Chapter 130: Quarantine Station (Part 1)
The so-called Capture Protocol Manual was essentially a background document the Committee had compiled for precisely these circumstances. Just as a spy infiltrating enemy territory requires a complete new identity, transmigrators needed convincing cover stories to explain their origins and purposes.
The complete materials had been assembled under Yu Eshui's supervision—an elaborate expansion of Wen Desi's "Song dynasty remnants developing Australia" cover story from the dual-trade negotiations, now fleshed out with countless additional details. The authors had given maximum consideration to contemporary psychology and cultural factors, though even the most meticulous historian could never perfectly recreate authentic social conditions and mentalities. Consequently, the manual had undergone continuous revision since D-Day. The Guangzhou Forward Station personnel and the self-appointed "Naval Transport Brigade" crew had been the first to receive trial versions.
"If you discover any issues with the materials during normal interactions with natives, contact headquarters immediately," Xiao Zishan said. "This manual will continue being revised. And if you are captured—memorize the confession script and the three defensive layers."
The three protective layers served as their explanation for coming to the Ming. First layer: trade, obviously. If torture was threatened, they could confess that Australia had experienced civil war and that they had fled the turmoil to seek refuge in the Ming. If their captors remained unconvinced and torture continued, they could reveal the final layer: that the transmigrators were actually the losing faction in Australia's civil war.
As for the iron ships, machinery, and weapons—the transmigrators' official position was that these had been brought from Australia, and that manufacturing knowledge was unknown to them. Civilian commercial technology could be revealed if their lives were truly at stake.
Overall, the Committee's capture policy could be summarized simply: Confession permitted; defection forbidden. Under the worst circumstances, captured transmigrators could confess anything—including the truth about transmigration—though their captors would likely dismiss such claims as madness. But they must never actively serve other regimes or forces using their mastered technology, information, or capabilities.
"This is rather vague," Bei Wei observed. He had remained silent throughout, but he could not let this pass without comment. "What counts as 'active'? Captured traitors would all claim they were forced."
Xiao Zishan smiled bitterly. "Capture policy is sensitive territory. The wording is deliberately flexible."
"I disagree with this." Bei Wei shook his head but did not elaborate.
"The bottom line," Xiao Zishan concluded, "is to avoid capture entirely. Never mind falling into Eastern Depot or Brocade Guard hands—even getting tossed in some county jail for a few days would be an experience you'd never forget."
The Deng Yingzhou returned with Xiao Zishan aboard. There was nothing left for him to do in Guangzhou—everything had been handed over to Guo Yi's team. Excessive personal involvement in the Gao Ju dealings would only hinder the station's independent development.
The purchased slaves—all except for the sick, the very young, and the frail—had been crammed aboard. A seventy-eight-ton ship carrying nearly a hundred souls was packed to bursting. Fortunately, the voyage lasted only a matter of days; they would simply have to endure. Comparatively speaking, the transmigrators' tolerance during the journey was clearly lower than that of the people locked in the hold below. The constant stench of urine rising from beneath deck sickened everyone, prompting bitter remarks that slave trading was not easy work. Nobody gave pirates a second thought anymore—they simply took the fastest route straight to Bopu.
Before the ship arrived, the entire Medical Department had mobilized for quarantine operations—now officially designated "Purification." This was the first large-scale population import from the mainland. Anticipating future mass immigration, the Committee had constructed an immigrant quarantine zone at Lingao Point.
Guo Sanniang and Tian Sanwu climbed from the foul hold with the rest of the crowd, gulping desperately at the fresh air. During those two days at sea, only those whose turn it was to empty the chamber pots had been allowed on deck. Everyone else had crammed into the small hold space, and the smell defied description. Fortunately, the sailors had provided sufficient water and dried provisions each day. For non-seasick travelers like Guo Sanniang and Tian Sanwu, the voyage had been bearable.
"Sanniang, where do you think this is—"
"No talking!" At the gangplank stood a tall, burly man—short-haired and short-clothed—gripping a long stick.
Tian Sanwu startled. What law forbade speaking? But having sold himself into servitude, obedience seemed wisest. He quickly shut his mouth.
