Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 446 "The Inn" (Part Two)
November 9, 1640, Yiyang Fort (now Kamloops).

After the last rain before the Frost's Descent, the fields outside Yiyang Fort finally quieted down, the dark brown ridges exposed the frozen soil, and the remaining potato vines curled into withered knots in the north wind.

More than thirty immigrants, their backs hunched, piled the last batch of potatoes into the rammed earth granary.

The north wind swept across the field ridges, carrying withered yellow grass. Park Jeon-doo, from North Korea, muttered in broken Chinese, "The wind in this godforsaken place is even harsher than in Chungcheong Province."

"It's still better here than in Liaodong," Chang Ping'an smiled. "If you spent a winter there, you'd know how deadly the snowstorms in Liaodong can be!"

He glanced at the distant mountains and forests. "At least, the snow hasn't fallen here yet, which is a blessing from heaven."

In the corner of the granary, potatoes piled up to waist height were being sorted by size by Saburo Tanabe from Nagasaki, Japan. He was also picking out any potatoes with broken skins to prevent them from rotting.

His fingers were red from the cold, his fingernails were filled with black dirt, and even his knuckles were swollen from the cold.

He stacked the plump, round potatoes in the bamboo basket on the left, put the deformed and small ones on the right, and threw the broken ones into the earthenware basin at his feet—that would be his food for the night.

The flint knife he held in his palm was icy cold, and the stone surface still bore the marks of his repeated caresses.

This was dug up last week while turning over the soil. The bluish-gray stone was covered with a layer of old soil. After cracking it open, a sharp blade was revealed, which could easily cut through straw.

The indigenous guide who came into contact with them gestured, tapping his chest with his knuckles and pointing to the distant mountains, probably saying that the flint knife was left behind by their ancestors when they were hunting.

His cloudy eyes were full of pleading, but Tian Bian pretended not to understand, put away his flint knife, and went back to the village.

At that moment, he was gently scraping away the frostbite spots on the potatoes with the stone blade, and stone chips mixed with potato peels fell onto the straw mat.

“Save your cuts!” The village head Zhuang Chengzong’s voice suddenly came from the doorway.

He kicked a grain sack, the rough burlap making a dull thud. "Just shave off the frostbite spots, don't peel them like you're peeling a radish! They'll grow back all winter! The next supply won't arrive until June or July next year, so don't waste too much... Do you want to starve in the spring?"

"Yes, village chief." Tianbian hurriedly nodded in response, and Shi Ren immediately reduced his strength by half.

"Hmph, none of them are any good!" Zhuang Chengzong snorted and strode out of the granary.

As soon as he reached the wooden fence surrounding the village, his brows furrowed.

The newly repaired fence looks neat, but upon closer inspection, the pine poles are haphazardly placed with gaps wide enough to fit a fist, and the rattan used for securing it is only tied in a loose slipknot.

"Wu Laosan, Chang Pingan, Sun Dezhi..." he roared at the wooden house not far away, his voice echoing across the empty village, "Get out here, all of you! Look at the shitty fence you built!"

Upon hearing the shout, the men rushed over. Wu Laosan's cloth shoes still had bits of grass stuck to the heels, and Sun Dezhi hadn't even had time to put down the hemp rope in his hand.

Seeing the village chief pointing at the newly repaired wooden fence with an expression of uncontrollable rage, the men shrank back, not daring to utter a sound.

"Crack!"

Zhuang Chengzong kicked the fence post hard. The pine tree, as thick as a bowl, wobbled, and then with a crisp "crack," a crossbeam snapped and fell to the ground with its sharpened tip.

The once-immaculate stockade wall suddenly revealed a three-foot-wide gap, and cold wind carrying grass and leaves poured straight in.

"Damn it!" Zhuang Chengzong pointed to the few tufts of brown fur remaining at the gap, "Three days ago, that bear broke in from here and ate all the corn in the grain storage cellar. Have you forgotten the wooden ladle that Liu Laowu had smashed?"

He spat on Wu Laosan's face, "This piece of junk, if the bear comes again, it could knock your kang (heated brick bed) off the ground if it crashes into it in the middle of the night!"

Wu Laosan hurriedly explained, "Village chief, we used new pine wood..."

"New pine wood?" Zhuang Chengzong bent down to pick up the broken piece of wood from the ground, scratching the stubble with his thumb. "This wood is rotten in the heart, it must have been soaked in spring water, right? And this vine, the bark wasn't even scraped off, it'll definitely crack after freezing overnight!"

He slammed the broken log to the ground. "Tear them all down and rebuild them! Go and bring out those hard pine trees behind the village, nail them in place, reduce the spacing between the crossbeams to two feet, and add a layer of thorny bushes on the outside!"

Chang Ping'an glanced at the sky; the clouds in the west had already turned a deep purplish-brown. He hurriedly said, "Village Chief, it's getting dark soon, how about we do it tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?" Zhuang Chengzong's eyes widened. "Old Li, who was on night patrol last night, said he heard a bear roaring in the woods. You want to wait until the bear breaks into the village before you start repairing? Go now! It must be done before dark. I'll personally oversee it!"

Wu Laosan dared not utter another word and quickly called Chang Ping'an and the others to run towards the warehouse.

Hearing the commotion in the granary, Saburo Tanabe quietly peeked out and saw several indigenous people standing on the hillside outside the fence, looking towards the village.

Tianbian's heart tightened, and he quickly pulled his neck back, stuffing the flint knife into his clothes. However, he accidentally cut his fingertip on the stone blade, and a drop of blood dripped onto the potato, spreading a small dark red patch.

Zhuang Chengzong stood by the fence with his hands on his hips, watching Wu Laosan and the others carry over hard pine wood, and then have someone bring over iron nails and a hammer.

The north wind blew harder and harder, stinging his face like a knife. He couldn't help but tighten his woolen overcoat and looked up at the sky: "This damn weather is much colder than Jinchuan."

"Make sure they're all nailed securely!" He turned his gaze to the wooden fence and shouted to Chang Ping'an, who was swinging a hammer. "Drive at least three nails into each horizontal beam, and bury the vertical posts two feet deep in the ground, then tamp them down with stones!"

Chang Ping'an responded and swung the hammer even more vigorously.

The sound of nails hammering into hard pine wood was particularly crisp in the cold wind, startling a few sparrows hiding in the bushes, which fluttered into the gray sky.

The sun gradually sank behind the western mountains, and the sky grew darker and darker.

As Wu Laosan was filling soil next to the pillar, he suddenly cried out "Ouch!" and squatted down. It turned out that a thin splinter from the shovel handle had pierced his finger, and beads of blood were dripping down his palm.

"Useless!" Zhuang Chengzong cursed, but still took out a small cloth bag from his pocket and threw it over, "There are hemostatic herbs inside, apply it yourself."

Wu Laosan took the cloth bag, feeling a warmth in his heart. He quickly applied the medicine haphazardly, wrapped it with a strip of cloth, and continued working.

The Stone Horse River (now the Thompson River) outside the fort slowed its flow, gleaming with a cool light under the setting sun.

Several men carried back from the riverbank with several wooden buckets filled with river fish they had caught with fishing nets. After some processing, the fish would become the village's winter food reserves.

Suddenly, a rapid bugle call sounded from the watchtower.

"Everyone, grab your weapons!" Zhuang Chengzong watched as more than twenty dark figures swept across the sparse woods in the distance, rapidly approaching them.

When the thirty-five men in the fortress stood ready with muskets and spears, the approaching shadowy figures stopped.

Shortly after, an indigenous person stepped forward from the crowd, raising his hands and shouting as he slowly walked over.

"I want to exchange salt..." After gesturing for a long time, the native finally managed to rummage through his stomach and produce a few words of Chinese that he could clearly express.

Upon hearing this, Zhuang Chengzong breathed a sigh of relief, but his grip on the musket remained firm. He glanced at the granary behind him, which contained enough grain to last six months, as well as more than a dozen jars of salt. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, it would be sufficient to last until June of next year.

"Ask them what they're willing to exchange for it," Zhuang Chengzong gestured to the village militia member to ask.

The new Chinese in Yiyangbao are not opposed to trading with the indigenous people; on the contrary, they actively participate in it.

A small jar of salt can be exchanged for a decent beaver pelt.

A pot of liquor can be exchanged for a fluffy and soft fox pelt.

Even a sharp steel knife can be exchanged for a thick, smooth bear skin.

Not to mention, potatoes and corn, which are worth very little, can be exchanged for moose meat and fresh fish that they have worked hard to hunt.

This deal is incredibly good!

Upon hearing the question, the native waved his hand behind him.

Seven or eight figures immediately stepped forward, rummaging through their baskets and laying out various items on the ground: seven or eight complete beaver pelts, still carrying a fresh smell of blood; fox pelts rolled into tubes, gleaming with a silvery-red luster in the twilight; a plump moose dragged over, leaving behind a trail of blood; and several baskets of river fish, their gills still twitching slightly.

"Three cans of salt, plus two jugs of liquor." The native chief grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth, and gestured with his hands. "All of these things are yours."

“This…” He turned and pointed to the largest bear skin at his feet, “This is good stuff, we should trade it for… the Thunderclap Bomb!”

"Hmm?" Upon hearing this, Zhuang Chengzong immediately became wary. "The musket isn't on the sales list! No matter how much more you offer, we won't trade it!"

What a joke! If we sell you muskets, what if these natives have malicious intentions and try to harm Yiyang Fort? Wouldn't that create a huge problem for us?
After being refused, the native chieftain looked disappointed and gestured with his hands, sometimes pointing to the bear skin on the ground and sometimes to his own people, as if to say that the brown bear was ferocious and had caused them fatal injuries, so he wanted to exchange it for a few muskets to protect his people's safety when hunting.

Zhuang Chengzong consistently shook his head in disapproval.

This is not Jinchuan, where there are tens of thousands of immigrants to rely on, and hundreds of armed troops ready to suppress any indigenous resistance at any time.

In Yiyang, the nearest mining area, Dongdu (now Litton Town), is more than 120 kilometers away. They are isolated and outnumbered, and can only have a slight advantage in terms of firearms.

Seeing the firm stance of these "outsiders," the native chieftain finally gave up, but demanded that the bear skin be exchanged for more cornmeal and a few iron nails.

Zhuang Chengzong squatted down, picked up the moose leg, weighed it a few times, and nodded slightly: "This venison is enough for the village to eat for a few days, and we can add a few nails. But we can't replace the corn; we still need to make it for a few more months."

The transaction proceeded amidst bargaining. Chang Ping'an and Wu Laosan were busy checking the supplies, while Sun Dezhi was directing people to bring salt containers and liquor from the warehouse.

Just as the two sides were about to finalize the deal, an elderly indigenous man suddenly pulled a stone from his pocket and walked unsteadily to Zhuang Chengzong.

The stone, about the size of a fist, was covered with a layer of grayish-brown stone skin, yet it faintly shone with a metallic luster under the setting sun, and fresh soil clung to its edges.

"This, can I exchange it for... food?" The native handed the stone to Zhuang Chengzong, his cloudy eyes gleaming with expectation.

Zhuang Chengzong was about to wave him away when he caught a glimpse of the luster on the stone out of the corner of his eye, and his movement suddenly stopped.

He took the stone and weighed it in his hand. It was much heavier than ordinary stones. He ran his fingertips along the edge and a small piece of the hard outer layer peeled off, revealing the golden cross-section inside.

"What's this?" Chang Ping'an leaned closer to look at it curiously. "Chalcopyrite?"

“It doesn’t look like it.” Zhuang Chengzong took out a small knife from his waist and gently scraped the stone.

Stone chips fell softly, revealing metallic surfaces that gleamed with a warm luster in the twilight, neither as glaring as brass nor as dull as iron ore.

He suddenly remembered the gold dust he had seen in the Lixi mining area in June, and its color was somewhat similar.

Seeing his interest, the old native added, "Deep in the mountains... there are many."

He gestured with his hands as if digging, tapping the stone heavily with his knuckles.

Zhuang Chengzong's heart skipped a beat, and he asked, barely suppressing his excitement, "Which mountain? How far is it from here?"

The old native pointed to the mountains to the northwest, where snow-capped peaks loomed in the twilight: "Three days... on foot."

The surrounding immigrants gathered around, chattering amongst themselves.

Wu Laosan reached out to touch the stone, but Zhuang Chengzong shoved his hand away, saying, "Don't touch it!"

He held the stone in his hand and said in a deep voice to the old native, "I'll take this stone, and I'll give you three...five potatoes, plus half a pot of wine."

The old native took the potatoes, grinned, and hugged them tightly to his chest.

The natives packed up the supplies they had acquired in exchange and quickly disappeared into the twilight-shrouded forest.

Zhuang Chengzong clutched the stone in his arms, his palms sweating.

He turned to the crowd and instructed them, "Disperse, everyone. Wu Laosan, take your men and move the things into the warehouse. Yang Fuxiang, come with me."

Upon entering the village head's house, Zhuang Chengzong immediately closed the door, took out a stone from his pocket, and examined it closely under the oil lamp.

As the light shone through the cracks in the stone, the metallic luster inside became even more apparent, and the cut surface scraped out with a knife gleamed with a soft golden hue under the light.

“Village Chief, could this be…” Yang Fuxiang, who had once worked as a gold miner, trembled slightly.

Zhuang Chengzong didn't speak. He picked up a stone and tapped it on the iron plate on the table, producing a dull "thump-thump" sound, unlike the crisp sound of brass.

He then scratched the cut surface with his fingernail and was able to leave a faint mark.

“It looks a bit like gold ore.” Zhuang Chengzong’s voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement.

Yang Fuxiang's eyes widened: "That old native said there are many more in the mountains..."

“That’s right.” Zhuang Chengzong stood up abruptly, causing the oil lamp to flicker. “Tomorrow, take two people and go check out those mountains. Remember, whatever you do, don’t disturb the natives!”

The north wind outside the window was blowing harder and harder, making the window paper rustle loudly.

Zhuang Chengzong stared at the stone on the table, his eyes flashing with a complex light—excitement, vigilance, and a hint of barely perceptible greed.

Damn it, Yiyang Fort was originally intended as a post station on the eastern exploration route, but unexpectedly, gold was discovered here!
Xinhua is truly a golden land.
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(End of this chapter)