Chapter 136: The Wokou Mercenaries

The steward led Zheng Zhilong and Jose all the way to the councilman's luxurious office.

As soon as he saw Jose, the councilman greeted him warmly in Spanish: "My old friend, how are you?" Then he embraced Jose.

Jose was baffled by the councilman's sudden warmth—he had come to Macao several times before to deliver goods, and never once had the councilman been so enthusiastic.

Zheng Zhilong was filled with contempt: "A clumsy sowing-discord scheme."

"Old friend, please sit. What news of Lin Qian have you brought this time?" Andres said, pointing to a high-backed armchair.

Jose said: "On this trip to Macao, Brother Zheng is the chief envoy."

"Him?" The councilman narrowed his triangular eyes, glancing over at Zheng Zhilong, sizing him up from head to toe.

Zheng Zhilong clasped his hands in salute and said in Portuguese: "Councilman, it's been a long time." Then he sat down in the high-backed armchair, his expression composed.

Jose found a chair and sat behind Zheng Zhilong.

Zheng Zhilong had once worked as an interpreter in Macao, and in the councilman's eyes he was merely an insignificant nobody. Even as chief envoy, he got no good face from the councilman: "What, Lin Qian sends an interpreter like you as envoy—is he trying to embarrass me?"

Jose was about to speak when Zheng Zhilong cut him off: "Has the councilman forgotten? I was once your special envoy too. When you sent an interpreter like me back then, were you trying to embarrass the helmsman?"

The councilman dared not offend Lin Qian, and was actually left speechless for a moment, letting out two awkward laughs.

Jose broke the awkwardness: "This time, we've come to propose cooperation."

The councilman grew interested, lowering his voice: "You've captured another galleon?"

Jose: "No, it's the Flemings. The helmsman proposes that we form an alliance against the Flemings."

Flanders is a region in the south of the Netherlands, in what is now northern Belgium.

In this era, the Spanish commonly used "Fleming" to refer to the Dutch—equivalent to a derogatory term for those Dutch who rebelled against the Spanish crown and adhered to heretical doctrines.

"Oh." The councilman leaned back into his chair, his fat face showing little interest.

Jose laid out the Dutch ambition to challenge the colonial order of Southeast Asia, the enmity between the Habsburg dynasty and the Dutch, and the rift between Protestantism and Catholicism, appealing to reason and sentiment alike.

The councilman remained uninterested throughout. Finally he rose, paced to the window, and pointed into the distance: "Is that your ship?"

His residence was built against the mountain, and the office had an excellent view—through the window one could see the docks directly.

Jose stood, looked out the window, and nodded: "That is our ship."

"Ha." The councilman let out a mocking laugh. "Ming vessels are only fit to be merchant ships. Those little boats you've refitted—never mind attacking Dutch warships, you couldn't even take a fluyt merchantman that doesn't carry a single cannon. Don't make me laugh."

Jose remained silent.

The councilman sat back at his desk, propped his legs up on it, and said teasingly: "What, feeling discouraged? The Dutch aren't those Spanish fools... my apologies, Mr. Jose, no offense intended...

As I said, the Dutch are different from the Spanish. Their ships aren't as easy to plunder as the Manila galleons."

Zheng Zhilong silently pulled something from his bosom and placed it on the desk.

"What's this?" The councilman eyed it sidelong.

"Open it and take a look." Zheng Zhilong's voice was calm.

The councilman reached over and took it—a package the size of a book, wrapped in colored silk. When the silk was opened, inside was a tricolor flag of red, white, and blue, with spots of bloodstains on it.

"The Dutch national flag?" The councilman's expression turned startled.

A smile tugged at the corner of Zheng Zhilong's mouth: "Look more carefully."

The councilman looked closely—in the white section of the tricolor flag were written the three letters "VOC," the flag of the Dutch East India Company.

The councilman put his legs down, his expression turning serious: "You really captured a Dutch merchant ship?"

There was no need for Zheng Zhilong to answer—wrapped within the flag were the Wanderer's ship license and its voyage log.

The councilman's eyes went wide. He knew the Wanderer—it was an armed merchantman with twenty cannons, whose captain was extremely experienced and cunning. Portuguese merchant ships often encountered it on the route to Japan; if their firepower was inferior, they would be shelled and plundered, and if their firepower was superior, it would keep far away. It was extremely troublesome.

Such a headache for the Macao Senate—and it was captured just like that?

The councilman still couldn't believe it, and fired off multiple questions about the Wanderer, all of which Zheng Zhilong answered with perfect accuracy.

