Chapter 141: The Reward Feast

The ship was crowded and space was tight. Lured by the promise of a great meal, the line inevitably fell into some disorder. Everyone pushed towards the front. With a big pot of stew, it was first come, first served. The further back you were, the less you got. If you were unlucky enough to be last, you’d only get the dregs at the bottom.

“One by one, don’t push! There’s enough for everyone!” the fat cook shouted, banging his ladle on the rim of the pot to maintain order. “Any bastard who doesn’t line up properly gets only turnips, no meat.”

Although the cook’s rank was merely a Quartermaster Sergeant, he was the most “powerful” person on board. Even the First Officer, who served as the ship’s executive officer, spoke to him politely. With his roar, the line immediately became much more orderly.

“Fu Ji, hand out the rations!” the cook ordered, pointing with his large ladle. “Don’t get it wrong! It’s a special ration today! Shisan, you hand out the mess tins!”

At the entrance, the soldiers received their special daily ration from Fu Ji: 50 grams of rum, a shriveled apple, and a few pieces of fruit candy. The night shift crew would receive their rum after their duty, but they could get an extra item called an “energy bar.” This was something only those on duty could have. It was said to have a sweet red bean paste filling, and its sweet aroma always made Mao Shisan swallow his saliva in secret.

Fu Ji held a measuring cup, exactly 50 grams, and dispensed the rum from a barrel into each soldier’s tin cup. As he did, he would remind them, “No drinking during duty hours.”

The soldiers stuffed the apples and candy into their pockets. They wouldn’t drink the rum yet, waiting until they had their food. Mess tins taken from the steam cabinet were piled high. Each man took one, and Mao Shisan would place a few salt-cured plums on the lid of their tins. These plums were known to have antibacterial, sterilizing, and detoxifying properties, and they helped regulate the digestive system. The citric and picric acids they contained could boost metabolism, improve circulation, strengthen liver and kidney function, flush out lactic acid from the body, and relieve fatigue. It had now been designated as a key food to be promoted by Lingao, widely distributed not only in the Army and Navy but also heavily promoted among factory workers.

The soldiers whispered to each other that the mission was complete and they would be going home soon. Holding their mess tins, they pushed towards the service window with wide eyes.

The cook plunged his large ladle into the pot, digging up a heaping spoonful of mixed stew and pouring it into a mess tin. Because it was a mixed stew, he would stir the pot before scooping from the bottom each time to avoid any suspicion from the soldiers that they were being short-changed. The Soldiers’ Committee was most sensitive about food issues.

The soldiers who got their food found their own spots to eat and drink. The open deck was too cold, so they ate in the common quarters. Each man also received a small scoop of fried peanuts as a side dish for their drinks. Those who enjoyed drinking started playing finger-guessing games. Oscar the cat darted into the common quarters, meowing excitedly and weaving between legs, looking for bones. The ship was full of life.

In the small galley, the orderlies were incredibly busy. Even the cook, who usually never touched the officers’ meals, was helping out. Perhaps they were overwhelmed. The normally arrogant orderly of Chief Xue Weini gestured with his chin and said bossily, “You, come and take this.”

Mao Shisan obediently went over and was shocked by what he saw. What were the chiefs eating? A piece of beef, bone still in, undercooked and oozing blood; next to it were a few lonely, unidentifiable raw vegetables; and some fried potato strips. Mao Shisan knew the potatoes weren’t fresh either; they were fried in advance and stored in a jar, then refried when needed. Weren’t these just leftovers? The red soup contained several pieces of bone-in meat. Mao Shisan immediately recognized it—wasn’t that oxtail? You attendants serve this to the god-like chiefs? Tears almost welled up in Mao Shisan’s eyes. If looks could kill, the orderly’s back would have been riddled with holes. Mao Shisan desperately wanted to smash the tray over that bastard’s head, but he didn’t dare.

The cook brought a lid and placed it over the plate. “Quick, follow and deliver it!”

The officers’ mess on the Haitian was small, only able to accommodate twelve people. The mess also served as the ship’s combat command center and conference room.

The Navy was a service where even farting had its etiquette, and the distinction between officers and enlisted men was the most pronounced. The Haitian was a small ship, so they couldn’t stand on ceremony while at sea. After arriving at Duozhi Island, they could afford a little formality. Today, however, was a full-blown formal affair.

The table was covered with a snow-white tablecloth, set with a full dinner service. There was also a porcelain vase, but since there were no flowers to be found in Liaodong in March, it remained empty.

The orderlies had all changed into ironed uniforms, standing ramrod straight with white napkins draped over their arms.

Accompanying the several Traversers at the dinner table were the ship’s naturalized citizen officers. Each had changed into a neatly ironed uniform and sat with impeccable posture. The Traversers, however, were dressed more casually. Xue Ziliang even had his chest bared.

Since the dinner was to welcome Huang Hua, he was seated in the guest of honor’s position. He was currently boasting about how he had displayed his domineering presence before Hong Taiji. When he saw Mao Shisan enter, wearing an old, rankless uniform, he was taken aback. “Who is this?”

