A river-sea vessel from Gao Family Village arrived steadily at Zhoushan, its hull riding low with the weight of human cargo rather than grain or steel.
In the past, these ships mostly carried workers back and forth between the island and the mainland, a constant tide of labor arriving at dawn and departing at dusk. But times had changed. Many workers no longer bothered returning at all. They had put down roots on the island, settling permanently, as if afraid that once they left, this place might vanish like a good dream at daybreak.
They had already moved their parents, wives, children, and even distant relatives over from the mainland, arranging them into the employee dormitories. Compared to the collapsing mud houses and famine-stricken villages they came from, the dormitories were nothing short of paradise. There was food, steady work, order, and most importantly, dignity.
Relatives brought in friends. Friends brought in cousins. Word spread quietly, stubbornly, like grass pushing through cracks in stone.
Before long, there was no reason to return to the mainland at all. Supplies were abundant, daily life was stable, and there were no corrupt officials leaning over your shoulder, no sudden levies, no arbitrary beatings. For common folk who had known only hunger and fear, the island felt unreal.
This particular voyage, however, carried mostly newcomers.
Among them were two impoverished brothers from Suzhou.
They stood shoulder to shoulder on the deck, hands clenched tight in their sleeves, eyes fixed on the horizon. Though they had heard glowing stories from distant relatives who had already come here, stories of full bellies and honest pay, stepping into the unknown still stirred unease in their chests.
It felt like stepping into a strange restaurant for the first time, pretending confidence while secretly wondering whether you were about to make a terrible mistake.
Before the ship reached its destination, the pilot strode to the bow and raised his voice, sharp enough to cut through the sea wind.
"We're almost there. Listen carefully," he said, sweeping his gaze across the gathered workers. "What's being built on this island is top secret. Truly top secret."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Do you know what that means?" he continued. "It means that if you let even a single word slip, stones will be tied to your feet, and you'll be thrown into the sea."
A ripple of fear ran through the crowd. Several people instinctively swallowed.
"If you know yourself," the pilot said coldly, "if you like gossiping, bragging, running your mouth about everything you see, then this place is not for you. There's a small island ahead. You can get off there and wait for the next ship back to the mainland."
Silence followed.
No one moved.
After coming this far, after clinging to hope through hunger and exhaustion, who would willingly turn back?
The workers could only nod, each silently swearing to weld their mouths shut.
The ship continued forward.
When it finally entered Zhoushan's Dinghai Port, the deck erupted into stunned murmurs.
Before they had even docked, the workers were struck dumb by the sight ahead.
A colossal port stretched along the coastline, so vast that it swallowed the horizon. Wooden scaffolding covered nearly the entire shore, layer upon layer, rising like a forest of timber. The scale alone made one's scalp tingle.
Dozens upon dozens of massive ships lay anchored there, each one stretching dozens of meters in length. Even from afar, their silhouettes radiated menace.
These were warships.
On their decks, marines trained relentlessly, blades flashing, bodies colliding, shouts echoing across the water. Even at this distance, the intensity of their drills made the air feel tight.
Suddenly, a gigantic vessel thundered past the workers' ship.
A commanding voice rang out from its deck.
"Port thirty degrees!"
"All hands, prepare for battle!"
"Gunports, fully open!"
At the barked orders, the marines moved like a single organism, leaping into position with terrifying efficiency.
The realization struck the workers all at once.
This was a military port.
No wonder secrecy was enforced so brutally.
Had the imperial court not long ago abandoned its overseas islands? Why, then, was it openly building such a massive naval base here, training troops so aggressively, constructing ships that looked nothing like the old wooden junks of legend?
Something fundamental had changed.
No one dared ask questions.
They docked in silence and disembarked carefully, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.
They were led into a newly constructed building that still smelled of fresh paint and raw timber. Inside, they were subjected to a long, exhaustive lecture of rules, warnings, and prohibitions. By the time it ended, most heads were spinning.
Finally, the foreman slammed his palm against a table and raised his voice.
"As long as you follow regulations and work honestly, you will earn four taels of silver per month," he declared. "Skilled workers earn more."
For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Then cheers exploded.
Four taels. Real silver. Steady pay.
For people who had lived hand to mouth, it sounded almost obscene.
Assignments were handed out soon after.
The two brothers from Suzhou were sent to the shipyard.
They followed their foreman east along the beach, walking until their legs grew sore. Ahead, a sentry post came into view, manned by heavily armed soldiers whose expressions were as hard as stone.
After a strict inspection, they were allowed through.
Only then did they enter the shipyard.
The moment they stepped inside the production workshop, both brothers stopped dead in their tracks.
Before them rose the skeletal frame of a ship, but not one made of wood.
Steel.
An immense framework of iron loomed overhead, cold and merciless. The keel itself was solid iron, a monstrous spine that looked more suited for a fortress than a vessel.
This was no metaphorical "steel muscles and iron bones."
It was literal.
Workers wearing Yellow Hats swarmed across the structure, installing massive iron plates under the precise commands of Blue Hat foremen. The clang of metal rang endlessly, hammer strikes echoing like thunder trapped indoors.
One brother whispered, barely daring to speak. "A ship… made of iron? Can that really float?"
A Blue Hat barked at them. "Newcomers, over here. Put on your hats."
They were handed Yellow Hats and pulled into the workflow.
"You're new," the Blue Hat said. "So you'll be lifting steel plates. Those plates come from the armored workshop. You move them to the hull and hand them to the assembly crew. Understood?"
"Understood," the brothers answered quickly.
They joined several other laborers, hoisting an enormous steel plate onto a cart. It took all their strength just to move it beneath the hull. Steel cables were secured, pulleys creaked, and at shouted commands from above, the plate rose slowly into the air.
The assembly workers guided it carefully, aligning it against the ship's frame.
Then came the rivets.
Heavy, brutal rivets were hammered in with bone-shaking force, each impact ringing through the brothers' chests.
They stared in disbelief.
"It's iron, piece by piece," one muttered. "Won't water seep through the seams?"
The Blue Hat snorted. "That's not for you to worry about. Learn slowly. Or don't. If you never understand, you'll just stay porters forever."
Chastened, the brothers returned to work.
While they labored, a procession entered the workshop.
At its head walked a young master wearing a White Hat, refined and scholarly. Behind him trailed several Blue Hat foremen, their usual authority softened into visible respect.
The brothers finally understood.
This was the real master of this place.
The man was Bai Gongzi.
He frowned deeply, eyes locked on the schematics in his hands.
"No matter how many times I recalculate," he said slowly, "the result never changes. This ship is simply too heavy."
His fingers tightened on the papers.
"The steam engine, the cannons, the coal, the steel hull. Every component piles weight upon weight. The displacement is already enormous."
He exhaled, frustration seeping into his voice.
"With this much mass, the payload capacity will be severely limited."
Bai Gongzi sighed.
"Wooden warships carrying five hundred soldiers made sense in the age of sails," he said. "But for steam-powered ironclads, that logic no longer applies."
He looked up at the towering hull.
"From now on, these ships can only carry a minimal number of soldiers."
The steel frame loomed silently above him, heavy beyond imagination.