Chapter 42: The Rebels

Just as Chu Jianli stood on the bank of the Tang River, torn between hope and fear, a half-worn black-canopied boat drifted slowly down from upstream and, before long, drew up alongside the still-unfinished private port.

The moment the boat touched shore, five or six sturdy, able-bodied men came leaping down with a clatter; the one in the lead was the very man sent into the mountains a few days ago to report the situation. Seeing Chu Jianli coming forward to greet them, he hastily clasped his hands: "Third Lord!"

"Where's the Great Lord?" Chu Jianli chuckled.

Before the words had faded, a booming shout sailed over from the prow: "Third Brother!"

Chu Jianli looked up. There, standing at the prow with a bamboo hat on his head and a short robe of homespun cloth, square-faced and sporting a short beard, was Zhou Tong, smiling warmly as he gazed at him. And the short man beside him, with tiger-like whiskers, round eyes, and a butcher's knife slung at his waist — who else could that be but Chen Erye?

Having been apart for many days, the three leaders took the time while cargo was being unloaded from the boat to exchange pleasantries — Zhou Tong, knowing a certain someone's tastes, had also brought along ten loads of chicken-blood stone on this trip.

After listening to Chu Jianli's slightly worried report on the situation, Zhou Tong waved a magnanimous hand: "No matter, you're overthinking this. With the sir's divine power and grand vision, why would he need to scheme over us brothers? It's simply a shortage of manpower, nothing more."

At this point, Zhou Tong let out a sigh before continuing: "Didn't the brothers test the waters back when we took White Village? But the man was set on traveling far. Looking at it now, it's just that the temple of Pingfeng Stronghold couldn't house a true Buddha. Now that the sir has drawn in trusted aides, it's bound to be a grand affair. Ah, in any case, let's go meet him first — it's an opportunity as well."

Surrounded by a clamoring entourage and bearing famous local specialties from Mu Mountain, the group headed straight for Tangzhuang to "renew old ties" with Cao Chuan.

At the gate of Tangzhuang, a horse-faced "monk" with narrow eyes and fair, clean skin was waiting for Zhou Tong and his party.

Feng Jun, former foreman, lobby manager, head of the Human Resources Department, and currently the man responsible for the Transmigration Company's immigration plan, styled himself "Pudu," but in truth was still plying his old trade — human resources deployment.

After the two groups exchanged somewhat incongruous greetings at the gate of Tangzhuang, Master Feng, wielding a Hangzhou patois only seventy-percent fluent and crash-learned from "Hangzhou Mandarin," displayed his professional, slightly soft-spoken voice as he led the three leaders all the way toward the back residence.

The moment they entered the rear garden, Chen Huoding's eyes instantly bulged to their widest — beneath a grass shed, seven or eight tall, strapping men, stripped to the waist, were gathered around a long table, fiddling with a pile of firearms, with wooden targets set up in the distance.

One obviously greenhorn transmigrator was practicing shooting while holding a horse stance; the crisp pop-pop-pop of an M9 pistol rang out continuously, tantalizing Chen Erye until his heart itched unbearably. Only after Zhou Tong shot him a fierce glare was he reluctantly dragged away.

Arriving before the door of the main hall, Feng Jun gestured for the few of them to wait a moment. Not long after he went inside, those at the door were ushered into the inner room. Upon entering and looking up, Zhou Tong saw that the person sitting alone in the center of the main hall was none other than Mr. Cao, whom they had not seen for many days.

Cao Zhenren's attire today had a certain flair: his upper body was clad in a Ming-yellow Tang-style jacket embroidered with five dragons in colored silk, and his lower body in a pair of equally bright yellow Western-style trousers. He sat squarely and imposingly upon a folding chair. Flanking him on either side stood CEO Xia and Master Pudu. Seeing the three leaders of Pingfeng Stronghold enter, Cao Zong gave a strange laugh and inclined his body slightly: "Great Boss Zhou, I trust you've been well since we last parted?"

Putting on airs to this degree truly could not be blamed on Cao Chuan. Given his own temperament, he would have long since gone out to welcome the guests, and then everyone would have drunk some beer and whatever else together.

