Chapter 282: Mining

He was very young, with thick eyebrows, large eyes, a square face, and looked even a bit simple‑minded.

But those eyes, in the firelight, were as cold as stone.

The man carried two massive hammers with one hand; the hammer heads were larger than a human head, their black‑gold sheen flickering in the firelight.

The chief rushed forward, swinging a stone axe down with a heavy slash.

The man didn't move at all; he simply lifted one hammer and gave it a light sweep.

Bang!

The stone axe flew from his hand, the chief's whole body was thrown backward, crashing heavily into a wooden post of the shelter; his chest seared with pain, and a spray of fresh blood erupted.

He struggled to get up, but found his strength draining from his whole body.

The man walked to his front, looking down at him from a height.

Behind him, the wailing gradually subsided.

In the firelight, the man's silhouette resembled a mountain.

The chief stared at him intently, his eyes filled with resentment, anger, and fear.

The man opened his mouth and said a sentence the chief couldn't understand.

Then the man crouched, pulled something from his chest, and handed it to him.

It was a green stone, malachite, exactly the kind they had mined from the cliff behind their tribe.

The chief was stunned.

The man pointed at the stone, then at the distant mountains, and finally at him, mimicking a digging motion.

The meaning was clear: have your men dig this.

The chief panted, staring at the stone, then at the man's eyes.

Those eyes remained calm, but beneath the calm seemed a faint… something else.

The chief didn't know what that was, but he knew he had no choice.

He lowered his head, a deep whimper rising from his throat.

The man stood up and said a few words to his subordinates.

Then he was lifted and taken to a shelter, where a woman gave him water and an elder bandaged his wounds.

Outside, the fire‑spitting sticks fell silent.

Only a low wailing remained, along with the crackle of burning torches.

…

Daybreak arrived.

Zhu Yong stood on the open clearing at the tribe's center, looking at the captives before him.

More than 2,300 people: eight hundred men, a thousand women, and five hundred children.

The men had been bound together in a line, crouching on the ground, their eyes hollow.

Women clutched their children, huddling together, trembling.

He glanced over and said to Zhang Wu, "Follow the old rules: organize the men into squads to mine, have the women cook and tend the children, raise the children separately, and don't let them starve."

"Understood."

Zhang Wu went to make the arrangements.

Zhu Yong walked to the base of the cliff behind the tribe and looked up.

The cliff towered, its exposed rocks a green‑blue hue layered upon layer, the sunlight striking them and giving an eerie metallic sheen.

He reached out and touched it—cold and hard.

The whole mountain was copper ore.

And its grade was extremely high.

He turned and gazed toward the farther mountain ranges.

In the morning light, the ridges rose and fell in endless layers, stretching beyond sight.

This was only the tip of the iceberg.

Deep within this continent, how many more mines like this existed?

He didn't know.

But he knew that for many years to come, people from Great Ming would arrive in batches, hollow out this continent, haul the ore back, turning it into guns, machines, wires, light bulbs—things the age had never seen.

And he was merely the one who opened the door.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Zhang Wu came over, whispering, "Your Highness, the tribal chief has awakened and wishes to see you."

Zhu Yong nodded, turned, and walked back.

Inside the shelter, the chief lay on a straw mat, a cloth bandage wrapped around his chest, his complexion pale.

When Zhu Yong entered, he struggled to sit up but failed.

Zhu Yong waved his hand, signaling him not to move.

The chief panted, looked at him, and suddenly spoke a string of words.

It was unintelligible, but a young captive nearby stammered with the few words he had just learned, translating, "He… asks… you… god?"

Zhu Yong was taken aback.

God?

He looked at the chief's eyes, which held fear, reverence, and a hint… of expectation.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

"I am not a god."

He pointed at himself, then at the soldiers outside, and finally at the sky.

"They came from far away, arriving by a large ship."

The interpreter relayed the words; the chief listened, and the hope in his eyes turned to confusion.

Not a god.

What is that?

Zhu Yong looked at him and suddenly asked, "What is your name?"

The interpreter passed it on.

The chief was startled for a moment and said two characters.

The interpreter said, "His name is… Wulu."

Zhu Yong nodded, crouched down, and looked at him.

"Wulu, listen carefully. I want the people of your tribe to mine the Stone on the mountain, the green Stone and the blue Stone."

He pointed outward.

"If you mine the Stone, you will have food to eat, water to drink, clothes to wear; your women and children will not die, they will live well."

Wulu listened through the interpreter, his eyes complex.

"What if we don't mine?"

Zhu Yong was silent for a moment, then calmly said, "If you don't mine, you will die."

Wulu closed his eyes and remained silent for a long time.

Zhu Yong stood up, preparing to leave.

When he reached the doorway, a low voice from behind—Wulu's—came.

The interpreter said, "He asked… how long should we mine?"

Zhu Yong halted, turned his head to look at him.

"Mine continuously."

Wulu opened his eyes, staring at him intently.

Zhu Yong met his gaze, his eyes calm.

After a while, Wulu shifted his gaze and lowered his head.

"Mine."

Zhu Yong nodded, lifted the curtain, and walked out.

……

In the days that followed, the valley became a massive construction site.

Eight hundred indigenous men were divided into several squads, mining ore under the direction of craftsmen.

Lacking tools, they smashed with Stone and pried with wooden sticks.

Efficiency was low, but with many workers they could extract several thousand jin in a day.

Women were responsible for cooking, washing clothes, and caring for children.

Children were gathered together under dedicated supervision; they received two meals a day—though not enough to fill them, at least they would not starve to death.

Zhu Yong visited the mine each day to check the progress and observe the indigenous people.

Their gazes toward him shifted from fear to numbness.

Only the chief named Wulu, each time he saw him, still showed complex emotional fluctuations in his eyes.

There was hatred, fear, and also incomprehension.

A month later, the first batch of ore was loaded onto ships.

A total of thirty ships carried more than three million jin of high-purity copper ore.

Zhang Wu stood on the dock, his face beaming, and said, "Prince, this shipment of ore will be enough for the Ministry of Works for several years!"

Zhu Yong nodded, watching the ships drift slowly away from the shore.

The sea breeze was strong; the sails billowed full, soon becoming tiny dots on the horizon.

He turned, looking back at the endless continent behind him.

"Zhang Wu."

"Here!"

"Send the orders down: rest for three days, and after three days continue westward."

Zhang Wu was startled for a moment, then said, "Prince, are we still heading west?"

"Yes."

Zhu Yong looked at the distant mountain range, his gaze profound.

"This continent is vast; what we have seen is less than a fraction. We must explore how many mines lie to the west and how many tribes, and make them clear."

He paused, then in a low voice said, "Next spring, more Great Ming people will arrive; we must chart the roads and mark the mines so they can start work immediately."

Zhang Wu clasped his fists heavily and said, "Understood!"

Three days later, the party set out again.

Over two thousand people marched west along the great river, entering a wilderness no one had ever set foot in.

Behind them, the mine continued to be worked, prisoners kept laboring, and soldiers remained on the dock.

Ahead lay endless unknown.

Zhu Yong walked at the front, the Double Hammers swinging at his side.

The wind blew, carrying the distant eucalyptus scent and the river's briny smell.

He inhaled deeply, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Australia, indeed is a good place.