Chapter 597 - Training
"Going on assignment means penetrating deep into enemy territory. Whether you're operating in the Ming Dynasty, dealing with the Later Jin, or navigating European colonial powers—every single person you encounter is an indigenous inhabitant of the seventeenth century. Don't make the mistake of judging their behavior by modern moral standards. On behalf of the Foreign Intelligence Bureau and the Colonial and Trade Superintendent, I'm presenting a formal notice outlining the risks you may face while executing your missions. It's better you understand these matters now, before you leave..."
Jiang Shan had insisted on preparing this notice. Yu Eshui opposed it, but in the end, Jiang Shan's view prevailed. His reasoning was simple: better to lay out the ugly truth from the start. He wanted to spell out every difficulty and danger of intelligence work, to kindle whatever heroic spirit these recruits possessed—and to preempt any complaints later.
"Alright, alright, enough with the old woman's prattle," called out a burly man from the back row. "I signed up because I'm not afraid to die, so spare us the empty talk."
"It's still better that everyone knows," Wang Ding replied evenly. He recalled the man's file: Huang Hua, native of Heilongjiang, formerly employed at a machinery factory under the Manufacturing Superintendent. On his application, he'd stated his ambition to serve as a station chief in Later Jin territory. His record noted business experience, a certain commercial acumen, mechanical knowledge, and familiarity with the geography and customs of the lands beyond the passes. He spoke fluent Korean and passable Shanxi dialect—quite a suitable candidate for operations in Jurchen territory.
"This isn't about fear," Wang Ding continued, beginning to read the notice. "Sometimes what awaits you is worse than death."
The notice painted a grim picture. You are participating in dangerous work. You will endure the hardships of travel on wretched roads. Whether by land or water, you may encounter bandits. Unless you possess the legendary aura of a commander who makes outlaws prostrate themselves at the mere sight of him, your fate will be to die where you stand.
Local militiamen, yamen runners, and soldiers are hardly better than the bandits themselves. In certain regions, even ordinary folk wouldn't hesitate to rob and murder a passing traveler for a few scraps of dried food and a tattered garment.
As for hygiene, cities aren't necessarily better than the countryside—often they're worse. Epidemics flourish in densely populated areas. Water and food that locals tolerate with ease might devastate a modern person's digestive system. Beyond bacterial infection, you face the constant threat of parasites.
Poor sanitation may make you ill, but even without sanitation issues, you might still fall sick. If you're injured during a mission, you'll have no medical services beyond the meager supplies you carry and whatever local Chinese doctors are available. A dog bite or a wound from a rusty blade could prove fatal—and even if you're rushed back to Lingao, the journey is so long that you may well die en route.
You will face attacks from fleas, bedbugs, ticks, and other parasites—creatures that exist in staggering numbers in this era, and not just among the poor. These pests won't merely leave you uncomfortable and covered in welts; they carry all manner of strange diseases, some of which can't even be effectively treated in modern times.
Finally, once you're captured on the mainland, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau cannot mount an immediate rescue. If you're unlucky and there's no radio station nearby—or no one to notify headquarters in time—it may be months before anyone knows you've been taken. By the time a rescue team arrives, you may have been languishing in captivity for half a year. And capture doesn't necessarily mean your cover was blown or your work compromised. The Spanish might arrest you simply for being Chinese. The Later Jin might arrest you simply for being Han. As for the Ming Dynasty—perhaps merely because you're a merchant with some money, some Eastern Depot spy or county yamen runner will decide to turn a profit off your misfortune. Even disguising yourself as a beggar offers no protection: you might be arrested and tortured simply because a crime occurred nearby and the authorities need an outsider without connections to serve as a convenient scapegoat.
The Ming, the Later Jin, European colonizers—their governments, their organs of power, even private organizations—all practice torture. Some seek confessions; others simply want to squeeze money from you. Prisons in this era don't merely lack basic human rights—they may not even guarantee your right to survive. Jailers might kill you through any number of methods. Moreover, this is an age with a pronounced tolerance for certain predatory behaviors, so a fair-skinned modern person might very well fall victim to some lecherous older man...