“He’s a vagrant we rescued during the Lushun reconnaissance. He’s been recovering in the cabins for a few days, so you haven’t seen him,” Xue Ziliang said nonchalantly. “We’ll let him ashore when we get back to Lingao.”

With a thud, Mao Shisan fell to his knees and kowtowed like a pestle grinding garlic. “Chief, don’t kick me off the ship! I’m willing to be your beast of burden for all eternity, I only beg you not to throw me off the ship.”

The orderly, having lost face, angrily kicked and tried to pull up the heap of mud that was Mao Shisan. Huang Hua raised a hand to stop him. “This one is a Liaodong local, right? Winnie, how about you hand him over to me?”

“No way. The Foreign Intelligence Bureau has long stipulated that all field agents must undergo purification and training.”

“A trained agent has a different demeanor. An observant native can easily spot them. Besides, I don’t necessarily need him to be an intelligence agent.”

“Alright, even so, he’ll have to go through the procedures at the Jeju Island Reception and Distribution Center.”

Mao Shisan, already lost in fear, didn’t hear the Traversers’ conversation. He was completely immersed in the terror of waking from a dream. He had always felt that his time on the Haitian was a dream, afraid that he would wake up back in his drafty little hut. Now he suddenly realized that life on the ship was real, and life off the ship was the dream—the most terrible nightmare.

Mao Shisan was dazedly dragged out. The people in the officers’ mess began their meal. Except for Xue Ziliang, who enjoyed a steak dinner alone, everyone else had Chinese food served Western-style: individually plated.

Huang Hua was eating beef chow fun. The meat from the old draft ox was very tough, but fortunately, the cook had the cheat tool of baking soda, making it at least edible. It was supplemented with bean sprouts and fresh garlic leaves grown on board.

“What the hell are you eating?” he asked, eyeing the suspicious-looking plate of what appeared to be raw meat in front of Xue Ziliang.

“Steak. A T-bone.”

“I know it’s steak, but what level of doneness is that? I’d say it’s not even medium-rare, maybe not even rare…”

Xue Ziliang laughed heartily:

“On the grill, ten seconds on the front, ten seconds on the back. That’s the only way to truly taste the tenderness of the beef. Medium-rare is too cooked.”

He sliced it with his knife, and a stream of bloody juice flowed out, as if the cow that provided the meat had just been stabbed. Chief Xue frowned: he had cut it too soon.

He then took the nearby jar of barbecue sauce, scooped out a large spoonful, and smeared the reddish-brown sauce all over the meat, making it look as if the cow had fallen in its own pool of blood, which then mixed with dirt and was smeared back on its body. Xue Ziliang satisfyingly forked a piece of the cut meat. The pale chunk, smeared with reddish-brown sauce, rose slowly, passed over the thick chest hair visible through the opening of his shirt, and headed straight for Chief Xue’s mouth. Finally, the piece of meat disappeared between his teeth and tongue. His lips mercifully closed, sparing the audience from witnessing the final tragic moments of that piece of meat.

Chief Huang, dining nearby, witnessed all of this. He cleverly averted his gaze, trying to suppress the urge to vomit while appearing not too impolite.

However, the texture of the steak was clearly a bit too tough. Even with the double treatment of a meat mallet and baking soda, Xue Ziliang had to chew for a long time before he could swallow.

“This cow must have been old and virtuous,” Wang Ruixiang complained after taking a bite of his oyster sauce beef.

The men chatted while they ate. The naturalized citizen officers were tactful enough to excuse themselves and leave after a certain point. Everyone knew the chiefs were about to discuss confidential matters.

After the naturalized officers and orderlies had all left, Huang Hua took out a small notebook and began to recount the specific details and gains of his trip to Shenyang. This was not just a briefing, but also had the nature of an informal report. The three-man team on the Haitian would have to produce a formal report based on it.

“Is it necessary to set up a trading post in Shenyang?” Although establishing a post was part of the original plan, Xue Ziliang couldn’t help but raise doubts. He was looking at it from a purely military perspective. Once a trading post was established in Shenyang, the special reconnaissance teams would inevitably have to draw up plans for its defense and evacuation. This would be another burden for the increasingly busy Special Reconnaissance Command. If Huang Hua himself were to stay there, the responsibility would become especially heavy.

“With a trading post, we can keep a constant watch on the Tartars’ movements. It can also serve as a forward base for the future,” Huang Hua said. “After my visit this time, I realized the extent of the Later Jin’s economic difficulties. They are desperately poor. Once trade begins, they will frantically break through the passes to get more goods for trade. This will tie down the Ming, which not only benefits us but also helps those peasant rebel armies. With the Ming fighting on two fronts in the north, they won’t have the capacity to pay attention to what we’re doing in Guangdong and Guangxi.”

“I’m saying that if a Traverser is permanently stationed at the trading post, the risk is too great,” Xue Ziliang said, munching on his fries. “What if the savages have a brain fart and do something crazy?”