Chapter 1359 - The Silkworm House

Li Yao'er found herself quite interested in this contemporary woman from another time-space, and rather liked her. Wang Siniang was far livelier than other women her age she had met, and quite pretty—rare even among the naturalized women of Lingao. And Wang Siniang had been constantly flattering her—everyone enjoyed being praised.

Having settled on this location for the silkworm-rearing facility, the main matter was resolved. Li Yao'er grew curious and wanted to chat with Wang Siniang. Besides, Zhao Yingong had mentioned that Wang Siniang was an experienced hand at sericulture and silk-reeling—someone the Hangzhou Station and Agricultural Committee intended to cultivate intensively. For this sericulture assignment, Zhao Yingong had specifically arranged for Wang Siniang to work under her.

"How old are you, Sister-in-Law Fourth?"

"This slave is thirty..." Wang Siniang said, then laughed self-deprecatingly. "Getting old." Yet as she spoke, she unconsciously touched the flower at her temple, exuding a natural coquettishness that even Li Yao'er found charming.

"Old? Hardly. You're in the bloom of youth."

Wang Siniang suddenly realized that Miss Li before her was probably not much younger than herself. Speaking this way seemed somewhat forward. Her face reddened, and she dared not say more.

Li Yao'er wasn't nearly so self-conscious. She asked about Wang Siniang's family situation, and Wang Siniang held nothing back, explaining everything. But when they came to her eldest daughter having grown up while the master neither assigned her duties nor permitted her to marry—that worried her.

"How old is your eldest daughter?"

"Already fifteen," Wang Siniang said. "When I was fifteen, I was about to become a mother."

Li Yao'er thought back to herself at fifteen. She certainly hadn't felt capable of being anyone's wife, let alone a mother. This time-space is terrifying.

"She's not that old. Why the rush to marry? Isn't studying at the charity school worthwhile?"

"Just studying, no work assignment, no wages—she simply lives off her parents' wages." Wang Siniang smiled wryly. "Before we joined the household, she was quite a useful helper around the farm. Now all work assignments come from the Management Office. Even if I wanted her help, there's no work for her."

Li Yao'er nodded. "Does your daughter know sericulture?"

"Of course! When we raised silkworms at home, I had her working alongside me. She knows not just rearing but reeling too. Her reeling skills were well-known in our village." Sensing Miss Li's interest in employing her daughter, Wang Siniang's spirits rose at once, and she began to boast enthusiastically.

"That's settled then. Once the silkworm facility is up and running, have her come work."

"Thank you for your kindness, Miss!" Wang Siniang was so delighted she curtsied several times. As the master's personal attendant, Miss Li's words carried weight!

"Don't you have two other daughters? How old is the second?"

"Twelve—not so little herself."

"Then have her come too. I need workers." Li Yao'er wasn't just putting on airs; the Agricultural Committee's plan included a sericulture training class at Phoenix Mountain Estate. The children in Zhao Yingong's charity school had been educated for over a year in some cases, several months at minimum—they could serve as the first batch of trainees and systematically learn modern sericulture techniques.

Hearing that her second daughter's position was also secured, Wang Siniang was over the moon. If not for the wild setting, she would have liked nothing better than to kneel and kowtow to Miss Li several times. She thanked her profusely.

"What are your two daughters' names?"

"Eldest and Second."

"How careless." Li Yao'er muttered. The whole family had names that were just numbers. After a moment's thought, she said, "I'll give them proper names. The eldest shall be called Shen Su, and the second Shen Hang."

The two earliest schools that introduced modern sericulture reform to rural China were the Sericulture Technical School at Hushuaguan in Suzhou and the Hangzhou Sericulture Technical School by West Lake. Naming the two girls after these places expressed Li Yao'er's hopes for them.

Returning from the mountain, Li Yao'er immediately threw herself into constructing the silkworm-rearing facility. The general plan was already in place, but specific design required adapting to the actual terrain. Fortunately, such buildings weren't complex—just a matter of remembering a few key points. As for construction, the estate's building projects were so demanding and unique that hiring local carpenters had become impractical. Zhao Yingong had formed a dedicated construction team around a core of naturalized workers brought from Lingao's Construction General Company.

First, a dedicated road was laid to the site. Road-building was routine for Phoenix Mountain Estate's engineering team—when there were no specific construction tasks, their only job was road-building, creating an internal network linking the various work sites on the mountain and accelerating the flow of personnel and materials.

