Chapter 659 - The Annual Gala
He had already thought through the gala's content. First, a banquet—preferably buffet style, to reduce the feeling of rank and hierarchy.
A buffet had few ceremonial requirements. People could eat, drink, and chat freely, creating a more egalitarian atmosphere.
"You may have noticed that our organization is trending toward bureaucratization," Fang Fei shared his observations. He didn't think this candor would offend Xiao Zishan, who cultivated an image of humility and likely considered hearing blunt advice a form of self-cultivation. "Though we have the Yuan Laoyuan and the notion that all transmigrators are equal, the leaders in high positions are acting more and more like leaders. There's a certain... discontent simmering underneath."
"Mm, mm." Xiao Zishan responded noncommittally. "True."
"So at the gala, we should downplay official titles. Just select a host to run the program—no leadership speeches." Fang Fei had thought this through carefully. The gala should be relaxed and fun, not stiff and formal. And the host absolutely shouldn't be a transmigrator holding high office—that would kill the mood.
"I propose inviting a lively young woman to host. That'll be energizing."
"What about after dinner?"
"Entertainment, of course." Fang Fei smiled smugly. He had plenty of experience organizing "new-style" entertainment.
He lowered his voice mysteriously: "There's a really excellent segment—a cosplay showcase."
"Oh? You mean like Tail or Street Fighter cosplay?" Xiao Zishan suddenly perked up.
"Exactly. I didn't expect Director Xiao to be so knowledgeable about cosplay." Xiao Zishan looked to be in his early thirties; it was surprising he knew about this.
"Actually, I prefer Dead or Alive." Xiao Zishan continued, deadpan, expounding his views on cosplay. "The key to cosplay is, first, a good figure; second, not being shy about showing skin. With those two, you can dominate..."
"You really are an expert." Fang Fei nodded approvingly, though privately he thought Xiao Zishan's cosplay philosophy was rather vulgar and lacking in ambition. He had always maintained that cosplay should express the character's inner personality and spirit.
But for someone who had spent years planning ChinaJoy presentations, Xiao Zishan's view wasn't entirely wrong—just crudely expressed.
As for who would actually cosplay, Fang Fei had already considered the question. Female transmigrators would be most fitting in terms of presence, but they were few, and most had boyfriends. To avoid complications, he decided not to approach them—though quite a few were pretty and lively. Based on his observations, they would probably be willing to cosplay, but angering their boyfriends wasn't worth the risk. Life secretaries, on the other hand, had no such concerns.
"Isn't there a big gap in presence?"
"After training, the quality is quite good." Fang Fei had visited the life secretary training classes and thought the women, after some conditioning, had improved considerably in physique, appearance, and bearing. A crash course would have them performing admirably.
The evening would feature an outdoor barbecue and dance on the beach near Wu De's former villa in Bopu.
Fang Fei further proposed inviting local gentry and wealthy households to the gala—just as some companies invited major clients to their annual parties. It would strengthen relationships and fully demonstrate the wonders of the "Australian lifestyle," encouraging adoption.
"I don't oppose inviting friendly natives to participate," Xiao Zishan said. "I'm just worried some segments may be a bit... shocking."
"According to Guangzhou Station reports, Ming-era people are no more conservative in their pleasures than twenty-first-century folks," Fang Fei replied. "Have you read Pei Lixiu's Report on the Private Lives of Guangzhou Officials and Gentry?"
"No." Xiao Zishan vaguely recalled receiving the document but hadn't found time to read it.
"In terms of imagination, we probably can't match the wealthy of the seventeenth century."
"Is this report on the level of the Starr Report?"
"I can only say the two aren't in the same league."
"I see. I should read it carefully." Xiao Zishan said. "I approve your gala plan. Once it passes public review, get started quickly. Many transmigrators will be leaving soon for their postings."
"No one will object to approval. Here's my detailed plan and materials requisition list." Fang Fei promptly handed over the document.
Xiao Zishan took it and skimmed through: the appendix listed various materials, equipment, and supplies—over thirty pages in all.
"Impressive. That's a lot." Xiao Zishan signed with a smile. "I can't guarantee Wu De will approve it all."
"He will. He can't let everyone be unhappy."
After the gala plan was approved, Fang Fei set to work immediately. He still had several "Sacred Song" competitions to manage. He planned to prepare the gala while running the competitions, then hold the gala right after the finals and awards ceremony the following week.
He first visited Bairren City and recruited Pei Lixiu and Zheng Shangjie, who were languishing from boredom. Upon hearing about the gala, they were immediately energized and agreed at once.
"I've been wanting to throw a gala!" Zheng Shangjie was extremely enthusiastic. "The Feiyun can serve as the bar and central stage for the beach party!"
The Feiyun was the luxury yacht the North America branch had chartered from the United States. Because the North America branch had contributed the most in terms of weaponry and contraband acquisitions, the yacht had not been requisitioned under the "consolidation principle" and remained in the hands of several North America families as a residence.
The Feiyun's living facilities were complete, its entertainment amenities first-rate. But to avoid provoking jealousy, the North America people rarely used them, only maintaining everything regularly.
"What goodies does this boat have?" Fang Fei grew curious.
"Plenty," Zheng Shangjie laughed. "Coming to me for the gala is absolutely the best decision you've ever made."
A small boat belching black smoke and making a rhythmic "putt-putt" sound was towing more than a dozen smaller craft up the Nandu River.
Each small boat was covered with canvas. From the exposed edges, one could see they were loaded with black coal.
This fleet had not appeared for a long time. Its reappearance seemed to herald something.
On the second-to-last boat, one craft had only a cloth canopy for shade.
"After the battle, everything suddenly feels different."
The speaker was Tang Menglong, reclining in a rattan chair beneath the canopy, gazing at the Nandu River's banks. He had been ordered back for debriefing and to attend the gala.
Throughout the counter-encirclement campaign, he had remained stationed at the Jiazi Coal Mine, continuing his mining work. Though he knew the imperial army would inevitably lose and was unlikely to target his remote mine, being stranded behind enemy lines had been deeply uncomfortable. Every day he communicated with Lingao via radio, but the native radio operator had no appreciation for his "homesickness"—only when Shao Zong happened to be at the radio could they chat for a while.
With coal transport suspended, mining had scaled back considerably. Besides drilling his miners daily, Tang Menglong had organized them to quarry stone, fell timber, and undertake construction projects. Though he had Jiang Wenli to keep him company and warm his bed at night, there was little to discuss with this country girl. After a while, the days grew quite tedious.
"Finally going back to Lingao." Tang Menglong stretched luxuriously. These months of mining in the wilderness had been miserable. Upon returning for the debriefing, he planned to lobby the head of the Long-Range Exploration Department—he would rather return to field prospecting than remain the boss of Jiazi Coal Mine.
He glanced at Jiang Wenli, the sixteen-year-old girl sitting on a small stool by his feet, drowsing in the warmth. A few days ago, she had hesitantly told him she hadn't menstruated for two months.
She was probably pregnant. Tang Menglong marveled at the thought—no transmigrator's woman had ever conceived in these three years. Of course, most transmigrators had lacked women entirely during that time; but even those with wives or girlfriends had produced no news of pregnancy.
Who would have thought this windfall would land on him? Tang Menglong felt both smug and excited. It was probably because Jiazi Coal Mine was so desolate—after dark, there was nothing to do but bedroom gymnastics. With such frequent activity, conception was inevitable. To be safe, he had decided to bring Jiang Wenli to Lingao for an examination—if only he had thought to bring pregnancy test strips.
If there really was a child, what to name it? He didn't even know the sex. Tang Menglong looked at the girl drowsing against his knee. The thought that he would soon have a child in this era filled him with an unreal, dreamlike sensation.
The long-quiet Hai Family Wharf had returned to its former bustle. Coal from Jiazi was again piling up, awaiting shipment. Chen Tong was already waiting at the dock to receive him. These months, Lin Baiguang had stationed Chen Tong at Hai Family Wharf. Besides guarding this vital property, he had provided substantial intelligence on imperial troop ships and personnel movements. Now his mission was to continue monitoring the remnant forces' movements following their retreat to Qiongshan, while ensuring continuous coal exports from Jiazi.
"What's the situation in Qiongshan?" Tang Menglong asked as soon as he stepped ashore.
Before departing, he had received instructions via radio from Lingao Intelligence to hear Chen Tong's oral report on the situation in Qiongshan County.
"Isn't this Lin Baiguang's business?"
"This is Lin Baiguang's request," Wang Yan had replied over the radio. "Consider it an evaluation."
"So what should I ask?"
"Ask whatever you like," Wang Yan had said. "Afterward, submit a transcript to the Intelligence Bureau."
Chen Tong simply said: "Let's talk inside."
The group proceeded to the main building of the fortress. After non-essential personnel withdrew, Chen Tong delivered his report on the local situation. Jiang Wenli served as stenographer.
Chen Tong explained: After He Rubin and Zhao Ruyi retreated to Qiongshan, the scattered troops who straggled back numbered approximately three thousand. He had also heard that many garrison soldiers and militia hadn't returned to camp but had gone straight to their home posts.
"They didn't dare return to Guangdong. They stayed in the prefectural city only two or three days, then took their men to Haikou Qianhu Fortress." Chen Tong continued. "But everyone in the prefectural city knows the imperial army suffered a crushing defeat at Chengmai."
"Is the sea route open?"
"No," Chen Tong replied. "Whether they're afraid of the Governor-General learning the truth or for some other reason, all ports on the Shenying side are still sealed. Ships aren't allowed in or out; only navy warships patrol offshore."
"Burying their heads in the sand," Tang Menglong thought. But the closed sea route was problematic. "What about the land route?"
"Also sealed. The road toward Chengmai is heavily patrolled. A few days ago, our men appeared outside Haikou Qianhu Fortress, killed and captured several dozen patrol soldiers, including a bazong. The imperial forces are on edge—they've mobilized militia in every county again."
But the militiamen were no longer as enthusiastic as before. The last time militia had gone to war, the lure had been battlefield looting. But after suffering heavy casualties at Chengmai—with many captured—and now being released and sent home, they had no desire to risk their lives again.
"Lingao released all the captured local militia and garrison soldiers. Now they don't want to fight us—they refuse to provide troops. He and Zhao are at their wits' end. Morale is badly shaken." Chen Tong spoke with a pleased expression. "I hear Regional Commander Tang isn't having an easy time either."
"Why?"
"All of Regional Commander Tang's captured men were released. And his forces suffered the fewest casualties. If you were Old He, wouldn't you be suspicious?"
"True. Was he dismissed?"
"No. They don't dare—it would trigger a mutiny. But Zhao Ruyi has personally gone to Baisha Naval Station to take direct charge."
Tang Menglong was pleased, nodding repeatedly. "But the closed sea and land routes present a problem."
"You rest here tonight. I'll arrange things. Tomorrow your boat will leave."
"Didn't you say ships aren't allowed to sail?"
Chen Tong smiled: "Plenty of people in Qiongshan County are eager to build connections with the Hai family now."
The Hai family's dealings with the bald bandits were no secret in Qiongshan. Coal transports had plied the Qiongshan–Lingao route constantly—everyone knew the Hai family traded with the Australians in Lingao.
When the imperial army launched its expedition, this trade had naturally ceased. Hai Shuzu, suspected of "collaborating with the bald bandits," had hidden at home in fright. He and Zhao's secretaries had extorted a fair sum from him. Fortunately, the Hai family's local prestige was high; ordinary officials dared not push too hard, and Hai Shuzu weathered the storm until the great victory at Chengmai.
With the return of the defeated troops, word spread in all directions of the bald bandits' terrifying military might. Hai Shuzu suddenly became the most sought-after man in Qiongzhou Prefectural City. The Prefect and County Magistrate, constrained by propriety, sent secretaries to negotiate privately. Local gentry were less reserved—now that the bald bandits' power was overwhelming, having shattered an army raised with all of Guangdong's strength, it seemed only a matter of time before the Australian army reached the prefectural gates.
No one believed He Rubin's few thousand survivors could hold off an Australian army. If they couldn't, then to prevent wholesale destruction when the bald bandits arrived, local gentry would naturally engage in "maintaining local order."
This essentially amounted to surrender, conducted semi-openly and with no one objecting. Zhao Ruyi and the others, fearing this might spark "popular uprising," dared not investigate. They merely had He Rubin's trusted officers take over defense of Qiongshan County's gates and inspect all who passed.
"Even so, the Hai family's doorstep has nearly been worn through by gift-bearers and visitors lately," Chen Tong said smugly. "This battle has established Lingao's prestige." He continued: the five peddlers who had been beheaded as a sacrifice to the expedition had, a few days ago, been secretly exhumed by the County Magistrate's men, their bodies and heads reunited, re-coffined, and properly buried.
"I suppose these Ming officials fear a war-crimes tribunal." Tang Menglong laughed.
Chen Tong didn't understand "war-crimes tribunal" but grasped the meaning: "The officials are scared too. I hear the Prefect and Magistrate confer secretly every day, though the contents remain unknown."
"Can you find out?"
"Gao Di is working on it," Chen Tong said. "I imagine it's nothing more than how to save their skins and their posts."
Chen Tong also reported that rice prices in Qiongshan had soared. Not only were local gentry hoarding grain, but gentry and merchants from Wenchang and Ding'an were also buying up supplies. Qiongzhou's grain supply already barely met demand, and Qiongshan served as the gateway for imports and exports. The sudden rush to buy rice was clearly driven by fear of a massive siege.
"The imperial forces and government are also requisitioning grain—probably anticipating a siege as well."
Tang Menglong thought: morale in Qiongshan was shaky, panic universal. If the field army struck now, they could surely capture Qiongshan Prefectural City in a single blow. He just didn't know what the Executive Committee was thinking. Such an opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Tang Menglong rested one night at Hai Family Wharf, then boarded the vessel Chen Tong had arranged—a coal ship. Large-scale shipments couldn't resume yet, but individual vessels could sail freely. Tang Yunwen had no intention of defecting, but his subordinates were unconcerned about hedging their bets. Besides, this was merely a gesture—keeping a foot in both camps.