Only then did the councilman believe the facts, his expression stiff as he leaned back into his chair.

Jose: "Councilman, can we now reconsider our cooperative relationship?"

A sharp light shot from the councilman's eyes: "What does Lin Qian want?"

Zheng Zhilong slowly uttered two words: "Firearms."

The councilman's expression relaxed: "Don't worry. Though the galleon contract has ended, the doors of the Bocarro cannon foundry will always be open to Lin Qian. Of course, given our cooperative relationship, I'll offer a certain discount."

Zheng Zhilong's expression was firm: "What the helmsman wants is sponsorship."

"For free?" The councilman's face darkened.

"Twelve eighteen-pounder Siren cannons."

"What!" The councilman's expression changed drastically. "Giving away twelve cannons for free? Have you come here begging with your hands out?"

Zheng Zhilong let out a light laugh, reached over the councilman's desk, and picked up a Malayan hawksbill telescope tube to toy with.

"Isn't there still the alliance? The helmsman said that once he receives your firearms, when the Dutch attack Macao next year, he'll come to help and annihilate the Dutch fleet in one stroke on the seas off Guangdong."

The councilman laughed in anger: "Next year? Does Lin Qian take himself for a prophet? Does that sea bandit chief think he's Drake?"

Zheng Zhilong looked at the councilman through the telescope: "If I were you, even if I didn't accept the terms, I'd choose my words carefully. I've seen too many fools who disrespected the helmsman and reaped the bitter fruit."

The councilman snatched the Malayan hawksbill telescope back and set it on the desk: "I look forward to the day he reaps bitter fruit! In short—bring silver to buy firearms, welcome. Want them for free, not welcome! Now, get out."

Jose was about to mediate a few words, but the councilman's mind was made up and he wouldn't listen to a single word, so Jose could only leave together with Zheng Zhilong.

After they exited the residence's double ebony doors.

Jose couldn't help complaining: "Brother Zheng, if we had just spoken softly just now, the councilman might have given us a cannon or two. Why did you have to provoke him? Now not only did we fail to get a single cannon, but it'll be hard to buy cannons from the Bocarro foundry in the future."

The cooperation talks had failed, the councilman was angry, and even the carriage for the return trip was gone.

Fortunately, Macao was not a large place, and Zheng Zhilong and Jose could walk back to the docks.

Zheng Zhilong was utterly unconcerned: "Don't worry, I know this councilman. He has a share of the profits in the foundry. Faced with profit, even if you killed his mother to buy his guns, he'd still sell to you.

As for the cannons—the helmsman said twelve eighteen-pounder Siren cannons, so it's twelve.

If negotiating cooperation still requires reading the councilman's face, then wouldn't we be kneeling to beg?"

Jose's face flushed red as he retorted, "If you put it that way, then this trip to Macao really is just begging for alms."

"Those are twelve eighteen-pounder cannons—the foundry could sell them for eighteen thousand taels. If we can get them by kneeling and begging, we should thank God."

Zheng Zhilong suddenly stopped in his tracks, eyeing Jose suspiciously: "You don't believe what the helmsman said either—that the Dutch will attack Macao next year, do you?"

Jose answered with a guilty conscience, "I believe the helmsman, but this business about the Dutch attacking Macao is too alarmist. Surely you don't believe it?"

"I do!" Zheng Zhilong answered with absolute certainty. "Not only do I believe it, the Dutch will come sooner rather than later. When that day comes, the councilmen will learn what it means to weep without tears."

Jose: "Fine, so what do we do now?"

Zheng Zhilong sneered: "First, let's get ourselves some Portuguese flags."

Over the following month, Lin Qian completely sealed off the Eastern Barbarian Strait—any vessel attempting to pass through would be subjected to rigorous inspection by the "Great Ming Navy."

This stretch of sea looked vast, but in reality, influenced by the monsoons and the Kuroshio Current, the navigable passages were extremely limited, almost entirely within the radiation range of Nan'ao Island.

This was the might of the throat between Fujian and Guangdong.

The occasional vessel that slipped through by luck did so not by breaking the blockade, but simply because it carried too little plunder to be worth the trouble—slipping out through the mesh of the fishing net, as it were.

Dutch merchant ships, however, were mostly rich with plunder, and even if their holds held nothing of value, capturing the ships themselves was profitable.

Thus, over the past month, Dutch merchant ships had fallen on hard times—and the lag in communications in this era meant Dutch merchant ships continued to depart Hirado without the slightest suspicion, plunging headfirst into the trap.

At the docks of Houjiang Bay, Lin Qian shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed into the distance, where on the far sea, the Long Wind and the Cloud Sail were towing a battered armed merchant ship into port.

Counting the Voyager, this was already the fourth Dutch vessel to fall into the net.

After the armed merchant ship entered port, the prisoners aboard disembarked as usual, carpenters boarded to make repairs, and clerks from the Guard Bureau went aboard to inventory the spoils—this had become standard procedure.

This ship had put up light resistance, so there were many prisoners. The islanders gathered around the red-haired barbarians, pointing and gossiping, lining both sides of the street in two rows, while small vendors seized the opportunity to hawk food—it made for a curious spectacle.

The islanders were watching the red-haired barbarians with great interest when they suddenly noticed, among the column of prisoners, seven or eight men wearing wide-sleeved kimono. These men had shaved pates with their remaining hair coiled at the front of their heads—at a glance they resembled Ming commoners, but on closer inspection, everything about them seemed off.

"Wokou!" an islander cried out in shock.

The Dutch were half a world away from East Asia, making the projection of force extremely inconvenient, so they would recruit men from all over East Asia to form mercenary companies.

And after Japan's Warring States period ended, large numbers of samurai lost their employment and became ronin, roaming Southeast Asia, selling their martial prowess and serving as mercenaries.

To the Dutch, Japanese ronin were fearless, loyal, and skilled at close-quarters combat—the elite of mercenaries—which was why wokou frequently appeared aboard Dutch ships.

More people recognized the prisoners' identity, and the crowd began shouting.

"There are wokou!"

"Beat the wokou to death!"

The islanders who had been cheerfully watching the foreign spectacle suddenly became inflamed with collective fury—stones, rotten vegetable leaves, stinking eggs, and even clubs all flew at the wokou.

To be fair, the common folk of the southeast bore no deep grudge against the red-haired barbarians, but when it came to wokou, they were hunted by all.

After all, it had been barely sixty-some years since Hu Zongxian pacified the wokou in the Jiajing era—count back three generations, and whose family didn't have relatives killed by wokou?

Bai Qing came down from the Long Wind and, seeing the islanders attacking the wokou, prepared to send men to stop them.

But Lin Qian held him back: "Let the islanders have their beating."

The wokou were all mercenaries who held no key information—if they were beaten to death, Lin Qian lost nothing. Sacrificing the simple national sentiments of the islanders for the sake of seven or eight laborers wasn't worth it.

"Next time we catch wokou, cover their heads when escorting them," Lin Qian instructed.

Lin Qian surveyed the new ship that had been towed back. The vessel had a narrow deck and enormous holds, looking somewhat incongruous; there were no gunports along the gunwales, and the rigging on the masts was extremely simple—rather crude compared to an armed merchant ship.

This hull type was the famous fluyt—a low-cost, rapidly constructed purpose-built merchant vessel. It was on ships like these that the Dutch had become the wagoners of the sea.

And being able to use purpose-built merchant ships to carry cargo was itself a testament to Dutch mastery of the shipping lanes.

On the same route, if Lin Qian were to sail, he would have no choice but to dispatch armed merchant ships with warships escorting them cautiously.

Bai Qing reported: "Helmsman, this time they came as a fleet—five ships in all. As you instructed, we seized one and let the other four escape."

Lin Qian nodded: "The Portuguese flag is flying, then?"

"It's flying."

Then there was no problem.

According to the normal course of history, the Dutch would attack Macao in June of the second year of Tianqi, and after being defeated by the Portuguese of Macao, they would turn to Xiamen to burn and plunder, then occupy Penghu, and finally seize the island of Eastern Barbary.

Lin Qian had deliberately let the Dutch merchant ships escape, sowing discord between the Dutch and the Portuguese, hoping only that the attack would come sooner. His grand plan could no longer wait to be unleashed.

Lin Qian boarded the fluyt and inspected it from stem to stern. The hull was largely intact, with few even ordinary bullet holes on the deck—only the masts were badly damaged.

But this ship had no armament—a pure transport vessel—and Lin Qian already had more than enough of those, so it held little value.

Lin Qian disembarked and said flatly: "Break it up. Use the planks to repair the other ships."

Over the past month or more, Nan'ao Island had captured three Dutch armed merchant ships—the Voyager, the Cape of Good Hope, and the Spice Route—and all three had their decks riddled with holes, desperately in need of repair timber.

