Chapter 119: Divine Arrangement

These men on the ship had been dispatched by the Governor-General to negotiate with the Ming authorities and cooperate in capturing Lin Qian.

Unexpectedly, after lingering in Guangzhou for several months, submitting over a dozen documents, spending several hundred taels of silver, and drinking over a thousand cups of tea, the cooperative capture effort had made not the slightest progress.

And then the Ming Emperor happened to pass away, bringing the Guangzhou Maritime Trade Supervisorate to a near standstill.

Juan was so furious he nearly spat blood. After privately venting a lengthy string of curses at the Ming officials, he returned to his ship and decided to sail north to the capital himself, to present his documents to the new Ming Emperor, Your Majesty.

In Ming parlance, this was called lodging a direct appeal to the throne.

For this voyage, Juan had made thorough preparations.

He knew Ming merchant ships preferred to sail close to shore, and that sea bandits mostly operated along the coast as well, so he deliberately chose an open-ocean route, hoping to avoid prying eyes.

Before setting out, he had even congratulated himself, believing that with the Ming's crude seafaring skills, no sea bandit could possibly spot his ship.

Little did he expect that before even leaving Guangdong waters, he would run head-on into a fleet.

For these Spaniards, who had always looked down on Ming navigation, this was already no small shock.

To make matters worse, the lead ship of the enemy fleet was the stolen Santa Ana, and the fleet commander was Lin Qian.

This filled every Spaniard aboard with even greater dread.

On a material level, the caravel with its light guns was no match for a galleon.

On a spiritual level — was Lin Qian a demon sent by Satan to punish the Spaniards? How could he haunt them so relentlessly, as if he had been lying in wait right on their course?

When it came to superstition, sailors the world over were much the same.

After Juan said the enemy ship was Lin Qian's, everyone fell silent as cicadas in winter, and even the maneuvers to trim sails and turn about were far slower than usual.

With that delay, the enemy ship drew visibly closer.

Through his telescope, Juan could now make out the enemy vessel's clear silhouette — apart from the three lateen sails at the bow, the rest of the hull structure was identical to the stolen Manila galleon.

It was the Santa Ana, no doubt.

Juan's heart was uneasy, but as captain he could not show it. He gave the order: "Course southwest — shake off the enemy pursuit!"

The first mate loudly repeated the order.

Soon the lateen sails bellied full of wind again, snowflakes slapped continuously against their faces, and the sea wind laced with moisture stung their skin raw.

An hour later, the caravel had sailed a great distance.

Juan looked back — the Santa Ana was clearly farther away now, which put his mind somewhat at ease.

He looked up at the sky and saw it growing darker still, the snow falling ever harder.

Juan traced a cross over his chest, thanking God for His protection — once darkness fully fell, their chances of escape would be even greater.

"Your Excellency the Vice Admiral, the enemy ship has changed course," the first mate reminded him.

Juan looked toward the enemy vessel — on the ink-black sea, the Santa Ana had turned its rudder to starboard, faintly exposing its port side.

"Heh." Juan let out a mocking laugh.

The first mate asked, puzzled: "Your Excellency the Vice Admiral, is there something amusing?"

Juan relaxed his bearing: "I laugh at how the Ming folk know nothing of seafaring — they only dare sail near shore. Now that evening is approaching, Lin Qian must think we intend to head west toward land, which is why he turned starboard to intercept us early."

The first mate suddenly understood and laughed along: "The Ming truly fear spending the night on the open sea — a pack of cowards."

One hand on the gunwale, his coat whipped loudly by the sea wind, Juan called out to the crew: "Look — those cowards have turned toward shore!"

Hearing this, the sailors peered toward the Santa Ana, and their tense expressions vanished, replaced by cheers.

Juan glanced at the sky again — the light was fading fast, and soon it would be fully dark.

After nightfall, sailing at full speed through unfamiliar waters was extremely dangerous, so the safest way to shake off the Santa Ana's pursuit was to head for the open sea — fewer reefs out there, lower risk of running aground, and it would also take them off the Santa Ana's pursuit line.

He then told the first mate: "A touch of port rudder, turn south — don't let the pirates catch on."

First mate: "A touch of port rudder!"

The sky grew darker still, and the Santa Ana's silhouette was gradually swallowed by the gray-black gloom, no longer clearly visible.

When the lookout shouted "The enemy ship has fallen back!", the Spanish sailors burst into cheers.

For safety's sake, Juan did not immediately order the sail handlers to lower the sails, but kept the course heading south, making sure the Santa Ana was thoroughly left behind.

An hour later, the sea was pitch black; by the dim moonlight, one could barely see ten meters of water around the ship.

At that visibility, sailing was no different from seeing nothing at all.

Juan took out his telescope and searched the darkness to the northwest for a long while. Only after confirming he could see no sign of movement did he breathe a sigh of relief and order the crew to lower the sails.

The two lateen sails were furled, and the caravel's speed gradually dropped, drifting forward on momentum alone.

The first mate ordered the crew to lower the depth line to determine whether the anchorage here was safe.

Just as everyone was letting out a sigh of relief, a dull thud came from the bow.

The sound struck like a heavy drum against every Spaniard's heart.

"Vice Admiral... we... we seem to have run aground!"

Three nautical miles northwest of the caravel, the Santa Ana had lowered its sails, lit its lanterns, and was moving slowly.

Chen Jiao called up to the lookout at the mainmast: "What do you see?"

The lookout's voice drifted down from afar: "The sea is pitch black... wait — there are ship lanterns. Looks like a dozen or more vessels."

This was open ocean; ships rarely passed through here, and even if one did, none would sail at night.

The approaching ships must be Lin Qian's Sea Wolf escort fleet.

Lin Qian said in a low voice: "Turn the broadside toward the approaching ships, prepare for contact, and fire a red flare."

Chen Jiao relayed the order. A sailor took a flare to the stern deck and lit it, and the flare burst into a crimson light more than a man's height.

After a moment, one of the approaching ships answered with an identical red flare.

Chen Jiao said happily: "It really is Old Seven and the others."

A little under half an hour later, the fleet drew near and lowered sails around the Santa Ana.

Lin Qian: "Pass the order — break the fleet into pairs, bird boats in front, Sea Wolf ships behind, heading southeast. Search along the coral reefs of Ship City for the enemy vessel. Once any trace of the enemy is found, rally by flare signal. If the search yields nothing by nightfall tomorrow, each ship returns to the island to regroup."

Chen Jiao clasped his fists in acknowledgment, then ordered the crew to lower a small boat to relay the command.

Half an hour later, the fleet, following Lin Qian's orders, formed pairs in a column and sailed off toward the southeast.

Before long, the ship lanterns vanished into the pitch-black sea.

This spot was too close to the coral reef, and Lin Qian dared not risk the Santa Ana, so he simply waited in place.

At dawn the next day, the lookout's loud shout broke the stillness of the sea.

"Red signal flare!"

Lin Qian, who had slept in his clothes, started awake and strode up to the stern deck. Sure enough, a red sky-rocket burst in the southeastern sky.

"Helmsman!" Chen Jiao ran up on deck at a sprint while pulling on his clothes.

Lin Qian smiled: "The fish have fallen into the net. Raise the sails, heading due east."

"Raise the sails, heading due east!"

The order passed down level by level to the sailors' ears.

The crew, roused from sleep, frantically stowed their hammocks and rushed onto the deck to work the rigging.

"Northwest wind, port side running before it, tighten the starboard sheets!" Chen Jiao glanced at the wind pennant and gave the order.

Lei Sanxiang bellowed at the crew: "Move it faster, all of you, faster!"

Half an hour later, all of the Santa Ana's sails were set, and she headed due east.

The sun had not yet risen and the sea was still pitch black. Under Chen Jiao's arrangements, crewmen were posted along both gunwales and on the forecastle deck, keeping constant watch on the sea.

The coral reef lay to the southeast of this position, and since the Santa Ana was sailing due east, there should be no risk of running aground—still, a little caution never hurt.

