Chapter 68: The Road Is Hard

Xia Xianze, Feng Jun, Wang Liguo — the first group of Transmigrators to set out — had already changed their attire.

Hair they had painstakingly grown long was now cropped back to a short buzz. At this moment, Xia stood at the bow, wearing an oversized shit-green outdoor jacket, jeans, and Yiwu-made Adidas waterproof shoes, bidding farewell to Cao Chuan and the others who had come to see them off.

Cao Chuan, clad in a flamboyant apricot-yellow Songjiang cotton cloth Daoist robe and still holding a folding fan, watched Xia's post-disaster-reconstruction-crew getup; the contrast with the "Squire" look he'd grown used to was so jarring that he kept chuckling. Someone nearby teased with feigned concern: "General Manager Xia, this boat really rocks — don't stop taking your medicine on the way."

"I know, I know — keep cursing your leadership all you want." Hearing this, Xia Xianze pulled a bottle of White Rabbit seasickness pills from his pocket and shook it, smiling wryly.

Just then, the tall Liu Zhe, dressed in a waterproof outdoor suit, walked over. He pointed at the marine watch on his wrist and said quietly, "Time to go. The tide's coming in."

Upon hearing this, no one delayed further. After a loud shout from Liu Zhe, the uninvolved people filed down the gangplank, then stood on the shore smoking and waving. Those on board had no such leisure — shouting, running, hauling sails, weighing anchor. The two deep-laden sand ships left the mouth of the Tang River, passed through Biezi Gate, and, riding the Qiantang flood tide, carrying the Company's long-accumulated assets and every Transmigrator's determination to change the world, slowly sailed toward the open sea.

Waves rose and tides fell, billows churning; as far as the eye could see, a gray haze. Thick clouds massed, mist spread; between heaven and earth, no light was visible. Though it was clearly around ten in the morning, the space between sea and sky was as dark as nightfall.

The fleet assembled by the Transmigrators was now riding the wind through the dark sea. Nearly thirty hours had passed since yesterday's oath-taking departure.

After being retrofitted with radar and sonar, the expedition fleet could finally cast off the shackles of night and hidden reefs. Riding the fierce north wind, they sailed southward all the way from Hangzhou Bay, maintaining an average speed of four to six knots on a nearly straight-line course, and passed through most of the treacherous, winding waters of the Zhoushan sea in a single night.

Covering over 160 kilometers off the Zhejiang coast in a day and night — such speed was unimaginable for a medieval sailing ship, even with favorable wind and current. Whether navigating the coastal waters of Fujian and Zhejiang or taking the outer-sea Zhoushan route, old-style sailing ships had to find anchorage and shelter before nightfall. In the seventeenth century, the sea conditions around Zhoushan — dense reefs, pervasive sea fog — were far more treacherous than in later ages. Sailing at night without instruments meant certain death.

The situation seemed excellent, yet now, inside the sterncastle of the "Dog Eye" — which pitched and heaved ceaselessly like a pirate ship ride in a later-era amusement park — the atmosphere was somewhat heavy. A few hours earlier, radar had detected an air mass bearing down from the southeast.

Xia Xianze's face was pale, his breathing ragged, looking utterly moribund from seasickness. Brows tightly furrowed, he leaned heavily against a short chair in the cabin and asked weakly, "Are you sure? Could it be a false alarm?"

"Definitely not a false alarm. The radar's working fine — the storm track chart was just printed." The speaker was Bai Hongda, the brave man who had once "pleaded the people's case." He was normally responsible for the fleet's electronic instruments.

Xia Xianze rubbed his brow with his fingers, looked up at the five or six Transmigrators sitting or standing in the cabin, and asked Liu Zhe with a grimace, "Can't we get around it?"

"It's sitting right on our course. We can't avoid it." Liu Zhe shook his head, then added, "These are sand ships — their wave-handling is the worst of any seagoing vessel. This storm doesn't look too strong, but the residual swell alone will give us plenty of trouble. Better to take shelter."

"A big blow, in this month!" Xia clutched his brow in frustration. "If we can't avoid it, what are we waiting for? Hurry up and dodge the wind. Guess this counts as 'the expedition falters before it begins'? Damned bad luck."

Once the strategic decision was made, the others ignored whatever this seasick wreck was muttering and sprang into action. Bai Hongda picked up the hand mic and began calling: "Zero Two, Zero Two, this is Zero One. Attention: follow me in turning around, follow me in turning around."

Soon after, the two sand ships on the sea began laboriously turning around against the wind. Fortunately, the fleet was not far from Xuan Shan Island at that moment. After turning, by sailing a zigzag course, just over an hour later the two sand ships managed to enter a bay on the island's west side.

Xuan Shan Island lies at the southernmost tip of the Zhoushan archipelago. During earlier training exercises, the Transmigrators, following reports from native seamen, had landed on and thoroughly surveyed every reef and islet in Zhoushan. This bay was one of the planned anchorages in their contingency plans. Sheltered by hills and facing the sea, it allowed the fleet to moor and evade storms sweeping in from the Philippine Sea.

After entering the bay, the Ming crewmen watched in awe as several Transmigrators began operating the "Dragon Tail." With a roar from the motor, the sand ship traced a nimble circle in the narrow bay, skirted reefs long marked on the digital chart, then dropped sail, moved toward shore, and anchored.

Shortly after making landfall, the organization of shore leave and rest began. Among them were invalids like Xia Xianze with severe seasickness, as well as "Yi-class" laborers. One group, unsteady on their feet, staggered straight toward the hills embracing the bay. In later ages, this would be a tourist area, full of bizarre rock formations and caves. But in the seventeenth century, Xuan Shan Island was still pristine wilderness, utterly uninhabited, visited only by the occasional fishing boat seeking shelter.

The hill was only a bit over 100 meters high. The party had not walked far through knee-deep weeds and shrubs before they spotted a cave specifically marked on the digital map. Two Transmigrators at the front switched on the tactical flashlights mounted on their assault rifles, went in for a look around, then signaled that the invalid group could enter. The laborer group was then led to a different cave.

This cave was not deep; likely due to the higher elevation, it was very dry inside. The interior area was around 100 square meters — enough for this group of invalids to rest overnight.

Soon, several kerosene camping lamps were lit, flooding the modest cave with light. Under the Transmigrators' direction, the accompanying crewmen hauled up two "steel helmets" with rhythmic shouts — actually two American-style "Hardwear" camping tents.

The semi-circular tents, covered with netting on the outside, looked exactly like the classic World War II U. S. M1 helmet, just magnified several hundred times, giving them a rather adorable appearance.

Each tent could fit five to eight people. Several Transmigrators with severe seasickness were assigned to one tent. The other tent held the Ming laborers with the worst seasickness — even though they had been screened before departure, some still could not stop vomiting once at sea.

Not long after, the crewmen fetched buckets of water from other karst caves and carried them over. After sprinkling in a few chlorine dioxide water purification tablets, they began gathering stones to build a stove, collecting firewood, and preparing to cook.