Chapter 567: The Person by the Roadside

Under bright sunlight and drifting white clouds lay a desolate coastal wilderness.

The ancients' productivity was low; after Shao Qiang had traveled barely ten li from Qiongzhou Prefectural City, the surroundings began turning toward uninhabited desolation.

Along Old Master Shao's journey, apart from scattered villages and sparse fields at the edge of sight, elements like beaches, jagged rocks, woods, and wild grass rapidly took over the landscape, leaving only a single pitted dirt road stretching into the distance.

If one mistakenly thought Shao Qiang harbored some fascination for Haikou's primitive seascape, that was not the case; Old Master Shao had merely come out on a whim today for some temporary relaxation.

People of later generations ride the most crowded transport, play on beaches that have people but no sand, and in the end still get ripped off with a sky-high seafood bill — that is what they call a sea-view tour.

However, the Transmigrators, having journeyed these past few years from the primeval scenery of seventeenth-century Taiwan all the way to Fujian and Guangdong, could be said to have long since developed an immunity to so-called subtropical primeval charm.

Nowadays, unless they were seeing quasi-tropical scenery south of ten degrees north latitude, such as South Yue and Thailand, the places within Great Ming territory truly could not stir a Transmigrator's interest.

To be honest, what some people most wanted to see right now were high-rises of steel bar and cement; they would even accept a bit of smog.

Accompanied by the briny wind blowing in from the sea surface, Old Master Shao's party gradually approached the Mangrove Forest along the dirt road. Shao Qiang, reclining on a sedan chair, had by now half-closed his eyes and begun pondering "matters of state."

The burden on Shao Qiang's shoulders was still very heavy.

As of today, having finally settled in Qiongzhou, the next step for him and Sha Zhengming, this pioneering duo, was to swiftly turn their sights toward Beibu Gulf, toward that piece of land in Vietnam called Annam in the seventeenth century.

In other words, they would be stepping beyond the nation's gates.

Time was tight.

On his end, he could only be said to have just settled in, with a mountain of tasks still to follow. Yet whether it was the Cabinet Elders far away in Guangzhou, or within the Transmigrators themselves, there was a general consensus: the Southbound Fleet must head south as soon as possible.

It was already the latter half of 1631. According to the Transmigrators' planning, by next year at the latest, a series of stable bridgeheads must be established on the Indochina Peninsula — advancing into Indochina while setting their sights on the South Seas.

This implicit time requirement gave Shao Qiang a splitting headache. This was the seventeenth century; he had no ten-thousand-ton giants or various engineering machinery at hand. On the contrary, the sailing ships under his command took a voyage measured in "months" just for a one-way trip to the Indochina Peninsula. Shao Qiang truly did not know how to establish a "series" of bridgeheads in such a short time.

Moreover, once beyond the nation's gates, conducting affairs would not be so easy.

The first Annamese they would face next were not Great Ming officials and commoners who greeted the Transmigrators with smiling faces, sharing a language and bloodline. This small country, which had been a commandery dependency of China during the Qin-Han period, had established its own emperor and created its own laws and script ever since breaking away from the Han lineage during the Five Dynasties.

Although they modeled themselves on China in every way, over the course of more than a thousand years, the Annamese had long since become fundamentally independent. To the point that after repeated dramas with the Central Plains dynasties — turning hostile, fighting wars, offering tribute, and requesting titles of enfeoffment — both sides had long since reached a tacit understanding: when the Central Plains was strong, the Annamese would shut their doors and play emperor; when the Central Plains was weak, heh heh.

Were it not that Annam was currently in the era of the "Trinh-Nguyen Civil War," given the nature of these wretched little brothers surrounding Great Ming, they would certainly have seized the chance to pounce and take a bite while the big brother was weak.

Therefore, even though he held an advantage in military technology, Shao Qiang dared not take the next phase of work lightly. Annam was an enemy state; there, from the very air to the rats, from emperor to subjects, from vegetation to soil, everything bore malice toward outsiders.

The main reason Shao Qiang had come out to relax today was to sort out his work approach and see how to find the fastest development model under the time constraint.

Just as Old Master Shao closed his eyes and sank into contemplation, he felt a slight dip beneath him — the party had turned off the roadbed and begun heading toward the seaside.

Old Master Shao opened his eyes slightly for a glance and saw that the Mangrove Forest was just a hundred meters ahead, so he closed his eyes again.

The next moment, Old Master Shao's eyes suddenly flew wide open, revealing an expression of panic, because a piercing, wretched scream burst out from beneath him: "Great Master, save me! Have mercy, save me~~~~~~!!!"

Although Old Master Shao had received anti-assassination training as far back as the Great Office period, Shao Qiang, who had spent these years living in comfort, rising and sitting with eight bearers, deeply corrupted by the accursed old society, had long since become utterly useless.

Thus, although his mind was clear at this moment and he wanted to make some evasive, self-protective move, his body was very honest — he merely twisted once on the sedan chair and failed to take any effective action.

At that very moment, the sedan chair bearers, equally startled by the scream, felt their hearts seize up, their feet slip, their shoulders tilt — and dumped the old master off!

The old master being tipped off the sedan chair was a serious problem indeed. Fortunately, Old Master Shao was surrounded by people; the instant he fell, those with nimble hands and feet caught him in a flurry of scrambling arms.

At the same time, the attendants tasked with guard duty were also greatly alarmed. These men had undergone formal training, so they knew all too well the consequences if the protected target came to harm — this was the savage seventeenth century; if Lord Shao died, all attendants present would likely have to pay with their lives.

The next moment, over a dozen men, seven or eight guns, and N number of cold weapons were all aimed at the patch of grass from which the scream had come.

The location of this patch of grass was, admittedly, ingenious — it sat just below the roadbed. When the large party turned down, no one would have imagined that from a grass patch visible everywhere at hand, such a resounding scream would suddenly burst forth.

Immediately, two tall, sturdy guards lunged into the grass patch. After a bout of thrashing about, they dragged out a native Ming person wearing a long robe and a hair bun.

The moment this native was dragged from the grass patch, he appeared to struggle twice, which gave the guards their justification. The guards, inwardly seething with hatred, were at that moment possessed by the spirit of American police; a flurry of rifle butts and leather boots followed, beating the native until he howled, his mouth shouting, "Brave heroes, spare my life!"

"Enough, stop hitting him. Didn't you hear? He's already calling us brave heroes. A moment ago he was calling me 'old master'!"

Old Master Shao, who had been helped to his feet by a flurry of hands, spoke up and saved this native's life.

After his shock had somewhat settled, Old Master Shao first swept his gaze around in a circle and found no large force lying in ambush to harm his venerable self, so he understood that this was merely a coincidence.

Although the sedan-chair tumble was a bit embarrassing, Shao Qiang, after all, had a later-generation mindset; he had no intention of venting his anger on these people, and so he spoke up and saved this native's life.

After this little interlude, Old Master Shao helped up the several sedan chair bearers who were kneeling and kowtowing ceaselessly, resumed his seat on the sedan chair, and the large party set off for the Mangrove Forest.

As for that native whose name no one even knew, he was shoved and jostled by the guards and escorted along at the rear of the party.

Upon finally reaching the Mangrove Forest, seeing that the scenery and daylight were both still fine, the party chose a beach with clean white sand. The attendants quickly set up the tables, chairs, and parasols they had brought, arranged the cast-iron grill, took out the live seafood brought from base, brushed on the seasonings the old master loved to eat, sprinkled on minced garlic, and got an open-air seafood barbecue party going.

Old Master Shao at this time still reclined half-lying on a bamboo chair, occasionally downing a skewer, then taking two gulps of pure-wheat home-brewed beer. While eating skewers, the old master's gaze was deep and profound, staring fixedly at the surging, rolling sea, the very image of a philosopher.

The attendants knew the old master's habits, so even though they too were heartily devouring skewers, no one made a racket, fearful of disturbing the old master's train of thought.

After more than two hours had passed like this, Shao Qiang finally muttered to himself: "In the end, overwhelming force still conquers all cleverness!"

Having spoken this "future work policy toward Annam," Old Master Shao seemed to have gained considerable clarity. Having made his decision, his mood instantly relaxed: "Bring a few more skewers of roast suckling pig!"

With his appetite fully opened, Old Master Shao promptly resumed devouring pork belly strips. While eating the skewers, the old master finally remembered the culprit who had earlier caused his venerable self to tumble from his seat: "Bring that so-and-so over here; the old master wants to conduct an interrogation!"

"As you command!"

The grass-patch screamer was soon hauled before the old master, then received a kick to the back of the knee, assuming a kneeling and kowtowing posture.

Shao Qiang, while eating skewers, sized up this hero with a glance.

This grass-patch hero looked exactly like every impoverished farmer Shao Qiang had seen in this era, only seemingly more wretched and pitiful: short and stocky in stature, ugly in appearance, covered all over in mud and grass stalks, face bruised and swollen, his short robe of coarse cloth tattered and torn, his calves wrapped with cloth strips that were seeping the color of blood — apparently wounded.

"Speak. Who ordered you to lie in ambush by the roadside as an assassin?"

Upon hearing Old Master Shao's bantering question, the grass-patch hero's face was a mask of utter bewilderment — the native could not understand Shao Qiang's Mandarin.

Fortunately, since Shao Qiang had come to operate in Qiongzhou, his entourage naturally included men of local Qiongzhou origin, and so a translator quickly appeared.

Upon understanding the Qiongzhou local dialect spoken by the translator, the grass-patch hero's bruised and swollen face immediately squeezed out an expression like that of Dou E, complete with snot and tears: "A grave injustice, Great Master! This lowly one is wronged! This lowly one was driven out from the labor works! I had absolutely no intention of harming anyone!"

"Haha." Old Master Shao downed another skewer, picked up his beer mug for a sip, then leaned back comfortably in his reclining chair: "Fine, looking at your pathetic state, you don't seem like an assassin. Then tell me your tragic story, let this old master have a bit of amusement."

What followed was a story Shao Qiang had heard countless times in this era.

The grass-patch hero was a farmer from Lingao County in Qiongzhou. Over a month ago, the County Yamen had suddenly dispatched corvée labor, saying it was to go to Qiongzhou Prefecture to repair the harbor and guard against sea bandits.

This grass-patch hero's family was destitute, and naturally had no capability to pay silver to avoid the labor, so he was sent to Qiongzhou to repair the harbor for the Southbound Fleet. Half a month ago, when Shao Qiang and his people arrived, the grass-patch hero was again assigned to build walls for the government offices in the prefectural city.

Then, just yesterday, this fellow's leg was crushed and injured by a brick.

The vicious Official Runners, seeing that this fellow was now useless, immediately drove him out of the prefectural city. And so the grass-patch hero, limping and hobbling, thus embarked on the road back to Lingao.

Everyone knows what happened next. Halfway down the road, the Grass Nest Hero's leg wound flared up. Beset by exhaustion and hunger, he could only lie in a grass nest and wait for death. Instead, he ended up waiting for Old Master Shao — and even startled the old master right off his sedan chair.

"Look, just look! In the old society, people were well and truly turned into ghosts!"

Although Shao Qiang had already roughly guessed what this man had been through, he still put on an indignant Expression — ideological work could never slacken for One Moment: "You tell me — if we don't change this, can we let it stand?"

"The old master speaks true!"

"The rules of this world do need changing!"

The attendants had long since had their brains washed by the training classes, so at this moment they wore the same indignant faces, chiming in with the old master's words.

Shao Qiang nodded. "Mm. A pitiful soul, and one who helped build our dock, too."

In the end, Old Master Shao made his decision: "Here's what we'll do. Looking at his state, if we don't save him, he'll die right here. Take this man back to the Labor Reform Camp, get his wounds treated. Once his leg heals, see about arranging some work for him."

"As you command!"

The next moment, Old Master Shao turned to the Grass Nest Hero and asked kindly, "By the way, fellow villager, what's your name?"

This simple sentence the Grass Nest Hero understood, so he stammered haltingly, "Replying to the old master, this lowly one is Fu Youdi."

Traveling to the Ming Dynasty