As the sky beyond the bow began to glow warm white, the surrounding sea gradually came into view.

After sailing for an hour, another crack! exploded across the sea off the starboard side.

Lin Qian looked up and saw yet another red sky-rocket burst open. He immediately ordered a turn toward the direction of the flare.

The morning sun was just rising, laying a sheet of shimmering light across the sea.

"Crack!" Another sky-rocket went off, but by now the daylight was bright and the flare's fire could no longer be seen clearly.

In the distance, a patch of indigo-blue water faintly appeared on the sea.

Lin Qian ordered the Santa Ana to turn her helm to port, sailing along the edge of the coral reef toward the southeast.

After another half hour, the faint sound of gunfire and cannon fire could be heard across the sea.

Lin Qian took out his telescope and looked toward the source of the sound. In the distance, several ship silhouettes were dimly visible on the water.

A flash of gunfire flickered between the ship silhouettes.

"Crack!" Another sky-rocket burst in the sky.

Lin Qian ordered the galleon to close at full speed. After sailing for some time, they had come within three hundred paces.

Five or six ships were locked in fierce combat. On the outside were three Sea Wolf warships in a line, starboard sides facing the enemy, while two bird boats nearby pressed in and fired their muskets.

Surrounded in the middle was none other than the caravel from yesterday.

Its two lateen sails were now riddled with several holes, its hull sat deep in the water, and it was creeping along the outer edge of the indigo-blue waters.

The caravel had originally been very fast, but now it moved as slowly as if dragging an anchor, barely matching the speed of the Sea Wolf-class escort ships.

On one side of its deck, scupper holes were rhythmically spewing water, and the deck was full of Spaniards scrambling about in panic. Even from a distance, a few stray words of Spanish could be heard.

"Boom, boom, boom..." A volley of five cannon shots rang out. Water splashed all around the Sea Wolf ships, and one Sea Wolf took a hit to its hull, sending splintered planks flying—though the cannon's caliber was small and did no real damage to the hull.

Immediately, the three Sea Wolf ships began to return fire, their rapid-fire cannons discharging in an unbroken stream, raining iron around the caravel like a storm of metal.

The hull was struck in several places, shattered planks flew everywhere, another hole appeared in the sails, and a mist of blood rose over the deck. The Spaniards were driven to cower behind the bulwarks, not daring to show their heads.

The bird boats and Sea Wolf ships seized the chance to close to within fifty paces and opened fire with volleys of musketry. In an instant, the sound of bullets thudding into wood rang without cease, and splinters and wood chips flew wildly, wrapping the caravel in a torrent like a rainstorm.

Though the round of fire caused no effective casualties, it kept the Spaniards pinned down, not daring to raise their heads.

As the volleys began to die down and the Spaniards peeked out, another round of Folangji grapeshot came at them.

One side of the caravel's bulwark was struck and punched through by cannon fire. Flesh and blood sprayed violently from behind the bulwark, followed by a burst of piercing screams.

"Helmsman, should we open fire?" Chen Jiao asked.

Lin Qian shook his head. The caravel and the two bird boats were too close together—once they opened fire, they might well hit their own men.

Besides, their side held the advantage. This was also a good chance to give the Sea Wolf crews some real combat experience.

After enduring another round of Folangji cannon fire and musket volleys, the caravel's five four-pounder lizard cannons on its side completed reloading and fired once more.

At such close range, the hit rate improved greatly. The Sea Wolf in the center took three consecutive hits—a corner of its sterncastle was blasted away, and two large holes were blown at the waterline, seawater surging in through the breaches.

That Sea Wolf visibly sank at the freeboard, its speed slackened, and it gradually fell out of the fight. Fortunately, its watertight compartments kept it from sinking.

At the same time, from the remaining Sea Wolf ships and bird boats, muskets and cannons fired together, and the gunners exposed beyond the bulwark were engulfed in a storm of iron.

A cannonball struck a powder keg on the caravel's deck, sparking a fire that set off a sympathetic detonation.

An orange-red flash blazed, and the caravel's port side was shrouded in black smoke. The hull, as if struck by a heavy blow, lurched violently to starboard.

One four-pounder lizard cannon was blasted five or six zhang into the air, tumbled several times through the sky, and plunged into the sea, throwing up a huge splash.

The Sea Wolf ships and bird boats kept firing without pause, pouring shot into the black smoke. From within the smoke came the endless crackling of splintering planks and the unceasing screams of the enemy.

At last, the black smoke cleared. Through the gap blown in the bulwark, bloody chunks of corpses could be seen strewn across the deck.

A white flag emerged from behind the bulwark, waving back and forth in the air.

Lin Qian ordered: "Cease fire. Send men aboard to accept their surrender."

The order was relayed. The two bird boats rowed forward, their men holding muskets and loudly ordering the Spaniards behind the bulwark to come out.

At the same time, aboard the Santa Ana, Lin Qian had Jose send up the surrender-acceptance signal flags.

Moments later, the surviving Spaniards walked out empty-handed from their hiding places and gathered at the ship's rail.

Lin Qian saw that roughly thirty-odd had survived, every one of them grimy and disheveled, some bearing wounds.

The bird boat crews boarded, bound the Spaniards securely, and brought them over to the Santa Ana.

Lin Qian's gaze swept over the kneeling captives, noting that among them were over ten Spaniards, with the rest being Han Chinese shipwrights.

"What was your destination?" Lin Qian asked once in Spanish and once in Chinese.

"Shuntian Prefecture." Juan answered honestly. Having been defeated by Lin Qian time and again, the blow had been so severe that he felt it was God's arrangement, and he no longer had any thought of resistance.

"To do what?"

Juan laid out everything—his identity, the Governor-General's commission, and the mission's ordeal in Guangzhou.

Lin Qian found it both absurd and amusing. He had assumed his wanted posters would have already plastered every wall in Guangzhou, yet the Spanish mission had apparently been turned away at the door for months on end—truly beyond comprehension.

Still, historically, when the Spaniards had tried to communicate with the Great Ming about capturing the pirate Lin Feng, they had gone through even greater trouble than this.

Taking history as a lesson, Juan knew the character of Ming officials well, and understood that the Governor-General could not afford to wait, so he had resolutely decided to head north and go directly to the Great Ming capital.

Little did he expect that enemies would cross paths on a narrow road—he had run into Lin Qian once again. Since it was God's arrangement, Juan could only accept his fate with resignation.

Lin Qian then asked about the situation in Manila.

Juan replied that the Governor-General's position was very dire. The loss of the galleon had already been reported to the Spanish Crown, but given the great distance, the punishment had not yet been handed down.

By the usual custom, the Crown would most likely send a new Governor-General, and the original Governor-General Alonso would then be escorted back to Spain for trial.

Even the lightest sentence would mean selling off his lands, stripping of his noble title, and imprisonment on top of that.

As for the lost Manila galleon, it had originally been built at the Cavite shipyard, and another would be constructed in due time to fill the gap in shipping.

Having obtained all the useful information, Lin Qian waved his hand. Chen Jiao understood and said coldly, "Lock them all up."

The crew dragged the captives toward the cargo hold, pulling and hauling them along.

Juan struggled and cried out, "I am a noble! I can pay a ransom—two thousand pesos, no! Three thousand pesos—"

Lin Qian remained unmoved. A few thousand taels of silver meant nothing to him.

Since they had been captured, they could forget about ever going back for the rest of their lives.

"Helmsman, these were searched off the foreigners."

Lin Qian followed the voice and saw his men holding three or four telescopes of varying lengths.

"Put them in my cabin." Lin Qian smiled. These telescopes had come just in time.

The lookout reported that ships were approaching from the south and northwest, likely the other vessels that had been searching along the coral reefs.

Lin Qian ordered the three Sea Wolf ships to gather the remaining vessels on site, while the Santa Ana towed the captured caravel and the damaged Sea Wolf VII back to Nan'ao Island.

Around the hour of wei, the Santa Ana docked at Nan'ao Island.

Lin Qian ordered the captives including Juan to be sent to the prisoner camp for guarding; had Mute Huang dispatch shipwrights to repair the vessels, and had Scholar Zhou calculate the dividend rewards for the crew of the three Sea Wolf ships and two bird boats that had taken part in the battle.

Huang Hetai came to take his leave of Lin Qian, who sent men to escort him back to Shen'ao Harbor.

By the time these miscellaneous matters were settled, it was already evening.

Lin Qian walked onto the deck to stretch his body. He saw the caravel half-sunk in the water, with carpenters busy repairing the planking, and caulkers stuffing the gaps with hemp cord soaked in tung oil.

To enjoy the East's most advanced ship-repair craftsmanship—this caravel counted itself fortunate.

Among the craftsmen, Lin Qian spotted Mute Huang's figure. He said to the crewman beside him, "Send two of the captured telescopes to Uncle Huang, and have him make another sextant the same way as last time."

The crewman acknowledged, fetched the telescopes, and went to deliver the order to Mute Huang.

Lin Qian gazed into the distance and saw the docks bustling with activity; even from far away, the aroma wafting from the snack stalls reached his nose.

When that crewman returned, Lin Qian told him to go buy some qilu cakes.

The crewman acknowledged and hurried off the ship. A moment later he came running back, cupping his fists: "Helmsman, the qilu cake stall didn't come today."

"Oh?" Lin Qian was slightly surprised. Ever since Nan'ao Town had been established, that qilu cake seller had been as steady as a rock, coming to the island every single day without a single absence.

But then he thought that people always had urgent matters from time to time—perhaps today the seller had been delayed—so he said nothing more.

The end of the month arrived.

The weather in Min and Yue grew colder, and several more stalls selling cotton-padded clothes had appeared on the island.

Today was the first cargo delivery since Master Hu had joined the fold. Lin Qian rose early and waited by the ship's rail.

Through the thin winter mist, a two-masted Cangshan ship appeared on the distant sea.

The vessel had anchored at Ma'er'ao in the dead of night, loaded its cargo, and sailed in the dark toward Nan'ao Island, with Bailangzai personally overseeing the shipment.

Seeing it return safely, Lin Qian relaxed and went back to his cabin for breakfast.

After finishing breakfast, Scholar Zhou knocked and entered, placing a list on Lin Qian's desk.

"Helmsman, these are the goods delivered this time."

Lin Qian pointed at the oval dining table: "There's hot tea on the table, Second Brother—warm yourself up."

Hearing this, Scholar Zhou went over and sat at the table, poured a cup of tea, and cupped his hands around the cup to warm them.

Lin Qian looked over the list and asked, "Did the cargo handover go smoothly?"

Scholar Zhou: "Ma'er'ao is a remote spot, and with it being night, we didn't run into any strangers—no one was the wiser."

Lin Qian nodded. The list contained many items—besides the urgently needed bricks and tiles, lime, river sand, and cloth, there were also various odds and ends such as cotton, charcoal, and farm tools.

Some of these things were not on Lin Qian's list; presumably Hu Zhaoyuan had added them on his own initiative, seeing that the weather had turned cold recently.

These items cost little money, yet they conveyed an attitude of utter loyalty and consideration for the island's welfare—a rather clever move.

Lin Qian called for Lü Zhou and told him to give the list to Mute Huang, prioritizing the building materials for repairing the dry dock.

Lü Zhou acknowledged and withdrew.

Scholar Zhou stepped forward and pulled a cloth pouch from his bosom, placing it before Lin Qian.

"By the way, this is what the helmsman asked for."

Lin Qian untied the cloth pouch and saw several thread-bound books inside: the *Register of Officials*, the *Collected Statutes of the Great Ming*, the *Wanli Court Gazette*, the *Wanli Memorials*, the *Record of Anomalous Decrees of the Imperial Ming*, and the *Biographies of Chief Grand Secretaries Since the Jiajing Era*.

All were books on current affairs of the Great Ming. Most were sold among the common folk, while a few circulated only within the gentry class—all procured by Hu Zhaoyuan.

To make one's way along the southeastern coast, understanding the power structures and operating patterns of Ming officials was crucial, and these books were Lin Qian's door-opening bricks.

Scholar Zhou rubbed his hands together and said, "Helmsman, your cabin looks luxurious, but it's too cold in winter. You should move ashore and have Old Huang build you a mansion."

The Manila galleons plied tropical routes year-round, so the captain's cabin had no cold-weather design—only a charcoal brazier for warmth, and a small one at that, to guard against fire.

Lin Qian shook his head. "A mansion is the most useless thing. Right now, all our productive capacity and building materials must go into the dry dock. A charcoal brazier suits me fine."

Then Lin Qian and Scholar Zhou went on to discuss the Hu family's developments in Chenghai County.

As they were talking, a crewman knocked and entered: "Helmsman, Stoneworker Chu says the cement mortar has mostly dried, and asks whether you'd like to come take a look."

"Let's go." Lin Qian rose. He had nothing on his schedule today, so this was a good chance to inspect the cement. "Second Brother, come along and see for yourself."

The two of them descended the ship amid their guards and reached the wharf, where they saw that the number of peddlers had dwindled further.

With one month left until the New Year, and the weather turning cold, most peddlers no longer came to the island.

Lin Qian glanced toward the stall selling qilu cakes—still empty, no one there—and asked those around him, "How long has it been since the qilu cake seller last came?"

The guard thought for a moment. "Ever since the last time you sent me to buy cakes, Helmsman, I don't think anyone's seen him."

"Mm." Lin Qian gave no verdict, and told the guard, "Go ask the peddlers which other stalls haven't come to the island, and what those who stayed away are up to."

"Yes, sir!" The guard accepted the order and left.

Lin Qian and his party continued southward on the island. The cement wall had been built at the foot of Mount Guolao, a natural granite quarry where most of the island's stonemasons lived.

By now the wet straw mats had been removed from the cement wall, revealing the blue-brick surface, with black cement mortar half a finger thick between the bricks.

The island's twenty-odd stonemasons were gathered around the wall studying it, their expressions varied.

Seeing Lin Qian arrive, the masons parted to make way. Stoneworker Chu stepped forward and said excitedly, "This wall was built early last month with cement mortar made by the method you described, Helmsman. This old man has tested it privately—it's already rock-hard, just as you said it would be."

Even the surface of Ming-dynasty glutinous-rice mortar took a month to dry, yet its strength was far inferior to cement, and full drying took at least five or six months—sometimes even years.

This cement mortar not only dried fast, but its materials cost far less than glutinous-rice mortar. If it spread through the world, it would shake the entire stonemason trade of the Great Ming—no wonder Stoneworker Chu was excited.

Lin Qian's expression stayed calm. After all, as an architectural designer he'd dealt with every grade of commercial concrete day in and day out—cement was something he knew all too well.

He stepped forward, examined the color of the cement mortar, then borrowed a chisel from a mason and chipped at the mortar between the bricks.

From experience he estimated that this crude cement had a strength roughly equivalent to modern low-grade M5–M10 mortar.

Such low-grade mortar had poor compressive strength; in modern times it was mostly used for masonry and plastering in low-rise buildings—garden walls, partition walls, courtyard walls, floor bedding layers, and the like.

Used for load-bearing walls, it could only support ordinary single-story houses.

Of course, there were ways to improve it—using natural volcanic ash as raw material, firing clay or shale, grinding finer, using hot-mix processes, adding plant ash, gypsum, or egg white, extending the curing period, and so on.

The core principle was to boost the pozzolanic reactivity so that more calcium silicate hydrate would form.

Naturally, to achieve higher reactivity, one would inevitably need to procure large quantities of materials, build earthen kilns, and invest more labor.

In short, no process could be perfected overnight—it took time to accumulate.

If one was impatient and couldn't wait, then it would take a mountain of silver.

At this point in time, having cement mortar at the M5–M10 grade was already more than sufficient.

(End of chapter)

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen