpected success. Summoning him now would have been awkward, so Zhang Xingjiao's return was nothing short of providential.
He had also brought back a mother and daughter. When Wu Nanhai first laid eyes on them, he started involuntarily—for a moment, he thought he was looking at two walking corpses. The mother's age was impossible to determine; she was sallow and emaciated, hunched over a wooden stick with one hand while clutching her daughter with the other. The girl's hair had turned completely yellow from malnutrition, and she was so thin that her eyes looked enormous—like a starving stray cat. Both wore something that might generously be called clothing, though it was so dirty and tattered that only rags remained.
Probably assuming these two would be useless to Chief Wu, Zhang Xingjiao apologized: the mother and daughter had starved for so long they looked frightening. Would the Chief still accept them? Wu Nanhai sucked in a breath. Good lord, this is terrifying. He had assumed at worst mild malnutrition—a few meals would fix it. He had even entertained fantasies of finally raising a loli. But they had brought back two Ethiopian famine victims. The two were too hungry even to beg—they just stood with heads bowed in silence. A surge of compassion overcame him: take them in.
Zhang Xingjiao looked delighted; he had brought them after all. Being sent back in this condition, they would likely die en route—bad for his karma. Wu Nanhai accepting them was ideal. The mother and daughter, apparently numbed by hardship, showed no reaction until Zhang Xingjiao reminded them; then they barely managed to kneel and kowtow their thanks. Wu Nanhai noticed tears in the woman's eyes—gratitude mixed with what seemed like shame.
Just then, River Horse came seeking personnel—requesting Zhang Xingjiao for the Salt-Field Work Team. Wu Nanhai took the opportunity to have him bring these two to the clinic for "purification"—standard processing for local natives: haircut, bathing, deworming, and skin-disease treatment.
"But send a nurse for this," Wu Nanhai reminded him. "Women in this era are very conservative. Your burly men stripping them naked to treat skin disease—the woman might kill herself."
"Understood." River Horse smiled helplessly. "You think we enjoy 'purification'? Being a doctor is hard—" He blinked. "Nanhai, impressive! You got first dibs on raising a loli!"
"This loli is too pitiful." He recalled the girl's appearance—vaguely seemed pretty, but he could not even tell her age. He remembered something. "Shave all hair?"
"Of course—no other way to get clean. Plus, scalp sores are common here—can't treat without shaving."
"Rough on you guys."
"Indeed. By the way—leave the mother for our Medical Group? Train her as a nurse. We're short-staffed; none of the women who came want to be nurses—too dirty."
"Not yet. They've just arrived somewhere new—surely anxious and unsettled. Separating them wouldn't be good. Besides, both look so fragile a breeze could topple them. Let them recuperate at the farm first."
"Nanhai, you're such a saint!" River Horse laughed. "But our group has reserved that woman—you can't keep her for yourself. The loli's all yours—that girl's features are quite proper."
At dawn the next day, the work team departed. With previous experience under their belts, they were familiar with the route now—farm trucks reached the salt field in under an hour. They had brought considerable luggage, so the vehicles drove directly up the flagstone road. The village lay cold and deserted; the occasional figures glimpsed in the streets fled in terror upon seeing three or four roaring trucks enter the village, slamming their doors shut behind them. No curious onlookers appeared.
They looked for Village Head Tan, but he was nowhere to be found. Knocking on doors and asking questions, they heard only terrified gasping from the houses. Entering some, they found only elderly people and women—faces fearful and worried, skin as gray as the walls. Younger women's faces were smeared black with soot; the rare young men all looked apprehensive—some openly hostile. Xi Yazhou sensed beneath the cold surface a tremendous tension. He ordered everyone to stay together, going door to door without separating.
After much searching, they finally entered a house where they found an elderly couple, a young man, and a strong fellow of roughly forty years squatting on the main-room floor. Xi Yazhou entered with Zhang Xingjiao. The old woman was more composed; asked about the village head's whereabouts, everyone remained silent. Xi Yazhou then asked the young man—this filthy-faced youth turned away, bashfully silent. Xi Yazhou was puzzled at first, then realized: this was a girl—disguised as a man, probably fearing abduction.
