Chapter 935 – The Delegation's Multitudes

"Didn't the plan say the refugee bases would be on Jeju and Taiwan?" Liu San interjected. As a member of the Senate, he had already seen the general outline of the entire plan on the internal BBS. Before boarding, he had also read the mission brief for the Haitian's voyage.

Zhao Yingong explained: the refugee bases on Jeju and Taiwan were real, but a forward base in Shandong was also needed—a collection and transit point for refugees and a base for the work teams.

Through the Hangzhou Catholic Church, they had already established a connection with Sun Yuanhua. With his support, setting up a fortified settlement in the Deng-Lai area under the guise of land reclamation posed no problem.

The base didn't need to be very large. If it were too large, it would necessitate a garrison, which would further squeeze the Planning Commission's resources earmarked for Operation Engine. So the base had to remain modest, relying as much as possible on local Shandong resources—including population and building materials.

After Operation Engine concluded, the Shandong base could be kept or abandoned depending on circumstances. Zhao Yingong was inclined to find a way to keep it as a foothold for the future Shandong strategy.

"If possible, there's nothing wrong with placing one or two transmigrators in Shandong as local strongmen and landlords," Zhao Yingong said. "Whether for agriculture, fishing, or commerce, the Shandong coast has potential."

While Zhao Yingong conversed animatedly with Li Ziping and the others in the stern cabin, on the forecastle the other members of the delegation were on tenterhooks. Most had come to the "black-smoke-belching ship" most unwillingly, purely out of compulsion. Several who looked like merchants sat hunched and huddled on the temporary benches provided for them, minds churning over how much silver this "seeing off the god of plague" mission would cost them. The tea and snacks set out on the folding table remained untouched.

The only one keeping his composure was Zhao Tong. As Zhao Yingong's bodyguard, he of course knew of his master's unusual relationship with the Australians.

Gao Xuan sat carefully on his stool, eyeing the tea and snacks on the table, involuntarily swallowing. This poor scholar had come aboard purely as a matter of business—he was substituting for someone else. It wasn't that he admired Australian culture and wanted close contact; rather, a clerk in the delegation had been unwilling to risk facing the "Australians" and had paid four taels of silver for Gao Xuan to take his place.

Gao Xuan's poverty had crushed his pride. With his family on the verge of starvation, he had to accept the money. At least the task wasn't troublesome—just tagging along with the crowd.

"Just follow Master Zhao's lead," the clerk who paid the silver had instructed him. "Once you're off the ship, you can go your own way. No need to worry about the rest."

Once aboard, when Master Zhao was taken into a cabin separately, they had been left on deck with a few sailors looking after them. The sailors seemed friendly enough and could speak Chinese. But on this deck, armed soldiers were everywhere—each clad in blue and white short jackets, carrying bird-guns with a murderous air, looking as if they faced a great enemy. Everyone's heart was in their throat. Who had appetite for tea and snacks?

But Gao Xuan hadn't eaten anything since early morning. His so-called breakfast had been buckwheat pot scrapings from the bottom of the pot, cooked with a bit of water. His family had been out of rice for several days, barely scraping by on miscellaneous grains bought with help from his father-in-law and brother-in-law.

Now, seeing plenty of snacks before him—actually just ship-supplied transmigrator-exclusive fancy biscuits: butter cookies, wafer cookies, jackfruit cookies, and savory soda crackers—he felt his resolve weaken.

The accompanying beverage was kombucha. Kvass had carbonation and was still fermenting, making it unsuitable for long-term shipboard storage.

Finally, he couldn't resist picking up a white, oblong-shaped pastry that looked like puff pastry. He took a bite. A sweet flavor, almost cloyingly rich, immediately spread through his mouth. But just as he wanted to savor it, the biscuit had vanished.

This peculiar sensation immediately stimulated his stomach. His empty gut launched a great protest, and one after another the various biscuits made their way into his belly. At first, Gao Xuan still paid some attention to saving face, but seeing that everyone else had no appetite, physiological need finally overcame psychological restraint. He helped himself shamelessly and in no time wolfed down all the assorted biscuits like a whirlwind. Then he drank two cups of kombucha in one go.

"This gentleman certainly has a good appetite." The man sitting opposite him was a Huizhou merchant—head of the local tea guild. Tea was a major trade in Hangzhou, and since the tea guild had money, many expenses naturally fell on their shoulders. The cost of getting this ship to hurry up and leave was, of course, charged to the guild. Seeing this sham-substitute sour scholar eat and drink with such gusto without a care in the world, the guild head was quite displeased and muttered under his breath: "Glutton!"

