Chapter 192: A Triumphant Return

This news did not surprise the Senate. According to the history of the old timeline, he had died in office around 1631 from illness brought on by overwork.

According to this historical progression, Wang Zunde’s successor as Viceroy of Liangguang was Xiong Wencan. He had made his name by pacifying Zheng Zhilong, and throughout his life, his primary approach to various “rebel factions” was “pacification.” His appointment as Viceroy of Liangguang would likely lead to a mutually acceptable understanding with the transmigrators, just as he had reached a compromise with Zheng Zhilong in Fujian. For this reason, the elders had once eagerly awaited the arrival of “Blue Sky Xiong.”

However, Blue Sky Xiong was not coming anytime soon. Given the efficiency of medieval society, it would take at least three to six months for Xiong Wencan to arrive in Guangdong and take up his post. The transmigrators’ time was precious. The Senate discussed that instead of waiting with bated breath for Blue Sky Xiong, it was better to quickly settle the subsequent matters with Governor Li and establish a fait accompli. The Hong Kong issue alone had caused Li Fengjie to prevaricate endlessly, ultimately resulting in only a promise to “turn a blind eye.” Whether Qiongzhou Prefecture could be completely turned into a “Zhongzuosuo” was highly uncertain.

Although the situation was still unclear, the triumphant return of the naval task force from the Pearl River was, after all, a joyous and congratulatory event. A grand welcoming ceremony was held at the Bopu pier.

On this day, colorful flags fluttered on the lampposts along the road from Lingao county town to Bopu. A closer look would reveal that most were Ming army banners captured in the Battle of Chengmai. The banners recovered from the Chengmai battlefield were piled up like mountains. The Great Library, following collection principles, kept two of each type. Several hundred more were used as decorations in the Grand Stadium. Some were hung in the General Military Affairs Directorate building and the Naval Department. Finally, even the Lingao Cathedral was adorned with many military flags.

Of the remainder, all cotton and linen ones were washed and recycled—no matter how tattered, they could always be used for papermaking. The silk flags were more difficult to handle, as the Australians did not wear silk clothes. Apart from a small amount allocated for industrial use, the rest, at Fang Fei’s request, were all transferred to the Ministry of Propaganda and Culture.

Fang Fei had his people sort through the flags, selecting those of uniform size and categorizing them. Then, through outsourcing, all the unnecessary content on them was removed. In the end, he had several hundred colorful flags ready for use in events.

Now, these colorful flags fluttered all the way from Lingao county town along the Lingao-Bopu highway. Several banners were also stretched across the road: “A Warm Welcome to the Triumphant Return of Our Pearl River Task Force Officers and Men!”, “Glory to the Invincible Fubo Army Under the Brilliant Light of the Senate!”, “Invincible and Unconquerable!”, “The Senate’s Brilliance Shines Everywhere!”

…

Groups of welcoming crowds were heading towards Bopu. These were the welcoming teams organized by the Mass Activities Department of the Ministry of Propaganda and Culture. With the precedent of the Chengmai victory, the celebration for the triumphant return of this navy-led campaign could not be too shabby, lest the navy feel slighted. Besides, the Chairman of the Executive Committee was also in the returning fleet, so the arrangements had to be on par with the return of a head of state from a working visit.

On Fang Fei’s orders, all professional and amateur propaganda groups under the Ministry of Propaganda and Culture were mobilized. “The scale must be grand, the atmosphere must be enthusiastic,” he instructed his native section chief, Ji Denggao. “…At least eight classes from Fangcao’di should be brought out. Why are there only a few classes here now? There’s no spirit at all! And the seminary choir, why are they positioned so far forward? We’re not a Catholic country!” The former fortune-teller, dressed in the new small-collared cotton “work uniform,” was sweating profusely as he quickly jotted down the instructions in his notebook with a Lingao-made pencil.

