Chapter 1921 - History of the Senate

The Guangzhou Municipal Administrative School found its home within the Tribute Courtyard. North of the "Heaven Opens Literary Fortune" archway lay the Public Hall Area—a cluster of buildings centered on the Hall of Ultimate Impartiality—and now, all were pressed into service. Besides the infamous examination cells themselves, every usable structure had been commandeered.

For convenient access, the school adopted the original north gate as its main entrance. Yuan Shuzhi and the others found themselves following a bewildering circuit of directional signs before finally locating it.

The buildings offered substantial space, but precious little of it was actually suitable. Every structure bore the weight of more than a century—leaking roofs, moldy walls, and the persistent odor of decay. By Senate standards, they were barely passable, but necessity made even dilapidated halls into classrooms.

Still, running training programs was not unprecedented. The Police Training School had blazed the trail. The administrators simply transferred a third of the Police Academy's staff to form the new school's administrative core, copied the regulations wholesale with minor modifications, and Zhang Yunmi found himself an administrator without much effort.

Of the 1,899 examinees, 501 advanced to the interview stage. With the urgent need for personnel, standards remained lenient. Few were eliminated during interviews, and after political review and physical examination, 456 students ultimately enrolled.

The cohort ranged widely in age. Yuan Shuzhi, in his early fifties, was not even the oldest—someone with expertise in astronomy claimed that distinction.

Though the curriculum emphasized physical training and military-style management, the reality of the student body required adjustment. Most came from urban petit-bourgeois backgrounds, and many were older with less than optimal health. There would be no intensive military drills at the outset. First came medical triage. Students were grouped according to their physical examination results, and those with scabies infection—by far the largest category—received urgent treatment.

Based on Lin Motian's experience, many maladies stemmed from poor sanitation and chronic malnutrition. The first step was straightforward: cure the illnesses, cultivate hygiene habits, and improve diet to strengthen bodies.

The training program followed a closed format, with all meals provided by the school according to strict nutritional standards. Meat, eggs, fish, vegetables—everything was amply supplied.

"This treatment is probably rare even among naturalized citizens," Zhang Yunmi remarked. Nutritious meals had been provided to the Engine Operation refugees as well, but those were people pulled from the brink of starvation—quite different from these scholars.

"If we don't build up their health first, forget running drills—they'll doze off during lectures," Lin Motian countered. "They're different from farmers. Their families supported them through years of study. They never experienced the tempering of manual labor. Their bodies were broken down by endless hours bent over classical texts."

For those deemed healthy enough, military training came first. This would establish obedience and team spirit while conditioning their bodies for the grueling work ahead. Senate civil servants did not enjoy nine-to-five schedules. Seven days a week, twelve hours a day—that was commonplace.

The training curricula were compiled by each department individually. The guiding philosophy centered on practical operations rather than theory—procedures and document formats took precedence over abstract principles. Traditional clerks had dominated government affairs for precisely this reason: they knew the procedures and the formats. Elders with civil service backgrounds from their old lives agreed unanimously. Grassroots civil servants needed to "follow established procedures." Decision-making was the province of higher-level cadres.

The unified core textbooks covered three areas: basic cultural courses, general knowledge, and ideological-political education.

Basic cultural courses meant replacing the students' ingrained writing habits with simplified characters and vernacular Chinese. Since Ming-era vernacular differed considerably from its modern counterpart, thorough re-education was necessary. General knowledge—simple natural science and hygiene—would be a long-term project, taught in increments.

Ideological-political education, however, was complex and had sparked considerable debate. It required explaining the Senate's "national polity," its "origins," and its "founding principles." The Truth Office had gone through years of revision and rounds of Senate debate before finalizing the official narrative.

Since this concerned the very foundations of national legitimacy, the upper echelons had issued clear instructions: material on the "Great Song Australian Temporary Court" origins should be "broad rather than detailed," avoiding specifics that might prove difficult to reconcile with future revelations.

By contrast, for post-D-Day history and policies, the Truth Office was instructed to "write extensively" to demonstrate both "political correctness" and the "Mandate of Heaven." Three cardinal points were emphasized relentlessly: First, the Senate was the "sole representative" of the Huaxia people's interests. Second, the descent of the Elders had saved Huaxia from existential annihilation. Third, the Senate stood as the world's "beacon," representing the most advanced productive forces, the most enlightened systems, and the most sophisticated culture. As the official motto declared: "Had Heaven not sent the Sacred Ships, all ages would remain endless night."

The Senate's legal succession derived from the Great Song. This was not the rise of a new dynasty, but the return of rightful kings from exile. The dynasties that had ruled after Song—Yuan and Ming—were not recognized as legitimate. The Mongol Yuan was denigrated as "false," a barbarian usurpation. The Ming was treated as mere "usurpers," caretakers of a throne not rightfully theirs.

However, the differences between this Song and that Song had to be made unmistakably clear. If the Great Song succession were overemphasized, it would dilute Senate authority and create exploitable openings for ambitious pretenders claiming descent from ancient bloodlines. Therefore, the Truth Office compiled an official history:

March 19, 1279: The Battle of Yamen ended in catastrophic defeat. Lu Xiufu, the last loyal minister, carried the eight-year-old Emperor Bing into the sea. The Southern Song fell.

September 1279: The Southern Song remnants sailed for six months through uncharted waters before entering a gigantic maelstrom in the South Seas. After days of violent storms and capsizing waves, they emerged into brilliant sunshine over unknown waters. They landed on a verdant, uninhabited island and named it "Australia."

January 1, 1280: The exile government established its capital on this distant shore—the "Great Song Australian Temporary Court." A new emperor was enthroned.

Through fortuitous circumstances and relentless toil, the Great Song achieved tremendous development in its antipodean refuge. After more than a century, productive forces had increased dramatically. Contradictions between the emerging capitalists and military nobility on one side, and the old landlords and traditional aristocracy on the other, became irreconcilable. This sparked the First Civil War. When the dust settled, the emperor issued a self-criticism edict and established the Senate, incorporating the commercial and military elites into the ruling power structure.

Decades later, contradictions between the emperor's faction and the Senate itself triggered the Second Civil War. This conflict ended in the complete and final defeat of the imperial faction. The Great Song name was preserved for the sake of continuity, but the emperor became a mere figurehead with only ritual authority. All substantive power now belonged to the Senate.

While these tumultuous events unfolded, the Australians expanded across the vast landmass and established colonies far and wide across the southern hemisphere.

Exploration ships periodically attempted to return north, but none could break through the maelstrom. Every few decades, however, wrecked vessels from the maelstrom's far side drifted through—bearing passengers of various ethnicities: Portuguese, Dutch, Japanese, and others. The descendants of these castaways formed Australia's multicultural population.

The Sacred Ships were a carefully planned expedition, launched only after astronomical observations revealed that the maelstrom could be safely traversed at certain times. Considering that the voyagers might never return, the ships were fully stocked with provisions, tools, and knowledge. All passengers were granted the title of Elder before departure—a recognition of their sacrifice and authority.

The Truth Office had invented this maelstrom narrative deliberately, intending it as a veiled hint at a wormhole, comprehensible only to those with the conceptual framework to grasp it. Since Australia bore no traces of prior civilization, fabricating a nonexistent maelstrom—one that could be interpreted however future circumstances required—would facilitate ongoing narrative adjustments.

(End of Chapter)