Chapter 147: Xilaiya's War Blade

The full moon hung high in the sky.

It was at the very moment the spirit medium conveyed the ancestral spirits' oracle.

More than a thousand li north of the spirit-possession ground, a massive fleet of over twenty three-masted Fujian junks sailed the sea, their ship lanterns lit.

The fleet's leader, Yan Siqi, stood at the bow with his hands clasped behind his back, staring intently at the sea, his brows knit tight with worry.

Even with the bright moonlight tonight, night sailing through unfamiliar waters was still extremely dangerous. His subordinate Yang Tiansheng urged, "Ship Lord Yan, Wanggang is not far now, and the fleet has ample water and provisions—why risk sailing through the night?"

After all, the East Barbarian Strait was home not only to near-shore reefs but also to the mysterious, unpredictable Black Current.

Even though Yang Tiansheng had traveled between Hirado and Kuigang many times, he still felt uneasy at heart.

Yan Siqi's brow furrowed even deeper as he said in a low voice, "First Li Kuiqi was wiped out by the authorities, then the Five-Clawed Flood Dragon stirred up trouble in Fujian and Guangdong, and then the Ming navy defeated the red barbarians——

In just a year or two, too many great events have happened in these waters.

This voyage of ours is entrusted to us by Ship Lord Li—first, to reconnoiter Fujian and Guangdong; second, to establish ourselves at Kuigang and develop the East Barbarians. The task is arduous.

To avoid delays and complications, let's press on quickly. Have Chen Zhongji send three Cangshan boats ahead of the fleet to scout the way."

"Yes, sir." Yang Tiansheng acknowledged the order and withdrew. Moments later, three Cangshan boats unfurled their sails, formed an arrowhead formation, and moved to about two hundred paces ahead of the fleet.

That way, even if reefs lay ahead, it would be the Cangshan boats that struck them, and the main fleet would remain unharmed.

After relaying the order, Yang Tiansheng fetched a cup of steaming brown sugar water and handed it to Yan Siqi.

"Ship Lord, the nights at sea are cold and windy. Please take care of yourself."

Yan Siqi thanked him, took the brown sugar water, and asked casually, "You've been to Wanggang?"

Yang Tiansheng nodded. "I went early last year and returned to Hirado in the fourth month. On Ship Lord Li's orders, I shipped a batch of deerskins."

Yan Siqi narrowed his eyes, his gaze seeming to pierce through the Black Current and reach straight to the East Barbarians.

"Before you left, how was Wanggang? Had there been any unusual movements on the East Barbarian island?"

"Still the same as ever—more and more ronin." Yang Tiansheng leaned against the bulwark and said, "You know as well as I do, Ship Lord—those fellows want to go down to the South Seas and sell their lives to the red barbarians, and Wanggang is a necessary stop on the way."

Yan Siqi had long been based in Hirado and understood very well the feuds among the shogunate, the samurai, and the ronin.

Since the Battle of Sekigahara and the Siege of Osaka ended, there had been no more nationwide wars in Japan.

The new shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu, had enacted policies such as the "One Castle Per Province Edict," the "Laws for the Military Houses," "attainder," and "domain reduction," drastically cutting down the samurai class and causing the number of ronin to surge.

These ronin, who would draw their swords at the slightest provocation, were a hidden danger wherever they went—even the local daimyo wanted nothing to do with them.

The daimyo of Kyushu even encouraged the ronin to go to sea and plague other countries.

That was the root cause of the ronin gathering in ever greater numbers at Kuigang.

Yan Siqi himself bore no particular animosity toward the wokou, but if he wanted to develop the East Barbarians and achieve lasting peace and order in Wanggang, he had to drive the ronin out.

Whenever he thought of how Wanggang was now occupied by so many ronin, a vague sense of foreboding stirred in Yan Siqi's heart.

"As for unusual movements on the East Barbarian island——" Yang Tiansheng recalled for a long while, then shook his head. "I left in the fourth month of last year. Before I left, everything on the East Barbarian island was as usual. But the seas off Fujian and Guangdong——"

Yan Siqi's heart leaped. He pressed urgently, "What about the seas off Fujian and Guangdong?"

"Things are not peaceful over there. First there's the Five-Clawed Flood Dragon, then the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao, and I hear there's also some helmsman—every one of them a formidable character. Even Li Kuiqi fell."

Yan Siqi's eyelids twitched.

The Five-Clawed Flood Dragon, the Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao, the helmsman——

A few years ago, Li Kuiqi had been the overlord of the Fujian seas——but now, that man was nothing but a dead fish.

His little ragtag force, placed in today's Fujian-Guangdong waters where heroes were rising on every side, wasn't even worth mentioning!