Seeing that Chief Fang’s instructions had come to a pause, Ji Denggao quickly seized the opportunity to report:

“Minister Hu said that Fangcao’di’s teaching schedule is very tight, and having students participate in celebrations is a waste…” He quickly swallowed his words.

“A pure waste of time, right?” Fang Fei said. Ji Denggao dared not reply. The crime of slandering an elder could be major or minor. If it was deemed “sowing discord,” he would most likely be sent to Fu Youdi’s place to do mass propaganda. He quickly rephrased:

“Minister Hu’s meaning is that the teaching schedule is tight, and sending too many students will affect their studies. He didn’t say anything else…”

Fang Fei waved his hand. “Alright, go to Fangcao’di immediately. Tell them it’s my order. The nursing class and the life secretary class must each send one more class! Go quickly! Take a public vehicle!” Fang Fei tore a “public vehicle use ticket” from his satchel, wrote down the time and destination, and handed it to Ji Denggao. To improve work efficiency, every department, enterprise, and commune was now equipped with public vehicles—28-inch agricultural bicycles, the kind commonly known as “28-inch big bars.”

This new mode of transportation had aroused great interest among the natives. After learning to ride with much stumbling, cycling became a source of pleasure and pride for the native cadres. However, since bicycle tires were a level-one controlled material, the use of bicycles was strictly restricted by all departments. The public vehicle ticket system implemented by the General Office meant that native cadres rarely had the pleasure of using a public vehicle.

“Understood, I’ll go right away.” Ji Denggao quickly took the ticket and left. Fang Fei looked out the window of the temporarily borrowed customs office. The welcoming crowd was still a bit small, and the colors were too drab, a sea of gray and blue ants. Without the maids’ uniforms of the life secretary class and the blue nurses’ uniforms of the nursing class, the atmosphere just wouldn’t be right.

He muttered, “Old Hu, oh Old Hu, don’t think no one knows the truth about your ‘teaching reform pilot’ and ‘quality education’ at Fangcao’di. If the elders find out, hmph…”

Outside the window, gongs and drums thundered. The lion dance team was warming up, and the various system choirs had also arrived. Unfortunately, there was no orchestra. The transmigrators had a full set of instruments, equipment, and even various textbooks, but they lacked a full set of performers. They had to make do with playing CDs.

The Lingao Broadcasting Station’s live broadcasting booth occupied an office in the Bopu customs building, ready for a live broadcast. Of course, it was a wired broadcast, not wireless, and it was the most primitive kind of wired broadcast: “speaking trumpets,” as the natives called the loudspeaker system that had been set up in most parts of Lingao.

At the moment, the loudspeakers were playing a rotation of majestic Soviet-era marches. This was from a “Soviet Marches” CD selected by Li Chiji’s cousin, Zhang Yu, from a pile of CDs. The kūnzéi, baby-faced girl had been freed from the boring work of a radio operator at Lingao Telecom. According to an order from the Organization Department, such work would gradually be taken over by specially trained native personnel. After handing over her work, Zhang Yu had nowhere to go. Besides radio operation, which she had learned after arriving in Lingao, she had no special skills. As a self-proclaimed ultra-leftist, she had no interest in administrative work in an office and had once become a target of Du Wen’s recruitment, becoming her subordinate. However, they did not get along well. Du Wen considered Zhang Yu’s “leftist” level to be too superficial and had repeatedly suggested she read more of Stalin’s works, even lending her a copy of her own reading notes for Zhang Yu’s “study and reference.”

Unexpectedly, Zhang Yu had no interest in the “notes” and was not interested in Stalin either. She was more interested in BL novels than Stalin’s works. After a few days, Du Wen scoffed at her “leftist” identity, and the two women eventually had a conflict. Dong Weiwei was pregnant at the time and had no mind to coordinate the interpersonal relationships in the Social Survey Office, so the conflict intensified.

In a fit of anger, Zhang Yu went to the Organization Department and requested a transfer. Ming Lang felt that the young girl was lively, articulate, and good at singing and dancing, so she wouldn’t have any problem with propaganda work. In the end, she ended up with Ding Ding and became a broadcaster at the broadcasting station.

