Chapter 908 – Special Propaganda
"It's fine. The Grand Library already deleted all the passages tying the Ming Cult to the founding of the Great Ming. That subplot doesn't amount to much. Every reference to Zhu Yuanzhang has been modified as well—there shouldn't be anything taboo." Zhao Yingong paused. "The only issue is that the plot becomes somewhat disjointed. Reads rather strangely in places."
Zhou Dongtian nodded. Exporting books to the Great Ming wasn't primarily about profit—it served the needs of external propaganda. The goal was to export new views on science, new values, new cultural concepts; to promote the "Australian way of life"; to unsettle the thinking of Ming commoners and intellectuals; and to engineer, subtly and gradually, a kind of "peaceful evolution." Even if this approach couldn't transform society wholesale, it would at least plant seeds of "pro-Australian" sentiment in certain minds. It would cultivate a corps of "guides"—people who would help lead the way—and reduce resistance to future reforms.
But exporting books raised thorny questions about the social and historical backgrounds embedded in literary works, and about technology diffusion in popular science publications. Zhou Dongtian knew there had been fierce debates within the Senate over precisely what kinds of scientific and technical books to export—and which technologies must remain restricted secrets. Some transmigrators believed no technology whatsoever should be exported; others argued that disseminating basic scientific knowledge would actually advance the Great Cause.
Zhou Dongtian sided with the latter camp. European missionaries were currently laboring to attract discerning minds within the Ming by exporting European science and culture. By comparison, Australian goods were mostly regarded as "clever novelties." Many people had shown keen interest in Australian science and culture, which clearly surpassed even Western learning. To keep everything secret out of fear of some vague future "threat" would only shut these curious minds out.
He certainly didn't advocate indiscriminate technology diffusion, but spreading basic scientific knowledge posed no real danger. Take Elementary Optics, printed for this round of exports: to transmigrators, it was elementary fare, simple and accessible. But in this timeline, it represented absolutely cutting-edge knowledge. This popular science book had been written for "urban and rural readers with middle-school education" in the old timeline—and such readers were exceedingly rare in the seventeenth century, if not virtually nonexistent.
Zhou Dongtian supported printing and selling more such popular science titles. Many of the popular science series and agricultural technology books compiled in the 1960s and 70s for rural youth and educated youth could be published and distributed in the Ming. Even if their ultimate fate was to be treated as some kind of "esoteric text" and hidden away in private libraries.
Under current conditions, disseminating simple knowledge and techniques posed absolutely no threat to the Senate. Given the material constraints of agricultural society, much of the disseminated knowledge had no practical applicability whatsoever—the social environment simply couldn't implement it. On the contrary, such knowledge would lead many interested researchers to discover that the only place where they could truly realize their ambitions was Lingao.
As for techniques that could be applied in the current social environment—scientific farming and animal husbandry methods, for instance—these only benefited Lingao anyway. The Senate had a voracious demand for agricultural products. Improving Ming agricultural techniques, from this perspective, was entirely advantageous.
Limited technology export, extensive cultural export—this was the dissemination strategy the Senate had established.
"Once this batch of books sells out, there'll probably be more demand," Zhou Dongtian said with a laugh. "I think manga will have tremendous impact. Though there's only so much Jin Yong we can pirate. Better to move on to Liang Yusheng, Chen Qingyun, and the rest. Oh, and Huanzhu Louzhu too—sword-immortal novels should be even more to Ming tastes, don't you think?"
The two discussed the publishing enterprise's next steps. Zhou Dongtian and his group of transmigrators would soon be returning to Lingao. He planned to continue this cultural-invasion project there.
"The next batch will be the transmigrators executing Operation Engine. Your place is becoming quite the thoroughfare. You'll have your work cut out for you."
"That's my job," said Zhao Yingong. "This batch, I plan to accommodate at Phoenix Hill Villa. Unless absolutely necessary, I won't arrange for them to enter Hangzhou proper. Once Zhang Dai spreads the word, Qinghefang is going to become a bustling cultural salon. Better if transmigrators keep a low profile."
"Of course, of course. Have you built up your underground organization yet?"
Zhao Yingong was momentarily confused, then understood. Zhou Dongtian meant a secret organization with no connection to his public identity or the Shanhai merchant network.
"The Black Dragon Society system? I haven't started on that yet—it's rather dangerous work. You need powerful local operatives for it to function effectively," Zhao Yingong said. "If the people are too capable, they become hard to control; if they lack ruthlessness, they're useless." He asked in turn: "Do you have any ideas?"
"A few days ago, I received a telegram from Lingao."
Zhao Yingong nodded. The Hangzhou station's radio had received the telegram, but it was encrypted with another department's cipher. He didn't know its contents—only the header indicated it was for Zhou Dongtian.