In just a year or two, how had the seas off Fujian and Guangdong become like this?

Yan Siqi sighed inwardly, feeling even more gloom settle over his heart.

Seeing this, Yang Tiansheng consoled him, "Ship Lord, set your mind at ease. I spent only a short time in the East Barbarians, so what I know may not be accurate. Once we reach Wanggang, we can ask Li Junchen for the details."

While the two were speaking.

At Wanggang, on the far shore of the Black Current.

A head hit the ground, rolling ceaselessly, gathering dust as blood gushed from the clean-cut wound.

The head's eyes were wide open, still frozen with shock and bewilderment.

It was the head of Li Junchen, the steward of Kuigang.

Days earlier, he had received a secret report from his subordinates that ronin at Wanggang had disguised themselves as Han Chinese and gone to the Madou tribe to commit violence, attempting to sow discord among Kuigang, the Madou tribe, and Fort Zeelandia.

Li Junchen had flown into a rage, summoned all the commoners and ronin of Wanggang, and mobilized his men to surround the ronin, determined to force them to hand over the troublemakers.

Moments ago, he had still been on the platform cursing such villainy at the top of his lungs—who could have expected that in the next second, his head would be separated from his body.

Only in death did he see more than a dozen ronin burst out from somewhere, cutting down all the guards around the platform.

Li Junchen's headless body toppled over, revealing behind it the figure of a ronin—none other than Yamamoto, who had escaped with his life by hiding in a dry latrine.

After fleeing Macao, he had joined several bands of sea merchants and sea bandits, recruited a few ronin followers anew, and after many twists and turns, arrived at Wanggang.

Yamamoto had originally planned to do as before—use Kuigang as a springboard to go to the South Seas and find a new band of red barbarian masters to serve.

But then he learned of the affairs at Fort Zeelandia, and a plan to sow discord between the natives and Fort Zeelandia sprang up in his mind.

If he could throw the island into chaos, he could seize Kuigang in the confusion, and his grand scheme would be accomplished.

Now the sowing-discord plan had succeeded completely—the next step was to seize Wanggang!

The ronin Yamamoto held his katana, maintaining his slashing stance without moving. Only after he had drawn everyone's attention did he flick the blood from the blade, turn the edge upward, and smoothly sheathe the sword.

Below the platform, over a thousand Han Chinese, ronin, and Li Junchen's men were all struck speechless by the scene.

Yamamoto strode forward, lifted Li Junchen's head into the air, and announced in a loud voice, "Those dozen or so natives insulted the dignity of the samurai, and they must pay the corresponding price.

This foolish Han actually wanted samurai to apologize to lowly natives, and even wanted the killers handed over!

Gentlemen! Noble samurai! Can we endure such humiliation?"

"This is heaven's punishment!" a ronin roared with fanatical fervor.

Some Han below the platform who understood Japanese cursed in response, "You dare kill the steward—this is rebellion!"

Yamamoto cast a cold gaze over the crowd and said in a chilling voice, "Why haven't you moved yet?"

Two sounds of blades being drawn rang out, sword light flashed, and the man who had been shouting took a blade to the chest and another to the back. A great deal of blood splattered out, and he fell with a scream, whereupon the ronin took turns stabbing downward with their katana. The screams came to an abrupt halt.

Yamamoto tossed the head aside, raised his katana high, and shouted with excitement, "Heaven's punishment!"

The ronin below were all infected by his fervor and drew their blades to cut down the Han Chinese around them.

The Han Chinese of Wanggang were all sea bandits and private traders—no men to meekly offer their necks for the blade—and they drew their weapons one after another to resist.

But with Li Junchen already dead and morale in flux, and with the ronin being formidable fighters, the Han formation wavered at the slightest pressure. The ronin seized the opportunity and attacked ferociously, and in no time the Han were beaten back step by step, fleeing toward the harbor.

Yamamoto raised his blade and shouted, "The Han's gold and silver are all on the ships! Don't let them escape! Charge!"

Several hundred ronin shouted and howled as they launched a frenzied assault on the harbor.

In truth, when the uprising began, Yamamoto had only a little over twenty men under his command—just enough to eliminate the guards around Li Junchen. Had the other Han reacted in time, Yamamoto would surely have died.

Yet in such a perilous situation, Yamamoto still dared to rise up because he was certain his fellow ronin were easily incited!

Influenced by the warrior spirit of the Warring States period, every ronin was fearless in the face of death—indeed, more than merely surviving, they dreaded a "dog's death," dying like a dog—starving to death, dying of illness, or dying of old age.