This whole act, filled with ham-fisted psychological cues, had been cooked up by a few transmigrators who claimed to have profound knowledge of ancient culture. Cao Zong was only responsible for the performance; even the subsequent lines had been scripted by others.

According to the spirit of the Opening Gong Conference, the Crossing Faction planned, after the Mid-Autumn Festival, when the north wind began to blow across the sea, to hoist sail and voyage far, heading straight for Dayuan, and upon the bones of the Dutch, erect the first base of the Crossing Regime.

It was now the fourth month of the lunar calendar, with over four months remaining before the north wind season. The transmigrators had to organize a channel for collecting and supplying personnel and materiel within this window. Yet no matter what the next step was, the bandits of Pingfeng Stronghold, who could to some degree be called "our own people," were a human resource the Company absolutely had to utilize right now.

This was the reason Zhou Tong and the others had come to Tangzhuang today.

Watching as the people in the room finished introducing themselves, tea bowls were distributed, and everyone took their seats to the left and right, Cao Chuan brewed his emotions for a moment, switched on an expression of compassionate pity for all mankind, raised his head in a long sigh, and then said slowly to Zhou Tong: "Brother Zhou, it seems I am likely to become Emperor."

Even though Zhou Tong had previously harbored a vague guess or two in this direction, at this moment he was still bowled over by this style — so concise, so unbridled. Looking at Cao Chuan, sitting squarely on the folding chair in his short, front-opening dragon jacket above and what were presumably dragon trousers below, Zhou Tong's lips quivered a few times, and he found himself utterly speechless.

The script certain people had designed came to a complete standstill right here — the force was too heavy, and the temporary actor had no idea how to play along.

Just at this awkward moment, Chen Erye, who had been sitting idly to the side, suddenly boomed: "Sir, you were simply not the loyal sort! Back then you wouldn't share wealth and glory with us brothers, and now that you're about to raise the banner, you only just thought of us. Hmph, I'll put my words up front today: if we're to take Hangzhou, you'll have to distribute those 'repeating muskets' among the brothers!"

Toward the final sentence, Chen Huoding's tone noticeably softened. After stealing a glance at Cao Chuan seated in the place of honor, he hurriedly added in a lower voice: "That short musket of the type outside just now, we want that too, or else no one's going to fight to the death for you."

Hearing this, Zhou Tong nearly coughed up a mouthful of blood: "Shut your mouth! What nonsense are you spouting!"

After rebuking Chen Huoding, Zhou Tong hastily cupped his hands toward Cao Chuan: "Second Brother is just a crude fellow, always making strange noises — you know this, sir. Do not take offense, do not take offense."

Cao Chuan blinked, and after a long moment, suddenly burst into roaring laughter: "No offense, no offense. Second Lord is forthright — only with muskets will he fight to the death. Ha ha, ha ha."

Just as this laughter ended, a gentle voice rose from beside him: "Amitabha, seeing once is better than hearing a hundred times. The Second Leader is indeed a man of true temperament — and in his speech, he's already talking of taking Hangzhou City."

Chen Huoding, utterly oblivious to the barb in Feng Jun's words, and not particularly caring what the focus of these people's discussion was, continued to display his literary talent on his own: "Since ancient times, an emperor never sends hungry soldiers into battle. Without handy tools, well, this Hangzhou won't be easy to strike either."

— Watching Second Brother, all for the sake of a single "dharma artifact," thoroughly lay bare the thoughts of their own brothers, Zhou and Chu exchanged a glance and could only smile wryly in silence, their original intent to haggle fading considerably.

Having chatted to this extent, Cao Chuan and his group already had a clear idea in mind. It seemed the brothers in the mountains weren't averse to the Organization after all — this made things much easier from here on.

Sensing that the script could continue again, Cao Chuan therefore cleared his throat and looked at Zhou Tong: "Since my arrival in Hangzhou, I've reversed my previous refusal and begun recruiting soldiers and buying horses. The brothers must have some thoughts on this?"

Zhou Tong, upon hearing this, was greatly alarmed: "Absolutely no such thing! You, sir, are a man among immortals; your actions naturally follow their own order. How could we rustic mountain folk presume to comment!"