Chapter 77: Though Near, Still Punish

"Exactly! The Jianan Plain sits low and flat — tidal seawater pours in all the time, so any fort has to be built far from the shore." The speaker was Feng Guanjie, a Designer from the Infrastructure Team. Before crossing over, this gentleman had worked in building design — in his early thirties, with a very long face. He'd clearly had laser eye surgery, yet now he wore a pair of gold-rimmed plano glasses, a dress shirt and Western-style trousers, his leather shoes polished to a shine.

"These dwarves are pretty damn cocky. Letting it slide yesterday was one thing, but today we still haven't seen any envoy, and we've got a mountain of work waiting. Liu Zhe, give us a plan." Xia Xianze sounded rather impatient as he spoke.

Asking Liu Zhe, a military man, for a plan meant the tone was already set: the army would move out, the problem would be resolved at speed, and bloodshed was on the table.

Liu Zhe smiled faintly and raised two fingers. "Two waves. First wave, the sand ship goes over — scout it out and bring every boat back. The second wave, just the boats will be enough. The sand ship is too clumsy inside Taijiang."

"Do it that way. Get moving."

Half an hour later, the Yuan Dou was fully prepared. Sails were hoisted, anchor raised, and the ship, packed with crewmen, surged ferociously toward the opposite shore of Taijiang. Before long, the Yuan Dou struck the far bank — no blind fool jumped out to block them. The crewmen came ashore at the Japanese wharf, then in groups of three, five, or seven, they rowed back every one of the seven or eight fishing ships and sampans moored at the shore.

The only large vessel at the wharf was a Japanese Red Seal Ship. From 1604 onward, the Japanese had been purchasing large ships all over East Asia, then obtaining the Shogunate's Red Seal Certificate to conduct international trade — a practice that lasted until the Sakoku edict of 165. Right now was the final golden age of the Red Seal Ships. This ship at the wharf was roughly the length and beam of the Dog Eye, with a displacement probably just over a hundred tons. It was a Fujian-style vessel, clearly a Red Seal Ship the Japanese had bought from Ming territory.

The ship's rudder and cables had long since been removed by the Japanese; there was nothing left aboard. The Transmigrators naturally paid no mind to such a minor detail — they'd deal with these idiots when the next wave came over.

Wang Xiaohui stepped off the boat carrying an AK. The Yuan Dou's captain, Mu Longcheng, followed behind him.

Mu Longcheng had a square, honest face with thick brows and large eyes — he looked every inch the upstanding character. After retiring from the Navy, this brother had captained a proper customs anti-smuggling boat. Now he was essentially the Navy's number-three man, roughly equal in standing to Wang Xiaohui.

The two unlucky brothers were decked out in full grassland camouflage, battle boots, full-finger tactical gloves, and boonie hats — with the all-important mosquito hood already fitted over the hat. Wrapped up tight from head to toe, they had absolutely none of the weighty historical gravitas of "the first men to set foot on Taiwan proper." Nervous, furtive, and skittish, they crept cautiously beyond the desolate wharf.

The road from the wharf to the Japanese stockade had been cleared. Though it was only a narrow footpath, the surface was flat — clearly distinct from the sandy beach all around.

After they advanced another stretch, wild grass gradually appeared around them, though even the tallest only reached knee height. Both sides of the path had obviously been cut back, the sightlines clear — a sharp contrast to the boundless tangle of head-high weeds and shrubs a few hundred meters away. This situation proved one thing beyond any doubt: the Japanese had suffered badly at the hands of the Natives.

Wang Xiaohui had no desire to suffer at anyone's hands — Japanese or native alike. So every few steps he would raise the binoculars hanging from his neck and take a look. After painstakingly advancing a full hundred and fifty meters into enemy territory, his feet practically refused to budge any further.

"Let's turn around. The recon's pretty much done!" After one last sweep of the distant Japanese stockade through his binoculars, Wang Xiaohui turned his head and said.

"You call it on this one. I'm Navy — I'm just here to carry the soy sauce." Mu Longcheng chuckled. For a man with such thick brows and large eyes, he had surprisingly zero moral backbone, already shirking responsibility.

Wang Xiaohui curled his lip. After another grueling fifteen-meter march, he truly did not want to walk any further. He stretched out a leg and kicked into the grass beside the path — with a roar, a cloud of mosquitoes burst out.

"Look, look — this environment is way too harsh. Let's hurry back and tell the troops to get ready!"

Mu Longcheng had wanted to leave long ago. At these words, he turned and retreated without another word. The two men, cursing their respective bosses for formalism and bureaucratism — for insisting on this damn fool's errand of forward reconnaissance — scurried off in a rush. Thus did the Transmigrators' momentous first foray onto Taiwan proper end in a whimper, all bluster and no follow-through.

Back aboard the Yuan Dou, they gave the order to haul wind and scram. Before long, the two river-crossing scouts had returned to the Shang Hall wharf. Disembarking, they found Master Miaoshu — head bare, wearing a jacket and jeans — training the temporary laborers: on the boats they'd seized, people were practicing spraying disinfectant.

After a perfunctory greeting, they went back inside the Shang Hall. At the gate, the laborers brought from Hangzhou were repairing the enclosing wall, while the majority of the Transmigrators were maintaining order out on the Campus. The Dutchmen, generally listless in spirit, stood in two crooked, sloppy lines. Cai Feiming and Feng Jun each manned a table, conducting interrogations and registrations. Beside Feng Jun stood a smiling, chubby Ming man with his hair in a topknot, serving as Feng Jun's Translator.

Wang Xiaohui and Mu Longcheng found the Company higher-ups waiting for them. After silently despising these presumptuous bureaucrats a few times, they laid out the intelligence their valiant reconnaissance had gathered — this and that, thus and so.

After hearing them out, Xia Xianze hollered for Feng Jun and Cai Feiming, who were still busy, to come over. Then he asked, "I recall the Company doesn't have anyone who speaks Japanese. Surely there's one among the Dutchmen?"

"There wash one — that poor bastard got his brain pierced yeshterday, whole head's wrecked." Cai Feiming delivered the dire news with a smirk, faking a Hong Kong accent through a thick tongue.

"Tsk, that's a problem. There ought to be Japanese who can speak Chinese, right?" Xia Xianze frowned, asking with some uncertainty.

"Xia, you're overthinking it!" Cai Feiming didn't dare take the joke too far and quickly straightened his face to explain. "Japanese merchants doing international trade — plenty of them speak Chinese! Set your mind one hundred and twenty percent at ease!"

Realizing he'd been lightly played, Xia Xianze shot him a vicious glare. "Then what are we waiting for? Move out, now. Both you and Feng go. Handle it the way we discussed."

Then he turned to Han Bo and Liu Zhe and said, "Manpower — you two arrange it as you see fit. Strike fast and finish it." After giving his orders, His Excellency E strolled off with measured steps to interrogate the prisoners.

The large crowd left behind looked at one another. After three seconds of silence, Han Bo let out a dry laugh and waved his hand with feigned boldness. "What are we waiting for? It's a great chance — we get to play with RPGs again! Everyone go, everyone go — take the Japanese out for some fun!"

Yet anyone who could rise to the top ranks of the Transmigration Company in this day and age was no pushover. One look at Wang Xiaohui and Mu Longcheng's getup — straight out of a biohazard scenario — and even a fool knew there was sheer terror waiting on the opposite shore. Han Bo shouldn't have opened his mouth — the moment he did, whoosh, everyone vanished.

It wasn't until after lunch that the Japanese Problem Final Resolution Squad finally assembled and set out. Three ships, carrying over thirty men, surged once again toward the wharf across the Taijiang Inner Sea. The squad contained only four Transmigrators — Feng Jun and Cai Feiming, one from Human Resources and one from External Liaison, were there because it was their job. Wang Xiaohui and Mu Longcheng were there because military orders were absolute; their bitter indignation was useless.

All four wore identical camouflage anti-mosquito suits, and the Ming crewmen beside them had also all put on bamboo hats with mesh veils, wrapped up tight from head to toe.