Some ronin had lingered in Wanggang for years, hired by no one, their blades sheathed for so long that they felt their lives already showed signs of a "dog's death," and leaned toward "courting death" in battle.

Yamamoto had precisely seen this and provoked the uprising.

Sure enough, spurred on by blood and gold and silver, the ronin flocked to his banner one after another. The great deed was done.

An hour later, the harbor of Wanggang had become a hell of slaughter.

Those who dared to resist were all cut down to the last man; the remaining Han surrendered their weapons one after another.

Yamamoto, two katana at his waist, strolled among the blood and severed limbs, a morbid smile on his face.

At this moment, the shame of the crushing defeat at Macao and of crawling out of a dry latrine to escape seemed to have been washed clean.

Yamamoto stood openly beneath the moonlight, raised his head to gaze at the bright moon, and silently recited in his heart: "Father, elder brother,

Master Hirata, can you see this? The oath of the Star Sea—I have fulfilled it!"

At this time, one of his subordinates came forward to ask, "Lord Yamamoto, what do we do next?"

Yamamoto withdrew his gaze and said coldly, "Plunder to your hearts' content throughout this city of Wanggang!"

"Ha!" His subordinate trembled with excitement.

Soon, screams and shrieks rose one after another across Wanggang.

Yamamoto did not covet wealth; he was intoxicated by the slaughter and the screams, narrowing his eyes to savor them.

The pillaging lasted an entire night, and all the wealth of Wanggang was stripped clean by the ronin.

The Han who had survived by luck were strung together with ropes and gathered in the city under guard.

A subordinate suggested to Yamamoto that they simply kill all the remaining Han as well.

Yamamoto shook his head and refused, saying these Han still had their uses.

At dawn, a ronin returned from the south.

"Lord Yamamoto, the battle between the natives and Chikan has ended."

Yamamoto grew interested: "Which side won?"

"It was a draw on both sides—the natives have withdrawn."

"What?" Yamamoto was quite astonished.

From his understanding, these natives were quite warlike, and battles between their villages often dragged on for decades without cease.

Since they had already begun besieging the city, how could they withdraw in a draw?

Could it be that killing twelve people and raping five young women was still not enough?

After pondering for a long while, Yamamoto revealed a sinister smile again. Since the flames of vengeance had not been kindled, he might as well add another log to the fire.

"Pass on my order—bring me three Han captives, and prepare Han clothing!"

Dawn.

The defenders of Chikan City let out cheers when they saw the natives had withdrawn.

The natives had retreated very suddenly last night, and the two sides had only clashed in close combat for a brief moment.

As a result, the defenders of Chikan City suffered only single-digit casualties.

With the natives' siege having been so imposing and their own casualties so light, it was indeed worth celebrating.

Chen Jiao peered out from the stockade wall, looking outward. Within thirty paces, native corpses lay scattered here and there.

A rough count by his subordinates put the number at over twenty.

Clearly, because the fighting had been brief, the natives' casualties were not heavy either, and the bodies farther from the stockade wall had likely been carried off by the natives.

Chen Jiao looked toward the spot where the shamaness had raised the disturbance the night before. No figure could be seen any longer, but on the ground there seemed to be some kind of totem drawn with charcoal powder.

Chen Jiao sent men out of the city to scout. The scouting party carefully circled near the forest, then copied down the totem at the battle site and brought it back to the city.

The totem resembled a whirlpool, or perhaps a teapot or a water jug—highly abstract.

Chen Jiao glanced at it a few times, lost interest, and tossed it aside.

Zhang Ganchao reported, "Governor-General, I had men check all around the forest. No sign of the natives—they should have all withdrawn. Once we bury the native corpses, the farming households in the city can leave."

"We cannot bury them," Chen Jiao said firmly. "Load the native corpses onto a ship and transport them to Madou-she."

At these words, everyone present was greatly puzzled.

Zhang Ganchao frowned and said, "Governor-General, not burning the native corpses in a single fire is already the height of benevolence on our part. Why must we send them back?"

Someone else said with concern, "The natives suffered very few casualties in this attack and have not had their strength sapped. If we rashly send a ship out, their safety is hard to guarantee."

"Governor-General, if I may speak—if we must return the corpses to the natives, that's fine, but let's not deliver them to the village gate. We can unload them somewhere farther away."

Chen Jiao said, "Not only will we go to Madou-she—I will personally enter it."

At these words, everyone was shocked.

Chen Jiao was not acting on impulse. During the siege of Madou-she days earlier, five had died and over twenty had been wounded.

He had felt at the time that the natives were holding back, and yesterday's personal combat with the native warriors only confirmed that suspicion.

