Chapter 81: Sailing Schedule and the New City

Before anyone realized it, the transmigrators had already occupied Dayuan Seven. During these seven days, the transmigrators were on extreme high alert: five or six factions of different ethnicities were crammed together on this sandbar. If not for the transmigrators' overwhelming martial force, the numerically inferior Sand Ship visitors probably wouldn't have dared to sleep at all.

By now, the so-called Class B and Class C laborers no longer existed. All the laborers brought from Hangzhou had their status "raised" overnight — every last one of them was rushed into the fold, becoming official Company "employees" who drew wages.

The thug leaders of the Beggar Sect were now back in their old line of work: every day they grabbed leather whips and clubs and acted as overseers. The other honest, simple farmers and refugees were responsible for the rough work — repairing the Shang Hall's infrastructure, cleaning and sanitation, stockpiling drinking water, and cooking.

The Dutch were usually driven off to the main island to set fires. At one point, some transmigrators even took bets on these Red Hairs: would anyone try to escape? But the Red Hairs knew perfectly well what they had done back when they ruled this place — the gallows outside the Shang Hall, built from fine timber, was proof. That gallows, constructed on the personal orders of Gerard Weiss, the second Governor of Dayuan, had taught plenty of slaves and natives a lesson.

The transmigrators discovered, to their regret: the Red Hairs would rather choke to death on smoke or burn to death in the fire than flee to the distant native villages. It seemed the Christians were still quite averse to having their skulls hung on someone else's doorframe.

Life for the Banda Slaves had also improved considerably. At the very least, the Crossing Faction made sure everyone under its rule was fed and clothed — status had nothing to do with it.

The Fujian Fishermen discovered that the newly arrived Short Hair lords were exceptionally easy to deal with.

They treated people kindly and without arrogance; the fishing boats that had been commandeered were all returned afterward. Hiring boats to ferry people and buying fish were both paid in silver, at fair prices. The fish tax wasn't high — far lower than what they had paid when the Red Hair lords held power.

The Short Hair lords also possessed excellent medical skills. Wounded men with split heads and bleeding gashes could get back on their feet after being stitched up. The only problem was that the consultation fees were too steep — a single visit would wipe out all the silver they'd saved. These past few days, a bald lord surnamed Feng had been going around recruiting people to join up, promising plenty of benefits: monthly pay, three meals a day guaranteed, and full care for the wounded. If not for the requirement to shave their heads before joining, the men from Fujian would probably have all signed up long ago.

The sand on Dayuan Island was warm and pure, and the scenery all around was absolutely stunning. The transmigrators, newly arrived at this treasured land, had not yet cultivated themselves to the point of being immune to natural beauty. So sitting on the sand dunes at dusk, blowing in the salty sea wind, lighting a cigarette, and holding a meeting had become a regular program for certain upper-echelon figures lately.

"Is the Dog Eye ready?" Xia Xianze sat at the base of a sand dune, leaning back against the sand pile, stretching out both legs comfortably, and asked Liu Zhe, who was sitting to his left.

"We've only moved in a bit of sandalwood and ivory. It's still essentially an empty ship — can set sail anytime."

"Good. Then we depart early tomorrow morning." Xia Xianze paused, then continued, "How long will it take to get back to Hangzhou?"

"That's completely unpredictable." Liu Zhe shook his head. "This trip will be against the wind, so it'll be a slow one. It wouldn't be unusual if it took ten days to half a month to crawl to Hangzhou. If we run into trouble, a whole month is possible. But the upside is we have the radio, so our whereabouts can be tracked."

"Right, speaking of the radio — where have Cao Zong and the others gotten to?"

Liu Zhe glanced at his watch. "The telegram from two hours ago said the ship had already reached the Danshui River Estuary."

On the third day after occupying Dayuan, the moment they felt they had preliminary control of the situation, the Dayuan side had sent a telegram ordering the two reserve Sand Ships, long prepared in Hangzhou, to set sail. One of those two ships had been fitted with additional navigation and power equipment, and right now, that precious Chairman Cao was aboard that very ship.

"As long as they're near the coast, that's fine." Xia Xianze breathed a sigh of relief. "I was just worried about problems out on the open sea. If they stick to the coast, worst case they run aground — Chief Executive Dong can just go back to 'that side.'"

"You're overthinking it, Xia. They have instruments — it's not that easy to run aground."

"Alright, then that ship's situation is OK."

With the issue discussed, the sky had also darkened considerably. Xia Xianze patted his backside and stood up. "Let's call it a day and head home. Feng, on the way, fill me in on the New City planning."

"The general plan is done." Feng Guanjie, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and carrying a refined, scholarly air, opened his mouth to reply. Then, as he walked, he stretched out a hand and gestured in a circle toward the southwest of the Shang Hall. "The New City will be built in this area. We just build a separate city and that's it."

The existing Shang Hall had been thrown up in a hurry by the Dutch. Its walls were timber-framed rammed-earth — called 'dry ramming' in the local dialect. The wall earth had been dug from the Mangrove Forest on the opposite shore; Dayuan Island had only sand. Whether in its foundation, its enclosing wall, its wooden structures, or its layout, the old Shang Hall failed to meet the standards of transmigrators from later generations in any respect.

Yet this old hall was now crammed full of people and goods, making renovation impossible — and renovation wasn't cost-effective anyway: building a new city was actually easier.

When Europeans built forts in wild, untamed lands, they were invariably multi-functional forts combining military, administrative, and commercial roles. But the transmigrators had no need for that: in the future, all industrial and commercial activity would take place on the opposite shore, and the majority of the population would live there. With the Dutch's paltry scale, even they couldn't sustain it later and had to run off to Chikan to build a city. A crossing faction that was constantly striving to explode its population would naturally not take that detour.

The weight given to military aspects in the design was equally significant: a crossing faction possessing an enormous range advantage had absolutely no need to build its fortress in the Pier District. On the contrary, building the fortress at the island's center could still blockade the shipping channel just as well. Moreover, the transmigrators could chat casually while effortlessly sweeping away an entire landing force across a kilometer-long stretch of sand — if some fool dared to attempt a landing in the future.

Therefore, the New City didn't need a barbette design either — it just needed to be able to house the weapons brought from later generations. The simpler, the better. As for the Pier District, they could simply build a blockhouse to assist in defense, saving both labor and materials.

For a power base that would leave Dayuan in just a few years to run wild across the vast continent, the political and commemorative significance of the New City was actually even more important: holding a General Assembly of shareholders, receiving foreign envoys, carving a "we were here" on the wall, and so on.

In short, a small, concise, distinctive fortress was the architectural style best suited to the transmigrators' ruling style.

By the time he finished listening to Feng Guanjie's report, the moon had already climbed above the branches. As far as Xia Xianze himself was concerned, he very much agreed with this plan — knowing full well they'd be moving in a few years, just make do with a courtyard house and be done with it. Why ask for a bicycle?

However, this matter couldn't be decided by him alone. Not counting the current personnel, Chairman Cao and a portion of the garrison members would soon arrive at Dayuan. There were still many major issues to discuss, and the matter of building the city would have to be resolved together at that time.

The next evening, every non-transmigrated person on Dayuan Island who could move freely came out to watch the spectacle: two Sand Ships slowly passed through the channel and entered the pier in the Taijiang Inner Sea. Those "Pirates," "Ming Dynasty Lords," and "Short Hair Masters" who had been doing whatever they pleased on Dayuan were all gathered at the pier at this moment. AK Rifles without flash suppressors sprayed meter-long celebratory flames into the air.

The Company's founder, the Local Tyrant, the real-life robot cat, the mighty plane traveler — Chairman Cao Chuan was helped down from the Sand Ship. He was wrapped in a thin blanket, with faint traces of vomit visible beside his pillow, lying motionless — just one step short of having a glass cover placed over him.