Chapter 121: Hero's Tears

While the Sea Wolf battle line employed the hyena rear-attack tactic.

The fourteen Siren cannons on the Santa Ana's starboard side roared without cease; with no friendly ships around, there was no fear of collision. No lanterns were hung—the entire ship was under blackout, a ghost upon the pitch-black sea.

Even standing on the quarterdeck, Lin Qian's ears rang incessantly from the constantly firing cannons, and his nose could smell nothing but sulfur and gunpowder.

Through the telescope, the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao's naval fleet had completed its turn and was reforming its formation, bearing straight down on the Santa Ana.

At the rear of the naval fleet, the muzzle flashes of the Sea Wolf battle line were faintly visible; a Fujian junk leading several Haicang boats broke away from the formation to drive off the Sea Wolf battle line.

"Boom! Boom! Boom..." The sound of cannon fire came from afar.

Lin Qian raised his telescope and, judging by the muzzle flashes and the height of the ship lanterns, faintly recognized the shooter as the great Fujian junk at the center of the naval fleet.

This great Fujian junk was over ten zhang in length, even larger than an ordinary three-masted Fujian junk. According to the Records of Military Preparedness, its formal name was "Number One Fujian Junk," equipped with heavy Folangji cannons firing eight-jin shot—the pinnacle of the Ming navy's fighting power.

"Enemy fleet, two hundred paces!" the lookout called out loudly.

By now the Santa Ana had turned broadside, furled sail and firing; the shot all landed at the bows of the naval fleet—another perfect T-cross.

Lei Sanxiang's voice had gone hoarse, yet he remained fiercely excited, loudly ordering the crew to fire.

"Enemy fleet, one hundred fifty paces!" the lookout updated the distance.

The naval fleet still charged headlong through the relentless bombardment.

Unlike the line tactics commonly used by European navies in the age of sail, the Ming navy advanced at sea in a wild-goose-wing formation, roughly divided into five divisions—front, rear, left, right, and center—similar to land battle formations.

This formation favored boarding combat, but before shipboard cannons it was nothing but a vast expanse of live targets.

In fact, in this era, even European navies were still in the exploratory phase of naval tactics.

Lin Qian's tactics of seizing the weather gauge and seizing the T-cross were so far ahead of their time that they created a tactical rout.

"Enemy fleet, one hundred paces!" the lookout said again.

Though the galleon's cannon accuracy was pitiful, it didn't matter when the navy kept charging straight into the muzzles.

It was too dark to see the damage to the naval fleet, but Lin Qian reckoned they must have suffered no small losses.

Moreover, the closer the two sides drew, the greater the cannons' power and the higher their accuracy.

And the naval ships' bow-mounted weapons—bowl-mouth culverins, tiger-crouch cannons, dragon-emerging-from-water rockets—hadn't even reached their range yet.

But facing the galleon's artillery advantage, even the sea bandit Li Kuiqi knew to turn and evade—why was the naval fleet charging straight in? Could the Vice Regional Commander truly be this stupid?

Lin Qian frowned and thought to himself: "Something's off."

"Raise sail, heading due east!" Lin Qian ordered decisively.

Though the firing arc was excellent at the moment, Lin Qian was the absolute authority aboard; no one would question his orders.

As Chen Jiao loudly relayed the order to raise sail, the sail-trimmers waiting on the yards released the sail ties; the snow-white canvas unfurled, deckhands hauled the starboard sheets taut, the sails gradually bellied out, and the galleon slowly made way due east.

"Enemy fleet, eighty paces!" the lookout said again.

At this distance, the hull outlines revealed by the ship lanterns were faintly visible.

Just then, a starboard crewman cried out in alarm: "Fire ships!"

The moment he spoke, the naval fleet suddenly loosed several dozen fire arrows; most fell into the water, a few stuck into the dark sea surface—then with a whoosh, a bird boat was set ablaze.

Immediately after, five or six more bird boats caught fire. These bird boats carried no soldiers; their single-mast lug sails had been trimmed to the optimal angle, and they bore straight down on the Santa Ana.

The nearest one was no more than ten paces from the Santa Ana.

This was the oldest and most practiced tactic of Eastern navies—fire attack.

So the naval fleet's headlong charge had been to lull the galleon into complacency, creating an opening for the fire ships to close in.

These fire ships had barbed steel spikes mounted on their bows; once they rammed into a ship, it was very difficult to shake them off.

The fire ships' holds were also stocked with large quantities of tung oil, which was highly flammable; the flames grew with the wind, reaching several zhang high, and could easily ignite an enemy vessel.

Historically, in the Battle of Liaoluo Bay, Zheng Zhilong had used exactly this tactic to defeat the combined fleet of the Dutch and Liu Xiang.

Unfortunately, Lin Qian was not Dutch. He hadn't lingered to trade fire; he'd raised sail in time, and the ship's speed was now gradually building.

Lin Qian then ordered the galleon to turn and evade.

They narrowly grazed past the fire ship that had been ten paces away; all the other fire ships also missed their mark, turning into blazing fireballs that drifted off to the northeast.

"Enemy fleet, fifty paces!" the lookout updated the distance.

The moment he spoke, the naval fleet loosed several types of fire weapons at once; for a time, the sea around the galleon erupted in splashes.

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh..." At the bow of a great Fujian junk, a brilliant glare flared, and dozens of thin fiery serpents shot forth.

This was the Ming navy's most renowned fire weapon—the dragon-emerging-from-water.

The rockets wobbled erratically in flight, scattering over an extremely wide area; the entire sea before the great Fujian junk lay within striking range—whether any would hit was entirely up to heaven.

In moments, most of the rockets fell into the water and went out.

Unfortunately, the Santa Ana's deck took a hit; the rocket's tail flare burned out, then it detonated with a sharp blast, blowing several holes in the deck. Crewmen fetched buckets and swiftly put out the fire.

Another rocket embedded itself in the Santa Ana's starboard hull; after the explosion, the planking was almost entirely unscathed.

"Thirty paces!"

Lin Qian ordered: "Fire the Folangji cannons."

Chen Jiao relayed the order; on the open deck, the Folangji gunners had long been itching to fire and let loose all at once—for a time, the deck rang with continuous cannon fire.

A large number of musketeers also opened fire from behind the bulwarks; the soldiers manning fire weapons at the naval ships' bows were suddenly raked by a storm of iron, suffering heavy casualties.

After its brief exchange with the naval fleet, the Santa Ana's momentum undiminished, continued eastward, the distance between the two sides gradually widening.

Lin Qian ordered: "Turn southeast, aim the cannons into the enemy formation!"

Moments later, the Santa Ana's starboard side fired; in the darkness the results were invisible, only the great crash of splintering timber and the screams of soldiers could be heard.

Immediately after, a flash of fire appeared in the naval formation, and the thunder of heavy Folangji cannon fire came across.

With a whoosh, a cannonball flew over the galleon's deck, followed by the sound of shot splashing into the sea all around.

By now the Sea Wolf battle line had shaken off the great Fujian junk's harassment and once again circled behind the naval fleet to snipe at it.

And so, caught between two fires for another half hour, the naval fleet's collapse was plain to see—ships scattered in every direction in flight.

Half a nautical mile southeast of the battle zone, a disheveled Ma Chenglie, dressed as an ordinary sailor, stared blankly at the fire before him, his body trembling, his tiger eyes brimming with tears, his heart twisting like a knife.

Unlike the guard stations of the hereditary military system, Ma Chenglie was a camp soldier general who had risen through the ranks to Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao through real combat—though a fair amount of silver had also changed hands along the way.

But no matter how one looked at it, he was a second-rank naval commander of the imperial court, his belly full of military strategy, his knowledge of naval warfare ingrained to the bone.

He had always believed that even if he lacked Qi Jiguang's genius for command, he could match Yu Dayou's strategic cunning.

How could he have lost today to a mere sea bandit?

For this battle, he had labored with painstaking care, pouring out his heart and soul, crafting a plan he had believed to be meticulous and foolproof.

How in the world had that Nan'ao sea bandit seen through it?

Ma Chenglie raised his head to the sky, letting a hero's tears fall freely, roaring in his heart: "I refuse to accept this!"

