Chapter 40: Ideological Trends

Wu De’s other task was to prevent escapes. He requested expert marksmen from the military group, equipped with scopes and night vision goggles. “To kill anyone who tries to escape with a single shot,” he explained. The more swift and ruthless the suppression, the more effective it would be.

He broke up the group of those who had offered to join, scattering them among the labor teams and instructing them to report any talk of escape. He made no promises, offered no benefits. To gain his trust, they had to prove their loyalty.

The battle had left a strong impression. Aside from a few small landowners complaining about their neglected farms, there were no unusual reports.

Fu Buer, his leg injured, was recuperating in a tent with the other wounded. The “pirate” medics tended to them daily. “Doctors are like parents,” he thought, his fear gradually subsiding.

Of the thirty or so wounded captives, some had died after surgery, while others had recovered and been sent to the labor teams. Fu Buer’s long-term laborer, Ma Peng, had only sprained his ankle and was sent away soon after. In the past, Fu Buer wouldn’t have given him a second glance, but now he felt a sense of loss. He was surrounded by strangers.

A few days later, Ma Peng visited him. He was now working for the “Chiefs,” as he respectfully called them, felling trees and digging earth. He had white rice porridge for every meal and salted fish every two or three days. He worked for twelve hours a day and was forced to bathe daily, but he had gotten used to it. Life, he said, was tolerable. Fu Buer was surprised. At his own home, his laborers were fed sweet potatoes year-round. Rice and salted fish were a rare bonus. He felt a pang of regret for the pirates’ extravagance.

Ma Peng spoke of incredible things: a self-propelled machine that could make thousands of bricks in a short time, and a roaring, smoke-belching contraption that was the source of all power, consuming more firewood in a day than a whole village used for cooking. There were also stoves mounted on four-wheeled carts and magical saws that could fell a large tree in an instant.

Fu Buer was not surprised. He had seen many strange things himself.

“…The Chief said that those who work well and are willing to stay can become ‘staff members’.”

“‘Staff members’? Isn’t that just being a pirate?”

“Not a… pirate,” Ma Peng whispered. “We’re not qualified for that yet. It’s called being a ‘staff member.’ Three meals a day, with meat at every meal, and one day off a month…” A hint of envy crept into his voice.

“Hey! You want to join the rebels?” Fu Buer scolded, afraid of losing a worker. “That’s a beheading offense!”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Ma Peng said. “But even the county magistrate can’t do anything about them now. What can we common folk do?”

“When the imperial army arrives, they’ll all be turned to dust! If you side with the pirates, you’ll be branded a rebel!”

Ma Peng fell silent. Fu Buer asked if there was any news from his family, but Ma Peng had seen no one from the village. Fu Buer was anxious. Even if they wanted a ransom, shouldn’t they have sent someone to negotiate?

After Ma Peng left, Fu Buer, his leg mostly healed, ventured out of the tent. It was surrounded by barbed wire, a chilling reminder of the battle. Outside the wire was a wooden watchtower, a young pirate standing guard, a musket with a bayonet slung over his back. Fu Buer had witnessed the power of these weapons. With each volley, a swath of men would fall. Not only would a militia like theirs be no match, but even the official army would have a tough time. But hoping for the official army to rescue them was a dream. The Ming army cared little for the lives of common people like them. If they did come, they would probably be the first to be beheaded, their heads presented for rewards. “Guest armies are like bandits,” he had heard it said.

Suddenly, a strange roar filled the air, like a firecracker exploding, followed by a rumbling thunder. He saw a red iron monster roaring, spewing black smoke, and chewing at the ground with incredible force. Fu Buer’s face turned pale, and he nearly collapsed.

He watched as the behemoth moved, its giant iron shovel lifting dirt and rocks like a waterfall. The scene was breathtaking.

What could possibly stand against such power? Not the thousand-odd government troops of Qiongzhou Prefecture, not even the combined forces of several provinces. With such power, and engaging in such large-scale construction, what else could they be doing but preparing for a long-term stay?

At this thought, his mind became a chaotic mess. He couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse. He squatted on the ground, lost and bewildered.

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Wu De took the latest issue of the “Captive Ideological Trends” report to the Executive Committee. The committee had high hopes for this group of captives, seeing them as the seeds for future political construction.

The Executive Committee building—a simple prefabricated building, though everyone called it the “office building”—had been transformed. The barbed wire had been replaced with high walls, and a guard post was set up in front of the wooden double doors. Two rows of single-story, brick-and-wood, tile-roofed houses had been built on either side. The courtyard was paved with green bricks, and two flowerbeds had been built. A Beijing 212 jeep was parked in the yard, along with a few motorcycles and bicycles. It looked very much like a county party committee compound from the 1960s or 70s.

Wu De went to the printing room, a dark, cavernous space filled with a high-speed mimeograph machine, computers, and printers. Boxes of paper and stacks of printed documents were piled against the wall.

He picked up a proof sheet from a table. It was a single-sheet tabloid, with two large, crooked, tadpole-like characters written with a brush: “Lingao Express.” Below was a signature: “Inscribed by Xi Yazhou.”

Xi Yazhou’s head must have healed, Wu De thought. The newspaper reported in great detail on the victory of the “First Counter-Encirclement Campaign,” exaggerating that the local government had dispatched a large army of three thousand men, who were all annihilated in just half a shichen (one hour). The wargame-like writing style was clearly the work of Xi Yazhou.

Next was an editorial, signed: “Special Commentator for this Newspaper.” It commented: “The reactionary Ming government will inevitably be completely eliminated by our wise and great Transmigration Party.”

Following that was a theoretical article introducing Marxism. The author, Du Wen, had transformed Marx into a hermit born in the Wanli era. The article was long and filled with numbers, but Wu De couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He doubted even Marx himself would have understood it.

At the bottom of the page was another article, “The Bloody Tears and Accusations of the Lingao Peasants,” which described the tragic experiences of many peasants. It was a plagiarized, embellished version of Guo Yi’s interrogation summaries, its imagination simply outrageous. The author had wisely chosen not to sign their name.