The silkworm facility was built to 1970s Chinese standards—simple construction with easily sourced materials. All the silkworm houses at Phoenix Mountain Estate were single-story buildings oriented north-south, but angled five degrees west to avoid the scorching "west-facing sun" while allowing some northern breeze in—beneficial for temperature control and laying the groundwork for year-round sericulture. Large trees around the silkworm houses provided shade, slowing the rapid temperature rise from direct sun exposure. This was especially important in summer.

The buildings naturally featured southern-style peaked roofs for drainage. Besides large windows in both north and south walls, they resembled local dwellings in appearance: the same whitewashed walls and black tiles.

The silkworm houses were continuous rows of single-story buildings, partitioned at 4.5-meter intervals. This width was exactly right for a row of silkworm racks on each side with a 1.5-meter central aisle. The depth was 12 meters, accommodating eight or nine rows of silkworm trays. The usable ceiling height was 4 meters, allowing for ten to twelve layers of racks.

The dimensions had been carefully considered. Rooms too small were uneconomical to build and use; rooms too large made climate control difficult. These proportions represented decades of accumulated experience from Chinese sericulturists since the twentieth century.

The building materials were exacting: all brick-and-tile construction. Outer walls and internal partitions were all brick—no wood, to prevent mice from gnawing holes. The foundation used dressed stone and sanhetu morite, raised slightly above ground level. Floors and walls were coated with cement for easy maintenance and disinfection. Southern-style peaked tile-roofed houses typically didn't install ceilings, leaving beams and rafters exposed for ventilation. But all the silkworm houses had ceilings installed—partly to prevent dust from falling, partly for better insulation.

Front and rear windows were multi-paned glass. Depending on humidity and temperature inside the silkworm room, different numbers of panes could be opened to adjust ventilation. But too many windows would make lighting too intense, so adjustable louvered shutters were also installed to regulate light levels.

Outside the windows, protruding iron security bars were installed. Inside, two layers of wire mesh were fitted—one with larger holes to keep out mice, another finer mesh to exclude mosquitoes and flies. Both rodents and flying insects were major pests in sericulture and had to be strictly guarded against. The security bars served to prevent theft of silkworm eggs. This time, the Hangzhou Station would be introducing multiple premium silkworm varieties for breeding; once successful, they would inevitably attract covetous eyes. Precautions had to be taken.

These preventive measures extended to all doors leading outside as well.

Beyond the silkworm rooms, separate mulberry-leaf storage rooms were built to preserve leaves. The storage facility was built apart because its requirements differed completely from the silkworm rooms—it required low temperature, dampness, and dim lighting. Thus, it was built against a hillside amid lush trees, with smaller windows in the walls.

The most important component was the incubation room. "Incubation" referred to hatching silkworm eggs. This was the most technically difficult aspect of sericulture; the quality of incubation often affected hatching rates and the constitution of hatchlings. Good incubation meant high hatching rates and strong young silkworms—not only more numerous but also more resistant to disease.

The incubation room was the most expensive component and required the most exacting construction. Beyond being brick-and-tile, the interior walls were additionally fitted with insulation materials. Inside were copper-pipe systems that could raise or lower temperatures by circulating boiling water from a small boiler or cold well water—primitive air conditioning. Primitive humidification equipment was also installed to maintain proper humidity levels.

The incubation room Li Yao'er was building at Phoenix Mountain Estate was quite large—far exceeding the estate's own silkworm-rearing needs. It was also equipped with a simple silkworm-egg dissection room, fitted with a low-power microscope manufactured by Lingao Optical Works and various specialized equipment. This elaborate setup served the "centralized incubation" concept included in the Agricultural Committee's cooperative plan for Hangzhou.

Traditional Chinese farm sericulture had households incubating their own eggs, typically with women wrapping the eggs in thin cotton paper and holding them against their chests for warmth. This relied on stable human body temperature for hatching. Efficiency was low, manpower consumption high, and incubation quality uncontrollable.

Thus, starting in the early twentieth century, Chinese sericulture reformers had all proposed "centralized incubation"—concentrating the most technically difficult and error-prone process in professional facilities. This not only ensured higher hatching rates and quality but also freed farmers for other work, dramatically reducing labor requirements.

Unified breeding and centralized incubation—these were the main measures of twentieth-century Chinese sericulture reform. Costs were modest, but results were significant. The Agricultural Committee's planned sericulture reforms for both Jiangnan and Guangdong would begin with these two approaches.

Li Yao'er herself wasn't a sericulture specialist. But she had received relevant professional training at the Agricultural Committee, supplemented by several technical reference books—more than enough technological reserve for this time-space.