Chapter 74: Busy

Cai Feiming beamed, nodded all around, then stepped down from the platform. He was very practiced at this sort of thing — back in Cape Town, he'd often organized these rustic-feeling bag and box sales, and the Black Uncles usually bought in. None of the transmigrators, however, cared one bit what nonsense he'd just spouted; it was nothing more than a bare-bones occupation ceremony, just going through the motions. Everyone was far too busy right now.

Most of the Dutchmen also failed to grasp the meaning behind Cai Feiming's hollow, formulaic drivel. Their attention was quickly diverted by what followed — the invaders began sorting and processing the prisoners.

One group was locked into an empty warehouse reeking of demon's saliva, while some of the lightly wounded unexpectedly received medical treatment: a person, also dressed in green coveralls, stood behind a table, using a shiny metal clip to hold a cotton ball soaked in strong liquor to clean the wounds, then bandaging them with white cotton cloth. The whole process was swift yet bizarre, punctuated now and then by a shriek or two from the wounded.

This group was confined in that hospital. It was already not bad — at least each person got a hammock or a wooden bed, and those with leg injuries could stay in the lower bunks.

A few high-ranking personnel of the trading post received differential treatment. Johannes van der Hagen himself and three other Dayuan Council members were uninjured. Supporting Lieutenant William Jansz, who had a thigh wound, they moved into a single room — previously the missionary's quarters; now those servants of God had been herded into the warehouse. The imagined torture and torment did not come. The invaders merely told them in that peculiar Dutch: "There is no time now," and instructed them: "Stay in the room, and be quiet."

William Jansz had been plucked from the pile of corpses outside the trading post. The Lieutenant, standing at the right rear of the formation, had dodged the 17-millimeter fragmentation warhead; the flying pre-formed fragments only tore a fifteen-centimeter-long gash across his thigh. He could be counted among the fortunate, because he survived. Of those who had gone out with him at that time, not many lived.

As the sole Westerner to receive suture-without-anesthesia treatment due to his differing status, William Jansz had no idea he had just made new history. The old soldier now lay feebly in bed, discussing the inconceivable wound-suturing technique on his thigh with Van der Hagen. They would go on to speculate about the origins of these mysterious invaders, debate whether they were civilized people, and ponder those terrifying weapons. In short, for the remainder of the day, the few of them were also very busy.

Time always flew by, and the transmigration team spent the entire afternoon in a flurry of activity. First was disinfecting the functional buildings — the Governor's Office, Barracks, Hospital, Warehouse, Church, and Armory — followed by detaining the prisoners. Then, cleaning up the battlefield.

The last task was rather troublesome: there were many corpses and scattered severed limbs to deal with. The plan had been to load them onto ships to feed the fish, but now there were no ships — just as the Cannon Fodder Squad charged shouting through the western breach into the trading post, behind the post, at the dock side near the Taijiang Inland Sea on the Northeast Cape, the Japanese Merchants, Fujian Fishermen, Pingpu Tribe natives, and Banda Slaves who had originally gathered in the Shanty Area to watch the excitement instantly scattered like patrons fleeing a theater. These people swarmed onto the fishing boats and sampans at the dock, crossed the Taijiang Inland Sea, and escaped to the main island of Taiwan, leaving behind only a lone Dutch yacht at the pier, its soft sails and rigging mocking the completely helpless transmigrators.

The transmigrators now faced this awkward situation: no one knew how to operate the captured Dutch ship; the speedboat and sampans were all on the opposite shore of the Taijiang; and the two sand ships they had brought themselves could not possibly be used to hold chunks of flesh and blood. Besides, the two sand ships were also very busy now — the sunken sampan in the channel needed clearing. The lighter Yuan Dou had already reversed into the channel and was sending crewmen into the sea to tie up the sunken sampan, preparing to start the outboard motor to drag it out of the channel.

In the end, with no other options, Chen Dong, who was responsible for infrastructure and managing all labor, could only give the order: go dig a large pit far away and bury the people. This task consumed all resources, and the remainder of the day was entirely spent on it.

The few Company higher-ups, led by Xia Xianze, naturally would not go deal with dead bodies. The moment these people entered the trading post, their attention was focused on a task with a far greater sense of style: inventorying the spoils of war. No sooner had the Dutch been locked up than a group of them hurried into the warehouse; the thick smell of disinfectant could not dampen their eager spirits in the slightest.

Counting from the first transmigrator, Xia Xianze, up to the present, the Company had actually been in a kind of "import surplus" state. That is, the expenditures for various overt and covert plans, as well as all personnel and supplies, were essentially obtained through "imports." Even the silver for the transmigration team to buy vegetables was traded by Cao Chuan selling "local products." The other transmigrators had no part in this; they were like friends staying at a house, purely consuming, with zero output.

Apart from a bit of floating wealth and land deeds from the Beggar Sect leader's home earlier, strictly speaking, the Dutch property seized today at the Dayuan Trading Post was the Company's first true income in the real sense. It was like a child growing up and finally earning pocket money by walking the neighbor's dog — the amount might be small, but the significance was different.

When Xia Xianze, Feng Jun, Cai Feiming, and the others entered the Dutch warehouse, they found someone had already beaten them to it — the fair-skinned, plump Wang Liguo was already there with a few people, taking inventory of the goods.

The bulkiest items among the spoils were sections of Indian White Sandalwood, with white outer bark, thigh-thick, and a dark brown heartwood. Sandalwood was one of the few goods that Dutch colonizers, in their early stages, could use to smoothly pry open the Great Ming market. In the current period, other commodities were largely ineffective for the Ming Dynasty; only Indian White Sandalwood, capable of being made into various Buddha statues, furniture, ornaments, and incense, was an indispensable consumer good for the upper-class households of the Great Ming.

Everyone present more or less understood the trade status of sandalwood in the early 17th century. Feng Jun stepped forward, rubbed the heartwood of the sandalwood with his middle finger, made a show of sniffing it, then said with a smile, "It is quite fragrant. To be honest, I've never seen raw logs before. I wonder if Cao Zong can get a good price when he ships this stuff back."

"Five thousand per jin, easy sale. The white sandalwood from southern India was on the verge of extinction years ago; the market has long been out of stock."

Hm? Hearing someone provide this knowledge, everyone turned to look. "Oh ho, so it's Professor Luo. No wonder."

The Professor Luo everyone spoke of had a rather distinctive appearance: a head of stiff, close-cropped hair, an earring on his left ear, and the circle beard favored by older men in the entertainment industry. The lines of his face were rather chiseled; although he had black hair and yellow skin, he had a somewhat mixed-blood look, resembling Roberto Baggio a little.