Chapter 45: The New Farmstead (Part 2)

“You’ve kept in good shape.”

“You say that like I’m an old man. I’m only thirty!”

“Really?”

“This is what happens when you work at the grassroots for too long.” Yang Baogui’s smile was bright and genuine. “Let’s go together.” He then shouted, “Beibei, go! Get Ukraine back here!” At his command, a dog shot out and herded a large white pig, which had been trying to wander off and gnaw on tree bark, back to the group.

“Her name is Beibei?”

“That’s right. There are six of them: Beibei, Jingjing, Huanhuan, Yingying, and Nini.”

“What about the last one?” Wu Nanhai, amused by this naming scheme, was eager to hear the final name.

“Aoyun,” Yang Baogui said with a completely straight face, then called out, “Aoyun!” A dog that had been trotting along quietly suddenly sprang to his feet, running circles around him. He patted its neck with satisfaction.

“You’re a natural with dogs.”

“It’s a hobby, not a profession. Just for fun,” Yang Baogui said, cracking his whip. “I can also handle a large cart. I learned from the old farmers back in the countryside. The problem is, we don’t have any proper carts here. I asked the industrial group to build a few with rubber wheels. We could hitch them to the Dian horses we captured; a two-horse team could pull a thousand jin without breaking a sweat. But those guys just kept complaining that the design was ‘backward’ and insisted on developing some four-wheeled farm cart. It’s nonsense. What small horse can pull a cart like that?”

“The Tieling draft horse could,” Wu Nanhai offered, his eyes on the two particularly tall and powerful horses in their procession. They were the finest draft horses bred in China since 1949, a mix of Europe’s best draft and riding stock. A single one could pull a thousand-kilogram cart on its own.

“It could, but those two are our breeding stallions, so they’re not suited for heavy labor. Besides, the Tieling breed has degenerated quite a bit.” Yang Baogui sighed. “Nanhai, to be honest, I’m worried about our agricultural group.”

“I know what you mean. I feel it too. There are so many problems, I don’t even know where to begin,” he admitted, mimicking Yang Baogui by waving a willow branch to herd the animals.

“Nanhai, you studied agriculture. You know what high-yield, modern farming is built on, right?”

“Pesticides, fertilizers, improved seeds, irrigation, genetic modification, soil chemistry…” Wu Nanhai listed.

“Can we replicate that here?”

“It would be incredibly difficult. The conditions are too primitive. Large-scale irrigation and promoting improved seeds are our most realistic options for increasing yields right now,” Wu Nanhai mused. “Fertilizer won’t be a huge issue once the chemical group gets the ammonia and sulfuric acid plants running. But pesticides… that’s another story. That requires an organic chemical industry. I don’t see that happening for another thirty or forty years.”

“No,” Yang Baogui said, shaking his head. “Those are just surface-level problems. The real issue is that modern society is built on a massive division of labor, and agriculture is no exception. Under that system, the skills of agricultural technicians—and even the farmers themselves—have atrophied.”

“Farmers used to have to select and breed their own seeds. Now, they just buy them. An agricultural technician today only knows which seeds to use, how to manage them after planting, when to apply which pesticide, and what fertilizer to use…”

“Here, there are no seed companies, no pesticide factories, no veterinary drug suppliers, no agricultural machinery stations… We have to do everything from scratch. We were all trained in a system where we only knew our small part. Modern agriculture is a complete chain, and we only have a few scattered links.”

He pointed to the pigs being herded by the dogs. “Take these pigs, for example—Georgia! Where do you think you’re going!” Yang Baogui shouted, using his whip to steer a pig back onto the road. “Everyone’s counting on them to start a large-scale pig farm so we can have meat with every meal. But does anyone realize how many vaccines a piglet on a modern farm needs from birth to slaughter? How much medicine it has to take? The sheer volume of disinfectants required for the pigsty alone is staggering. If swine fever breaks out, we’ll still lose a huge number of them.”

A wave of concern washed over Wu Nanhai. He had considered these problems before, but never with such depth.

“It seems we have to rebuild everything, piece by piece.” He watched the carefree pigs, grunting and foraging as they walked. “Do they have names too?”

