Chapter 128: The Radio

Zhang Yuchen could picture it clearly: somewhere out there in the city, tucked away in a shadowed alley or behind the shuttered windows of a quiet courtyard, a man hunched over a radio receiver. Headphones clamped to his ears, fingers delicately working the dials, he would be a hunter stalking his prey through the invisible currents of the airwaves...

The fantasy dissolved the moment he imagined that hunter wearing Flying Fish robes. Zhang Yuchen shook his head and banished the spy-movie daydream. The Brocade Guards possessed no direction-finding equipment—they couldn't triangulate a signal if their lives depended on it. Still, he found it amusing that he was now doing exactly what those hunted radio operators did in the old films.

Transmigration Political Security Bureau Personal Assessment of Transmigrator Zhang Yuchen (Top Secret): "Born XXXX/XX/XX. Joined transmigration enterprise XXXX/XX. Han ethnicity. Political orientation: moderate socialist. Personality—gentle, approachable with friends, taciturn; merciless toward enemies. Upstanding character, no bad habits, clear social ties. Expertise: communications and cryptography. Evaluation—a rare professional expert—"

Before all this, Zhang Yuchen had worked in telecommunications. His background in cryptography had made him the natural choice when Intelligence needed a radio operator for the Guangzhou underground operation. The new assignment had rattled him at first—but then he'd started imagining himself as a secret operative broadcasting from behind enemy lines, just like in the novels and films, and his blood had quickened with anticipation. In a burst of enthusiasm, he'd even compiled an entire cipher set before departure. When he presented the codebook to Shao Zong with solemn ceremony, his superior had only laughed.

"Who exactly are you encrypting messages against? In this timespace, who else has radios besides us?"

"Well—" Zhang Yuchen scratched his head sheepishly. "It'll come in handy someday."

As it turned out, the cipher set did prove useful later on.

At 15:50 hours, alone in the empty radio room, Zhang Yuchen rubbed his hands together the way a man might warm himself by a fire on a bitter winter night—half nervous energy, half ritualistic preparation for what lay ahead.

The forward station's scheduled contact with Bairren Fortress was at 16:00. Intelligence regulations mandated daily check-ins to confirm operational safety; three consecutive missed contacts would trigger the dispatch of a rescue team. This would be his first real transmission.

He assembled the transmitter and connected the power supply—lead-acid battery banks with a hand-crank generator available for recharging. The antenna wire snaked up through the window and hung from a tree in the courtyard.

The message sat before him: four-digit groups, plaintext. Beyond the routine confirmation of their safe arrival, it contained Xiao Zishan's work report—and clearly the man had never drafted a telegram in his life. His rambling prose had ballooned the message to an unwieldy length. Fortunately, with no radio-detection vehicles prowling the streets, brevity wasn't a matter of survival.

When 16:00 arrived, Zhang Yuchen nodded to Guo Yi and Xiao Zishan through the doorway, then pulled on his headphones. His fingers found the dial and spun it quickly. Almost immediately, the base station's call sign flooded his ears, loud and crystalline: "GDA... GDA... GDA..." The signal traversed the vast distance between them, repeating steadily, and confidence swelled in his chest. Barring any surprises, the operator on the other end would be Li Chiqi's cousin Zhang Yu—the nineteen-year-old girl who had been lured here by her scheming cousin's promise of "somewhere fun to visit." After she'd fainted and vomited at the sight of blood during nurse training, Shao Zong had talked her into becoming a radio operator instead.

That clear signal meant their lifeline to Bairren Fortress remained intact. Zhang Yuchen fine-tuned the frequency until the reception peaked. The electromagnetic spectrum in this timespace was blessedly empty—no competing broadcasts, no static from distant stations. The sky was silent.

He began transmitting the Guangzhou station's call sign: "GDA," repeated several times. Then he leaned back and listened.

"BRL... BRL... BRL"—the Bairren base station's response came through, sharp and strong against the pristine background.

The base was ready to receive. Zhang Yuchen checked the clock, then pressed the telegraph key. Within seconds, he had lost himself entirely in the work—mind and body fused into a single instrument, focused on his nimble fingers and the key's staccato rhythm of dots and dashes.

His form was extraordinary, faster than any practice session. At 16:22, he transmitted the final code group, then signed off with "GDA" to signal the message's end. He sat back and waited for acknowledgment. At Bairren Fortress's "Lingao Telecom" building, the novice Zhang Yu was probably decoding group by group, checking for missed or garbled codes. Any errors would require retransmission.

