Chapter 131: Quarantine Station (Part 2)

Ai Beibei, wife of Qian Shuiting and a member of the North American contingent, had been tasked with supervising the women's Purification. Back in America, she had worked as an epidemiologist—a profession that left her temperamentally unsuited for anything resembling this brutal "Purification" work. Her only qualification for the role was being the Medical Group's sole female doctor. Now, confronted with the earth-shaking wails before her, this ordinarily domestic woman found herself utterly flustered, wringing her hands as she tried to soothe them. "Don't be scared, please don't be scared. It's just haircuts—for hygiene reasons—"

But the women paid her no attention whatsoever. Crying proved contagious, and soon the sky above the quarantine station rang with lamentation. The temporary workers showed no tenderness, continuing their methodical head-shaving while Ai Beibei stamped her feet in frustration, repeatedly admonishing the rough-handed female workers: "Be gentler! You're frightening them!"

The female temporary workers harbored no such scruples. Payment was half a liang of rice per shave, and everyone was rushing to earn as much as possible. Under such rapid, efficient action, all fifty-three women—young and old alike—were quickly shaved smooth, revealing bluish scalps beneath. The workers then hurried over to the men's side to continue their money-making.

Eventually the women seemed to realize that wailing was useless, or perhaps they had simply exhausted themselves. Either way, the sounds gradually subsided. Someone opened the stocks, and guards drove them onward toward the bathhouses.

The quarantine station bathhouse had required considerable creativity from Engineering. The pressurized supply still relied on water towers, fed from filtered settling pools beside the Wenlan River—simple sand-and-stone filtration, nothing more. Bamboo pipes carried the water through the simplest lever-style faucets imaginable. The lack of proper seals meant constant leakage, a problem solved by installing separate gate valves on the tower that could be closed when no one was bathing to prevent wasteful seepage.

The bathrooms were divided into male and female sections, separated by a wooden wall partition. Each side contained twenty shower stations with no showerheads—water simply poured directly from bamboo pipes overhead. The flooring consisted of wooden planks with drainage ditches running along the sides. Naturally, the wastewater received no treatment; it was discharged straight into the sea.

Guo Sanniang followed the crowd into this large, long building. The air inside hung damp and humid. Bamboo pipes of various sizes crisscrossed overhead like a mechanical jungle. The female manager—this beautiful, authoritative woman must surely be a favored housekeeper, Guo Sanniang thought—gestured at them while speaking something unintelligible. Then a maid beside her translated the announcement into Mandarin, Cantonese, and Minnan dialects: remove your clothes and prepare to bathe!

The women began shrieking again. Bathing itself was normal enough for southerners, but stripping naked together was utterly unprecedented. Some of the better-bred girls crouched down and covered their faces, absolutely refusing to undress.

The bathroom chaos again brought work to a grinding halt. Ai Beibei stood helpless, having exhausted every possible explanation and comfort, only to discover that nobody listened—or even understood. Chuyu, the Gou Manor maid who had defected to the transmigrators, observed this female short-hair at her wit's end. She stepped forward and asked with humble courtesy: "Madam, may this servant handle it?"

Ai Beibei wiped her forehead with relief. "Hmm? Sure, go ahead." Then she added, almost as an afterthought: "By the way—I've told you many times—don't call yourself 'servant.' Here, everyone is equal—"

"Yes," Chuyu acknowledged, knowing full well this female short-hair was spouting her equality nonsense again. She neither understood nor wanted to understand. Her thinking was simple: demonstrate her abilities before the short-hair masters to eventually secure a position like production team leader. Since arriving at the team, she had diligently studied Mandarin—advancement required speaking the masters' language.

Chuyu took an iron megaphone and bellowed with every ounce of strength her body could muster:

"SILENCE!"

The roar nearly shook the walls. Even Ai Beibei's ears were left ringing. Nobody had imagined this slender girl could produce such a piercing sound. Instantly, every mouth snapped shut.

Chuyu turned to face Ai Beibei, seeing the female short-hair standing there equally struck dumb. She realized her actions had caused this but pressed on regardless.

"Clothes—all—off!" Chuyu continued bellowing. "Those who don't comply—dragged out for household punishment!" Her whip cracked through the air for emphasis.

Ai Beibei disliked the prison-style performance but knew that sometimes crude simplicity proved more effective than patient persuasion. She nodded and slipped outside.

Guo Sanniang followed the others and quickly stripped. There was no more room for embarrassment now—everyone covered their chests and privates, trembling with heads lowered, not daring to view each other's pale bodies.

Without warning, the horizontal bamboo pipes overhead began spraying water that rained down upon them, carrying unpleasant chemical smells. Scattered startled cries arose, but under Chuyu's fierce gaze, they quickly subsided. Female temporary workers brought in a basket of soap pods and began working in pairs, processing the women with brutal efficiency: rinsing, soap-pod scrubbing, then merciless scrubbing with large-bristle brushes. Nobody dared protest. Quiet sobbing rose and fell throughout the room.

Guo Sanniang was scrubbed from head to toe until her skin burned as if being stripped away. She cried while bathing, for a moment genuinely believing her skin was being scrubbed off entirely. But those falling flakes were actually years of accumulated grime. After being deemed clean, a worker led her to another room where the manager woman wore a white gown. Strange, she thought—had someone in the household died?

"Drink water," the manager woman said gently, handing over a porcelain bowl. Guo Sanniang obediently drank. It was sweet but with bitter undertones. Then she lay on a couch covered with white cloth while the manager woman examined her entire body—even her private parts and rear. Guo Sanniang felt both shamed and terrified, completely confused by everything that was happening. She surrendered herself to the handling, having no other choice.

The manager woman completed her examination and told a nearby worker: "XS!" Then from a shelf she retrieved a cotton cloth outfit. Unexpectedly, these were new clothes—unlike wealthy households that typically gave new servants their old castoffs. The garment was indigo-colored with a coarse texture, but it was clean and soft. The style was peculiar, resembling a monk's bell-robe, slipping on easily with head and limbs protruding. It was slightly oversized, though the waist belt could be tightened. For footwear: wooden clogs.

Once dressed, the manager woman gave her a small rattan box, then examined the bamboo tag at her neck against a clipboard. "Number 1628020014. Personal item: one broken-toothed comb," she announced loudly. A worker retrieved a steamer basket bearing a matching bamboo tag—inside was her comb, still damp from sterilization.

When men and women reconvened behind the bathhouse, Tian Sanwu struggled to identify Guo Sanniang among all those identical bald heads in blue uniforms. Without careful scrutiny, even gender was indistinguishable. Some secretly laughed at the comical sight.

"Maybe the master is a monk?" someone muttered as they lined up before several wooden buildings.

"What's your name? Liu Sanba?" The questioner appeared scholarly, though he wore the short-hair button-front shirts. Tian Sanwu noticed his hair was stubble-short—clearly he had received the same treatment as they had. Why did the masters enjoy shaving servants bald? Tian Sanwu could not understand.

"How many Lius is this?"

"Chief—this is the fourth."

"Change it to Liu Si!"

"Understand? You're Liu Si now!"

"Thank you, Master, for the name—" This somewhat clever person attempted to kowtow for a tip but was already being dragged aside.

"Your name—Tian Sanwu?" The questioner Zhang Xingjiao checked his list. "Chief—no Tians yet. Call him Tian Da?"

"No creativity. Tian Liang is better."

"Remember—you're Tian Liang now!" Zhang Xingjiao registered the name.

The newly minted Tian Liang was bewildered, but masters renaming their servants was natural enough. Besides, it was better than "Sanwu" anyway.

The registered people stood by tables waiting. Tian Liang craned his neck toward the women's side and finally located Guo Sanniang in the crowd. Seeing that nobody forbade talking, he quietly approached her. "Sanniang, are you okay?"

Guo Sanniang looked at this companion of over a year, now bald just like her, and imagined her own appearance. Mixed emotions welled up inside her. She wanted to cover her bare scalp but had nothing to cover it with. Red-faced, she nodded quietly. "I'm okay. Just the hair—the hair—"

"Under others' eaves, heads must bow. Even our lives belong to others now—what's some hair compared to that?"

"Did the masters rename you too?"

Guo Sanniang nodded. "They changed it. First, some short-hair insisted on calling me Guo Jinjin—but someone else refused. Now it's Guo Fu."

(End of Chapter)