Chapter 603 - The Man on Ship A
Next, Zhou Dongtian went to the Planning Commission to request lead, tin, and antimony. These were the three essential metals for casting lead type. Antimony was especially important—without it, not only would lead type perform poorly, but its lifespan would also be significantly shortened.
"Bismuth would be even better," Zhou Dongtian vaguely recalled that this substance was also needed for casting type.
"We definitely don't have bismuth. Lead and tin, yes. Antimony is a bit difficult," Wu De said.
The reason it was "a bit difficult" wasn't that China lacked antimony—quite the contrary, both antimony ore and refined antimony were abundant in this era. The problem was that people at this time confused antimony with tin. The world's largest antimony mine—Xikuangshan in Hunan—was being mined during the Ming Dynasty. It had been named this way precisely because they'd thought it was tin.
Since there was no concept of antimony, when the Guangzhou Station purchased antimony, they could only say they wanted to buy tin. Whether what they actually acquired was tin or antimony had to wait until the shipment arrived for metallurgical analysis.
"So far, we haven't managed to buy any antimony," Wu De said. "But the Guangzhou Station has already sent people to Hunan to buy antimony. If you're not in a rush, just wait a while."
Besides making type, antimony was also useful in manufacturing incendiary devices. Multiple demands combined meant the Guangzhou Station had finally dispatched a dedicated purchasing team—the Long-Range Exploration Team had sent people along too—heading to Hunan. Along the way, they'd also visit Jiangxi and Hubei to survey what nonferrous metal deposits from this era had already been developed. The Huguang region included several major mining provinces.
"Heh heh, you could just come directly to me. I have antimony here," Ji Wusheng laughed and patted his shoulder when Zhou Dongtian reached his final stop—the Metallurgy Department—to discuss type casting.
"You have it?!" Zhou Dongtian's spirits rose.
"I do have a small private stash," Ji Wusheng nodded. "The quantity isn't large. This stuff trickles in every now and then, never in significant amounts. I got lazy about reporting it daily and just planned to report it all at once when I'd accumulated more. Besides, antimony isn't rare, so no one would suspect me of embezzlement."
He led Zhou Dongtian to a warehouse in the nonferrous metals workshop. A dozen or so antimony ingots lay in the storehouse, along with a dozen or so crates of miscellaneous unsmelted antimony fragments of various sizes.
"You really came through! Where did you get this? I thought we hadn't managed to buy any antimony."
"We haven't bought any, but there's antimony in the coins," Ji Wusheng said.
The nonferrous metals workshop under the Metallurgy Department had an ongoing task: melting down copper coins and scrap metal objects collected through various channels and extracting the refined metals. Whether copper coins or various scrap copper and iron, these were actually alloys containing various nonferrous metals that could be recovered through refining.
"What we recover most often is privately minted small copper coins. Locals say they put a lot of lead in them. Actually, it's not just lead—there's also tin. And quite a lot have antimony mixed in too."
As for daily utensils, white pewter ware and tinware were most common, and many of these also contained antimony as an adulterant for tin. These bits and pieces accumulated over time into this stockpile of antimony.
"It's not a lot, but it should be enough for now," Ji Wusheng said. "Since you've already sent people to purchase more, antimony will keep flowing in continuously."
"It's a bit short, but temporarily enough," Zhou Dongtian thought. Since they'd already dispatched purchasing teams, subsequent antimony would arrive in a steady stream.
Having solved the casting materials problem, he left the remaining type-founding processes and printing press manufacturing to the engineering team at the Machine Factory—they would select the optimal movable type printing press design based on the documentation.
Zhou Dongtian made only one request: they should try to design two different printing presses. One would be a small hand-cranked or animal-powered machine; the other would be a large machine-powered one. He intended to eventually install the former in Ming Dynasty territories to run printing plants—especially in Nanjing. Zhou Dongtian was already preparing to reenact the Leizhou story in Nanjing—crushing the woodblock printing industry of Sanshan Street in one stroke and establishing an entirely new printing empire. The latter would of course be used in transmigrator-controlled territories.
He requested from the Planning Commission a batch of "purified" apprentice quotas and prepared to send them to Hu Qingbai for training.
"This batch of apprentices doesn't need to be taught anything else. The key is teaching them to read characters. Not just eight hundred common characters and done—they need to recognize at least three thousand Chinese characters," Zhou Dongtian said. "And they need to know both simplified and traditional characters."
"Goodness, your requirements are too high. Learn all this in three months?" Hu Qingbai clicked his tongue. "That would take intensive cramming plus corporal punishment education."
"Whatever you want. If corporal punishment of female students would keep the teachers in high spirits, you can select female apprentices instead—just make sure they're sturdy. I'm counting on them to set type," Zhou Dongtian said. "Oh, and they need to know Pinyin. Pinyin is essential!"
Knowing Pinyin was mainly for character retrieval. If they had linotype machines, this requirement could actually be waived.
Zhou Dongtian pressed on without pause, next arriving at Si Kaide's office to request inclusion in the "Jiangnan Trade Expedition." His purpose was naturally to investigate Nanjing's printing industry.
"There's no Jiangnan Expedition. Only expeditions to Liaodong and Southeast Asia. The Jiangnan contingent is for establishing trading posts. You want to go?"
"I want to go!" Zhou Dongtian affirmed.
"Fine, but if you go, keep a low profile. Follow all instructions along the way."
"No problem. I mainly want to observe. I won't be staying long."
News of organizing northern and southern trade expeditions stirred the hearts of many who aspired to be dispatched abroad. Many people balked at the training required for deployment to Ming Dynasty territories, but dispatch to Southeast Asia or Liaodong didn't require "Ming-ification." Southeast Asia especially—not only could you enjoy tropical scenery, but you might even get to date some foreign girls. Over a dozen people signed up at once for the Southeast Asia Expedition.
The Southeast Asia Expedition's purpose was to conduct a reconnaissance of Southeast Asian conditions. Their particular focus was gathering intelligence on the Dutch. According to Foreign Intelligence Bureau assessments, the Dutch were the transmigrator collective's most threatening European adversary. Therefore, investigating the Dutch East India Company was classified as an urgent matter.
Landu spat. The saliva flew toward the dark sea and immediately vanished.
He'd been unemployed for quite some time now. Ever since his unsuccessful expedition with Aragon, he hadn't found any new work.
After Aragon's ship joined forces with Liu Xiang's fleet, they'd attempted once more to obtain a foothold near the Pearl River estuary. The task Jeranzani had given him—secretly sabotaging their efforts so they couldn't succeed—was completely unnecessary. Liu Xiang only wanted to leverage the Spaniards' power to strike at Zheng Zhilong and warn him not to "encroach on others' territory." He didn't actually want to give them any foothold.
As a result, Aragon found himself in a confused skirmish as the main foreign auxiliary in Liu Xiang's fleet against Zheng Zhilong's subordinates. In terms of performance, the Countess of Scarborough performed quite admirably. Using the galleon's towering hull and superior firepower, Aragon fully satisfied his desire to perform in battle, thoroughly chastising the "Chinese barbarians."
But when Zheng Zhilong's fleet began launching fireships, Aragon had no choice but to turn and flee. If he lost this galleon, he'd be finished. Unfortunately, the hastily assembled crew panicked and ran the Countess of Scarborough aground. Instantly, they were surrounded by countless junks. Zheng clan sailors swarmed aboard, and within moments the demoralized Malay sailors on deck were slaughtered.
Just as Aragon was about to meet his end, Liu Xiang's ships pulled alongside and barely saved his life. But the Countess of Scarborough—that noble "Spanish lady" who'd been thoroughly humiliated at Bopu—was now completely reduced to Zheng Zhilong's prize.
Landu nearly lost his life in the chaos. Actually, the only reason Aragon survived until his ally came to rescue him was thanks to the VZ68 submachine gun Landu had hidden on his person. He'd concealed himself in the aftercastle, using short bursts to mow down the Zheng sailors as they surged aboard. The enemy, terrified by the fierce firepower, halted their advance. A group of Zheng sailors then tried to set up a cannon on deck to bombard the aftercastle. Landu used his submachine gun to pick them off one by one, barely preventing this attempt.
After being rescued, he thanked God repeatedly—Weiss Landu had never been a devout believer, but in more than a decade as a mercenary, he'd never encountered such a desperate situation. If Liu Xiang's men hadn't come to the rescue, trapped in that ship, he couldn't have used his considerable skills at all. If he wasn't hacked to pieces, he'd have been forced to jump overboard—and would probably have drowned.
"I should have gone to Manila earlier to find work."
Weiss Landu—Italian-American, thirty-five years old. He'd served as a volunteer soldier in the Bosnian War, fighting first for the Bosniaks, then for the Croats. When the fighting ended, he and several companions had gotten into small-scale arms smuggling. Business had just started picking up in Iraq when they lost most of their cargo. Eventually, they were pursued back in the States. With nowhere else to go, they'd taken their remaining goods intending to sell them to Thai gangsters.
Just one day before reaching their destination, in the South China Sea, they'd suddenly encountered a strange storm—one minute the sky was clear, the next minute winds howled and the ship felt like it was being sucked into a vortex. Landu even vaguely remembered that the sky in the distance remained blue, with no storm clouds. Then they'd all lost consciousness.
When they woke, only three of the five men on the boat remained. One was already dead. Landu tried to continue sailing, but discovered the GPS navigation system had gone blank, all data reset to zero. All navigation equipment had become useless. Even the radio was dead silence except for the hiss of static. Even satellite phones had lost their signal.
The two survivors used a sextant to determine that they'd drifted more than five hundred nautical miles from their original course. This data shocked them—the charts showed they'd ended up somewhere not far from Pratas Island.
This sent Landu and his companions into a panic. Pratas Island was Taiwanese military territory, with Marines stationed there. If their ship was inspected, no country's laws permitted private arms smuggling—how could they possibly explain themselves? Besides, Taiwan was even more loyal to its mainland motherland than he was to his own. If caught, they'd certainly be extradited back. Several federal felonies plus however many years without parole—he'd spend the rest of his life in orange jumpsuits.
They hurriedly started the engine and headed for open water, but the magnetic compass and TACAN navigation system had gone completely haywire. The compass needle slowly circled, completely unable to indicate north. Landu and his companions cursed their luck. In this confusion, their fishing boat drifted to a deserted island. And their fuel was nearly exhausted.
It was on this island that Landu first realized something strange—or perhaps terrifying—had happened. He measured with sextant and charts countless times, confirming he was on Pratas Island.
But there wasn't just no sign of Taiwanese Marines—there wasn't even any trace of military presence. Landu had been to many islands; wherever people had lived long-term, traces were left behind. If an army had been stationed there, the human traces would be even more abundant—at minimum, there'd be reinforced concrete water cisterns and the foundations of barracks and guard posts. But here there were only traces of local fishermen having passed through.
All electronic equipment maintained its silence. The radar screen showed nothing—Landu knew this stretch of sea was on the Taiwan shipping route; there should be many freighters passing through. But radar only showed very few blips that seemed to be fishing boats.
No one could explain this. Landu could only conclude that his sextant readings were inaccurate.
After some discussion, the two survivors decided to abandon ship—the fishing boat had no fuel left, and it carried some munitions. They dealt with their companion's body, then gathered items from the boat and opened the sea cocks, carefully sinking the ship. The location was carefully chosen so they could easily raise it later—in his imagination, he'd be back in a few months.
They encountered a storm en route. The dinghy capsized, and they were rescued by a strange group of fishermen—their ragged fishing boat and bizarre appearance made him think he'd ended up in some corner of Indonesia. Eventually, he was sent ashore, then escorted by men with spears and armor—and it was then that he realized something incredible had happened.
After a series of transfers, he was finally handed over to a man who appeared to be a European priest. The priest questioned him in several languages about his origins. He finally understood one of them—Italian.
From Father Anders, Landu learned this was "the 1627th year since the birth of our Lord Jesus." He screamed and fainted on the spot.
When he woke, he was already in Macau. Landu stared blankly at the street scene, then accepted reality—a man who lived by the gun never surrendered to his environment. He immediately picked up his almost-forgotten Italian. With his limited historical knowledge, Landu knew that English speakers weren't welcome among the Portuguese at this time.
Landu gradually made something of himself by running errands for Father Anders. He claimed to be a scion of a rural noble family from Parma, Italy, who'd served as a volunteer soldier in the Balkans—the latter was true; the former wasn't entirely fabricated either. Landu's grandfather was born in that village and had vivid memories of a declining local noble family, often telling young Landu about them. The Parma noble family Landu fabricated was based on this family. Even the coat of arms was plagiarized with minor modifications.
The only problem was the English that occasionally slipped out. Landu could only claim he'd been an English prisoner, spending several years in England. As for how an Italian ended up captured by the English, Landu had to continue fabricating, saying he'd served the Catholic King of Spain—common enough among Italians—and was captured by the English in a campaign supporting Ireland.
However, when discussing this matter, he firmly stated he'd only fought for pay, not out of admiration for His Majesty. He had a distinct feeling that the local Jesuit leadership valued Portuguese interests far more highly than their Spanish king.
But for a modern person to live in seventeenth-century Macau was still extremely difficult. He had almost nothing. Most terrifying was that everyone suspected his origins.
Fortunately, Landu had some historical knowledge. From his experience fighting in Bosnia, he understood religious fanaticism. He knew it was best for him to display some religious fervor right now; otherwise, these priests might burn him as a barbecue.
So Landu attended Mass at church every week—he'd been baptized Catholic as a child but hadn't set foot in a church since adulthood. He also went to confession from time to time and strictly observed the Friday fasting rules. When the forty days of Lent descended upon him, Landu first experienced extreme hunger. From dawn to dusk, he ate only one meal and couldn't eat meat. This life was unbearable for a modern person. For nearly a month, he felt weak all over. He had to survive every day on foul-smelling salted fish and eggs.
Besides this accursed fasting, seventeenth-century life was simply a nightmare. Irritating parasites were everywhere. Bathing opportunities were rare—in this respect, it was worse than even the poorest backwaters of North Africa he'd visited, where many small towns had perfectly good steam baths. Fresh food was scarce. Salted meat and salted fish made up the bulk of his diet. Wine transported from thousands of miles away was scarce and expensive, tasting like vinegar. Sometimes he ate at Chinese restaurants—though the flavors were completely different from what he'd had in Chinatown, at least most of it was fresh vegetables and meat.
The sanitary conditions were terrifying. Fortunately, he was experienced enough to endure. Most terrifying were the toilets. After one visit, Landu decided he'd rather find a bush in the suburbs than use the toilets in the official residences. He also noticed that neither Chinese nor Europeans here had the concept of toilet paper. He had to spend his earnings buying paper to solve the problem—and paper here was very expensive.
(End of Chapter)