The natives were powerfully built, quick in their movements, and fighting on home ground in the forest—if they had truly fought to kill, no one would have come back alive.

Even if they had slipped up occasionally, the result could never have been five dead and twenty wounded; the casualties would more likely have been reversed.

Add to that the natives' inexplicable retreat last night while the outcome was still undecided, and Chen Jiao's conviction was only strengthened.

As for the cause of this incident—it was perhaps possible that someone from Chikan had gone to a native village to kill.

But as for raping native girls—Chen Jiao would sooner die than believe it.

There was no shortage of women in Chikan; no matter how one looked at it, Ming women were far more beautiful than native women.

Even if the culprit were blind, his second brother would not be.

Someone was clearly stirring up trouble. If he did not go and clear things up, would that not be playing right into their scheme?

So no matter how others advised him, Chen Jiao was dead set on going—not only to clear up the misunderstandings about the killings and rapes, but also to resolve the grievances born of the dead and wounded from the siege.

Chen Jiao planned to have the Long Wind patrol the inner sea; if he had not come out within an hour, they would bombard the village with cannon fire.

He believed that after last night's battle, the natives had witnessed the terror of the cannons and would not dare act rashly.

Moreover, the natives had shown restraint in both surrounding and attacking the city, so they should not act recklessly either.

His mind made up, Chen Jiao had someone write up the observations and responses of the past few days into a letter, to be sent swiftly to Nan'ao Island by falcon boat.

As for a reply, the earliest would be two days away, and the longer this dragged on, the greater the misunderstanding would grow. Chen Jiao had no more time to wait.

Zhang Ganchao urged: "Governor-General, how about I go in your place?"

Chen Jiao smiled and shook his head. How to discern the situation, how to persuade—all had to be improvised on the spot. He himself had no confidence in his own judgment, and would have to imitate the helmsman's way of doing things; sending a subordinate would be even less certain.

Moreover, many natives had seen Chen Jiao and knew he was the "headman" of Chikan. Only by going in person would his sincerity be evident.

Seeing that no one had further objections, Chen Jiao rose and gave his orders: "Load the native bodies onto the ship. We weigh anchor and leave port this afternoon!"

Around the hour of wei, two sea vessels plus the Long Wind departed from Chikan.

Madou Village was fifty li from Chikan, also on the edge of the lagoon's inner sea. Between the two lay tall grasslands, winding forests, marshes, and wetland vegetation—the land route was difficult, but the water route was swift.

Chen Jiao stood at the bow, watching as they sailed past a vast stretch of mangroves, and the harbor of Madou came into view.

The village was built along the rivers and lakes, covering a vast area. Its outer perimeter was broad farmland, and beyond the farmland stood simple fences woven from shrubs and bamboo.

The village interior was planted with tall, straight betel nut trees, with paths and houses crisscrossing among them.

The native dwellings were all stilt houses built of bamboo and wood, supported by wooden frames and raised off the ground.

The houses were arranged roughly in a ring, surrounding a great communal hall at the center.

At this moment, by the inner sea, native dugout canoes were returning to port one after another, carrying their catch up onto the plank piers.

Seeing Chen Jiao's ships approaching, the natives dropped their fish and fled in panic.

Soon, a dull drumming sounded from within the village—the beats came thick and fast, stirring a sense of anxiety in those who heard it.

A large number of native warriors rushed out from the communal hall, bows and javelins in hand, arraying themselves in solemn readiness before the harbor.

The fleet sailed toward the harbor, and when they were fifty paces away, Chen Jiao called the interpreter over to shout out their purpose.

The interpreter shouted himself hoarse for a long while before the natives finally lowered their spears and backed off somewhat.

The fleet docked and unloaded the native bodies, while the Long Wind anchored out on the sea a hundred paces away.

As soon as Chen Jiao and his men set foot on shore, native warriors came to search them. After confirming they carried no weapons, they led Chen Jiao, the interpreter, and two personal guards into the communal hall.

This was the first time Chen Jiao had set foot in a native village, and many natives gathered under the betel nut trees to watch.

"Ahaka shi! Anzhi——" As they passed a certain spot, a native shouted angrily at the top of his lungs.

The native warriors escorting Chen Jiao shouted back in rebuke, cursing the man into silence.

The interpreter's voice trembled: "Governor-General, that native said you killed his son, and he wants to take your head."

"Heh." The light laugh that escaped Chen Jiao was already indistinguishable from Lin Qian's.

Chen Jiao walked into the communal hall, where several dozen natives were already seated cross-legged. Chen Jiao clasped his fists in salute and sat down cross-legged as well.

The native seated at the head spoke, uttering a long string of cumbersome, tongue-twisting words.