At the moment, Zhang Yu was leaning on the windowsill. This office, serving as the broadcasting booth, had been renovated. Not only had necessary soundproofing been installed, but the window facing Bopu port had also been enlarged into a large greenhouse-style window to facilitate the broadcaster’s observation during live broadcasts. Zhang Yu held a sweet potato jerky in one hand—a gift from Li Chiji, her cousin who was constantly trying to get into her pants—and a dried fish in the other, bought by Zhang Yuchen. Ever since his return from the Guangzhou station, Zhang Yuchen had been wholeheartedly pursuing his “chat buddy.” After all, this chat buddy had a good figure and appearance. He would ask Zhang Yu out on a date every few days.

Zhang Yuchen was 183 cm tall and weighed 77 kg. His figure was quite standard compared to many of the nerds. Plus, he hadn’t spent a single fen of his salary, bonuses, or dividends during his two years in Guangzhou, so he was quite well-off. He had also brought back many fun and beautiful small crafts from Guangzhou, making him a man of both “wealth and looks.” One day he would invite her for a casual meal, the next for coffee, completely charming the inexperienced young woman.

All this made Li Chiji extremely jealous. He had originally enticed his cousin to join the transmigration for “personal use,” not to become some elder’s brother-in-law. For this reason, he had to repeatedly remind his cousin that Zhang Yuchen’s romantic life in Guangzhou was very complicated. Although he had not openly taken a concubine, it was common for him to have physical relationships with many maids. And the maids he had brought back—now called life secretaries—were now openly living in his apartment.

“It’s not like I’m planning to marry him,” Zhang Yu said with a dismissive pout. “It’s fine to just be friends.”

Li Chiji thought to himself how many girls had become wives after just “being friends.” He was extremely anxious and, despite his work fatigue, had to intensify his pursuit daily to make Zhang Yuchen retreat.

Zhang Yu, of course, was unfazed by this situation. What was wrong with someone constantly supplying her with snacks and keeping her company?

She finished her lollipop and picked up her binoculars, looking out for any signal of the fleet’s arrival. The fleet returning from Hong Kong was due to arrive today. The welcoming crowd at the pier had been waiting since morning. As soon as the ships entered the port, she would have to start the live broadcast immediately.

“A lot of the big shots are here,” Zhang Yu said, looking through her binoculars at the shaded rest area on the pier. Almost all the members of the Lingao Executive Committee were there, standing or sitting, talking and smiling. She checked the list Ding Ding had given her of the Executive Committee members, standing committee members, and department heads who would be present to welcome the fleet. There were twenty-five or twenty-six in total. When Ding Ding gave her the list, he had specially instructed her not to read the names in the wrong order or to miss any.

As a self-proclaimed ultra-leftist, Zhang Yu had some understanding of politics and knew that this was actually a ranking of power and position. Although it was a small matter, the implications were significant. She read the list several times and then checked to see how many of the elders on the list had already arrived.

Just then, a loud sound of drums and horns was heard. A contingent of lower-grade students from the Fangcao’di National School was marching into the area in a grand procession.

They were all wearing standard student uniforms—a smaller version of the small-collared work uniform. The only difference was that the girls wore skirts that were slightly over the knee. This was a special request from Hu Qingbai. If the girls didn’t get used to modern-style skirts from a young age, it would be even harder for them to get used to sailor uniforms when they entered middle school.

The student uniforms had the embroidered school crest of “Fangcao’di National School” and the school motto: “Knowledge is Power” on the chest. The cuffs were adorned with black stripes indicating the class name and the student’s personal number. The collar had insignia with Roman numerals indicating the student’s grade.

Zhao Chuanyi held a small paper flag and walked properly in the ranks. He was ten years old, a second-grade student at the Fangcao’di National School. He was one of the first natives in Lingao to receive a formal school education. Following the educational curriculum personally compiled by Hu Qingbai, in terms of content, Zhao Chuanyi would have been a fourth-grade student in the old timeline.