And Mute Huang's method of smoke-curing timber was still immature—its output was only enough to supply the construction of a new round of hawk ships.

This merchant ship would have to be sacrificed.

That evening, at the home of Bai Qing and his sister.

Lin Qian sat at the desk, flipping through the Wanli Memorials—a compilation of memorials from the Wanli era. To an ordinary person, it might be dry and tedious.

But the reason Lin Qian could raid the pearl grounds, subdue the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao, and win the great victory at Zhenjiang without being discovered by the court was his precise grasp of Great Ming politics.

So for him, this book was a whetstone for the mind.

As he turned a page, Lin Qian spoke up: "If you have something to say, come in and say it."

Su Qingmei, who had been hiding outside the door, walked in slowly: "Helmsman, you saw me?"

Lin Qian set the book aside: "I heard your footsteps. Something on your mind?"

Su Qingmei was about to speak when Lin Qian pointed to a chair and said gently, "Sit down and talk."

The young girl sat down lightly: "Helmsman, my father... when is he coming back?"

It had been nearly two months since Su Kang left for Eastern Barbary. During this time, Su Qingmei had been living with Bai Qing and was quite happy, but after all, it wasn't her own home—it was impossible not to miss Su Kang.

Lin Qian picked up a document from the table and handed it to Su Qingmei: "By my original intention, Doctor Su could have returned once he finished testing the efficacy of qinghao, but your father wants to research the optimal dosage and cultivation methods for qinghao, so he won't be back for a while."

The young girl took the document and saw it was written in Su Kang's own hand—the contents were the numbers of people suffering from various illnesses on Eastern Barbary, as well as the best usage and dosage of qinghao discovered so far.

According to Su Kang's experimental results, artemisia juice should be taken in small amounts multiple times to achieve the best effect, and compared between the juicing method and the wine-soaking method, the wine-soaking method is slightly superior.

Su Qingmei read the official document over and over, her expression somewhat dim.

Lin Qian comforted her: "It's almost the end of the year. Before the New Year, even if Doctor Su hasn't finished his work, I'll make him come back for the holiday, don't worry."

Su Qingmei's worry turned to joy.

Lin Qian added: "There are many ships traveling between Nan'ao and the Eastern Barbarian Isle now. If you have anything to say to your father, you can write it in a letter and give it to Lü Zhou to send over."

Su Qingmei stood up from her chair, delighted: "Thank you, Helmsman, I'll go write the letter now!"

With that, she ran out of the room, her steps much lighter.

Lin Qian smiled as he watched her run out the door.

When Su Kang first arrived on the Eastern Barbarian Isle, he had been rigid and set in his ways, stubbornly refusing to use artemisia to treat illness, which resulted in nine people dying of malaria—Chen Jiao had long since reported this to Lin Qian.

Lin Qian hadn't mentioned it just now because he was afraid the young girl would worry.

Now Su Kang stayed on the Eastern Barbarian Isle and was unwilling to return—perhaps he harbored thoughts of atoning for those nine people, and perhaps he also didn't know how to face Lin Qian.

How to "discipline" Su Kang, that old stubborn man, Lin Qian had already figured out long before sending Su Kang to the Eastern Barbarian Isle.

So Su Kang wanting to cling to the Eastern Barbarian Isle and not leave was impossible—at the latest before the New Year, Lin Qian would drag him back from the Eastern Barbarian Isle and then properly get him under control.

Leaning back in his chair to rest for a moment, Lin Qian habitually reached into the drawer for a cigar, but felt around for a long time without finding anything.

Lin Qian looked down and discovered that the box of cigars he had obtained from the Santa Ana had reached its bottom—only the last two remained.

Ever since acquiring the cigars, Lin Qian had been treating them as a coffee substitute and often shared them with his brothers, which was why they hadn't run out even sooner.

In this era, cigars were only produced on the American continent, and they weren't a trade commodity—even taking silver to Manila wouldn't buy any.

And coffee was still stuck with the councilman with no resolution.

Lin Qian gave a bitter laugh and closed the drawer.

Suddenly he heard from outside the main door, a guard saying: "Old He? It's this late, is something the matter?"

José's voice came from outside the door: "I have business to see the Helmsman, please trouble yourself to announce me."

Lin Qian said: "If you have business, just come in and speak—no need for all that empty formality."

Hearing this, the guard let the man in.

José entered with a worried, grim expression, cupping his hands in salute: "Helmsman."

Lin Qian: "Have a seat, what's the matter?"

