Chapter 63: Inspecting Moyun Temple, Part 2

"There are also those who don't work honestly — you'll see them soon enough." Hearing this, Great Master Feng perked up and began speaking volubly: "We've currently registered everyone we've taken in and also done a simple classification. That top student everyone just saw, along with a few craftsmen, are currently all 'Jia-class' talents."

At this point, Feng Jun pointed at the people on the construction site shouting work chants and laboriously tamping the foundations, and continued: "These people all belong to the Yi-class — every last one illiterate peasants. These bottom-rung beggars and refugees were rescued and taken in by us, and they get their fill of food here, so they're generally grateful to the Company and are willing to work hard. They basically need no supervision."

When the group reached the rear hall area at the foot of the mountain, Great Master Feng stopped walking: "The guards in the temple right now are mainly men transferred from Pingfeng Stronghold, plus a small number of Beggar Sect defectors. We Transmigrators are still too few and can only take turns standing sentry."

At this point, Feng Jun raised a hand and waved toward the gable wall. Everyone looked — it turned out a lookout platform had been built on the gable wall, with a Transmigrator on duty up there, an SAR Assault Rifle fitted with a scope slung across his chest.

"This group's classification is 'Bing-class.'" Great Master Feng led everyone onward for another stretch, then pointed at a group of people working up ahead, his expression turning somewhat stern: "Our definition of Bing-class is 'potential dangerous elements.' These people require twenty-four-hour armed surveillance."

Everyone looked closely and found that this group at the rear hall didn't seem any different from those at the front hall — the same bare torsos, the same hard labor.

Feng Jun knew what everyone was thinking. He smiled and explained: "Ever since Fort Master Zhou became the Beggar Sect Group Head with our backing, these people have been sent over one after another."

Hearing this, someone immediately caught on: "The former-dynasty remnants of the Beggar Sect?"

"Exactly!" Feng Jun nodded: "These people were all formerly big shot ringleaders in the Beggar Sect, old thieves of many years. They're used to sucking the blood of the bottom-rung beggars, long accustomed to comfort — how could they possibly be willing to do hard labor here? Just in this period, those who played dead and got hanged, plus those who scaled the walls at night and got beaten to death — add them up and it's already a dozen or more."

Looking at these former Beggar Sect bigwigs who appeared docile yet from time to time betrayed a hint of ferocity in their eyes, the Supervisory Team members first fell silent for a few seconds. Then Xia Xianze said in a tone that brooked no argument: "These people will be the first batch sent off when the time comes. Once they're over there, let them do as they please — wide open land, they can run all they want."

"Mm, mm!" Feng Jun nodded repeatedly: "We do need to send them off quickly. There are still many future reform projects on the Beggar Sect side, and more of this sort will keep being sent over. If too many pile up here, the guard pressure will be too great."

The great beggar chiefs toiling away in misery had no idea their fate had already been decided by others. The good old days of sitting against the wall, basking in the sun, counting copper coins, and cracking lice between their teeth would never come again.

After inspecting the construction site, the Supervisory Team also went to see the terraced stone-built mountain spring bathhouse, the treatment rooms, the latrines, and a whole series of newly constructed buildings erected behind the temple for taking in refugees. Before they knew it, it was already high noon. With the shrill blast of a bamboo whistle, the people busy on the construction site hurriedly set down their tools, threw on the coarse-cloth short jackets discarded to the side, formed crooked lines, and headed for the Mess Hall.

The so-called Mess Hall was really just a row of bamboo sheds, very crude. The cooks stood behind steaming earthen stoves and large cauldrons. Before them were the laborers holding coarse ceramic bowls, queuing up. Around them, fake monks in monastic robes patrolled, carrying clubs and leather whips.

The food, however, was quite equitable: there were only two large stoves. Those who got their meals at the large stoves all received a big bowl of brown rice, topped with a large ladle of vegetables. The vegetables contained some animal offal and seasonal greens — it looked generous and filling.

All the Transmigrators, Overseers, and a few Jia-class talents, however, ate at the small stove. The food here was more in line with Transmigrator habits: each person got a bowl of dishes with chicken and fish, and for rice they could ladle as much as they wanted, no limit.

Everyone was hungry by now. No one stood on ceremony; they all went over and got their food. Just like eating in the countryside in the old days, the group cheerfully found a clean spot, each person with a large coarse-ceramic bowl and a bamboo skewer, formed a circle, and buried their heads in eating.

Feng Jun, the monk Feng who had been bustling about attending to everyone, finally caught a slight breather. Seeing that Cao Chuan, Xia Xianze, and the rest had all started shoveling rice, Feng Jun knew that today's hurdle had more or less been cleared.

Although this bunch had mainly come to sightsee in the mountains today, Feng Jun did not dare let down his guard. As the number of Transmigrators kept growing, there were more and more bastards in the Company nowadays — a whole faction of them who understood nothing and specialized in finding fault, each one throwing their weight around on the strength of their Shareholder status, which greatly irritated practical power-holders like Feng Jun who managed specific Departments.

Just as Great Master Feng himself was about to start eating, a fair-skinned, short Transmigrator with big jowls and a bit of a paunch lightly tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks, then spoke toward the bowl as if to himself: "The food for Human Resources is really not bad. Isn't the standard a bit high? After all, it's public funds..."

Slowly lowering the slice of fatty meat already at his lips back into the bowl, and feeling the several gleeful glances cast his way from around him, Great Master Feng's heart at that moment was collapsing: "Dog Officials, ah, Dog Officials — truly, even a Plane Collapse can't rid us of Dog Officials!"

Yet curses aside, an explanation was still necessary. After steadying himself, Feng Jun, with a mirthless smile, said to this fair-skinned fatty who looked to be pushing forty: "Bureau Chief Wang, as far as food standards go, this bit of stuff actually hasn't exceeded the standard — on the contrary, it needs to be raised!"

All along, Cao Chuan had never disclosed the detailed personal files from the Old Time-Space of the Transmigrators who had successively arrived in this plane.

This matter was highly sensitive. Cao Chuan had publicly stated: whether everyone's files were made public or not, whether they were ultimately stored by some individual or some department, or simply left forever in the Old World — all these would be decided by the entire body of Shareholders in the future. He himself would unconditionally comply.

So the current situation was this: whenever a Newcomer joined, he would only give a general introduction of the person's age, profession, and specialty — nothing more.

Take today's "Bureau Chief Wang" for example. When he first arrived at this blessed land, Cao Zong had very proudly patted his shoulder and introduced him to everyone: This is Deputy Director Wang of the Finance Bureau — very high rank, Division-level, you know. And that was the end of it.

As for why this Division-level Deputy Director of the Finance Bureau had abandoned a bright future to rush off to Africa, and how he had then joined the great cause of Crossing Over — he himself didn't say, Cao Chuan didn't say, and to this day it remains a mystery.