Chapter 593: The Multitude on Deck

The Red River's surface, with its uniquely dark red currents, surged mightily eastward.

This spot was precisely the confluence of the Red River and the Dun River, which had naturally formed a settlement. Shenglong Prefecture, which commanded this location, occupied a critical geographical position, much like the northern and southern capitals of its northern neighbor: whether traveling from south to north, or from the interior to the coast, Shenglong Prefecture was an unavoidable transit point for all internal and external exchanges in Annam.

Unfortunately, the uninvited guests seemed to think so too. Recently, they had been raiding with increasing frequency, clearly harboring intentions of settling here long-term.

Time had already reached late January of the 16th year. After the two previous utterly unprovoked and barbaric bombardment operations, this was the Southbound Fleet's third visit to Shenglong Prefecture in the span of a month.

This time, however, the situation had changed. Compared to the first two rounds, the superior nation's fleet, gracing the "vassal state" with its presence once more, did not launch an attack upon arrival. Instead, it assumed a formation and docked at the confluence of the two rivers.

Were they just out for a cruise?

Viewed from afar, the battleship Fuyuan, with a full-load displacement exceeding 1,500 tons, sat at the center of the river mouth, surrounded by a host of other vessels like stars clustering around the moon.

This imperialist warship, which the Annamese people both hated and feared, had not opened its gun ports at this moment. Instead, it had dropped anchor, furled its sails halfway, and bobbed gently on the waves in the comfortable January breeze, the very picture of leisure.

In fact, the battleship really was out for a cruise today.

To be precise, the warship's owner had finally remembered to take a cruise through the scenic beauty of the Red River Delta.

On the Fuyuan's broad rear deck, a group of bigwigs sat on empty barrels, with a wooden board temporarily laid across more empty barrels in front of them to serve as a table. The table was covered with canned food and tin cans of beer; a lively party was in full swing.

Judging by the scene, this high-end, classy battleship deck cocktail reception had clearly been going on for quite some time. The attendees had all drunk a fair amount, their faces flushed and voices booming. Their shouts drifted over the Red River, as if carrying all the way into the distant, lush, boundless rainforest.

"Come on, brothers, bottoms up!"

Soon, not long after a round of toasts had just finished, Regional Commander Zhang Dongdong raised his cup again.

"Another one? What's the occasion this time?"

"Let's... toast to Cao Zong's eternal life, and Old Xia—burp—well, average health."

"Good, good, good, Old Zhang's bootlicking is top-notch. Come on, drink up, everyone drink up."

Before the words had faded, a pile of dark green military enamel mugs clanked together. The next moment, accompanied by the fragrance of hops, thick white foam bubbled up from the mugs.

Without a doubt, those who could drink beer so arrogantly and offer such arrogant toasts were naturally all Transmigrators.

Zhang Dongdong was the one who had drunk the most today.

This gentleman held a special status. Before the vast Native population, he was the very personification of a great Hero of the Age who dominated the south. Yet, within the Transmigrator circle, his political status was merely that of a "rank-and-file member."

More than that. Due to the unique internal relationships among the Transmigrators, at times, Zhang Dongdong, as a rank-and-file member, even had to be particularly "cautious in word and deed," lest someone criticize him for "overstepping his bounds" and try to present this counterfeit to the genuine article to curry favor—the profession of critic is one that spans multiple dimensions and will never perish through the ages; even in the seventeenth century, the creature known as the local network critic existed.

So, generally speaking, although many major events in this plane could not happen without Zhang Dongdong's participation, he usually just "showed his face without managing affairs." Being a figurehead seemed to have become his only job.

Of course, every loss has its gain. No power naturally meant no responsibility. In such a state, after moving from initial awkwardness to complete acceptance, Zhang Dongdong had actually found a way to thrive: just have fun.

Anyway, when it came time to divide the cake, he wouldn't get a single gram less.

So he drank the most today—in fact, at any internal party thereafter, compared to those "Transmigrator corporate slaves" burdened with various tasks, Zhang Dongdong was always the generous soul who drank from large bowls.

Having drunk too much, he was bound to spout grandiose words, or what you'd call nonsense. After just delivering that fine toast, Regional Commander Zhang was soaring again. He leaned against the starboard side, one hand unsteadily holding his mug, the other pointing at the distant Annamese capital, Shenglong Prefecture, hazy and indistinct in the river mist. First, he threw his head back and laughed.

After striking a full pose, the next moment, Zhang Dongdong bellowed out that famous line with an aria-like, boozy breath: "Brothers, the historical process of conquering a nation by setting up a few cannons has finally arrived! Drink up!"

The bunch of drunkards, already in high spirits, were instantly filled with soaring passion upon hearing this. Strange cheers, applause, and whistles erupted one after another.

The scene of demons dancing wildly was an eyesore. A bunch of inebriated fools in their element—no one could sober them up; they could only wait for the party to disperse naturally.

But there are always exceptions. In any large gathering, there will always be those who don't fit in. At this moment, in an inconspicuous corner of the stern, two Transmigrators, also seated on empty barrels, were watching the revelers at the drinking party as if watching a joke, their faces full of mockery.

It must be said, this time when Cao Zong had spontaneously dispatched a vehicle to Annam, there were quite a few people hitching a ride. After all, no matter what, Annam could be considered a "state of a thousand chariots," possessing both civil culture and military preparedness.

Conquering such a state of a thousand chariots was different from fighting tribal Tartars. There were important "future norms of international relations conduct" here, waiting for the Transmigrators, experiencing this for the first time, to gather data and discuss establishing.

Thus, besides personnel from the Military and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, those aboard the ship also included other Transmigrators intending to collect firsthand data, as well as a motley crew from agriculture, mining, and various other fields.

In short, the group was very mixed, with all sorts of people.

The two sitting at the stern right now were Wei Hu and Ma Ming.

Wei Hu, dressed in a modified Chinese-style stand-collar jacket, was tall, burly, and dark-complexioned, looking more like a plumber than an accountant, yet before Crossing Over, he had been a bona fide certified public accountant.

This trip to Annam was also a spur-of-the-moment decision for Wei Hu. He was very interested in the financial operations of a medieval state, so he came to conduct some research.

Wei Hu's current identity was Qianliang Shive of the General Headquarters. This position had a counterpart in later generations: Director of the National Tax Bureau.

Overseeing all tax collection in the General Headquarters' "actual control zones," Wei Hu wielded far more real power in the current environment than his later-generation counterparts.

The reason was simple: due to an extreme shortage of "middle and high school arithmetic talent," the current "national tax" and "local tax" were two signboards operated by the same team, making Wei Hu the true boss of the tax world.

Within the Transmigrator circle, Wei Hu held another identity: leader of the opposition faction, and a member of the Transmigrator high command.

During the initial chaotic period of adjustment in Tainan, Wei Hu had been the head of the minority Tang Cavalry Society. To this day, although the Imperial Han faction led by Xia Xianze held the mainstream, everyone understood that some opposition was ultimately necessary.

So Wei Hu's group also lived quite comfortably.

Besides, in the current environment, as long as you were a Transmigrator, you were used as a main load-bearing beam. No matter what kind of crooked melon or split date you were, there really weren't many who didn't live comfortably.

Ma Ming, sitting beside Wei Hu, was the Assistant Regional Commander Manager of First Construction.

The reason Ma Ming, an Imperial Han member, could hit it off so well with Wei Hu was certainly not because he knew how to pave asphalt roads, but because they were both members of minority factions.

Ma Ming had also come to Annam this time for research: the preliminary work for building fortresses in a tropical environment and constructing "defensive communities."

Thus, amidst the deck drinking party composed of numerous Onlookers and mainstream factions, Wei Hu and Ma Ming, these two heretics, seemed somewhat out of place. The two of them probably weren't willing to associate with those "decadent elements" indulging in drink and pleasure either, so they had no choice but to find a corner and drink a little by themselves.

"Listen, just listen to all this nonsense. Sigh, how numerous the fools are."

Wei Hu, having just heard Zhang Dongdong's outburst, shook his head while swirling the beer in his military mug. "This is practically our doorstep, and it's still that same colonial mindset. And the key is, so many idiots are chiming in. Sigh, I think this broken country is done for."

Beside him, Ma Ming was equally torn between laughter and disbelief. "Back then, the Europeans only had that handful of people; they had no choice but to establish colonies. If they'd truly had enough numbers, wouldn't it have been better to just take it over and make it their own?"

Wei Hu wore a helpless expression. "Exactly. Isn't North America a ready-made example?"

Wei Hu's line of thinking was correct.

Although the "rank-and-file" were still immersed in the glory of being colonizers, seemingly intent on repaying all the humiliations suffered in the Old World in this plane, high-level figures like Wei Hu, who had access to strategic planning, actually knew one thing very clearly: the Crossing Faction had no intention of establishing colonies.

Or rather, even if colonies were established, it would be a short-term measure and would not be adopted as a long-term national policy.

The reasoning was simple: with the Great Ming's population of 100 million, the Transmigrators' natural mission was to open up "land under the sun" for their own ethnic base, not to establish colonies and wait for the Local Natives to rise up one day and drive out the colonizers.

After mocking the drunkards for a while, Wei Hu and Ma Ming proceeded to have an in-depth exchange of views on the next issue of mutual concern: in the already-arrived year of '16, with Cao Chuan's personal approval, the Transmigrators' internal Second Plenary Assembly had been confirmed to convene, no later than the second half of this year.

This meeting was extremely important. As the first Plenary Assembly since the "founding of the nation," it would serve as a link between past and future, with a series of major agenda items to be discussed and voted on.

As a minority faction leader, someone like Wei Hu was bound to make a big splash at the meeting, beating up the nursing home and kicking around the kindergarten. So this business trip was also an opportunity for him to use his private time to communicate, collude, and hook up with the "minority factions."

And so, the invitation banquet, with everyone harboring their own ulterior motives, dragged on for an entire day. This strange "sit-in" on the surface of the Red River also lasted a day.

The terrified Annamese, after a night of shock, finally came to their senses.

Quickly, the communication ship dispatched from Shenglong Prefecture, in the early morning of the second day, cautiously approached the massive fleet on the river.

This time, the communication ship was not swept to the riverbed by dense cannon fire, but was intercepted and interrogated by a patrol boat.

Not long after, the many figures within the royal palace of Shenglong Prefecture finally received the first piece of good news in a month: the Ming People's Regional Commander had agreed to receive an Annamese envoy.