Gao Xuan's face reddened, but he put up a bold front. "Since we've boarded this ship, aren't we at their mercy? Rather than sit around worrying, better to eat and drink in peace!"

The guild head gave a cold laugh and said nothing more. He was no match for scholars in a battle of wits, but deep down he looked with contempt on these "sour scholars" who couldn't pass the exams. He gazed around the deck—what a peculiar deck: ropes, sails, and all sorts of equipment he didn't recognize everywhere. At first glance, it looked chaotic, but on closer inspection everything was orderly. Sailors each had their duties and didn't wander randomly; no one chatted idly. Very disciplined indeed.

"A fierce band of brigands indeed," he thought, breaking into a cold sweat. Would they discover he was owner of the tea house and hold him for ransom?

Having filled his belly, Gao Xuan actually relaxed. He was a penniless poor scholar with no ties or worries. Instead, he began curiously observing the Haitian. What interested him most was that big black smokestack on the pedestal in the middle of the deck. It seemed to puff black smoke non-stop, and from time to time also emitted white steam.

Regarding this black smokestack, the city had been buzzing with speculation for days. Some said it was the Australians' black magic—the smokestack was for sacrificing to their god, and the black smoke was some kind of exotic overseas incense. Others said there was a huge furnace beneath the smokestack, constantly burning, using fire to propel the ship. This latter view was mocked by many: how could a great wooden ship carry a large furnace burning fire day after day without catching fire itself? As for fire driving a boat, that was unheard of. Still others speculated there were draft animals below deck pushing waterwheels...

Gao Xuan was also very curious. But even though he now sat only about thirty yards from that huge smokestack, he couldn't make out the mechanism. One thing he was certain of: the smoke coming from it was definitely not smoke from any "overseas exotic incense," but unmistakably coal smoke. There really must be a big furnace underneath.

He very much wanted to go take a closer look, but didn't dare. What if it were some kind of "military state secret" and he lost his head for getting too close? So his gaze fell instead on the cannon right nearby.

The 48-pounder carronade on the forecastle deck wasn't covered. The precision cast-iron barrel pointed straight at Hangzhou city, its body polished to a gleam. Gao Xuan noticed the cannon was mounted on a peculiar gun carriage. There were no wheels beneath the carriage, but rather two black iron rails, already worn shiny from friction. Beside the gun barrel on the ship's railing, a row of round black cannonballs was slotted into a long trough. Everything looked well-organized.

Like all late-Ming Confucian scholars, Gao Xuan had a keen interest in "investigating things," "firearms," and "military science"—this was related to the social and historical context of the time. Continuous military setbacks had led the court, high and low, to place great hope in developing or introducing new weapons to turn the tide. During this period, not only was there a surge in paper firearms development, but all kinds of "new tactics" appeared: "javelin tactics to defeat the enemy," "weighted club tactics to defeat the enemy"... A great variety, too many to count.

Like all similar Ming "military enthusiasts," Gao Xuan was high on theory but low on skill, possessing no technical knowledge or practical experience whatsoever—pure armchair theorizing. At Wanbi Bookshop, he had tried to find Australian military texts to gain an edge, but the bookshop had none. Now, seeing this "precision" Australian cannon right before his eyes, of course he had to take a good long look.

Suddenly someone shouted: "Bearing 105, contact!"

At this shout, the several sailors standing by the cannon leapt to their positions, turned the gun, and aimed it toward the direction indicated by the lookout's warning.

More than the gun's size, what astonished Gao Xuan was how quickly it could be turned—four or five gunners moved it as if it weighed nothing, clearly without great effort. Nor did it make any horrible creaking sounds. This amazed everyone present.

Gao Xuan knew that making something turn wasn't hard—doors, wheels, grindstones... Just fit a round axle. But when the thing on top was too heavy, turning it became not so easy, and might even prove impossible.

What secret did the base beneath the Australians' cannon hide? Gao Xuan stared hard at the base, hoping to discern some clue. Maybe he could write about it in a book; maybe some great lord would take notice and recruit him into his staff. With a great lord's help, passing the provincial examination would be no problem. Play things right and he could score an official post in a few years, making his father-in-law look at him with new eyes, making his brother-in-law kneel respectfully before him to pay respects—that shop assistant currently had no respect for him at all, and his manner was quite rude!

The sailors didn't know what calculations Scholar Gao was making in his head. They were simply watching the threat on the riverbank with nervous tension. After a while, the alert was lifted. What the lookout had seen was three ox-carts—not hauling cannons, but rather the Hangzhou government's "farewell gift" being brought up to the ship.