Zhao Chuanyi was the grandson of Liu Dalin’s housekeeper, Zhao. His father had started working for the Australians very early on and was now a “cadre” in the General Office. All three of his children were studying at the national primary school, with Zhao Chuanyi being the eldest. Life at the national school was both novel and arduous. The educational model the transmigrators had established was cramming. Besides two hours of compulsory physical exercise every day, the schedule was packed with classes from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., with evening self-study sessions for a “sea of questions” tactic. For the children, getting half a day off from classes to “welcome the chiefs” was a very nice recreational activity.

“Come, you all come here.” The native cadres from the Ministry of Propaganda and Culture in charge of organizing led the contingent to a spot marked with lime and gave them a few instructions. The students listened, half-understanding. The gist was to cheer in unison and wave their small flags as soon as the warships entered the port.

Zhao Chuanyi looked at the pier with curiosity. They rarely had the chance to come here, as it was a “dangerous place.” Not only was it by the sea, but there were also many machines and vehicles, making accidents common. Children under 16 were not allowed on the pier on normal days. He looked at the large crane, at the large iron ship on the sea—the teachers called it the “Holy Ship.” They had even been taken on a field trip to see it from afar.

Now, this large iron ship was on the other side of the harbor, looking even more enormous—like a mountain! A huge iron chain hung from its bow, thicker than his thigh. How was such a thing made? Zhao Chuanyi often pondered this question. He was no longer surprised that an iron ship could float on water; the teacher in his physics class had already explained the relationship between buoyancy and mass and had even demonstrated the concept with tin foil. But Zhao Chuanyi was still amazed that people could build and command such a large ship, and his admiration for the “elders” grew day by day. He had heard from his teachers that if they studied hard, one day they too could build and pilot such large iron ships. This filled many students with excitement, planting the seeds of a yearning for science in their hearts for the first time.

Lu Yi quietly poked Zhao Chuanyi. “Look at that big crane! It’s so high, I wonder how they assembled it! If they used the method for building a pagoda, they would have had to build a super tall scaffold, right?”

“No matter how high, it can be built. Haven’t you heard the teacher say that the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing was 78 meters high? It was built hundreds of years ago, and they still managed it,” Zhao Chuanyi said.

“But that took many years to build. This big crane was built in just a few months.”

Zhao Chuanyi looked again at the row of steam cranes of different heights and sizes on the pier, the mountains of cargo, and the ships gathered in the port. It all felt both familiar and strange… Although his family were outsiders, he was born and raised in Lingao. He clearly remembered coming here once with Master Liu a few years ago. There was only desolate wilderness, with mangroves all over the beach, and only a few small fishing boats in the harbor. In just three years, it had become like this!

“Well, it’s ‘science’,” Yuan Fei interjected. “There are always principles we don’t understand. Let’s ask the teacher to talk about cranes next time. How can such heavy things be lifted? And the ropes, how strong must they be to not break?”

Lu Yi continued to explore the mysteries. “I heard the ropes on top are made of steel. I just can’t imagine how steel can be made into a rope.”

The class monitor turned around and said loudly, “Everyone, stop talking! An elder is coming.”

Ding Ding, with four or five native cadres from the propaganda department, hurried to the front of the student contingent. He suddenly remembered that such occasions usually included a flower presentation ceremony. Flowers were readily available—there was a flower nursery next to the Bopu hospital with plenty of flowers. The climate in Lingao was warm, so flowers bloomed year-round. It wouldn’t be a problem to put together four or five bouquets.

“Quickly select six children, three boys and three girls, to present flowers to President Wen and the others!” Ding Ding instructed the native cadre leading the team. Then he told his wife, “Make sure to take pictures during the flower presentation!”

“I know,” Panpan said with an indifferent expression, fiddling with her DSLR camera.