"Actually, it's quite straightforward. It concerns 'special propaganda'..." Zhou Dongtian stroked his beard. So-called "special propaganda" was a euphemism invented by Zhao Manxiong—essentially code for "spreading rumors to deceive the public."
"Special propaganda" work had begun in Guangzhou following the Second Counter-Encirclement victory. The Guangzhou station had distributed large quantities of "special propaganda" pamphlets, using sensational stories and various "truths" to undermine the foundations of Ming society.
Experience had proven that sex and politics were content the masses always loved to hear. Though such propaganda couldn't change realities in the short term, the flood of "truths" following mass pamphlet distribution demonstrated the technique's effectiveness. A defining characteristic of agricultural society was that information spread mainly by word of mouth—the more sensational and explosive the news, the faster it traveled. Neither officials nor the gentry class possessed sufficient means to refute rumors. Often they could only wait for rumors to fade on their own.
But this kind of dissemination required a secret organization to carry it out. "Public figures" like Zhao Yingong couldn't become directly involved. Any incident would destroy the Hangzhou station's foundations. Hence, organizations like the "Black Dragon Society"—dedicated to grassroots work—were essential.
Zhao Yingong planned to use the Zhejiang drought of 1631-1632 as an opportunity. During the social disorder it would bring, he would establish a Black Dragon Society underground network. Of course, the actual organizational personnel would be sent from Lingao. The Hangzhou station would maintain only single-line contact with this network.
"The pamphlets can be printed at my place. I'm planning to set up a small printing shop at Phoenix Hill Villa, staffed by a few woodblock-printing craftsmen. Have couriers bring the source materials; I'll print them and secretly ship them out for the Black Dragon Society to distribute. What do you think?"
"That sounds good." Zhou Dongtian smiled. "I know the Publishing Guidance Group has concocted all sorts of outlandish material—basically a blend of sex, politics, and lies. I've read a few. Quite creative, really..."
"Oh? Who wrote them?" Zhao Yingong's curiosity was piqued. Before his departure, he'd seen a few of these so-called "truth pamphlets" at the Foreign Intelligence Bureau. They were quite skillfully crafted.
"A fellow named Zhang Haogu," said Zhou Dongtian. "You don't know him? He currently holds the title of Director of the Truth Office at the Grand Library. All the books you sell in the Ming have been reviewed and edited under his supervision."
"Zhang Haogu? The name sounds very familiar, but I can't quite place him..."
"Achoo!" Zhang Haogu unleashed a tremendous sneeze. He fished out a handkerchief and wiped his nose—Lingao didn't have the luxury of tissue paper. The only mass-produced hygiene paper consisted of rough toilet paper and sanitary napkins for medical institutions and women. Cotton handkerchiefs, long vanished from daily life in the old timeline, had reappeared among the transmigrators. Not that they minded—the maids washed their clothes and handkerchiefs every day anyway.
He regarded the manuscript paper before him, densely covered with writing. Zhang Haogu had his own computer, but to preserve its lifespan, he only used it for particularly important tasks—"find-replace" operations, keyword searches, and the like.
"Almost finished at last." He stretched lazily and flexed his sore wrists. On the rosewood desk lay thick stacks of manuscript paper and a pile of worn dip-pen nibs—under regulations, these had to be returned to stores before new ones could be drawn. An exquisitely crafted inkwell, European goods purchased from Macau, completed the arrangement.
Zhang Haogu picked up the manuscript from his desk. The cover bore several large characters: Memoirs of an Imperial Medical Academy Physician. The manuscript was thick—approximately three hundred thousand characters—and had cost him considerable effort. To write this book, he'd specifically consulted Liu San on numerous questions, ensuring the Chinese medicine concepts in the text were accurate.
Zhang Haogu was a transmigrator with a background in literature, history, and philosophy—a specialty that made gaining the Senate's esteem difficult. He'd been coasting at the Grand Library for some time.
But he'd carved out his own niche. He'd submitted a memorial to the Executive Committee specifically addressing historical issues, proposing that from now on, there should be systematic efforts to "create history" and "control history." He proposed naming this department the "Ministry of Truth," to signify that truth from ancient times to the present was held in the Senate's hands.
The proposal received "high attention" from the Executive Committee, and Zhang Haogu was given the newly created position of Director of the Truth Office. But once he assumed his duties, he discovered that his main job was working for the "Publishing Guidance Group." This ad-hoc body—composed of Cultural Department representative Ding Ding, Grand Library representative Yu Eshui, and printing plant director Zhou Dongtian—needed to compile and publish large quantities of books and pamphlets. These required "disinfection"—removal of inappropriate content—and Zhang Haogu, having volunteered himself, became the perfect labor force.