The interpreter translated: "He says his name is Aban, headman of Madou Village. He thanks you for returning his people's bodies, and praises you for fighting well last night—calling you a glorious warrior. Therefore, your hair will hang near the front of his scabbard, and your skull will rest atop his rack."

Chen Jiao replied calmly: "We have an old saying: when two armies clash, they do not slay the messenger."

Aban wore a relaxed smile and said something to one of his men. The man ran out of the communal hall and returned moments later at a trot, placing a knife before Chen Jiao.

Chen Jiao looked down at it. It was a short blade with a thick spine, a slightly upturned tip, and a gentle curve along its length.

The scabbard was also quite distinctive—a single-sided wooden sheath, carved with a groove down one side of the wood, with the other side bound by leather cord. It had a certain rough, unadorned beauty.

Chen Jiao had seen this type of knife before—the native warrior from last night had carried one.

And now, every native warrior in the communal hall wore such a knife at his waist, differing only in the amount of hair strands adorning their scabbards.

Sweat beaded on the interpreter's forehead as he whispered urgently: "Don't take it! Taking it means accepting the challenge—you'll have to duel the headman to the death!"

Chen Jiao smiled faintly and rose to his feet.

Seeing his actions, the natives all wore furious expressions and set their hands on their knife hilts.

Chen Jiao pointed at the communal hall's entrance: "Please follow me. I too have something I wish to show the headman."

The interpreter translated, and Aban smiled, rising readily to follow Chen Jiao outside the building.

Chen Jiao whispered a few words to his personal guard, who ran off toward the harbor.

The native elders waited for a long while, seeing nothing unusual, and were beginning to grow impatient.

Suddenly, six rumbling thunderclaps rolled across the inner sea, and some natives instinctively shrank their necks.

In that instant, six solid iron cannonballs flew over Madou Village and slammed straight into the distant mountain forest.

Even from several hundred paces away, the thunderous crack of trees snapping was clearly audible, and dust and smoke rose high above the treetops.

The native elders' faces changed drastically—so the thunderous killing weapon from last night had come from these very ships!

When they had retreated to collect their dead, the bodies smashed to pulp by those iron balls were something the elders had not yet forgotten.

The personal guard hurried back, and Chen Jiao looked at Aban: "Well then, can we have a proper talk now?"

Aban was tall and lanky, a full head taller than Chen Jiao. He looked down at him, his expression shifting between light and shadow, and after a long while spoke coldly: "Ask him—what does this man want to say to me?"

Through the interpreter, Chen Jiao laid out his conjectures.

But Aban refused to believe it at all: "After committing his evil deed, the killer fled south—straight toward Chikan!"

Chen Jiao said: "Would the killer run straight to his own dwelling? Wouldn't that be too stupid?"

Aban waved a hand: "What you say is all speculation, but the suffering of the Madou tribe is real. What happened last night was only a warning. If you still don't hand over the killer, next time I will lead all our warriors to Chikan for a headhunt."

Aban turned around after speaking, waving his hand as if shooing flies: "Get out."

"Where is the Inibi?" Chen Jiao asked abruptly. Combined with today's meeting, he had already guessed that it was the Inibi who had called off last night's attack.

The Madou tribe's headman was currently impervious to reason; if he could get the Inibi to come out, there might still be a sliver of hope.

Unexpectedly, Aban only replied coldly: "The Inibi is not here."

"Not here?" Chen Jiao was deeply puzzled.

"Get out. The Madou tribe does not welcome you." Aban left these words behind and turned to head back into the communal house.

Just then, a native came to report: "Headman! People from Chikan have come attacking!"

Aban stopped dead in his tracks, a fierce glint in his eyes as he sized up Chen Jiao.

"How many came?"

"About fifty men, all carrying fire tubes. They killed six warriors before fleeing; we chased down and killed three of them."

"Fire tubes" was the natives' term for firearms. Both Han stockades on the island currently possessed firearms, but the only one that had left a deep impression on the Madou tribe was Chikan.

"Bring the corpses up." Aban's tone was icy.

His men brought up the corpses. They were indeed Han—two had been killed by javelins, and the third had twisted his ankle while fleeing, tripped on a rock, and fallen to his death.

Aban stared at Chen Jiao: "Shameless wretch, what more do you have to say? Seize him—lock them all up!"

Chen Jiao argued loudly: "Don't you understand yet? If they were truly my men, would they strike while I was inside your village? Wouldn't that be walking into a trap?"

Seeing that the natives couldn't understand, Chen Jiao shouted at the interpreter: "Translate it for them quickly!"

"No need." A woman's voice came through.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen