Intended for Africa, the territory was now effectively under the authority of the Ming imperial court.
Several large ships pulled into shore.
People disembarked one after another, while the workers behind them busied themselves unloading cargo.
The leaders of the party came ashore, and a General commanding a garrison stepped forward to greet them with a wide smile.
"Welcome, welcome — you must be Director Song?"
Director Song was a young man in his mid-twenties who had grown up in Taoyuan Town and entered government service there in the early days. He had since risen to the position of Street Office Director — equivalent in rank to a township head, Grade 7.
He had signed up for this overseas posting, which came with double pay. Serve three to five years abroad, then transfer back, and he would return as a deputy district chief. It was a crucial step, and few people ever managed to make it. It was rather like the county deputy magistrates of the old dynasties — only those with proper credentials could hold such a post, making them genuine officials rather than mere clerks.
Director Song had earned this opportunity through his outstanding abilities.
Earned it, yes — because there had been no shortage of applicants.
"General Wu." Director Song, whose rank was roughly equivalent to the eighth or ninth grade, carried himself with quiet composure.
The second-rank General wore a broad, almost fawning smile.
"Director Song, accommodations have been prepared for your party — please come and rest first."
"You've gone to too much trouble, General Wu."
"No trouble at all, none whatsoever. What a relief you've arrived — it's been desolate out here, the men are so bored they could spit feathers — sorry, sorry, listen to my foul mouth."
"General Wu strikes me as a man of straightforward temperament. Since the garrison soldiers are clearly in need of some goods, let me have my people set up stalls first and see to everyone's needs — the construction work can wait a little."
"Couldn't ask for more — thank you, Director Song."
The convoy from Longcheng had brought twelve thousand people in total, along with an enormous quantity of goods.
Director Song gave the order, and the group selected an open plot of land and began erecting temporary stalls and awnings.
All manner of food, entertainment, and sundry goods were laid out one after another.
Cooks started stir-frying and preparing meals on the spot.
Some six thousand people bustled about in that area.
The remaining six thousand were government staff, public security personnel, construction workers, and the like.
General Wu hurried back to the garrison camp and assembled his troops, preparing to rotate his thirty thousand men through leave in shifts so they could blow off some steam.
"Listen up, every last one of you. Go eat, go enjoy yourselves — fine by me. But if any of you cause trouble, don't bother coming back!"
"Just have your buddy bring your head back for you!"
"General, what if someone else starts something?"
"Who in their right mind is going to pick a fight with a bunch of sorry soldiers like you? And if they do, you damn well swallow it! Understood?"
"If they really go too far, come back and tell me, and I'll take it up with Director Song myself."
"Two-thirds of the men are off duty. The other ten thousand — spread out. I don't want to see anyone else within ten li of this camp."
"Bring out the money!"
"The imperial reward has come through — one note for every man!"
Two soldiers lugged a wooden crate over and dropped it on the ground with a thud.
Every officer in the room felt their breath quicken at the sight of a crate packed with crisp banknotes.
The money had been brought over by the Longcheng delegation — the court didn't trust its own people to deliver it, for fear of embezzlement. And Longcheng's reputation was rock solid.
Well — at least when it came to money.
"Every man gets one note. If I find out anyone was left out, I'll have his commanding officer skinned alive!"
As he spoke, General Wu picked up a stack of bills and counted out ten with quick, practiced slaps, handing them to the general standing beside him.
The general paused, took the ten notes, and began counting them with a grin that widened with every tally — once, twice, laughing a little each time.
One note was worth a full tael of silver!
Actually, more than that — silver had fallen in value.
These ten notes were worth a hair over ten taels of silver!
General Wu went down the line distributing money to each of his officers, graded by rank: the highest received twenty notes, the lowest still got five.
Everyone clutched their money, eyes still burning hot on the crate — but the raw hunger in their gaze had eased somewhat.
"Go distribute the rest by headcount!"
"Back in the old days a soldier made two taels a year — and half the time even that went unpaid."
"At last the court is being generous. One hundred yuan in bonus pay, just like that. And they say five hundred yuan in regular wages for the year, on top of this hundred. Do your job well and there'll be more bonuses to come!"
The officers all took their allotments and went to distribute the money. This time, not a single one skimmed from the top — no one dared.
In the old days, by the time a payout like this filtered down, General Wu himself would have taken thirty to fifty percent off the top, and every level below would have taken their cut too. A common soldier would have been lucky to end up with ten or twenty yuan.
When everyone had gone, General Wu reached into his own pocket and drew out a thick stack of hundred-yuan notes.
He raised them to his nose and inhaled.
"Now that," he said, "is a very fine smell."
This was his personal reward from the court: ten thousand yuan.
The court was finally, at long last, being generous.