"...Even if you're rescued, you may suffer permanent psychological and physiological disabilities from the torture you endured and... various other forms of abuse."
This deliberately horrifying portrait of the future stirred considerable unease—it made the seventeenth century sound less like an era of the past and more like a descent into hell.
"If anyone feels they're not suited for this work, you may still submit a request to withdraw," Wang Ding said. "The Organization Division's transfer procedures haven't been processed yet. We'll return your application materials, and no records will be kept."
Silence filled the room. Of course, no one admitted to being afraid. First, the embarrassment would be unbearable; second, they had the examples of Guangzhou and Leizhou stations before them. No one had heard of such terrifying conditions befalling their operatives. Everyone who had been sent out was still alive and well—living quite comfortably, by all accounts.
"Hmph, just a disclaimer," Huang Hua muttered, then said loudly: "Fine, I understand! From now on, if something happens, it's our own fault—nothing to do with you! Just let me sign a death pledge with the Bureau."
According to the agreement with the Colonial Trade Department, the transmigrators assigned abroad belonged to both organizations without distinction. Training, however, fell entirely under the Foreign Intelligence Bureau's purview, with specific courses determined through inter-departmental consultation.
Li Yan had originally wanted Hu Qingbai to allocate classrooms and dormitories at Fangcaodi for intelligence training. But Jiang Shan objected: that location saw too much traffic, too much bustle. More importantly, it was too "modern"—it lacked the immersive feel of Ming Dynasty life. Ultimately, only Intelligence Training Center Division A was established at Fangcaodi, dedicated to training indigenous intelligence personnel: field agents, administrative staff, and intelligence analysts.
Intelligence Training Center Division B, tasked with preparing transmigrators as field operatives, was established in the former residence of Gou the Second in Lingao County Town. The property had sat empty for some time. The building area was spacious enough, with sufficient open land around the rear courtyard for expansion. Better still, Lingao County Town remained a well-preserved specimen of Ming society.
Xiong Buyu, head of the County Liaison Office, approached Magistrate's Secretary Sun Ruiwu and promptly arranged for this confiscated property to be "sold" on the cheap. It was an empty contract backed by paper money—but the county officials got their kickbacks.
The Construction Company made minimal modifications, mainly adding living and training facilities. Thus the Intelligence Bureau Training Center came into being. For secrecy's sake, there was no signboard, no uniformed guards—only two reliable indigenous workers assigned to watch the main gate. Personnel and materials came and went only at night.
Jiang Shan designed the training program, with curriculum recommendations from Wu Mu of the Political Security General Administration, Chen Tianxiong of Leizhou Station, and Yu Eshui.
Since most operatives would work within the Ming Dynasty, training focused primarily on making them "seem like Ming Dynasty people." Those willing to operate in European territories required less effort—they didn't need to impersonate Ming subjects.
How to pass for a Ming person became the sole focus. Historical materials alone wouldn't suffice. Fortunately, both Guangzhou and Leizhou stations had accumulated years of genuine, firsthand information on daily life: customs, habits, social conditions, and countless other details.
The first hurdle was appearance—the easiest to address. From the moment recruits entered training, they stopped cutting their hair and let it grow. Those intending to use Buddhist monk covers were exempt. Depending on face shape and intended cover identity, some would also grow beards.
For full immersion, everyone dressed in Ming Dynasty clothing for daily activities and classes, wearing training uniforms only during specific exercises. Dormitories contained no modern items. Rooms were kept exactly as they would have appeared in the Ming Dynasty: hard plank beds, sheets of local coarse cloth, rectangular wooden pillows. Windows were covered with paper; at night, the only light came from candles or oil lamps.