About fifteen minutes later, "BRL" crackled through—reception confirmed. The transmigrators' first long-distance telegram was complete.

"Right about now, Ding Ding's probably dragging his Western mare along for live coverage of this historic moment." Xiao Zishan laughed. "'Dear viewers and listeners, perhaps you've just switched on the elevator—'"

"A Western mare—I could use one of those myself." Zhang Yuchen's inner otaku was showing.

"When are we going to Macau? Time to sample some foreign flavor!" The others were growing restless.

"Forget it—women who haven't bathed in ten years? She could be Audrey Hepburn's ancestor and I still wouldn't be interested."

"Little Guo, I hear Salina's taken a shine to you?" Xiao Zishan shifted into gossip mode.

Guo Yi's face reddened immediately. "That's not true at all! We barely interact." It wasn't entirely false—during his Security Group assignment, Salina had shown interest—but he'd maintained strict distance to avoid any misunderstandings.

"Why so bashful? Landing a Western mare for a girlfriend wouldn't be half bad. Spreading China's divine might, sowing seeds across the four seas—" Xiao Zishan chuckled, and the others piled on with their own ribald jokes. They were still carrying on when the radio suddenly came alive with clicking. Zhang Yuchen grabbed his headphones, pressed them to his ears, and began transcribing.

"What's the message?" The room tensed. There had been no scheduled reply—this unexpected transmission could only mean something important.

"Agricultural Department to Guangzhou Forward Station—" Zhang Yuchen transcribed while decoding: "Please procure in Guangzhou:

Live pigs: 100 head

Live chickens, ducks, geese: 100 each

Lard, tallow, or miscellaneous vegetable oils: 2,000 kg

Horses: 10

Donkeys: 10

..."

"Good heavens—Wu Nanhai thinks this is a farmers' market!" Lu Rong exclaimed. "Donkeys? I've never even seen a donkey in Guangdong!"

"Horses won't be easy either," Zhang Xin added. "Maybe up north you could find them, but in Guangzhou? Probably only through military channels."

Most baffling of all was the two thousand kilograms of oil. What on earth was that for? Before they'd departed, the cafeteria food—slightly improved from the early starvation days, but still infamous for its lack of grease—had never included anything fried. Stir-fries were rare luxuries. Even the communal soups had only the stingiest film of lard floating on top. Was Wu Nanhai in a sudden rush to improve morale with deep-fried delicacies?

"I'm guessing the oil isn't his idea," someone ventured. "Probably for soap."

"Soap!" Zhang Xin's eyes lit up. "Now that's a transmigration money-maker if there ever was one! Every household needs soap."

"We could manufacture different grades—scented varieties and transparent soaps for the wealthy. Maybe add some aphrodisiac properties for the brothels—"

"What counts as an aphrodisiac?" Yan Maoda asked.

"Myrrh or something? The Arabs do that sort of thing."

"What's myrrh? The Arabian Peninsula is a world away."

"Don't worry—what doesn't Guangzhou have?" Guo Yi was confident. "We haven't even finished mapping out the local supply chains yet."

Yan Maoda nodded thoughtfully. "First priority is establishing what Guangzhou can supply. Then we figure out what we can sell to Guangzhou."

Trade goods had already been discussed at length in various planning meetings. According to Industrial Department reports, their near-term products would include salt, cigarettes, glassware, refined sugar, matches, soap, and iron goods—primarily sewing needles. Someone had proposed liquor, but Ming-era distilled spirits were already widespread throughout the region. There was no premium to be captured there.

"About liquor—I have an idea," Zhang Hongda said. "But it would require cooperation between Agricultural and Industrial."

Xiao Zishan nodded. "I'll coordinate with them when I get back to base."

"We've lost first-mover advantage on baijiu itself, but creative packaging could open entirely new markets."

Zhang Xin understood immediately. "New bottles, old wine!"

Yan Maoda grinned. "Exactly. We don't even need to brew it ourselves—brewing requires grain we can't spare. We bulk-purchase baijiu here in Guangzhou, ship glass bottles from Lingao, and bottle locally. The perceived value multiplies overnight."

"Excellent!" Xiao Zishan was energized by the prospect.

"If we're thinking along those lines, the possibilities expand even further," Guo Yi spoke up. "What if we dyed the baijiu golden—made it look like XO cognac?"

Everyone turned to stare at him. Guo Yi felt his scalp prickle under the scrutiny. "What?"

Yan Maoda chuckled. "Sometimes it's the outsiders who make the craftiest swindlers."

(End of Chapter)