To avoid misunderstanding, after brief small talk, Xi Yazhou led his people out—planning to find others to question. Walking past the courtyard wall, he heard the old man—apparently the father—squeezing out trembling words: "Child, later you'd better take Xiao Qin out to hide. If they grab people, I can't face the village head..."
So the village head's daughter was here! Xi Yazhou knew this might be a breakthrough—but hearing similar reports troubled him deeply. Wang Luobin and the previous visitors had said that though villagers were cold toward them, they had not been hostile. How had things changed so drastically in just days—treating them like sworn enemies? Such coldness was a major obstacle to his plans.
He gathered everyone together. "You've all seen it—the masses not only distrust us but are clearly hostile. The key now is making the masses recognize us. We must use real actions to move them, to raise their consciousness! From now on, we'll follow the PLA's fine traditions—Three Major Disciplines and Eight Points of Attention. While building camp, we'll also launch propaganda. The propaganda's core message is: we are—" He suddenly stalled. In the other timespace, naturally it was CPC, People's Liberation Army, People's Children's Army, and so on. But here?
To date, the transmigrators had no political slogan for mobilizing the masses. Li Zicheng at least had "King Chuang comes; no more taxes." This involved delicate political-philosophy issues among the transmigrators—divisions already revealed in many pre-crossing meetings.
"Serve the people—" Du Wen began.
"No good—that's not why we came; not appropriate!" came the immediate objection. True—most here had come to become masters over others. Talking about "serving the people" was too fake.
"Act for Heaven!"
"Please—this isn't Liangshan Marsh. Those Liangshan heroes didn't end well."
Xi Yazhou thought, then consulted Wang Luobin. "How about 'Root Out the Strong, Eliminate Evil; Protect the Realm, Secure the People'?"
"I must point out this slogan has political-orientation problems and lacks revolutionary fighting spirit," Du Wen noted. It thoroughly exposed the essence of opposing tyrants but not the emperor—of not opposing feudalism.
"Alright, alright." Xi Yazhou interrupted. "Our political slogan must be decided by Committee meetings. Use this for now—broader scope, more targeted. Easier for salt workers to relate to—common people don't understand grand theories. Audible, visible, practical benefits attract them."
Some felt this was too bland, lacking punch—but no one could suggest anything better, so they decided to use it temporarily. Zhang Xingjiao rather liked this slogan. Xi Yazhou ordered the team split: one group would build camp at the Ge Hong Temple by the village entrance—everything done by themselves; the other would immediately begin propaganda and village investigation.
"How do we propagandize?" someone muttered.
"How? Ever encountered insurance salesmen? Just like that." Xi Yazhou directed. "Anyone sold insurance? Sales experience counts too—you demonstrate in front, everyone else follows and learns. Someday when you're running things solo, getting people to work for you depends on this."
Everyone followed orders, launching the transmigrators' first mass work. Needless to say, the work was grueling—especially with language barriers—and Zhang Xingjiao was worked until his lips cracked. Results remained: cold, fearful reactions.
But they roughly learned what had happened: Landlord Gou, unable to collect enough silver and salt, had arrested several village elders—threatening that until quota payments were complete, no one would be released. From visits and propaganda, they discovered the village was impoverished to the extreme. Grain had been scarce for ages. The village head claimed able-bodied men farmed at Ma'ao—actually just growing tiannanxing (Araceae) taro. Though filling, prolonged consumption turned faces gray-blue. Clothing was even worse—garments had long since disintegrated. Salt workers labored naked; normally they at least had clothes—now only patched-upon-patched rags barely covering anything. Some families of four or five shared one garment—whoever went outside wore it; others stayed home naked in straw piles. Every household qualified as having "four bare walls."
Learning all this, the work team felt deep sympathy for the masses of this timespace—and intense anxiety about their suffering. Some wept. Humans still had some compassion for fellow humans' suffering.
The village was deathly silent. Under one dim lamp, the work team's key members sat in a large tent. Everyone pondered.
(End of Chapter)