Every meal was prepared by indigenous cooks in "authentic Ming Guangdong style" or "authentic Ming Fujian style"—cuisines that tasted completely different from the Cantonese and Fujianese food everyone knew. Twice a week, they also endured "bitter meals reminiscent of the past": sweet potatoes, dark flour, and various coarse grains. These weren't the boutique "multigrain" packages sold in supermarkets at premium prices, but the genuine peasant subsistence fare. The cornmeal buns were made with husks—one bite and they crumbled, yet no amount of chewing could make them go down. The sweet potato porridge was more peel than rice, barely any white grains visible...
This dietary regimen was designed to help the transmigrators adapt to the food of this era before deployment, so that those accustomed to polished rice and refined flour wouldn't suffer digestive collapse the moment they stepped onto the mainland. Fortunately, they'd all been eating brown rice since D-Day, which had already conditioned their systems to tolerate actual coarse grains.
Next came matters of accent and identity. After discussion, everyone agreed that posing as Cantonese was ideal. The Cantonese dialect had remained relatively stable over the centuries, and many transmigrators already spoke the local variety. Additionally, with the Guangzhou Station established, obtaining household registrations and creating false identities was straightforward. If needed, they could even set up cover "homes" for field operatives.
Language training focused mainly on Ming Dynasty mandarin—the official tongue. Speaking it competently would get you through most situations. Communicating with local commoners remained more difficult, but that could be learned gradually at the deployment site.
As for writing, everyone practiced brush calligraphy. It didn't need to be beautiful—just legible enough for letters and account books. Simplified characters, Yu Eshui noted, wouldn't pose significant problems; such vulgar forms were already common in everyday writing. Classical Chinese was even less necessary. As long as you could speak Ming mandarin, you could simply write vernacular—most merchants operated at precisely that level.
Once appearance and language passed muster, a person could roughly blend into Ming society. Of course, much remained to be learned: the living habits and appropriate demeanor befitting a Ming Dynasty person. Things that would horrify or enrage a modern person might leave an indigenous person completely unmoved. What locals feared or dreaded, a modern person might find utterly unremarkable.
"Never let your sympathy run wild, and don't rush to play the hero," Yu Eshui emphasized. "Don't assume ancient society was filled with simple, honest folk. Many modern scams and tricks have been passed down since antiquity. At best, you'll lose money; at worst, you'll bring endless trouble upon yourself. As for standing up publicly for justice—absolutely forbidden. Don't imagine that coming from the twenty-first century makes you some kind of superman. Even if you can protect yourself, once you've offended the local powers, you'll never establish yourself there, and all your work in that region will come to nothing."
Yu Eshui paused for a sip of water. "I advise everyone to forget all the tropes from martial arts novels. Rescuing beauties, drawing your blade to help the oppressed, dramatic gambling exploits—none of this has anything to do with our work, and in fact it's actively harmful. Sometimes fatal.
"Unless headquarters approves an operation with a complete action plan and necessary external support, don't attempt to organize underground societies. The Ming Dynasty has its own underworld organizations, often with deep foundations that even the authorities can't touch. Their methods are no less ruthless than any modern syndicate. Becoming a godfather in a Ming county town is no easier than it was back in your hometown in the old time-space."
...
Even regarding romantic entanglements, they were warned to exercise strict caution.
"You'll be gone for years, and we can't expect everyone to remain celibate. Once you're settled locally, headquarters will arrange for a reliable domestic secretary to accompany you. Don't patronize brothels carelessly—you'll catch all manner of venereal diseases. Late Ming is a period when syphilis was both introduced and exploding in scale. Don't pursue married women, either—Ming law stipulates that a cuckolded husband who kills an adulterer and adulteress commits no crime. We didn't go through all the trouble of training you and sending you to the Ming Dynasty so you could end up like Ximen Qing with your head chopped off by some Wu Song. And don't pursue virginal unmarried girls..."
"Can't we even visit high-class establishments?" someone asked. "You mentioned in the last lecture that elite brothels in the Ming Dynasty functioned as social venues. If we're disguised as wealthy merchants, we'll inevitably need to frequent such places. And gambling too—sometimes the mission may require it."
"Of course, that's different," Yu Eshui replied. "However, high-class establishments are money pits with their own elaborate systems of etiquette. Those who don't understand will simply waste money and be laughed at—I'm not particularly versed in those customs myself. Lin Baiguang has someone under him who's an expert in these matters. We'll have him come later to teach you the intricacies of eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling, so you won't be cheated."
"That would be welcome."
Someone continued pressing about the woman issue: "Can we buy women locally?"
"Yes," Yu Eshui nodded. "Relatively speaking, purchased women are the safest option. But buying women requires proper procedures and channels..."
The so-called proper procedures meant purchasing whenever possible from established human markets and slave dealers. Although prices ran higher, you wouldn't fall victim to "pigeon release" scams—where a seemingly sold woman runs off back to her original handlers.
"Alternatively, there are daughters from humble local families. If you've taken a fancy to someone's daughter, you can engage a matchmaker to negotiate. If the price is right, arrangements can usually be made."
"What if a local family takes a fancy to me and wants their daughter to marry me?" someone asked.
Yu Eshui spread his hands. "That involves policy issues. I can't speak to that."
Li Yan, who had been sitting off to the side, laughed and interjected: "As long as you didn't bring a wife or girlfriend through the crossing, headquarters has no objection to you taking a wife or concubine locally. You simply need to ensure their reliability. However, if you take a wife, the transmigrator collective will recognize her status as 'wife.' In other words, when you relocate or return to Lingao, you cannot take another wife. Is everyone clear?"
"Clear!" The crowd responded with evident enthusiasm.
"Remember, the deeper you penetrate into the mainland, the harder it is for headquarters to support you," Li Yan emphasized. "In the two Guangs, we have Gao Ju as a protective umbrella, Qiwei Escort Bureau, and our Special Reconnaissance Team. If necessary, the Navy can even shell Guangzhou. But where you're going, you'll have nothing. It may take headquarters months to receive any news from you. Everything depends on yourself. While slips in daily details aren't as immediately fatal as they would be in modern intelligence operations, if they accumulate, they'll still attract attention."
Subsequently, instructors arrived to teach various common etiquettes and appropriate behaviors: when to bow with clasped hands according to one's status, when to kowtow, proper forms of address based on relationships. These courses were generally taught by the most reliable indigenous personnel, and Zhang Xingjiao was among them. As a scholar, even though he lived in a small southern border county, he was thoroughly versed in all manner of proper ritual.
The greatest assistance in this area came from an unexpected source: Wang Ci himself. This County School Director had been lured by Xiong Buyu under the pretense that "We have long admired the rituals of the Great Ming and hope to learn a thing or two." Wang Ci had grown quite demoralized watching the Australians demonstrate superiority in every conceivable domain, especially since he now survived entirely on their "handouts" to maintain both the County School and the Jasmine Academy. This mixture of wounded pride and practical dependence cut far deeper than the comfortable stupor in which the county yamen's officials passed their days.
Now, suddenly hearing that a group of Australians were "yearning for civilization"—and seeing that they had actually changed their clothing and hairstyles to Ming Dynasty style—he was so moved he nearly wept. His spirits lifted instantly, and he threw himself into teaching etiquette and proper conduct with tremendous enthusiasm. He even firmly refused any compensation, providing several years of instruction to the training class entirely without pay.
After that, they brought in clerks and yamen runners from the reform study class—men diligently "studying" and painstakingly "reforming their thoughts"—to lecture on how Ming Dynasty local government actually operated: procedures for handling affairs, customary practices and common abuses, and how various identities—merchants, landlords, itinerant monks and Daoists—should interact with the diverse personalities populating a county yamen. They learned which activities required which local connections, how to offer bribes and divide spoils properly, and what to do if something went wrong—whether to escape punishment or simply to flee...
(End of Chapter)