Chapter 728 - Food Processing Center
The Great Whale returned to Hong Kong for temporary modification. Engineers installed a steam-powered gantry crane on deck, along with hoisting winches and dredging buckets. To ensure stability during operations, anchors stripped from several other vessels were retrofitted to her hull, giving her a total of eight.
When this ungainly contraption wobbled its way into Humen, everyone laughed at her strange, ugly appearance—though the laughter carried an undercurrent of genuine concern for the crew's safety.
"That crane's so tall—isn't the center of gravity unstable?" Huang Zhuazi had arrived at Humen aboard the Great Whale. He hadn't experienced much pitching during the journey, but every time waves slapped the hull and the steel gantry groaned, he found himself wondering if she might capsize.
A bespectacled, scholarly-looking engineer spoke with confident authority: "No problem. According to my calculations—accounting for wave-making resistance, roll coefficients, and a series of other factors—the probability of capsizing is less than twelve percent."
"That still sounds terrifying."
"Wind and waves in the Pearl River are much smaller than at sea. The probability will drop further."
"I hope so." Chen Haiyang regarded the odd monstrosity and felt distinctly uneasy. But this was a matter of "have versus have-not"—there was no room to be fastidious about safety.
Le Lin looked thoroughly miserable. As captain of the Great Whale, bringing his ship to Humen had been an ordeal. With so many towering appendages installed on deck and propulsion still relying on the original diesel engine, the power-to-weight ratio had worsened dramatically. The shifted center of gravity made every movement sluggish and awkward. He had personally taken the helm the entire way, wrestling the vessel to Humen at a painful three knots.
"This ship's a nightmare to handle," Le Lin grumbled. "I should be building my official residence on Victoria Peak right now..."
"Stop complaining. Inspect her condition immediately and prepare for departure."
The waterfront at Humen's Yaniangxie Island seethed with activity. Work shanties mingled with military songs and the roar of steam engines, all underlaid by the wailing of prisoners.
Captives transported from the surrounding region now numbered over four thousand. Some had been deemed hostile or threatening to future rule; others were impoverished locals being taken in for resettlement. All would be transported to Hainan to bolster the island's population.
By the late Ming, the Pearl River Delta was already overpopulated, with vast numbers flooding into mountain areas for agricultural development. Removing some population wouldn't damage local production or the economy but would relieve pressure on the ecosystem. And the removal of so many gentry and magnates opened considerable commercial space for local small landlords, rich peasants, and petty merchants.
The captives—men and women, young and old—arrived by boat at Humen, where they were temporarily housed while awaiting transport to Hong Kong along with the "confiscated" spoils collected throughout the region.
The plunder brought back by various squadrons over the past month had piled up like small mountains at Humen. The Transmigrators remained utterly without taste, taking everything—even the tables, chairs, and benches from "purged" wealthy households weren't spared. To prevent the unrest that large population concentrations inevitably bred, people were shipped to Hong Kong first. Weather and sea conditions permitting, several transport ships packed with captives departed for Hong Kong daily, where they would undergo purification and quarantine.
Returning squadrons also conducted short-term rest and sanitation work at Humen. Zhang Tumu administered deworming medication to all officers and men and conducted successive flea exterminations—parasites thrived in rural areas. Anyone with health issues was transferred to Hong Kong for treatment.
Fifteen-year-old Fu Ji carried a small bundle of blue cloth slung over his shoulder—a gift from his mother when he left home. Inside were a few ragged clothes and a pair of new shoes he couldn't bring himself to wear. Barefoot, he waited patiently for the group ahead to board.
His group consisted entirely of volunteers defecting to the Australians, and so order was good; no guards were needed. The transport officers gave each person a water gourd and a black leather bowl for eating and drinking on the road.
His sole hope was to eat his fill upon reaching Lingao. That was his only purpose.
Fu Ji was an ordinary country boy. He had been nameless originally—just called "Fu Ya-er," Fu the Second—until his master gave him a proper name when he became an apprentice.
He had started his apprenticeship at twelve, following the custom of three years learning, three years helping. But just as he began the "helping" stage—when he would finally learn real skills and earn a little money—his master suddenly died.
Fu Ji and his whole family instantly fell into dire straits. Having learned a trade since childhood, he had neglected farm work. His family was large—an older brother and sister, three younger siblings—and they barely survived on two mu of thin land plus some tenant farming. For such a household, suddenly having another mouth to feed was a disaster.
One day, Fu Ji squatted on a field ridge, his stomach growling with hunger. The thin sweet potato porridge from morning had long since vanished, and the next meal wouldn't come until dusk.