José sat down, and finding it unusual that Lin Qian hadn't offered him a cigar, felt somewhat unaccustomed, then spoke: "Helmsman, I've come about the matter of the Macao councilman."

"Didn't I already say it—the failed negotiation isn't your fault. Just as Yiguan said, the councilman will regret it later, and we'll be able to get even more then."

José hesitated for a long while, then leaned close to the table and said in a low voice: "Helmsman, I know what you're planning to do—sowing discord between the Dutch and the Portuguese, then profiting from it. This is too dangerous!"

Seeing Zheng Zhilong buy Portuguese flags and hijack Dutch merchant ships one after another, with Dutch prisoners being captured and brought to Nan'ao Island one by one, it wasn't strange that José had guessed Lin Qian's purpose.

What was strange was that José, always a slippery flatterer, was offering formal opinions on Lin Qian's strategy for the first time.

Lin Qian remained impassive: "Tell me your reasoning."

"When I was in Manila before, I heard quite a lot about the Dutch East India Company. Their power is too great—we can't afford to provoke them!"

José's face was full of anxious urgency.

The "Wagoner of the Seas" was no empty title—the Dutch East India Company's number of ships and tonnage across all of Southeast Asia exceeded the combined total of Portugal and Spain.

In the current global picture, Dutch naval power ranked first.

Even the old hegemon Spain was a head shorter before the Dutch, and in Southeast Asian waters, people went pale at the very mention of the Dutch.

This was the reason José had come to dissuade Lin Qian.

"Helmsman, even if you punish me today, there are a few words I must speak...

The current naval force of Nan'ao Island has only the Santa Ana as a single ship that can be considered up to European warship standards. Our overall strength compared to Portugal and Spain is still far from sufficient—let alone going against the Dutch!"

Having said this, José looked at Lin Qian with unease. Based on his understanding of Ming people, this manner of directly pointing out shortcomings was what Ming people hated most.

Unexpectedly, Lin Qian smiled after hearing this: "I'm very glad you can say these things."

With that, Lin Qian took out two cigars from the drawer, gave one to José, lit them over the flame, and blew out a puff of smoke—the room filled with a faint aroma of coffee and nuts.

Lin Qian continued: "It's just that some troubles won't stay away just because you don't go looking for them.

The Dutch have long coveted Macao. Even if I don't make a move, they'll come sooner or later. And once they fail to take Macao, they'll turn toward the southeastern coast and directly threaten Nan'ao and the Eastern Barbarian Isle."

José was clearly somewhat unconvinced and wanted to persuade further.

Lin Qian blew out a plume of smoke and raised his hand to stop him: "Rest assured—this time, I'll make the Dutch break their spears and sink their ships at Macao!"

At the same time that Dutch merchant ships in the Eastern Barbarian Strait were being brutally plundered.

Southeast of Nan'ao Island, over seventeen hundred nautical miles away, lay the Banda Islands.

The "savages" of the entire island were experiencing slaughter at the hands of the "civilized."

Jan Pieterszoon Coen, the Dutch East India Company's Governor-General of the Indies, stood on the stern deck of the Batavia, pulling out a telescope to enjoy the beautiful sight of the natives wailing in blood and severed limbs flying about.

This was a three-masted galleon, equipped with thirty-six twelve-pounder cannons, a crew of three hundred and sixty, fifty-six meters in length, with a standard displacement of seven hundred and fifty tons.

On paper, the Batavia couldn't match the main warships of the Spanish navy, which boasted fifty or sixty cannons as a matter of course, but it excelled in low cost—the Dutch called this ship type the Yacht.

To save costs, the Yacht had no forecastle or aftcastle, all cannons were made of cast iron, and the rigging system was simple.

This allowed the Dutch to mass-produce Yachts the same way they produced Flute merchant ships, dominating the entire ocean through economic advantage.

For example, in the current waters of the Banda Islands, there were a full six Yachts, whose broadside cannons together numbered nearly eighty.

After one round of volley fire, the "savage" villages, houses, farmlands, and orchards on the island were all reduced to ruins.

The native warriors had barely gathered before they were blasted into piles of shredded flesh by solid cannonballs, utterly unable to fight back.

The women and children among the natives could only scream and wail as they fled toward the mountains in the island's interior.

Seeing the natives scattering in flight, Coen lowered his telescope and said with a sinister smile: "Mr. Yamamoto."

"Ha!" On the deck, a Japanese ronin bowed deeply and answered loudly.

"Take the men ashore—not one of these savages is to be left alive!" The interpreter rendered Cohen's words into Japanese.

(End of chapter)

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen