Part 267: Eve of the Storm
Lin Baiguang had read the entire wargaming and simulated artillery damage assessment report. Just as a man with a full hand of good cards wouldn’t mind his opponent’s few minutes of delay.
The Zheng family’s delay was nothing more than an attempt to score a few points and gain more benefits in the upcoming salt smuggling negotiations.
Thinking of this, he couldn’t help but hum a tune leisurely: “…I was originally a carefree man on Wolonggang…”
In another time and place, a county leader where Lin Baiguang worked was a great lover of Peking opera, so Lin Baiguang had learned a few arias to accommodate him—and he didn’t sing them badly.
After three or four days, Lin Baiguang was finally invited for “concrete talks.”
Once both sides had the intention, the commercial cooperation proceeded smoothly. They held a series of negotiations on prices, payment methods, and the safety of ship navigation.
In terms of supply price, Lin Baiguang was relatively flexible—the Senate’s salt cost was very low, so a slightly lower price was not a major issue. However, on payment, he refused the method of supplying for the whole year and settling accounts at the three festivals.
“This is not acceptable,” Lin Baiguang shook his head. “To say nothing else, when the Zheng family’s Anping sea ships go to Japan, do they collect payment the following year? Don’t the local Japanese merchants pay on the spot?”
You sell to the Japanese and get cash on delivery, so naturally, I sell to you and get cash on delivery. Lin Baiguang did not yield an inch on this point.
The Japanese were willing to pay in cash because the goods transported by Chinese merchants were in high demand, and the smuggled salt he controlled was also in high demand in Fujian.
However, he still made a small concession: the Zheng family could use locally produced indigo, medicinal herbs, timber, porcelain, and tea from Fujian to pay for half of the salt price. These goods were either useful for foreign trade or could be directly used by the Senate, making them as valuable as silver.
The two sides quickly reached an agreement. Senate ships flying the Dabo Shipping Company flag and the Morning Star flag could enter Weitou Bay, limited to three ships at a time, with a maximum of fifteen ships per month. The size of the ships was not restricted. As for the cargo, besides each ship being required to have half its cargo space filled with salt, there were no other restrictions. Zheng Hongkui expressed that they also had a great demand for grain. If the Senate was willing to transport and sell it, they could offer a favorable price—Fujian was also a major grain-deficient province at the time. Lin Baiguang immediately stated that he “could consider it.”
Senate ships entering Weitou Bay had to follow the rules of plugging their cannon touch-holes, storing their gunpowder magazines and weapons under seal, and flying the Zheng family’s command flag. This was also a common practice at the time and was not considered a loss of sovereignty and national humiliation. Lin Baiguang agreed to all of them.
As long as ships were allowed to continuously enter Weitou Bay, they could conveniently survey the entire bay’s defenses and hydrographic conditions, gathering enough data for the “final solution.”
Lu Wenyuan, wrapped in a large cloak, rode an unimpressive Mongolian horse, patrolling along the “willow pale.” Beside him was a group of retainers on foot, armed with staffs, sabers, and spears.
In November, Shandong was already bitingly cold. The wind whistled through the willow fence. The frost from last night had not yet completely melted.
The planted willow branches had taken root, but now, the leaves had all fallen, leaving only bare twigs.
“Willow pale” was his name for the willow fence set up on Qimu Island. His retainers, tenants, and servants, not knowing the origin, also called it that.
Patrolling the willow pale had become his daily routine. Any damaged areas were to be immediately repaired. Of the able-bodied men among the recruited tenants, whether they were serving as village militia or not, half of them patrolled, repaired, and reinforced the willow pale every day. The willow pale had already been transformed from a single fence into a double one. A month ago, they had started planting cheval de frise and abatis between the two fences.
His men only thought that Lord Lu was being cautious—after all, Shandong was rampant with soldiers, bandits, and refugees. Any large household either lived in a city or built a fortified village for self-protection. However, they were unimpressed by his construction of the willow pale, because Lord Lu had already built a very sturdy brick and stone fort on Qimu Island, which ordinary bandits and rogue soldiers could not take. They were even less likely to come to this desolate island by the sea.
Only Huang Ande knew that they were about to face a highly mobile and combat-effective rebel army, mainly composed of Liaodong cavalry, and that they had to have considerable defensive measures.
The group patrolled in the biting sea wind to the gate of the willow pale. It was a simple wooden gate, but it was much more complex than the crude willow pale. Above the thick gate was a gatehouse with loopholes. It had a roof and was guarded and watched day and night by the village militia.
Lu Wenyuan personally climbed the gatehouse to check if the quilts and charcoal for the militia to keep warm at night were sufficient, if the torches for lighting were well-stocked, and if the signal rockets for alarms were kept dry and usable. He was meticulous—only when he himself took it seriously would his men take it seriously.