“Yes, they’re all breeding boars and sows. Names make them easier to keep track of.”

“What are they called?”

“Ukraine, Big Bobo for Poland, Georgia, Russia—”

“Haha, let me guess, Russia is the boar, right?” Wu Nanhai pointed to the largest, most aggressive-looking pig.

“No, that one’s the Soviet Union.”

The two men walked and talked as they guided the livestock along the simple, well-maintained road. Aside from the dust kicked up by passing vehicles, it was a peaceful journey. The Wenlan River surged on one side, and on the other, ripe rice stood in scattered fields, a far cry from the vast, rolling waves of grain he was used to. The agriculture here was still primitive. Wu Nanhai walked on, lost in thought, wondering how to transform their collective knowledge into real productivity. The path ahead was fraught with difficulties.

The road was calm. Though they occasionally saw locals working in the fields, they were always at a distance. The watchtowers stationed along the road provided a great sense of security. The original crude wooden towers had been replaced with three-story brick-and-stone blockhouses, complete with searchlights on the roof and surrounded by a deep moat and barbed wire. In case of an attack, travelers could quickly take shelter inside.

After nearly three hours, the column arrived at the Bairen Beach camp. All the members of the Agriculture Committee were there to greet them—today was their official moving day.

Unlike the other departments that had settled into the Executive Committee compound, the entire Agriculture Committee was now based at what would be known as the “Nanhai Model Demonstration Farm.” Wu Nanhai had learned in university that agriculture wasn’t about writing plans in an office; it was about getting your hands dirty. An agricultural technician had to live on the land.

The farmstead was a magnificent complex of red-brick buildings, freshly constructed by the new brickyard: offices, laboratories, warehouses, an agricultural machinery station, cellars, and neatly arranged granaries. A water-powered mill stood by the river, and the newly built livestock pens smelled of fresh logs. The only concrete structure was a row of hydraulic biogas digesters, designed to process all the waste from the living and agricultural areas. The biogas would fuel the cafeteria’s stoves, with any surplus to be used for generating electricity. The resulting slurry and residue would serve as excellent fertilizer and feed additives.

The original plan had included a permanent glass greenhouse, but with glass production still pending, it had been postponed. Fortunately, Hainan’s subtropical climate, even in a Little Ice Age, provided more than enough warmth.

“The experimental field they’ve allocated to us,” Ye Yuming said, pointing to a boundary marker, “stretches from here to the mill by the river.”

It was an irregular rectangle, over a hundred meters wide and two hundred meters long, totaling more than twenty mu. It was more than enough space for a vegetable garden and experimental plots. A small section had already been leveled and planted with cabbage, green peppers, and tomatoes, some of which were ready for harvest, promising a welcome addition to the cafeteria’s menu.

Most of the land, however, was still more stone than soil, littered with tree roots. It needed to be leveled, and they would probably need to bring in more soil. He studied the riverbank, estimating the water levels during the high season to determine how many irrigation canals and flood-control dikes they would need. He mentally mapped out where to plant fruit trees, dig fish ponds, and place the tropical crop seedlings they had brought with them.

Even the space within the Agriculture Committee complex could be utilized. They could develop a courtyard economy. A grape arbor over the walkway could yield a thousand jin of grapes without taking up valuable land, while also providing shade. Fruit trees could be planted behind the houses.

He ran through the calculations in his mind, a sense of satisfaction growing within him. But labor was scarce. He would have to ask Wu De to send over a few local farmers—hiring them as long-term laborers would be ideal. To learn about the local agricultural practices, he needed to talk to a landlord, but he’d heard they had all been released. It was a pity. Those men possessed a wealth of practical experience. But he didn’t speak the Lingao dialect and would need a translator, which was a hassle. He would have to learn it himself. If for no other reason, he’d need it to communicate with the wife and concubines he planned to take in the future. Should he start with the basics? ‘A, o, e’? All that could wait. After walking for hours, he was exhausted.

That night, he fell asleep in his new office at the Agriculture Committee. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had a roof over his head and a room to himself. A profound sense of happiness washed over him. Happiness, he realized, was all a matter of perspective.