The slaves emerging from the hold had no time to understand what was happening before they were driven toward a wooden-barrier corridor. At the entrance stood tables on both sides, flanked by bamboo basket contraptions resembling steamers.
"Men go left! Women go right!" A short-hair at the entrance shouted through a horn-shaped device. "You—yes, you! You're a woman—why are you going to the men's side!"
"My son—"
"Your son won't escape. Go right!"
Tian Sanwu and Guo Sanniang were separated at the corridor. After more than a year of wandering together, these teenagers had forged deep bonds. Now parting, Tian Sanwu felt a sour ache rise in his chest. He saw Guo Sanniang's eyes glistening with tears as well.
"Place all belongings on the table. No hoarding items." The speaking short-hair noticed Tian Sanwu and the girl across the way exchanging longing glances and smiled. "Don't worry—you can meet again later." He hung a cord-tied bamboo tag around Tian Sanwu's neck. "Don't lose it! You'll need this tag for eating and retrieving your luggage. Do you have any?"
Tian Sanwu shook his head. A wandering child—what luggage would he have? His begging pot had been discarded before boarding. The others were similar—besides ragged clothes, they had nothing. Only a few possessed copper coins, combs, or tattered spare garments, all of which were tossed into numbered steamer baskets.
At the corridor's end lay a large pool partitioned with wooden boards, filled with clear water.
"One by one—crawl through the pool!" A short-hair on a platform directed. Everyone exchanged confused looks. Bathing? Why crawl? Tian Sanwu lowered himself into the water—it was shallow. Crawling kept his head above the surface. But they were also required to submerge their heads—crawling underwater until they could no longer hold their breath. He finally emerged on the other side, gasping.
Before he could catch his breath, a squad of robust temporary workers—personally commanded by Shi Nianren—grabbed them like chickens being snatched for slaughter, dragging them to long benches. Each bench seated ten people. Above them hung frames holding long wooden stocks resembling yamen punishment cangues. Once locked in, these ten people were immobilized like fowl on slaughter racks.
Waterlogged and terrified, people panicked—what law had they broken to be pilloried without saying a single word? The temporary workers, with short-hair masters present, worked briskly with rough hands. Moments later, five rows were fully locked—quite a spectacle. Some younger children, not knowing what was to come, burst into tears. From the other partition came girls' shrieks and sobs. Tian Sanwu thought of Guo Sanniang. Was she alright?
"They're going to beat us—" the boy beside him stammered. Water drops dripped continuously from his disheveled hair.
"Beat us?!" Tian Sanwu was alarmed. His buttocks had barely a few ounces of flesh on them—paddle blows would break bones.
"If they were paddling, they wouldn't have us sit. I was just speaking figuratively." The boy paused. "But these masters have strict rules—pillorying us the moment we land."
Pillorying Tian Sanwu understood—county yamen gates always displayed prisoners in cangues and chains. His current appearance was indeed similar. Some prisoners died from days of pillorying. Fear crept through him.
"We haven't done anything wrong—why pillory us?"
"That's why it's called intimidation!" The boy whispered. "Right or wrong—first terrify you into submission. Then you'll obediently behave afterward."
Tian Sanwu's thoughts drifted to the women's side. The masters had paid good money for the girls—surely they would not make them suffer too much? While he was thinking, the other partition erupted in piercing cries and desperate pleas, making everyone shudder. What was happening over there?
The setup looked identical on the other side—it was simply that the barbers had arrived there first. The barbers were selected from the relocated villagers—sturdy women who had received brief haircutting training. Their task: shave heads completely bald. They had practiced on local pumpkins, watermelons, and volunteering laborers. Two worked per team: one held the head steady while the other first snipped the bulk of the hair with scissors, then razor-shaved down to blue scalps. After each person, the razors were dropped into small crocks worn at their necks—filled with high-proof baijiu—rotating through three razors per barber. The women, having never witnessed such scenes, panicked. Were the masters making them into nuns? Crying started somewhere, and immediately it spread everywhere.
(End of Chapter)