Chapter 567 - The Daoist Arrives
Xi Yazhou announced the implementation of "Decimation"—collective punishment for the labor teams that had participated in the riot. None save the Elders knew what this ancient term meant, but they would learn soon enough. Terror would teach them.
The three labor squadrons implicated in the uprising were herded to the center of the compound and formed into ranks. Then the counting began: one to ten, one to ten, one to ten. Every tenth man was dragged from the line and hanged.
Military drums beat their unhurried cadence as the battalion's law officer counted aloud with mechanical indifference. "One, two, three, four..." One after another, condemned men were hauled toward the gallows. Some went slack with shock, their minds unable to process their fate. Others thrashed and fought, screaming protests that dissolved into gurgles as ropes cinched tight around their throats. A few stood rigid with bloodshot eyes, curses dying on their lips as the noose silenced them forever.
The drums maintained their deliberate tempo until the moment a rope went taut and a body rose—then they erupted into a thunderous roll. When the condemned man's struggles finally ceased, the drums crashed three heavy beats and fell silent. A heartbeat later, the measured rhythm resumed, and the counting continued.
The watching laborers watched in paralyzed horror. Some collapsed where they stood.
When the drums finally stopped, twenty-seven fresh corpses swung from the gallows. An announcement followed: the bodies would not be cut down. They would hang until they rotted, until birds stripped the flesh and insects picked the bones clean. Only then would the remains be cast into the sea.
The survivors of this culling were formed into a "Punishment Squad" and assigned exclusively to the most backbreaking, exhausting, and dangerous labor. Their ultimate fate would be determined by the Political Security General Administration.
For the native staff who had perished in the disturbance, the Sanya Military Committee arranged full honors. Their ashes were solemnly collected and interred. Telegrams went to Lingao requesting survivor benefits for their families.
Killing could suppress the situation, but only temporarily. To sustain productivity, antimalarial drugs had to be distributed—both to the recovered and to those still healthy, as a preventative measure. Hippo personally returned to Lingao and presented a requisition to the Health Department for additional compound antimalarial tablets. Director Shi Nioren didn't dare authorize such a request on his own authority—antimalarial drugs were controlled substances. The matter was escalated to Planning Council Director Wu De, who approved the Health Department's use of stockpiled medications as needed.
"Even if we exhaust every last pill in our reserves, we must stabilize Sanya first," Wu De said. "If Sanya fails, the coal-iron complex cannot be built—and then what's the point of discussing Taiwan or Southeast Asia?"
"Nutrition is also critical," Hippo added. "The laborers' diet remains woefully inadequate—too many carbohydrates, not enough protein. They can't sustain heavy manual labor, and their immune systems suffer for it."
Without proper nutrition, this kind of mass die-off was inevitable.
"I'll allocate five tons of dried fish and a thousand jars of fish sauce," Wu De said. "What about sugar? Nothing replenishes energy faster."
"Absolutely," Hippo said, satisfied. "I'll take brown sugar."
"Nobody's sitting month here—why brown sugar? We have white sugar and rock sugar available."
Hippo snorted. "You believe that traditional Chinese medicine nonsense too? Brown sugar is just crude sugar with marginally more nutrients. It has nothing to do with postpartum recovery. Save the refined sugars for export."
"Fine. Five tons of brown sugar as well."
"Much appreciated." Hippo thanked him and proceeded to the Health Department to request additional medical personnel.
"Nurses are nearly impossible to spare," sighed Zhang Ziyi, director of the Nursing Division and chief nursing officer. "You've already been allocated twenty. If you need more, I can only offer some third-term students—and not many."
Her reluctance was well-founded. The Health Department was currently expanding medical capabilities across all fronts, particularly the training of junior practitioners. The "barefoot doctors" hastily trained from among the Elders had proven disappointing—most lacked enthusiasm and aptitude, dropping out once the curriculum advanced to memorizing medical texts and technical terminology. Director Shi had abandoned that approach and shifted focus to training native nurses instead. After rigorous screening, roughly half of the first-term nursing class would transition to medical practitioner training. The remainder would undergo advanced nursing education.
Compounding the shortage was a recent report from Ai Beibei. With life secretaries about to arrive in large numbers, a baby boom was certain to follow. She recommended beginning immediately to train obstetrics practitioners, midwives, and pediatric personnel.
Matters concerning Elder offspring were not treated lightly. Director Shi approved at once, which meant even the most promising second-term students had to be diverted to this new training track.
The result: second-term students became the backbone of available nursing staff. Third-term students had barely completed basic training and lacked competence. Fourth-term students were even less prepared.
"Third-term students will suffice," Hippo said, explaining the situation in Sanya. "We have many sick patients and insufficient nursing staff. Besides, you needn't formally assign them to Sanya Clinic—call it an internship."
"That's not the same thing," Zhang Ziyi remained unconvinced. "How about I send you a batch of fourth-term students for internship instead?"
"I know nothing about nursing specialities." Hippo shook his head firmly.
"You have several first and second-term nurses there already. The experienced ones can mentor the newcomers."
As for doctors, not a single one could be spared—not even Zhang Ziyi's husband, the veterinarian Yang Baogui. Hippo was preparing to leave in disappointment when Zhang Ziyi stopped him.
"There is someone—rather unconventional. But he is a genuine doctor with Chinese medicine training..."
"Who?" Hippo was certain she wasn't referring to Liu San.
"The Religious Affairs Office just transferred his personnel file. They want us to arrange a placement. He explicitly stated he's willing to serve in the harshest locations—perfect for your needs." She paused. "Speak with He Ping for the details."
He Ping served as the Health Department's office director, handling various administrative matters for the department and its subordinate units. Occasionally he moonlighted at the pharmaceutical factory as a guest equipment maintenance engineer—an arrangement he didn't mind, since the factory director was his wife, Zhao Yanmei.
He Ping kept a low profile. Not particularly brilliant, but absolutely obedient to leadership and never one to gossip. He maintained good relationships throughout the department.
"This person transferred from the Religious Affairs Office," He Ping said, producing a file. "Named Zhang Yingchen. According to his résumé, he received genuine training as a doctor at a Chinese medicine hospital."
"How have I never heard of such a talent?" Hippo was surprised. Doctors—especially those with modern medical training—were the scarcest resource in the transmigrator collective.
"Since landing, he's been attached to the Religious Affairs Office conducting religious research. Apparently uninterested in practicing his profession. His skill level is unknown, but he definitely holds a medical practitioner's license." He Ping added, "That's according to Director He of Religious Affairs."
"Damn. He's not some Christian missionary, is he?" Hippo had no interest in foreign religion. But he reconsidered. "Actually, fine—we could use some spiritual opium right about now."
"He doesn't seem like a missionary," He Ping said, uncertain how to characterize the man. "Rather mystical. Talks about qi and the Dao constantly."
"He's not some qigong master, is he?" Hippo asked warily. He handed He Ping his requisition list—supplementary drugs, consumables, and equipment, already signed by the Planning Council and Director Shi.
"Most of this is manageable, but we don't have this much refined salt. Iodine tincture is also short of your requirement." He Ping shook his head.
Hippo found this hard to believe. Refined salt and iodine tincture were the most common consumables in the Health Department—basic disinfectants that required no special authorization.
"We're short on those as well?"
"There was an incident at the Ma Niao salt works," He Ping explained. "Before Director Wang was transferred, he had them equipped with a steam-powered salt operation—four boilers. A few days ago, they exploded one after another for reasons unknown. The chemical and food factories have heavy salt demands right now, so suddenly there's a shortage."
"And the iodine tincture?"
He Ping coughed awkwardly. "Well. You know our iodine primarily comes from kelp and seaweed extraction. But lately, eating seaweed has become tremendously fashionable. Supply can't keep pace with demand."
The fad had erupted just days ago. Rumors spread that consuming kelp and seaweed promoted longevity and rendered one immune to all poisons. The claim swept through the native population first; previously worthless dried and fresh kelp vanished from the markets overnight. Eventually even Elders succumbed, though among them the purported benefits mutated into skin whitening, sun protection, and enhanced sexual performance. Every seaweed dish in the cafeterias was suddenly in desperate demand—kelp and bean paste soup appeared at all three daily meals, and the food factory rushed to produce dried seaweed snacks.
Meanwhile, in the Religious Affairs Office, Director He Ying sat reviewing meeting minutes.
The document recorded an internal religious affairs symposium held after the new year. He Ying had spent much of the previous year conducting a social survey of religion in Lingao, gathering substantial firsthand material.
