Chapter 21: Road Construction (Part 2)
With the revised plan, the road construction progressed at a much faster pace. Wang Luobin was true to his word. The Executive Committee, using the personnel database, mobilized everyone with experience driving tractors, construction machinery, and heavy trucks. Bai Yu, a former tank soldier who had been dreaming of converting tractors into tanks and agricultural vehicles into infantry fighting vehicles, becoming the father of the Transmigration Army’s armored corps, was once again unceremoniously drafted and assigned to the engineering team.
Mei Wan was on the front lines, inspecting the construction site and teaching the new road workers how to use the tools and handle the earthwork. It was a sorry sight; most of the urban otaku couldn’t even hold a shovel properly. Their attempts at digging ditches and leveling the ground were laughable.
He watched them for a while, then went to check on the machinery. The operators were not highly skilled, but they were competent enough, thanks to the training the Executive Committee had arranged before the transmigration.
Thank God for the machinery, Mei Wan thought. He couldn’t imagine what this motley crew would accomplish without it. As he made his rounds, he spotted a man working with a practiced ease. After years as a project manager, Mei Wan could spot an expert a mile away. The young man was strong and sturdy, though he worked with a certain lazy, unhurried rhythm. Mei Wan approached him.
“You’re doing a fine job. Have you worked on a construction site before?”
“I’ve done a bit of everything,” the young man said, pausing to rest. “You’re Manager Mei?”
“That’s right. Do I know you?” Mei Wan was surprised. He didn’t recognize the man.
“Getting to know the leaders is a basic survival skill for us migrant workers,” the young man said with a grin. “When the boss comes around, you have to look busy.”
Mei Wan laughed. “What’s your name?”
“Tan Ming. Everyone calls me Fei Ming,” he said, and went back to work. “I’ve been a security guard, an oil worker, a power-leveler for online games, a printer…”
“A printer? How did you end up here?”
“Getting old, nothing to show for it. The economy’s bad, and I was unemployed again. I figured, since I can’t make a name for myself in one world, I might as well try another.”
Mei Wan completed his rounds and returned to the tent, satisfied with the progress. The construction team leader, Bing Feng, reported that the food team had delivered a one-ton tank of drinking water, and the salt had been allocated.
“Still no safety helmets?” Mei Wan asked.
“Committee Member Wang said they sent people to cut willow branches this morning. They’re making prototypes now.”
“Good. It’s not a huge risk for now; there’s not much lifting work.” He thought for a moment. “By the way, there’s a fellow named Tan Ming on the team. He’s an experienced construction worker. Make him a team leader for now, and let’s see what he’s capable of. If he’s good, we can train him to be a construction supervisor.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of it,” Bing Feng said, and started to leave.
“Wait,” Mei Wan called him back. “You need to be more proactive about identifying and cultivating talent. You’re a structural engineer, a deputy team leader. You can’t spend all your time as a foreman on the construction site. It’s a waste of your skills.”
Bing Feng looked confused, mumbled a few words, and left.
Mei Wan lit a cigarette, his thoughts in a jumble. He should have been focused on the highway, but the scene from yesterday’s meeting kept replaying in his mind. He hadn’t expected the quiet Zhuo Tianmin to make such a bold move. It was a clear bid for the spotlight. Mei Wan felt a bitter pang of anxiety. Zhuo Tianmin’s credentials as an architect and consultant would undoubtedly pique the Executive Committee’s interest.
He felt a sense of crisis. He had been comfortable with his team. Bing Feng, the deputy team leader, was a specialist. Xiao Yan was a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. And Li Xiaolü, though highly skilled, was a woman and seemed uninterested in leadership. But Zhuo Tianmin was different. While Mei Wan had extensive experience in management and coordination, he knew he was no match for the man’s professional expertise.
His thoughts were interrupted by a report on the walkie-talkie: the first three-kilometer section of the roadbed was complete. The paving team was ready to move in, but the road surface material had not yet been determined. Mei Wan grabbed a notebook and a small shovel and headed out. He walked along the roadside ditch, scooping up soil, examining it, kneading it in his hands, and making notes. He continued this way, meter after meter, much to the confusion of Yan Quezhi, who was measuring the river’s hydrological data.
“Manager Mei, what are you looking for?”
“Soil quality,” Mei Wan said, crushing a clump of soil in his hand. “I’m looking for soil suitable for paving the road.”
