Chapter 109: Strategic Stalemate

The blissful days of eating your fill and sleeping it off were finally over — the laborers started work again today. The moment they entered the Kiln District and saw those steel monsters that had appeared out of nowhere, gleaming with a metallic sheen, the Ming people began to lose their composure.

The Transmigrators naturally couldn't care less what their underlings were thinking. The laborers were ordered to line up in a horizontal row and observe up close how the equipment operated. The next moment, amid a deafening rumble, thigh-thick timber was swallowed bite by bite by iron teeth. The laborers, already trembling with fear, instantly dropped to their knees at this live broadcast of terror.

Comrade Yao Zhesheng, who had never treated himself as an outsider since Crossing Over and had thrown himself into work with full enthusiasm from the very first moment, flew into a cursing rage at the sight of such benightedness. He charged into the crowd, kicking and hauling at them, but the moment he pulled one up, another would kneel... This was probably how the Supreme Treasure felt while beating his underlings in front of Spring Thirteen Mother — frustration at iron that refused to become steel.

After great difficulty, he finally got this bunch straightened out, and then... there was no then. Observational instruction it was. They'd stand by the machines for half a day first, until they got over their fear.

In truth, the core power system didn't require many workers. From the Crusher all the way to the Steam Turbine, most operations were automated. The greatest physical labor for the workers was nothing more than moving branches, timber, sawdust, and wood shavings onto the conveyor belt. Equipment like the Boiler and Steam Turbine would always have someone from the Industrial Party on duty beside them. When natives could be trained to understand this equipment was still a mystery.

Including the Brick Factory and the woodworking plant, thanks to the generation of Electricity, the number of manual laborers would be reduced to a minimum. Warehouse essentials like Type 28 forklifts would soon be fully outfitted.

The Dutch and the Bandanese were still battling away upstream and downstream along Xingang Creek. The Red Hair had slightly better luck — they were responsible for clearing the river channel and bank vegetation downstream of Xingang Creek, a job that grew easier the further they went. The downstream vegetation gradually thinned, and the salinity of the stream water steadily increased, so both the harshness of the work and the mosquitoes decreased by the day.

As of today, the total number of Dutch who had died from various causes was still under twenty, and the coming days held promise of maintaining zero casualties. This was something the Great Office had specifically instructed: Mr. Nuytz would soon be returning from Japan, and if he found his men all dead, it would be a bit of a loss of face.

The Bandanese were not so fortunate. There was a reason Taiwan was called "Formosa" by the Spanish.

The Kiln Area Base was located along the middle reaches of Xingang Creek, positioned rather far east on the Tainan Plain, already nearing the shallow hilly terrain at the foot of Alishan. As the Bandanese pushed their reclamation efforts upstream along Xingang Creek, the death rate climbed steadily with the rising elevation.

The dense vegetation of the hilly terrain made every step a struggle for the Bandanese.

Below 800 meters in elevation, the Alishan Range was covered in evergreen broadleaf forests of camphor, banyan, acacia, wild longan, autumn maple, and more. There were also vast expanses of over a dozen bamboo species, including moso bamboo, Green Bamboo, and makino bamboo. Every inch of ground was occupied by various wild Broadleaf Plants, Shrubs, and Yellow Rattan. The primeval vegetation merged into a green ocean, like waves upon the sea, utterly unafraid of any outsider's incursion.

After the Bandanese had pushed two kilometers upstream along Xingang Creek, the death rate began to soar rapidly. Even though the Transmigrators had issued them full sets of protective work clothing, complete sets of tools brought from later generations, and prompt medical treatment for injuries, none of it could stop the breakneck killing speed of Malaria and workplace injuries.

Of the original over 100 Bandanese, only seventy remained now, a death rate exceeding thirty percent. Now, before work each day, an Overseer with an infrared thermometer would scan it across everyone's neck. The moment anyone with an elevated temperature was found, they were immediately taken away — the sick were transferred by boat to bamboo sheds on Beixianwei Island for observation. There, anyone suffering from the shakes would be smashed dead with a Hammer and then buried at sea.

The few who held out to the end and were finally diagnosed with a common cold would receive a few tablets of Aspirin. There would be no Sulfonamide or Antibiotics, because the debate on the Forum about drug resistance had not yet concluded.

The Transmigrators' ideal "five-kilometer" absolute mosquito defense perimeter had to be temporarily halted due to the exorbitant consumption rate of cannon fodder. With the Kiln District as the circle's center, only two kilometers of vegetation had been cleared in the direction of Alishan to the east. The northern area on the opposite bank of Xingang Creek had simply not been touched yet. Only the southwestern direction toward Chikan was acceptable.

In short, the road was tortuous but the future was bright. As time passed, the phase of strategic stalemate would eventually be broken. The final defeated party was certain to be the Environment, not a certain power base diligently working to develop industrialization.

Waves rolled and tumbled, the sea stretching endlessly into the sky. The afternoon Sunlight was warm and brilliant. The Dog Eye fleet, having set sail from Hangzhou, had by now covered most of the Taiwan-Zhejiang route. The three Thousand Liao seagoing vessels, sailing in a single-line formation, were now cleaving through the waves along the midline of the Taiwan Strait.

The distant glory was long a thing of the past. Two hundred years later, Zheng He's descendants had fallen comprehensively behind in navigation, reduced to relying on the naked eye to observe Landmarks along the way. At this point in time, armed with ever-advancing mathematics, literature, and nautical science, Colonizers could cross the vast Pacific Ocean to reach East Asia every year. Yet the shipowners of the Great Ming still relied on ancient compass bearings, hugging the coastline as they sailed north and south.

They could make long voyages to Pattani, Manila, and Batavia, because along the routes to these places, there were coastlines and various island chains to provide shelter from the wind and indicate direction.

But they lacked the Capability to sail along the midline of the Taiwan Strait right at their doorstep. In this strait, averaging three hundred kilometers wide, there were no Landmarks to be seen — only Seawater. It took just one night, or one storm, and a Ming ship would lose its bearings, not knowing whether it was off Korea or Guangdong — they lacked the ability to navigate by the stars above.

For the Transmigrators' fleet, equipped with technological devices brought from later generations, the vast deep sea instead became a protective barrier during the voyage. The Taiwan-Zhejiang route pioneered by the fleet in its early days was now increasingly perfected. As long as sea conditions permitted, the lead Navigation Ship now tended to sail along the middle of the strait, avoiding potential Trouble, and would only change course once the latitude drew near Tainan.

Carrying a urine bucket, Yang Er climbed up step by step from the bottom of the hold... It was finally his turn for some fresh air. Coming up onto the deck, he walked to the latrine pit at the stern and poured everything from the bucket into the sea. Then, using the wooden pail beside him, he hauled up Seawater, scrubbed the urine bucket clean, and at last could lean against the ship's rail and breathe in a few gulps of refreshing Sea Wind!

Yang Er today had a shaved head, the purple-red birthmark on his face still conspicuous. His upper body wore the cheapest moon-white homespun jacket with front buttons, his lower body a pair of moon-white homespun Cropped Pants that exposed his ankles, and his feet were shod in Straw Sandals. His image could not be called fashionable. If he wrapped a moon-white cloth towel around his head, he might just be able to attempt a Shaanbei style.