Chapter 830: Hongji Station

During this period, Beikai established a comprehensive set of rules and regulations. Miners recruited locally from Beiqi earned work points based on the quantity of coal excavated; cart workers received points according to the number of carts moved. During injury or illness, they were also allotted sufficient grain to stave off starvation. At the end of each workday, workers proceeded to the Delong agency point of the Cooperative to exchange their work points for circulation vouchers. These vouchers purchased grain, alcohol, clothing, and other goods sold by the Cooperative. Beyond alcohol, cigarettes and candy proved the most popular commodities. The tools miners used also required purchase, though for now they were extended on credit. Based on the price of tools, Beikai deducted ten percent of each miner's daily wage to offset the cost until the debt was discharged.

A more vicious and avaricious capitalist might have employed "tool loans" to play simple economic tricks, trapping miners in perpetual debt—after all, tools wore out. But the Senators had maintained a consistent conviction that exploitation must be moderate. In the long term, measured exploitation facilitated sustained extraction of workers' surplus value rather than treating laborers as disposable commodities. Under the Lingao system, labor was precious.

Regarding compensation, Beikai followed instructions to offer slightly superior rates—at minimum, commoners should perceive that working in the coal mine was marginally preferable to farming. For Hongji Station to recruit sufficient local workers as miners, reputation was paramount.

Li Mei's design for the mine's commercial district ensured that workers could obtain all necessities without ever leaving the premises. In most places during this era, commerce remained virtually nonexistent. Now, a community of over six hundred people with genuine purchasing power had materialized. Forgoing commercial activity would be a genuine waste. Commerce served first and foremost to build momentum for circulation vouchers, laying groundwork for broader future adoption.

The circulation vouchers issued to workers were rapidly spent within Hongji's growing township. Vouchers disbursed at the beginning of each month had largely returned to the Cooperative by month's end. Heavy physical labor demanded substantial nourishment; outdoor work and mining inflicted tremendous wear on clothing. However, the Cooperative purchased worn-out garments at discounted prices, buying by the catty. The frayed clothes were cleaned, disinfected, and shipped back to Lingao for papermaking.

Single men without families proved especially liberal spenders. Every few days, they would visit the small restaurants for better fare and a drink. Some took up smoking—because certain naturalized citizen laborers among the workforce's upper echelons smoked, local Beiqi laborers came to regard the habit as "fashionable" and adopted it themselves.

At the commencement of the second month, several dozen local Beiqi workers departed. Though Beikai felt a measure of disappointment, he still instructed the Cooperative to exchange the departing workers' circulation vouchers for rice or copper coins. What surprised him was that after returning home, these workers swiftly brought families and fellow villagers back to work at the mine. During one pit inspection, Beikai discovered numerous local women in conical hats hauling coal underground—a sight that genuinely startled him. Though he had witnessed naturalized citizen women in Lingao working in quarries breaking stones, in fields, even on construction sites—women from Guangdong, Guangxi, and Fujian being famously capable of hard labor—this was his first encounter with women descending into mine shafts to carry coal.

"This is too wasteful," Beikai murmured, his gaze settling on the coal-hauling women. Because the work destroyed clothing so rapidly, nearly all miners wore rags—the women no exception. Though they appeared dark-skinned and diminutive, the bare skin glimpsed through tattered garments kindled certain fantasies in Beikai—especially a few women with petite yet shapely figures.

Given his authority here—power equivalent to Tang Menglong's at Jiazi Coal Mine—he held the power of life and death over everyone at Hongji Station. Had he truly harbored lustful intentions and taken advantage of a few local women, it would scarcely have mattered. But Beikai restrained his impulses. Still, permitting women to dig and haul coal was far too wasteful of resources!

Beikai dispatched a telegram to the Department of Colonization and Trade requesting agricultural technicians and rice seeds. Though the local soil was poor, the Baitang River lay conveniently close, making water diversion for rice cultivation quite feasible.

"We'll put to use everything the miners produce. Our slogan is: No Waste!" Beikai declared to Dugu Qiuhun, the Tiandihui Inspector from the Agricultural Department who had arrived to conduct his inspection.

Dugu Qiuhun tugged at his East German People's Army spring-autumn uniform and offered a few noncommittal grunts. Despite his extended tenure in the agricultural department, he remained largely uninterested in agricultural matters. After several months, the Organization Department had officially appointed him "Inspector." Both Wu Nanhai and Ye Yuming recognized that Qiuhun was unsuited for agriculture—better to dispatch him on rounds inspecting basic farmland construction. Most agricultural technicians now came from naturalized citizen origins. Having a Senator frequently visit to supervise and encourage them would spur greater diligence.

This time, accompanying the shipment of rice seeds and agricultural technicians, Dugu Qiuhun had sailed to Hongji. Considerable legend about Vietnamese girls circulated among the Senators, arousing Dugu Qiuhun's intense curiosity.