It couldn't compare to his days with the Master. Though the old man had rarely let him eat his fill, whenever they catered weddings or funerals in town or at the great houses, Fu Ji could always stuff himself on leftovers. That pattern of intermittent feasting amid chronic semi-starvation was still better than this—this seemingly eternal gnawing emptiness.
Not far away, cooking smoke rose from the Humen stockade—the "Short-haired Thieves" or "Australian" army cooking lunch after driving off the government troops. They ate three meals a day, just like landlords. That alone was enough to make Fu Ji envious to death.
When the Australians first came to Humen, they had fought a major battle with government troops, routing them badly and seizing the fortifications. Local villagers initially fled for several days but returned when they saw no harassment. The Australians committed no crimes in the immediate area—no looting, no arson, no snatching of women. They only sent people to collect a modest "Reasonable Burden." The burden wasn't particularly heavy, and with Australians personally overseeing distribution to ensure wealthy households paid the bulk while ordinary families contributed only the remainder, no trouble arose.
He'd heard, though, that a large village nearby—relying on its numbers and the unity of a single clan—had built a stockade to resist by force. It had been wiped out in a single day. Many were killed or captured. The leading clan had lost its entire male population and all its property; even their ancestral hall had been dismantled. The wealthy families in the surrounding area were now panic-stricken.
But for Fu Ji's family, the Australians had made little difference. Fu Ji still went hungry.
One day he accompanied a neighbor to the Humen stockade to sell vegetables and poultry. Since the Australians had established their garrison, nearby villagers constantly rowed small boats to sell fresh produce—vegetables, live poultry, eggs. According to the Provisions Management Regulations, the Fubo Army purchased only poultry, eggs, and aquatic products for meat when conditions permitted. The Chinese were born merchants; they didn't ask why the Fubo Army wanted only vegetables and eggs. They simply adjusted their offerings to meet customer demand.
Fu Ji had observed the Fubo Army's appearance and equipment when the Australians came to the countryside to assess Reasonable Burden. On this visit, he witnessed their quality of life. Soldiers ate large bowls of rice—unlimited, as much as they wanted. For side dishes there was fish, and great steaming cauldrons of vegetable soup with eggs...
Fu Ji swallowed hard as he watched. This life exceeded even the village landlords'! The pure white rice alone was something landlords would stretch with sweet potato slices.
He couldn't help asking the neighbor: "Uncle, are they eating a celebration feast today?"
"What celebration feast? Australians eat like this every day. Three meals a day!" The neighbor's voice carried naked envy. "If I didn't have a wife and three 'money-eating dragons' to raise, I'd join the Fubo Army myself! Even dying in battle would be worth it for this!"
These words lodged in Fu Ji's mind. Rather than starving at home or wandering aimlessly in search of work, wasn't it better to simply join the Australians? At least he could live comfortably for a few years.
He pondered for several days, secretly visiting Humen twice more to observe the soldiers' daily routines. He decided he could manage it. He told his family he wanted to join the Australian army.
Though his parents knew that joining the army meant he might never return—might die somewhere far away—their desperate circumstances left them no choice. They agreed.
Arriving at the Humen stockade, Fu Ji found many others aspiring to enlist. Not just young men, but half-grown children like himself, and even old men, women, and children. The Fubo Army's food supply was so legendary that many impoverished locals from the surrounding area had come to "join the gang."
Chen Haiyang had ordered that no one be refused—old or young, man or woman, all were welcome. Individuals were acceptable, but whole families were preferred. So entire households arrived dragging children and elders, their fear beaten out of them by poverty and hunger, willing to go anywhere that promised a full belly.
Fu Ji stripped naked in a shed for inspection. They examined his teeth and asked simple questions—his age, his name. Then he pressed his handprint on a piece of paper as instructed. He didn't know or care what it said.
Leaving the shed, his head was shaved, he showered, and he received a set of clean used uniforms. He was now a "new immigrant." He heard from the managers that newcomers would be sent to Lingao for several months of training before officially "joining the gang."
New immigrants lived in separate barracks awaiting ships. Their food was poorer than that of regular soldiers, but the thick rice porridge with fish and vegetables still made Fu Ji want to cry with happiness. Though he received only one bowl per meal, he ate three times a day.
The prospect of reaching Lingao, of becoming an official Australian soldier, of eating open-bellied feasts—Fu Ji felt incredibly excited.
"Fu Ji!"
Just as he waited patiently to board the transport ship to what he thought of as "Full-Belly Happiness," an Australian clerk suddenly appeared.
"Here!" Following camp regulations, he raised his hand. "I'm here!"
"You are Fu Ji?"
"Yes—" His stomach tightened with unease.
"You're a cook?"
"This lowly one served a three-year apprenticeship..."
"Come out. Don't leave for now." The clerk's tone brooked no refusal. "The food center is short-handed; you'll work there directly. Follow me!"
