Chapter 140: Building a Harmonious Lingao (Part 1)

After the interrogations were concluded, a disagreement arose regarding the fate of the prisoners.

According to the standard procedure for prisoners of war, after interrogation, screening, and registration, all captives were to undergo the “purification” process and then be assigned to labor teams under the unified management of Wu De.

This time, however, the battle had yielded prisoners of various nationalities. Normally, this wouldn’t be special; they would all be treated the same and sent to do hard labor. But the Navy proposed to directly recruit and retain the two Spanish prisoners. The transmigrators knew very little about the sail and rigging techniques of this era’s large sailing ships, and these two Spaniards knew at least something.

However, a group of nationalists, led by Dugu Qiuhun, firmly opposed such preferential treatment. They argued that these Spanish scum were pirates, plain and simple, who had boarded their ship with the hope of plundering the Chinese coast for riches. Not hanging them directly at Bopu was already a great mercy. To retain them for service was nothing short of “worshipping foreigners.”

The Navy ultimately lost out under the banner of nationalism. Even Wen Zong, who had always favored them, refused to offer his support. Wen Zong’s reasoning was simple: “This violates the regulations.”

Of course, it couldn’t be said that the two Spaniards received no special treatment. They were allowed to form a labor group with the Indian prisoners. Although the Indians were not their compatriots, they at least spoke some Spanish, allowing for communication and preventing excessive loneliness. As for the Malay pirates, no one cared about their fate. After a simple screening, they were sent directly to the quarry, their transfer orders reading: “Labor until death.”

Tan Ming emerged from the Bopu clinic, his legs trembling. Last night’s experience had been a brush with death for him. Although he had dived into the shelter quickly, the enemy’s cannonballs whistling behind him and the flying rocks during the retreat had been terrifyingly stimulating. His head had been repeatedly struck by debris, and if it weren’t for the Type 80 steel helmet, his skull would have likely been cracked open.

Fortunately, it was only a minor scratch… He wondered if he would be able to survive in the future…

He touched the gauze on his head. The wound, treated with iodine, was still throbbing with pain. Damn it, isn’t this life just the same as before?! No, it’s even worse!

Tan Ming had been a security guard, a migrant worker, a guest worker on an oil rig, and when utterly bored, he’d even been a power-leveler for online games. He had operated a printing press in a cardboard box factory and finally sold office furniture. But no matter which job he did, his life had never been in danger. Now he had to fight for his life under cannon fire. He began to seriously doubt whether he would live to see the day of the revolution’s success.

He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case—as a militiaman, he was allocated one pack of cigarettes per month. The case was waterproof and crush-proof; he had always been careful with his property.

Due to the previous day’s battle, the Executive Committee had notified all participants to rest for a day.

He squatted at the doorway, lit a cigarette, and took a few puffs to calm his nerves. He was very hungry but had no desire to eat. The food in the cafeteria was always the same: bland, without oil or meat. Besides fish, shrimp, and rice, everything else was a scarce commodity. Back when he worked on construction sites, he could at least eat his fill of pork ribs and chicken legs every day.

The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. What the hell possessed me to join this transmigration? He staggered back to his dormitory. On his bed was a notice from the Executive Committee. He opened it and found a special supply coupon inside. Tan Ming’s mood instantly lifted.

There was also a notice for a 500-point bonus, but these virtual numbers held little attraction for Tan Ming. The special supply coupon was much more practical.

These special supply coupons were for scarce goods, usually issued to transmigrators performing dangerous or heavy manual labor. One coupon could be exchanged at the Planning Committee for cigarettes and other items not yet produced in this time, such as candy or cola, or for a bowl of instant noodles with vegetables and an egg at the cafeteria.

Along with the coupon was an invitation—made from local coarse paper—inviting him to a “Victory Commendation Ceremony” in a few days.

That’s more like it. Tan Ming thought that at least they remembered those who had shed blood and sweat. The cadres of the Executive Committee weren’t complete bastards after all.

After discussion, the Executive Committee decided to grant the following rewards to the participants of the Battle of Bopu:

The “Bopu Defense” armband and shield patch were awarded. The former was for military personnel, the latter for non-military personnel who participated in the battle.

The Bopu Defense armband was made of woolen cloth, red with white characters, 30mm wide, embroidered with the clerical script characters for “Bopu” and the year “1628” below. Those who received this honor could sew the armband onto the left sleeve of their uniform.

The shield patch, which should have been metal, was also made of the same woolen cloth because the industrial department couldn’t find a suitable cheap material. The main body was a shield with a flat top. Inside the shield was the silhouette of a black ship under a radiant sun, with a broken mast below it, symbolizing the Transmigration Army’s victory over the pirates. At the bottom were the words “Bopu 1628.” This patch could be sewn onto any official uniform.

Other material rewards for transmigrators included one special supply coupon and 200 bonus points.

The locals were given a 25-kilogram salt coupon and a 4-kilogram rice ticket. The salt coupon could be exchanged for salt at the salt shop, and some salt merchants would also buy them, making it a kind of negotiable security.

Finally, the battle situation of that day would be summarized and reviewed, and those with outstanding performance would be commended and awarded medals.

Wu Mingjin sat in his office, deeply troubled.

Three months had passed since this band of “Kun thieves” had come ashore. The New Year was approaching, but not only were they not leaving, their houses were getting bigger and more numerous, and even their market was becoming more prosperous.

At the Maniao salt fields, their dispute with the Gou family was ongoing. The Gou family had connections with pirates abroad and the local yamen at home. They were deeply entrenched local tyrants, and the county magistrate could only turn a blind eye to their misdeeds. He had originally hoped for a scenario where two tigers fought, and even if the transmigrators weren’t driven away, both sides would be badly wounded. He never expected the “Kun thieves” to crush the Gou family like swatting a fly. In a few days, the Gou family estate was reduced to ashes, and even the deeply rooted Gou Er had fled the city.

Fortunately, these barbarians from Australia at least knew the laws of the Great Ming. The salt taxes, miscellaneous fees, and other levies from the salt field village were all paid in full, which gave him some relief. However, these “Kun people,” using the excuse that the road to the city for paying salt taxes was bad, had repaired the road all the way to the Wenshui Bridge and then proceeded to build a two-story tower there. Now, there were “Kun people” on watch in that tower day and night—it was obvious they were monitoring the county town’s activities.

And that wasn’t all. The “Kun people” were also recruiting soldiers and horses on a large scale under the pretext of organizing a local militia. It was said that they had already recruited several thousand men, all equipped with firearms and cannons, and were training them daily. The number of ships in Bopu Bay had also increased significantly. Wu Mingjin knew he was completely trapped within the sphere of influence of these “Kun people.” Now, unless the imperial court sent troops to drive them away, how long he could stay in this county town depended entirely on how long they were willing to let him stay. Once a real fight broke out, Wu Mingjin had no doubt that the shameless yamen runners in the city would not hesitate to open the gates and surrender.

The requests for military intervention he had sent to the prefectural city had all vanished like stones in the sea. The letters he had written to his former classmates in Guangzhou, asking them to lobby on his behalf, had also received no reply. The Dongmen Market, however, had become the most prosperous market in the county. Every day, a continuous stream of people from the county traveled along the main road to the Dongmen Market. The county’s grain flowed in like a tide, and private salt flowed out like a tide.

He, the dignified seventh-rank county magistrate, could do nothing but watch from the city wall. The county had no money, no food, and no soldiers; it was merely a besieged, isolated city.

Recently, he had received news that the “Kun thieves” had taken over Baitu Village. He didn’t care much about a place like Baitu Village—it was a settlement of refugees from other places, not registered and not paying taxes, having little to do with the county. But from this action, he sniffed a hint of unease—the tentacles of these “Kun thieves” were about to extend to all parts of the county.

Sure enough, a few days later, the baojia (local self-defense units) from various villages secretly reported that the “Kun thieves” had invited the leading figures of all the villages and stockades on both sides of the Wenlan River to a gathering in Bairen City.

Of course, Wu Mingjin didn’t know what “surrounding the city from the countryside” meant, but he understood the implications of this action. He quickly sent Wu Ya, Fu Bowen, and other civil and military officials of the county to visit the villages, warning them not to collude with the “Kun thieves.” He even swore that “once the heavenly troops of the court arrive, the Kun thieves will be reduced to ashes, and those who follow them will meet a terrible end.” This caused some of the villages to waver and become fearful again.

As he was thinking about countermeasures, someone suddenly reported: the “Kun thieves” have sent someone!

A shiver ran down Wu Mingjin’s spine. Early this morning, he had sent people to inquire about the cannon fire and the glow of fire from Bopu that had lasted all night. His men had not yet returned, but the “Kun thieves” had arrived first.

He had previously, for the sake of avoiding suspicion, never personally received the messengers sent by the “Kun thieves,” always having his private secretary meet them instead. But this time, the matter was of great importance. He had to find out what medicine the “Kun thieves” were selling in their gourds.

“Summon the Master Secretary!” he ordered. “Change my clothes! Open the court!”

“Open the court?” The yamen runner couldn’t believe his ears. Weren’t guests usually received in the flower hall? This wasn’t a trial or a hearing, why open the court?

“That’s right, open the court!”

Xiong Buyou, as the emissary, led a dozen or so people into the city. Wang Ruixiang led the procession, fully armed, carrying a sapper’s axe, followed by twelve handpicked soldiers, all over 170cm tall, with rifles on their backs and gleaming bayonets. At the rear were seven or eight wheelbarrows, laden with bundles and wooden boxes.

What kind of county town is this? he thought. The poorest town in the poorest county in my hometown is 100 times more prosperous than this. The only road that crossed the entire town was paved with stone slabs. There were some shops along the road, but the buildings were low and dilapidated, and the area was pitifully small. As soon as he walked through the city gate, he could see the county yamen in the center of the town.

The procession marched grandly into the city. Xiong Buyou held a large envelope containing a letter from the Executive Committee to Magistrate Wu. People on the street stood to the side, pointing and whispering. A few raggedly dressed children suddenly ran up to him and said in a slurred but distinctly Mandarin accent, “Candy, candy.”

Xiong Buyou chuckled. He was pleased that the tactic of giving out candy for goodwill, learned from the Japanese and American “devils,” was proving to be somewhat effective.

After tossing out a handful of candy, the procession had reached the entrance of the county yamen. The court drum on the wall had not been beaten for a long time and was covered in a thick layer of dust. In the official boot box hanging on the side, there was a dust-covered official boot. The group followed a yamen runner inside. Wang Ruixiang said a few words to the soldiers, and at each gate they passed, two soldiers were left behind.

Finding himself being led to the main hall, Xiong Buyou was puzzled. Just then, a side door creaked open, and a man in his forties, with a fair complexion and well-maintained appearance, dressed in an official robe, appeared in the hall. The yamen runners immediately shouted:

“His Lordship Wu is holding court!”

The court drum beat three times, dong, dong, dong. The yamen runners, holding their staffs, shouted “Ooh—” in unison and walked in, arranging themselves in a V-formation. Everything fell silent again.