The household retainers on the same boat, seeing their commander's expression, urged him in turn: "Commander, the rebels' cannons are formidable—even the Folangji cannon was no match. Surely the court will not blame you. Your health is paramount—do not reproach yourself!"

Had his subordinates not spoken, it might have been bearable—but their consolations only made Ma Chenglie feel his humiliation more keenly. He had lost all face to live in this world. Moreover, a defeated general who lost territory faced certain execution; better to slit his own throat cleanly than to be tried and beheaded by the court.

With that thought, Ma Chenglie drew his blade with a rasping sound and laid the cold steel across his own neck.

The instant the weapon touched him, a chill shot through his body, raising goosebumps all over.

The blade was too cold. Ma Chenglie hesitated and could not bring himself to do it.

The retainers around him, alarmed at the sight, rushed to seize the blade. After a struggle, the sword was finally wrested away.

"Victory and defeat are common affairs for soldiers—why must the Commander go this far?"

"The rebels lurk on some lone island offshore; they'll never amount to anything. The Commander can raise troops and fight them again another day."

The retainers urged him from every side, all talking at once.

Ma Chenglie sat in dejection, silent. Fight again? Would he even have the chance to fight again?

On the distant sea, the flames grew brighter, illuminating the towering hull of the great Fujian junk. Ma Chenglie's most loyal retainer, Shi Jun, was aboard directing the defense—but the defeat was already sealed, and Shi Jun could not turn back the tide. He could only delay as long as possible to give Ma Chenglie time to escape.

Muffled thunder-like cannon fire rang out. Splinters flew from the great Fujian junk—it had clearly taken several more hits.

The great Fujian junk stubbornly returned fire with its Folangji cannons, and one shot actually struck the enemy's gunboat—but it could no longer affect the overall course of the battle.

A flood of naval warships scattered in every direction across the sea, while the Sea Wolf line of battle gave chase and cut them off.

More and more naval warships sank, broke apart, or burned.

What a truly heart-wrenching, crushing defeat it was.

Among the losses, the sinking of court ships and the deaths of camp soldiers could still be concealed—but every warship carried household retainers, and many of them had been borrowed by Ma Chenglie from the surrounding guard stations.

The deaths of these retainers could never be hidden. The guard station commanders would flay him alive.

Ma Chenglie was suddenly overwhelmed by despair, yet he no longer had the courage to cut his own throat. He could only sit dumbly in the small boat, silent and wordless.

At that moment, a naval Haicang warship, fleeing in panic, came straight toward the small boat where Ma Chenglie sat.

Ma Chenglie was startled and hastily ordered his men to row faster to dodge aside—in the end, he only escaped by the cover of darkness.

This little scare showed Ma Chenglie his own heart clearly: the desire to live was still stronger. He roused himself and ordered his men to row southeast toward the open sea.

Most of the naval warships were fleeing northwest toward Zhelin Bay. By going the opposite direction, he was sure to escape with his life.

As for how to explain himself to the court, how to answer to the surrounding guard stations—he would worry about that once he reached shore.

By dawn, the sea battle gradually subsided. Looking out, the sea surface was carpeted with floating corpses and shattered planks.

Every warship still capable of sailing had already fled the battlefield.

Five or six naval warships remained on the sea, water flooding their hulls—their bows bobbing on the surface, most of their bodies submerged, unable to move, surrounded by soldiers clinging to planks and drifting on the waves.

The Sea Wolf line of battle had split apart, each ship spreading across the battlefield to fish out prisoners.

The Jia-1 great Fujian junk had received special attention from the Santa Ana. After a night of cannon bombardment, it was now battered beyond recognition, taking on water severely, listing at a steep angle to the rear starboard side. Its heavy Folangji cannons slid across the deck, smashed through the bulwark, and plunged into the sea. Sinking was imminent, and the soldiers on deck leaped overboard one after another to save themselves.

Seeing this, Lin Qian said quickly: "Send small boats to take prisoners—whatever you do, don't let the Commander die."

After a night of fierce battle, this great Fujian junk had shown the highest fighting spirit and the heaviest firepower of all—it must be the naval flagship, and Commander Ma must be aboard.

For Lin Qian, capturing the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao would be best; failing that, so be it—but the one thing he could not allow was for the man to die.

This was the political wisdom of playing the game against the Great Ming court.

A stick of incense later, the small boats were lowered. Bailangzai led his men toward the great Fujian junk. As they approached the soldiers in the water, the crew first beat them with oars, made them choke down seawater, wore out their strength, and only then hauled them onto the small boats.

After an hour or two of this, the small boats shuttled back and forth several times, delivering the prisoners to the galleon's deck, where they were made to kneel.

There were some forty-odd prisoners, all stripped of their armor, wearing only their underclothes—their identities impossible to tell at a glance.

Most of the prisoners were gaunt and thin, but a dozen or so were powerfully built—clearly household retainers of the sort.

Lin Qian asked the prisoners coldly: "Where is Ma Chenglie, Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao?"

No one answered. Bailangzai drew his great Miao blade: "Speak!"

One prisoner declared in a ringing voice: "The Commander left last night! By now he's probably reached the prefectural seat to write his memorial. Before long, the imperial navy will descend upon you in force, and you'll all be reduced to ashes!"

The speaker was broad-backed and thick-waisted, his face sharply chiseled, radiating a fierce, capable air.

Lin Qian asked: "Name and rank?"

"Shi Jun, commander of the Commander's household retainers! You thieving scoundrel—if you know what's good for you, release me now. Once the imperial army arrives, you'll wish you had!"

Shi Jun's hands were bound behind his back, kneeling on the deck, yet he still cursed without pause, his bearing fierce and unyielding.

Lin Qian ignored him and asked again: "That great Fujian junk—you were commanding it?"

Shi Jun struggled and raged: "That's right, you motherless curs! You're a pack of rabble—if not for your cannon advantage, how could you ever have matched the Commander! If you've got any guts, untie me and we'll fight again!"

Lei Sanxiang was provoked into a fury and rolled up his sleeves to charge forward, but was stopped by Chen Jiao.

Since Shi Jun was the Vice Regional Commander's retainer commander, he surely knew a great deal of critical information—but given his attitude, he would never confess willingly.

So Lin Qian ordered: "Take him below for now. Once we're back on the island, put him to torture."

"Yes!" The crew answered and led the man away.

Dragged along the deck, Shi Jun laughed wildly and kept up his curses: "Fine! Bring on whatever tricks you've got! If your grandpa here so much as furrows his brow, I'll count it a loss!"

Lin Qian's gaze shot over coldly, and he added: "Bailangzai, once we're ashore, find a pig-gelder and start with this one surnamed Shi."

Bailangzai clasped his fists and accepted the order.

Shi Jun choked at the words, his face flushing crimson, the curses dying in his throat.

After the prisoners were led away, Chen Jiao sighed: "A pity that Ma got away."

"No matter — Ma returning to shore may prove more useful than if he'd fallen into our hands." Lin Qian finished speaking and returned to the captain's cabin. "Back to port."

At noon, the Santa Ana and ten Sea Wolf ships docked at Houjiang Bay.

Once the gangplanks were laid out, lines of prisoners were brought ashore.

According to Scholar Zhou's tally, over three hundred prisoners had been taken, more than ten naval warships sunk, and three Cangshan ships captured.

Their own side had suffered twenty-odd casualties, and the Santa Ana had been hit by one cannonball — a resounding victory by any measure.

In the age of sailing warships, cannonballs were solid shot; when they struck a hull they punched clean through, and as long as the bow, stern, or waterline wasn't hit, there was no serious problem.

In a naval battle, two ships of the line exchanging fire from twenty meters apart, each taking a hundred hits without sinking — that was a common occurrence.

For a wooden warship of the Santa Ana's tonnage, taking a single cannonball was nothing more than a scratch.

Without Lin Qian needing to give orders, the tallying of prisoners, treatment of the wounded, and repair of the hull were already proceeding in an orderly fashion on their own.

Following Lin Qian's instructions, Bailangzai went ashore and found a pig-gelder to deal with Shi Jun.

Shi Jun put on a brave front, but when his trousers were pulled down and he saw the pig-gelder heating his knife over a candle, he could no longer hold out and immediately confessed everything.

Bailangzai found a scribe to record the confession, and the statement reached Lin Qian's desk that very evening.