Fu Ji followed the clerk to a small shed, bewildered but understanding he was to be a "cooking soldier." That wouldn't be difficult—three years of apprenticeship had given him basic cooking skills.
"No need for you to cook." A higher-ranking clerk sat behind a desk inside the shed. "Can you slaughter and butcher chickens and ducks?"
"This lowly one mostly did that during apprenticeship," Fu Ji replied. "I even helped slaughter pigs sometimes..."
"Perfect." The clerk picked up a card, wrote something on it, and handed it to a subordinate. "Take him for purification. Process him according to food and medical standards."
Fu Ji was taken to have his head shaved again, to bathe, to have his nails trimmed. His entire body was inspected for wounds or skin diseases. Finally, after everything checked out normal, he had to drink several doses of bitter medicinal liquid.
He was escorted to a separate stockade by the river. In a room near the gate, an Australian met him—a man unlike the others. He was tall and fat, wearing black-framed spectacles made of tortoiseshell with two glass lenses. A rectangular bar bearing colorful cloth strips was stitched to his left breast.
"From today forward, you are a member of the Field Kitchen Processing Center." Thunder scrutinized him, checking his hands and nails. "Pay constant attention to personal hygiene!" He jutted his chin toward a young uniformed girl beside him. "Read it to him!"
The girl immediately recited the sanitary regulations: mandatory bathing before and after work, use of soap for hands, no long hair or nails permitted...
"Remember all that?"
"This lowly one... understands..." Fu Ji's head was spinning. Unable to digest it all, he simply claimed he remembered.
"Good. Take him in. Continue educating him frequently." Thunder frowned. "Hygiene habits aren't formed in a day or two."
Fu Ji was led, still bewildered, into the heavily guarded camp. Upon entering, his eyes went wide. When had such large-scale buildings appeared here?
To support long-term combat needs, the Task Force had established a massive field kitchen logistics processing center at Humen, complete with a mobile gas-powered cold storage unit.
Rows of prefabricated houses and bamboo sheds stood on the high ground by the river. A steam pump billowed black smoke, pumping endless quantities of river water. The water underwent primary purification and disinfection in filter pools before being distributed to the troops.
A strange vessel was moored at the bank—atop it sat a massive rectangular wooden box, like a house, shaded by an enormous reed canopy. It looked ugly and bizarre.
This was a refrigerated ship. The wooden box was actually a modified forty-foot container serving as a mobile gas cold storage unit. For insulation, a wooden structural thermal layer had been added outside the box, filled with multiple layers of diatomaceous earth and kapok. The refrigeration gas came from a gasifier installed on the ship—or could be supplied from shore. The vessel could store twenty-two tons of frozen goods. Its only drawback was lacking propulsion; it had to be towed by a large launch.
The clerk led Fu Ji into a large bamboo shed.
"You'll work in the butchering workshop. This is where you shower and change clothes. You must shower and change here every day before entering the workshop. Understood?"
"This lowly one knows." Fu Ji thought the rules here were enormous—bathing and changing clothes just to kill chickens.
"No wandering around. Stay in your assigned workshop. No running about." The clerk pointed to a nearby bamboo shed billowing with steam. "That's the scalding workshop. It's full of boiling water. Don't go in unless necessary—or you might get scalded to death."
Fu Ji thus began work at the processing center. His job was butchering raw carcasses. Chickens, ducks, and geese slaughtered in the slaughter workshop were scalded for defeathering, then sent to his workshop.
The "workshop" was a temporary structure combining modern architecture with traditional shed-building techniques—bamboo, reed mats, and rope. It was tall and airy, with rows of windows near the ceiling. The windows lacked glass but were fitted with insect screens. During rain, rolled-up mats could be lowered by ropes to keep out the weather—a remarkably ingenious design.
A strange smell always permeated the workshop. Fu Ji didn't know it was disinfectant. Dozens of workers holding butchering knives stood at tables, disassembling processed poultry.
He had never done such peculiar work. His master and other cooks had mostly used whole chickens and ducks. Sometimes they took breast meat or legs for particular dishes, but disassembling a bird into standardized pieces like this was entirely new to him.
The cleanliness requirements were so strict that Fu Ji found them almost absurd. Hand-washing after using the toilet was monitored—soap was mandatory. Nails were inspected every seven days; if they were too long, they were cut immediately. As for hair and beards, they were absolutely forbidden—everyone's head here was as smooth as an egg.
Clothes were changed daily. He didn't know who washed them, but clean clothes were always available. Even the aprons were spotless.
Thinking of how his master used to wipe his nose with his hand, wipe that hand on his apron, and go right back to cutting vegetables, Fu Ji felt he had entered an entirely different world.
(End of Chapter)