Chapter 20: Road Construction (Part 1)

“Committee Member Wang, it seems our road construction won’t be a peaceful affair,” Mei Wan said, his tone heavy with meaning.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard the reconnaissance team sent to Lingao this morning was attacked at Bairen Tan.” Mei Wan expertly swerved the jeep to avoid a large rock. The attack on the Chinese-American trio had been misconstrued by the general populace as an attack on one of their own reconnaissance teams.

“There was an incident, yes. How did you hear about it? It hasn’t even been in the internal briefing yet.” The details of Guo Yi’s report were still classified.

“The bodies floated down to the riverbank. Anyone with eyes can see them. What’s the point of keeping it a secret?” Mei Wan said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “New world, new atmosphere. We shouldn’t carry over our old, brain-dead habits.”

“Wang Luobin feigned a relaxed air. “What’s to be afraid of? A dozen men ambushed three of ours, and they were still beaten back. Our men suffered minor injuries, while several of theirs were killed.”

“You can’t look at it that way. A few stray arrows are enough to make anyone nervous. And we can’t have everyone on the construction site working in stab-proof vests—it’s too damn hot.”

As he drove, Mei Wan rattled off a list of problems with the highway project: there were too few bulldozer operators, leaving most of the heavy machinery idle; they lacked safety helmets, and the Type 80 steel helmets were too cumbersome for manual labor (he suggested making wicker hats from the willow groves they’d found by the river); they had to return to the beach every day for drinking water; and the Planning Committee was being stingy with salt, claiming it was a matter for the food office, and would only release it with a certification from the medical and health group.

“And another thing,” he continued, his voice rising with indignation. “Our construction team is just a handful of technical personnel. The rest are unskilled laborers from the basic labor group. I don’t mind teaching them—migrant workers learn, don’t they? But they keep sending us a new batch every day, calling it ‘averaging the workload.’ This isn’t some ‘big pot’ to be shared equally! We haven’t even finished training one group before another arrives. It’s a mess. We had over three hundred people on site today, and how much did we get done?”

Wang Luobin listened thoughtfully. It was true; most of the laborers sent to the construction site that day had been idle.

“We need a dedicated engineering team for infrastructure, with a fixed roster,” Mei Wan insisted. “I’m not asking for much—fifty people would be enough. The heavy lifting can still be done by the basic labor force.”

They arrived at the temporary highway construction headquarters, a simple tent nearly two kilometers from the main camp, with no electricity. Inside, the air was hot and dry, the tent having baked in the sun all day. Drawing boards and surveying equipment were crammed into every corner, and a large table was piled high with survey drawings.

Mei Wan laid out his proposal. The route would follow the east bank of the Wenlan River, which had greater development potential. In the future, it could connect with the ports of Hongpai and Maniao, forming an integrated industrial and transportation hub. Modern Lingao’s major industrial zones were also on the west bank.

For the transmigrators, a proper road system was the bedrock of a new society. It would facilitate the flow of materials and personnel, and extend their control over the surrounding area. While China had been one of the first nations to establish a national road network, it was still rudimentary. In Ming Dynasty Hainan, there was only a single official post road circling the island. The counties lacked any real road infrastructure, relying on a network of narrow paths trodden by people and cattle. None of these roads were paved or had proper drainage. The old saying, “three feet of dust when it’s dry, a body of mud when it rains,” was as true here as anywhere else.

Europe in this era was no better. The road-building techniques of the ancient Romans had been lost. Potholes were filled with bundles of firewood, a flimsy, rot-prone material that was even used as the roadbed for new construction. The first stirrings of modern road construction came from the Italian Toglietta around 1587, who introduced the concepts of a roadbed built above the groundwater level, drainage ditches, a solid gravel foundation, and a crushed stone and mortar surface. From the 17th century onward, European road construction and administration began to develop rapidly.

The transmigrators’ plan was ambitious. The proposed highway, with a total length of 12-16 kilometers, would be built to the Class B military road standard, designed for a traffic volume of less than 200 vehicles per day and a maximum speed of 40 km/h. The roadbed would be 7 meters wide, with a 6-meter, two-lane carriageway.

“I have a thought,” Wang Luobin said, “and I may be wrong. Are you putting too much effort into the survey? Are you trying to build a permanent highway from the get-go? Is that necessary right now? We could build a temporary road first and improve it later. The Executive Committee’s priority is to open the road to Bairen Tan as quickly as possible. At this rate, you won’t be finished in a month, let alone by D+5.”

A silence fell over the tent. Bing Feng’s calculations had already shown that Wang Luobin was right, but only Mei Wan and Zhuo Tianmin had any experience in road and bridge engineering. Mei Wan, as the team leader, was deeply invested in his plan, and no one wanted to challenge him.

Seeing his plan in jeopardy, Mei Wan quickly defended it. “A road of this quality is a luxury, I admit, but it’s better to be prepared. A solid foundation will make future expansion and reconstruction much easier.”

“We’re just starting out,” Wang Luobin countered. “We have a hundred things to do. We have to be practical. We don’t have the technology or the materials to be perfect. Blindly pursuing perfection is a fool’s errand.”

Zhuo Tianmin, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up. “I agree with Committee Member Wang. Road construction can be as simple or as complex as you want to make it. For a temporary road, we just need to determine the start and end points, and any essential points in between, then choose a route and build a simple dirt road. The terrain here is not complicated. We don’t even need a strict survey.”

Zhuo Tianmin’s words hit Mei Wan like a physical blow. This man, with a degree in mechatronics and credentials as a registered consulting engineer and constructor, had kept a low profile, but his expertise was undeniable. Mei Wan had always been a little wary of him.

He had hoped this project would be his chance to shine, to build his reputation. High-quality public works were an easy way to win popular favor. But now, his grand vision was being dismissed as impractical, and he was being accused of “lacking a sense of the big picture.”

“We have hundreds of people on the beach, and tons of material and machinery,” Wang Luobin said, his voice firm. “We need to get it to Bairen Tan as soon as possible. Our task is to get there, not to worry about how we get there. Don’t put the cart before the horse.” He stood. “I’ll have an answer for all your requests tonight, but the plan must be redone. By D+6, the convoy must reach Bairen Tan.”

Humbled, Mei Wan spent the night revising the plan. The new highway would be a simple dirt road, suitable for a small number of vehicles and closed on rainy days. Since the rainy season in Lingao had ended, this was a reasonable compromise.

The next day, the project finally got on track. Following the principle of “surveying, designing, and constructing at the same time,” a newly formed road construction team replaced the chaotic and unproductive basic labor group.

Lacking hydrological data for the 17th-century Wenlan River, they based the road’s distance from the riverbank on the 100-year flood standard of the 20th century, with an added 10% margin for safety.

The roadbed was of the filled-earth type, built with soil from the roadside ditches to minimize transportation. The topsoil, rich in humus, was discarded in favor of clay and sandy soil, which were abundant along the construction site. The soil was mixed with pebbles and shells, which had to be screened out to ensure the roadbed’s strength. Zhuo Tianmin, in charge of soil borrowing, set up a screening station. The pebbles would be used as building materials, and Mei Wan had plans to burn the shells for lime, though he wasn’t sure how.

The screened soil was used to fill the roadbed in alternating layers of clay and sand, each 20 cm layer compacted twice with a road roller. Once the roadbed reached a height of one meter, the roadside ditches were leveled for drainage.

The road surface was more complicated. A dirt road needed to be flat and dense, with minimal dust when dry and good drainage when wet. None of the engineers had any practical experience in road construction. Mei Wan stayed up all night, poring over the textbooks and technical manuals he had brought with him.