Aboard the Santa Ana, in the captain's cabin, Lin Qian picked up the confession and read it through — the course of events matched his conjectures almost exactly.

Half a month earlier, Bai Qing had returned from Huangyan with three pieces of news.

First, the Lin household had utterly collapsed. Old Master Lin had breathed his last, Lin Zhishu had gone mad, with no one left to manage the family. The other branches had scattered in all directions, gone their separate ways into the world — a great house with over four hundred years of heritage, crumbled to dust.

Second, Concubine Li was living well under the care of the fisherman and his wife; the family was content and harmonious. And as Lin Qian had predicted, the plundering of the Lin estate had become a settled case — no one had gone after Concubine Li.

Third, out on the waters of eastern Zhejiang, a band of sea bandits on Shuangyu Island had been wiped out — and counting the timing, it happened right around when the Lin estate was plundered.

Combining these three pieces of news, along with the fact that the reward for eliminating Li Zhong had yet to be issued, the mysterious disappearance of merchants on the island, and the gathering of the Zhelin Bay fleet, Lin Qian had long since guessed the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao's intentions.

He had turned the scheme back on its author, using a method of appearing lax without while remaining vigilant within — on one hand using the pretext of preparing for the New Year to relax patrols around the island, while on the other sending men to keep a death-grip watch on Zhelin Bay's movements.

The closer it got to the New Year, the more men he sent to watch, and the tighter the surveillance on Zhelin Bay became.

Thus on the twenty-eighth of the twelfth month, when Ma Chenglie led the naval fleet out, he thought himself utterly undetected — but in truth Lin Qian received word almost immediately.

Lin Qian's fleet ran without lanterns, following behind the naval fleet from early on, and only when Ma Chenglie sailed into open waters did they strike without warning, catching the fleet completely off guard.

This was a night battle — the navy's five-color flag signals were difficult to relay, and being ambushed had cost them the initiative, which was why they lost so quickly and so ignominiously.

Otherwise, with just those three great Fujian junks, the Ming navy could have held out for a long while, and Lin Qian's fleet would not have won at such a light cost.

Lin Qian set down the confession, massaged his temples, drew a cigar from the drawer, and lit it against the white beeswax candle.

He took a deep drag and exhaled a long plume of smoke.

Lin Qian rose and walked out of the captain's cabin, cigar in hand, standing on the deck and gazing absently at the lights of Nan'ao town.

Today was already the twenty-ninth of the twelfth month — come dawn it would be New Year's Eve.

Few merchants remained at the docks, but many homes still had their lamps lit. The occasional passerby in padded cotton clothes walked the streets, faces beaming with joy, exchanging New Year greetings when they met.

When the cold sea breeze blew, one could even catch the sweet fragrance of fried dates.

Spring couplets were pasted on both sides of the awnings of the Tanka boats moored at the docks — a rich festive atmosphere everywhere.

Who could have imagined that a little over half a year ago, this place was still barren wasteland, and the islanders were pearl divers who couldn't even be sure of surviving to the next day?

Lin Qian had been in the Ming for nearly a year and more now. Not a few had died because of him, but far more had been saved because of him.

Given time, the common folk of the Ming who could live good lives might grow even more numerous.

Lin Qian took a puff of his cigar and exhaled a long stream of smoke, letting it dissipate in the sea wind.

At present, the dry dock had been under construction for over a month. With crude native cement and an ample supply of craftsmen and labor, the work was progressing swiftly — by February or March of next year it would be essentially complete.

At that time, the Santa Ana could enter the dry dock for the next stage of refitting: dividing the cargo hold and adding another gun deck.

Once the refit was finished, the Santa Ana could add twelve more cannon to each side, bringing the ship's total to seventy guns — enough to give it the confidence to challenge the navies of Fujian and Guangdong with a single vessel.

After the gun deck refit was complete, the Santa Ana's modifications would have basically reached their limit; any further development would require building a ship of the line from scratch.

To prepare for future shipbuilding of their own, Lin Qian decided to have the shipyard first attempt a single-masted sailing vessel — he had drawn up the designs long before he even landed on Nan'ao Island.

"Helmsman." As he was lost in thought, Bailangzai's voice came from the stern deck.

Lin Qian said: "Good timing — there's something I need you and your sister to do."

Bailangzai clasped his fists: "Please give your orders, Helmsman."

"I recall there's still a band of sea bandits on the Fujian-Guangdong waters led by a man called Yuan Jin, isn't there?" Lin Qian exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Yes, that lot is holed up around Kinmen." Bailangzai replied.

"The New Year is almost here. Tomorrow you and your sister go pay them a visit — bring back plenty of heads."

The New Year arrived.

Chaozhou Prefecture city was bustling with excitement — setting off firecrackers, ancestral rites, paying respects to elders, eating vegetarian food, chewing betel nut, burning incense, daughters returning to their natal homes, pasting red paper charms, mourning the dead, sweeping away filth, welcoming the Kitchen God, worshipping the God of Wealth, seeing off the poor ghost, eating Seven Treasures porridge, wearing sheng ornaments, climbing high for festive outings — countless folk customs.

From the first to the seventh day of the new year, every commoner's schedule was packed full, joy and delight written on every face as they walked the streets, visiting relatives and friends.

Though Ming officialdom was in chaos, the economy and culture of Jiangnan were both extremely prosperous — so much so that even sharp social contradictions could be suppressed by the festive cheer of the New Year.

Yet while some rejoiced, others grieved.

At Zhelin Bay, eighty li southeast of Chaozhou Prefecture city, the entire naval camp was draped in mourning white, faint weeping drifting through the air. Two or three dozen battered warships barely stayed afloat on the sea — the atmosphere was oppressive beyond words.

At Chenghai County, forty li to the southeast, the bodies of three children had been discovered. Their father had sold oven cakes for a living; their days had been modest but passable.

Until two months ago, when the father vanished without a trace. The family lost its income, had their house seized by creditors and were driven out onto the streets, left to survive by begging and eating scraps.

Amid the crackling firecrackers of New Year's Eve, the mother hanged herself. The three children wailed through the night in the wind and snow, and by the next morning had frozen to death — with smiles on their faces.

The corpse collectors had seen too many such tragedies to feel anything; they briskly carted the bodies out of the city for burial, while passersby they met along the way muttered about the bad luck.

In Huangyan County, Taizhou, the mad xiucai Lin Zhishu, hair disheveled, was burning the ancestral tablets in the clan hall to keep warm.

He warmed himself by the fire while warily scanning his surroundings, occasionally crying out in alarm: "Stay back, it wasn't me... Don't come any closer!"

The entire Lin mansion stood empty, every valuable piece of furniture and object carried off. The mad xiucai's voice echoed through the hollow halls, carrying a faint ghostly chill.

On the banks of the Yongning River, a fisherman and his wife used their treasured silver to buy fine wine and good food. The family shut their doors, lit the oil lamp, and gathered around the table.

Concubine Li called out sweetly to her father and mother, drooling over the table full of delicacies like a little girl.

The couple exchanged a smile, tore off a chicken leg, and handed it to Concubine Li. She took a bite and laughed heartily, the whole family basking in warm harmony.

Outside, amid the wind and snow, a figure hid behind the wall, concealing himself. Dressed in tattered rags, he stared fixedly at the fisherman's lamplight, greed gleaming in his eyes.

He had once been a soldier of the Haimen Guard station. A month ago, an imperial decree came down investigating the Guard Commander for feasting during the national mourning period. The Commander was taken to the capital, and fearing the court would also dig up his own crime of robbing and killing fishermen, he seized the chance to flee, barely scraping by in the county town.

He had thought he would drift through the rest of his life like this, but then he ran into the old fisherman who had come to town to buy wine and meat.

Greed rose in him and he could no longer restrain himself. He followed all the way here, waiting for nightfall to make his move.

This family's house was low and shabby, the oil lamp dim—they couldn't be any sort of wealthy household.

But he had not a single coin on him and had gone hungry for days. At this point, even for just a meal of wine and meat, he was willing to kill.

What's more, from the sound of it, there was a young woman inside...

The man licked his numb, frozen lips, the lust in his eyes burning even fiercer.

(End of Chapter)

Yahei

Bubble Tea

Pen