Although Lu Wenyuan was based on Qimu Island, busy with construction projects and agricultural development every day, he was well aware of the progress of the entire operation through the radio. A month ago, the Grand Fleet had officially landed in Taiwan, kicking off Operation Engine.
Three weeks later, he received a telegram: the purification camp in Taiwan had reached the standard for purifying 2,000 people. He was to pay attention to receiving refugees from the southern Shandong region—Daozhang Zhang was already gathering refugees, and the first batch would soon be transferred to Qimu Island.
On Qimu Island, the necessary facilities were also roughly complete. The temporary shelters on the island could accommodate 3,000 people. A considerable amount of grain, medicine, and necessary cold-weather supplies had also been stockpiled.
Due to limited conditions, Qimu Island was only a transit station and did not perform more complex “purification.” It only provided basic food and warmth for the refugees and then quickly transferred them out. At this stage, the main destination for transfer was Taiwan. The transfer to Jeju would have to wait until next spring, partly because the schedule was tight, and partly to avoid the winter in Jeju. Transporting them to Taiwan would save a large amount of cotton clothes, quilts, and fuel.
Looking out from the gatehouse, the Shandong land was a vast and desolate sight. This was a year of famine, and the already barren and mountainous eastern three prefectures looked even more desolate. Although it was almost noon, there was no sign of cooking smoke as far as the eye could see. There were also few boats in Longkou Bay.
In the distance, the sound of mule bells could be heard. It was the “people-gathering team” organized by Lu Wenyuan returning. It was actually a patrol team for rescuing refugees. Each team consisted of several two-wheeled mule carts and a squad of village militia. They went to nearby villages and main roads to rescue refugees, and each time they could bring back quite a few people. Women, children, the elderly, and those too hungry to walk rode in the carts, while those who could walk walked on their own. They were received in batches into the temporary refugee camp on the island.
In less than half a month, more than five hundred people had been received here. Many were on the verge of death from starvation when they were picked up. Among them were also many infants and young children abandoned on the roadside or in empty houses. Due to the lack of food, clothing, and care, many did not survive even after being rescued.
Every day, many bodies were carried out of the willow pale gate and buried in the wasteland far away.
“It’s too tragic,” Lu Wenyuan murmured. Since being posted abroad, he had seen many scenes that could shock his nerves. Even so, he often felt uncomfortable with all of this, especially in the morning when the village militia carried the bodies of the refugees who had died during the night out of the shelters. He always avoided looking, lest he couldn’t bear it.
Death, famine, and destruction, for those who have not experienced them firsthand, are forever just a topic and a set of numbers. Only when you face them will you feel the terror.
The village militia quickly opened the gate to let the convoy and the stream of people in. The people walked sparsely, and it took a long time for them all to enter. The village militia had to shout and herd them while distributing a piece of millet pancake to each person to help them along—they didn’t dare to give more, fearing they would eat themselves to death.
Lu Wenyuan came down from the gatehouse and asked Wang Qisuo, who had led the team out, “How many people did you rescue?”
“Reporting to Your Lordship,” Wang Qisuo said, his face red and his nose running despite wearing a thick cotton coat and a hat. “There are not many people left nearby. We rescued more than forty people today, mostly children and women, and some old men and women. A few are on the verge of death from starvation, I don’t know if they can survive tonight.”
“You’ve worked hard. After you take the people to the camp, you and your brothers can rest.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship!”
Lu Wenyuan then returned to the farmstead. On the leveled open ground in front of the farmstead, women were rubbing sea-blite on reed mats. The tender leaves of the sea-blite, picked from the barren beaches and grasslands, were sun-dried, then rolled into balls and kneaded vigorously to remove their bitter juice. They were then dried for another afternoon and kneaded again, becoming soft and tough. They looked like tea leaves in strands. After another day of drying, the moisture would completely evaporate, and the dried sea-blite would be ready. It was stored in bags and could be eaten at any time.
After Lu Wenyuan introduced this plant to the tidal flats, this extremely hardy seaside weed immediately flourished. Sea-blite is extremely hardy and highly tolerant of salt and alkali. In places with less salt and alkali, it grows tender green, while in places with more salt and alkali, it grows red. The higher the salinity, the redder it becomes, but this does not affect its growth.
He ordered the tenants’ wives to pick it and then taught them how to process it step by step. No one knew what the master was doing with so much wild vegetable until the first batch of refugees was received, and these dried sea-blite vegetables came in handy.
Dried sea-blite has none of the bitter or strange taste common in wild vegetables; its taste is light. It is also quite nutritious. During the three years of natural disasters, many people survived on it. In the old world, some people mixed it with pork lard to make buns or ate it as a cold dish. Lu Wenyuan was not so particular here; he used the dried sea-blite as a filler, mixing it into the relief grain to make a paste for the refugees to eat.
As for the fuel for cooking, they used the stalks of the sea-blite.