“Can’t we just use the excavated soil? Isn’t that what we used for the roadbed?”
“The requirements for the road surface are more stringent than for the roadbed,” Mei Wan explained. He launched into a lecture on soil composition, dividing it into clay, sand, and silt, and explaining how their different combinations affected their suitability for road construction.
“A simple highway is just a dirt road,” he said. “It has many shortcomings compared to a modern paved road: it’s dusty, it can’t bear heavy loads, and it turns to mud in the rain. So, choosing and treating the soil is crucial. The right soil can mitigate these problems.”
“Take this sandy soil, for example,” he said, scooping up a handful. “It’s almost all sand, with little stickiness. It’s loose when dry and can’t be molded when wet. A road paved with this would develop deep ruts in dry weather, though it would drain well in the rain. It can only be used if it’s mixed with a certain amount of clay.”
“What about this?” Yan Quezhi asked, intrigued. He grabbed a handful of different soil. “So, a mix of clay and sand is best?”
“Theoretically, yes, but it’s not that simple. The proportions matter.” Mei Wan took the soil and rubbed it between his fingers, forming fine, short strips. “This is fine sandy loam. It has both clay and a good amount of fine sand, so it has some stickiness. It’s a good choice for a road surface.”
“So we’ll use this?”
“I’m looking for sandy loam,” Mei Wan said, clapping the dust from his hands. “It’s similar to this, but the sand particles are coarser. A road paved with it will be compact, less dusty, and won’t stick to the wheels in the rain. It will also dry quickly and be easy to maintain.”
“How can you tell the difference just by looking?” Yan Quezhi asked, staring at the soil in his hand.
“You can see it if you look closely,” Mei Wan said. “And you can feel it. Fine sandy loam can be rubbed into fine, short strips, but sandy loam can’t.”
“I see,” Yan Quezhi said, his voice filled with awe. “You’re a real professional.”
“Heh,” Mei Wan said with a triumphant smile. The old textbook still has its uses, he thought.
It didn’t take them long to find a source of sandy loam. If they hadn’t, Mei Wan would have had to modify the existing soil, a much more labor-intensive process.
Mei Wan personally directed the paving of the road surface. Since the traffic volume would be light, a thick surface wasn’t necessary. A 15 cm layer, compacted two or three times with a road roller, would suffice. The road was crowned to facilitate drainage. To improve its strength, they mixed in some pebbles, but the limited supply meant the effect was minimal. It was still best to avoid driving on it in the rain.
“As soon as possible,” Mei Wan muttered, looking at the completed section of road. He threw his cigarette butt to the ground and stomped on it. “We need to get this done as soon as possible.”
Just after the first watch, the courtyard of the county yamen was quiet. Two yamen runners made their rounds, carrying small paper lanterns and beating the watch with a wooden clapper.
A dozen local braves were scattered around the courtyard, some sitting, some lying down. Normally, such a group of country bumpkins would not be tolerated in the yamen, but with the city on high alert and these men having just fought the sea pirates, the runners turned a blind eye.
Their leader was Huang Shoutong, the head of Namei Village. He was in his fifties, with a burly frame, a short, graying beard, and eyes that flashed like lightning. He was a wealthy landowner, his ancestors having settled in Lingao at the beginning of the dynasty. Several of his ancestors had passed the imperial examinations, and the clan had prospered. He was known for his generosity and righteousness, and he commanded great respect in his village and clan.
Lingao had long been plagued by pirates. Since the Jiajing reign, his ancestors had built earthen forts and trained a local militia. Namei Village was known as a “hard place.” Now, with Namei at its head, a compact of six nearby villages could mobilize five or six hundred men at a moment’s notice. Huang Shoutong had led his men in many battles to suppress bandits and defend the county town, earning the praise of Wu Mingjin.
Though a commoner himself, Huang Shoutong had a son who was a xiucai, studying at the county school. When the gentry had been summoned to a meeting, he had been busy organizing the village defenses and had sent his son in his place, along with a dozen men and a cart of grain and vegetables to aid in the city’s defense. Wu Mingjin was both surprised and delighted by the old man’s sudden visit. After exchanging pleasantries in the flower hall, he noticed that the old man’s net scarf was white and his eyes were red. He knew Huang Shoutong’s parents were long dead. Had his wife recently passed away?
Seeing the magistrate’s concern, Huang Shoutong explained that one of his sons had been killed in the attack on the sea pirates the day before.