Chapter 8: Taiwan or Hainan

Where to establish their new world? The question was not just about location; it was about their very survival.

A good start is half the battle. The transmigrators, many of whom were gamers, knew the importance of a good starting base. For them, the ideal location had to meet several criteria:

1. A solid agricultural foundation to ensure a stable food supply.
2. A sufficient population to provide labor for future industrialization.
3. Rich natural resources to fuel their industrial ambitions.
4. A coastal location with a port for maritime trade, the easiest path to wealth in this era.
5. A location outside the core territory of the Ming Dynasty, to avoid attracting a massive military response.
6. A location not strategically contested by major powers like the Later Jin, Li Zicheng, or Zhang Xianzhong.
7. A defensible location with natural barriers like mountains, rivers, or the sea.

In the world they were entering, few places met all these conditions.

The question was put to the online community for a brainstorming session. The proposals focused on three main locations: Taiwan, Hainan, and Australia.

Australia, though popular, was quickly dismissed. It was simply not feasible to transport several hundred people and their equipment across the ocean.

Taiwan was a hot topic. Its geographical location, natural resources, and development potential were all excellent. The island was a power vacuum, with no Ming government presence and only a few isolated Dutch and Spanish forts. But tropical diseases, especially malaria, were rampant. The island was also sparsely populated and underdeveloped, making large-scale construction impossible without a significant labor force.

Hainan, by comparison, was a much more attractive option. It had been developing since the Six Dynasties and, by the late Ming, was a bustling southern prefecture with hundreds of thousands of registered households. The Han Chinese population alone was over 400,000, providing an abundant source of labor. Agriculturally, the island boasted over 4.1 million mu of cultivated land.

Even more importantly, Hainan’s natural resources were not only abundant but also diverse, making it ideal for industrialization. The island had 88 different types of minerals, 67 of which were commercially viable. Gold, rich iron ore, ilmenite, and zircon were all plentiful.

The key to pre-industrial power was coal and iron. Hainan was home to one of China’s few large-scale, high-grade iron ore deposits—the Shilu Iron Mine. The ore had an average iron content of 51%, with reserves of 400 million tons. And it was an open-pit mine, easily accessible without the need for costly tunnels.

Hainan’s coal was low-quality lignite, but across the Gulf of Tonkin lay Vietnam’s Quang Ninh Hong Gai coal mine, with 200 million tons of open-pit reserves and billions more underground. The mine was close to the coast, making sea transportation a breeze.

With coal and iron, they could produce steel. With steel, they could mechanize their industries and mass-produce goods. An ancient society, for all its artistic achievements, could not compete with the tide of industrial production.

But Hainan had its drawbacks. It was too close to the mainland. The Ming government’s control over the island was strong, and they would not easily relinquish such a valuable prefecture. The transmigrators would face an immediate and overwhelming military response.

The island also had a long history of conflict between the Han and the indigenous Li people. Uprisings were common. And piracy was rampant. The South China Sea was a battleground for various Chinese and foreign sea merchants and pirates, and Hainan, a major maritime hub, was a frequent target. The transmigrators, with their modern tools and supplies, would be a tempting prize.

Hainan had a better foundation than Taiwan, but it would also face much greater pressure.

“In that case, let’s choose Taiwan,” someone suggested in the online meeting. “We can bring quinine for the malaria and plant cinchona trees. As for the population, we can lure refugees from the mainland with the promise of food and land.”

“Transporting a few hundred thousand people isn’t as easy as you think,” another voice shot back. “What will you use for transport?”

“Ships, of course. We can transmigrate with a ten-thousand-ton ship, fully loaded. We’ll be a maritime hegemon. We won’t even need cannons. We can just ram anyone who gets in our way.”

“And what will you use for fuel? Alcohol? Charcoal?”

“We can build our own ships. Taiwan has plenty of timber.”

“And where will you get the sailors?”

“We can train them. Hire foreign instructors in Macau.”

“What a joke. Did Koxinga’s ships all have foreign crews? I can’t stand you people who worship everything foreign.”

“Can cinchona trees even grow in Taiwan?”

“If you say that, then rubber trees shouldn’t be able to grow on the Leizhou Peninsula, but they do.”

“I’m talking about Taiwan. Are the Leizhou Peninsula and Taiwan on the same latitude?!”

…

The discussion devolved into a heated debate about the size of treasure ships, the efficacy of artemisinin, and whether Traditional Chinese Medicine was a pseudoscience. Wen Desi quickly intervened, and Xiao Zishan took the floor.

“I think Hainan is more suitable,” he said, his voice calm and measured. He had been silent until now, listening to the arguments and organizing his thoughts.

“Why Hainan? Let’s look at our criteria. On several key points, Taiwan is far inferior.

“First, agriculture. Taiwan’s agricultural development didn’t really begin until Koxinga took the island in the mid-17th century. In 1628, it has virtually no agriculture to speak of. Hainan, on the other hand, has at least 3.8 million mu of cultivated land and dozens of established water conservancy projects. And that’s just what’s on the books.

“Second, population. In 1628, Taiwan has very few Han immigrants. Our industrial and agricultural ambitions will require a massive labor force. We would have to import immigrants from the very beginning—a complex and arduous task that we are simply not equipped to handle. Hainan, by contrast, has a population of at least 400,000, more than enough for our early development needs.”

His well-reasoned argument won over the majority. The previous discussion had exhausted most of the participants, and the irrationality of some of the arguments had soured the mood. A vote was taken, and Hainan was chosen as their new home.

In the late Ming, Hainan was known as Qiongzhou Prefecture, governing three prefectures and ten counties, all arranged in a neat circle along the coast. The interior of the island was the domain of the Li people.

The counties of Qiongshan, Chengmai, and Lingao were the most developed, home to half of the island’s Han Chinese population.

Qiongshan, the seat of the Qiongzhou Prefecture government, had the best infrastructure. It accounted for a quarter of the island’s registered farmland and had a population of nearly 90,000. But it was also the political and economic center of the Ming Dynasty on the island, with a large military presence. The fall of Qiongzhou would be a major shock to the Ming court and would undoubtedly trigger a massive military response.

Chengmai was also a good option, but it was too close to Qiongshan.

That left Lingao.

In their time, Lingao was an obscure, underdeveloped county in Hainan, a far cry from the tourist hubs of Haikou and Sanya. But it was a thousand-year-old county, one of the earliest areas settled by Han Chinese immigrants. Though not as populous as Qiongshan, it still had a registered population of 25,000. The alluvial plain on both sides of the Wenlan River had been developed early, providing a solid agricultural foundation with great potential for expansion.

And, most importantly, it was separated from Qiongzhou Prefecture by Chengmai. Any trouble would not immediately draw the attention of the Ming government. Given the slow pace of communication in this era, it would take at least a month for any news to reach the capital, and even longer for a response.

After a few more questions, the decision was made. Lingao would be their new home. In his closing remarks, Wen Desi declared the meeting a “successful congress, a congress of unity, a congress of victory.” In the history books of their new world, it would be known as the “First Transmigrator Congress.” The full list of attendees, many of whom would ultimately choose to remain in the old world, would be preserved in the “Old World Cathedral,” a theoretical repository of their shared history, not to be consulted.