At this symposium, Zhang Yingchen of the Religious Affairs Office had presented a paper titled "Survey Report on Religious Conditions in Lingao." He then proposed the creation of a "New Daoism."
Zhang Yingchen was approaching thirty—formerly a doctor at a Chinese medicine hospital, with a particular fascination for religion. He had dabbled in Buddhism, Daoism, Christianity, Islam, and Judaism, achieving something approaching semi-professional expertise in religious studies. His deepest interest lay in Daoism, which he had researched extensively.
His proposal had ignited fierce debate. Wu Shimang, Bai Duolu, and others opposed it vigorously. The Lingao Church had no desire to see the pie divided. Dean Wu especially—though he still couldn't recite the Rosary from memory—had been scheming to launch a comprehensive "crusade" of faith across all Lingao, uprooting every existing belief.
Wu Shimang's opposition wasn't rooted in genuine religious conviction. He simply didn't want competition eating into his share. In his remarks, he enumerated the countless complications that competing for believers would create.
But Zhang Yingchen's proposal won He Ying's support. He had sponsored the countywide religious survey precisely to determine what form of religion could best serve the natives of this era. He Ying understood the Executive Committee's thinking perfectly: introducing Catholicism to Lingao—however enthusiastically the Jesuits embraced the project—was essentially just grafting skin onto a future new religion. Behind that borrowed exterior, a new organism would evolve, eventually becoming an entirely new religious form under complete transmigrator control.
Everyone in the Religious Affairs Office understood this ultimate objective. But Dean Wu's recent activities had drawn He Ying's growing concern. Wu Shimang had been tirelessly strengthening the church organization, accumulating ecclesiastical property, promoting changes in customs, training missionaries... Clearly, Old Wu was building toward a state religion.
He Ying agonized over how to respond. In the short term, Wu Shimang's approach generated significant benefits for the transmigrator collective. But this same progress would inevitably produce a Roman Curia-style ecclesiastical organization. And He Ying knew well: the Yuan Elder Council would never welcome a powerful church. What they needed was a tool—an absolute tool. Even Director Wen, who cared most deeply about Religious Affairs development, had repeatedly emphasized in his directives: pay attention to the "degree" of church building.
Zhang Yingchen's idea offered an insight: monopoly was dangerous. Only competition could create a virtuous cycle.
After the meeting, He Ying submitted a report to the Executive Committee conveying Zhang Yingchen's specific proposals. This involved ideology—not something he could decide unilaterally.
The response came written in Director Wen's hand. The opening line read: "Under a single Radiant God domain, any religious form can be discussed."
He Ying was puzzled—where had "Radiant God" suddenly come from? Was Director Wen planning to create some church of his own? Reading further, he found another line: "The Dao Saints—the lineage of Laozi and Zhuangzi—are all Great Archangels under the Great Archangel Commander of the Radiant God. The same applies to Christ, son of the Palestinian carpenter."
"I see!" He Ying grasped Director Wen's meaning. He summoned Zhang Yingchen for a formal discussion.
"Director He, you should come to my office instead," Zhang Yingchen said on the phone. "I have many things to show you that wouldn't be convenient to transport."
So He Ying went to him. Zhang Yingchen's office occupied a courtyard—befitting the Religious Affairs Office's modest scale compared to the Lingao Church. They couldn't very well work in the Seminary, so they shared this courtyard with the Li-Miao Affairs Office. The latter stood empty most of the time; the compound was serene, its garden beds lush with flowers and trees in classical Chinese style. Within its walls, one could hardly sense the bustle of the outside world.
Zhang Yingchen's office was elegantly appointed, suffused with traditional charm. The furniture, calligraphy, paintings, and ornaments had all been purchased with his own money from the cooperative—not the modernist furnishings issued by the Planning Committee.
When He Ying entered, Zhang Yingchen sat in a red sandalwood bamboo-joint chair wearing headphones, writing rapidly. Beside him lay a portable CD player. The red sandalwood desk displayed the Four Treasures of the Study alongside locally manufactured dipping pens with iron nibs. A three-tiered rosewood shelf held rows of books—Ming Dynasty texts he had personally commissioned the Guangzhou Station to acquire. Most concerned Daoism.
(End of Chapter)