But the Vietnamese girls before him—selected and prepared for agricultural work and rice planting—proved profoundly disappointing. Their quality was decidedly unremarkable. Frankly, they weren't even as attractive as the better-looking naturalized citizens. Their skin was dark, their frames thin and small. They stirred no interest whatsoever.

"The difference is simply too stark," Dugu Qiuhun privately lamented his request to make this trip to Hongji. The Vietnamese girls of legend bore no resemblance to this reality.

"Don't worry. Local Beiqi farmers are constantly arriving. There are bound to be a few beauties among them. I'll hold them for you..." Beikai offered.

Dugu Qiuhun sighed. "Forget it. If the Senate found out, they'd all descend on us... Besides, there's the hygiene issue—I hear the antibiotic stockpile is nearly depleted."

Beyond "escorting" rice seeds, farm tools, and agricultural technicians, Dugu Qiuhun bore an additional duty: drafting a fishery report. Though the Agricultural Department had failed to reclaim fishing rights in full, the Navy refused to surrender them, citing fisheries as a complement to maritime power. Following negotiations, both parties reached agreement: the Navy would continue controlling fishing fleets originally under its jurisdiction, implementing fishery supervision and collecting the "fishing five-one tax" on their behalf. The Agricultural Department would be responsible for organizing indigenous fishermen into cooperatives.

Having established both parties' spheres of authority, Wu Nanhai and Li Di of the Navy held a joint fishery work meeting to conduct thorough discussions on implementing the Navy-Agricultural Department Fishery Management Agreement. Both sides concurred that potential for collecting seafood tax was substantial—unfortunately, indigenous fishermen's production scale remained minuscule.

According to Navy statistics, the fishery tax collected by Maritime Forces throughout 1630 totaled four thousand five hundred dan, approximately five hundred tons. The total catch of fishermen paying taxes and fishing in waters near Lingao for the entire year had not exceeded two thousand five hundred tons—most of which was sold to the Lingao regime. In the old time-space during Lingao's traditional fisheries peak from 1934 to 1936, annual catches had reached twenty thousand tons. Clearly, even without modern vessels and equipment, using traditional methods alone, the Lingao area's production potential remained immense.

Extending this analysis to the entire Qiongzhou Strait, the waters surrounding Hainan Island, and the Gulf of Tonkin, the untapped fishery potential proved staggering. Compared to aquaculture—which demanded robust agricultural infrastructure—ocean fishing represented the sole source capable of rapidly, cheaply, and abundantly providing protein and fat. The population under Lingao control was steadily expanding, and demand for protein and fat supplies increased correspondingly.

To expand production, three approaches presented themselves. First, enlarge production scale—meaning more boats and gear. Second, fish deeper waters—the Gulf of Tonkin, not far from Lingao, constituted a natural rich fishing ground. In 1956, Lingao fishing boats had ventured in groups to fish the Gulf, achieving seasonal catches totaling thirty-two thousand tons. Third, adopt new fishing gear and techniques, improve nets, and extend catching depth even by a few meters—the resulting production gains would prove significant.

In these figures, Wu De, Director of the Planning Institute and scion of a fisherman family, perceived opportunity. He proposed implementing "fishery cooperative" activities for indigenous fishermen.

Integrating indigenous fishermen from Lingao-controlled territory under a single banner, promoting new boats and gear, implementing multi-boat cooperative fishing, then transitioning to deep-sea operations—all this served the people's livelihood. Indirectly, the Navy could consolidate and control previously scattered fishing boats at sea, essentially acquiring a maritime reserve force. Fishing vessels could serve not only as reconnaissance, transport, and patrol boats but could also function as warships when necessity demanded.

Wu De believed fishermen traditionally pooled funds to purchase boats and fish. Compared to farmers, their commercial instincts were keener. He himself hailed from a fishing village and understood fishermen's mentality well. Having the Transmigrator Group lead fishery cooperatives and conduct joint-stock operations was feasible—potentially even smoother than the Tiandihui's agricultural promotion.

The fishery cooperative initiative became another Tiandihui project. But progress did not proceed as anticipated. Fishermen of this era constituted an independent and insular community, governed by an entirely different way of life and code of conduct. Compelling them to pay fishing taxes was straightforward—the rules were self-evident. Persuading them to join an organization and embrace joint-stock cooperation proved far more difficult. Consequently, the fishery cooperative advanced with considerable difficulty. Initially, only fishermen near Bopu and Maniao were integrated. In 1630, the second counter-encirclement battle erupted, and fishery cooperative work was temporarily suspended. It resumed only after the joint fishery work meeting.

Riding momentum from the great victory in the second counter-encirclement and the demonstrative effect of the Navy's direct fishing fleet's modern gear, the fishery cooperative promotion proceeded far more smoothly. By the end of 1630, the Tiandihui-managed fishery cooperative had already brought more than eighty percent of Lingao's fishermen under its umbrella. They pooled funds to purchase several new, larger fishing vessels.

(End of Chapter)