Chapter 163: The Three-Year Pact

In the end, he didn't eat a single bite of breakfast. Qian Zhong scurried up to the deck and, as if by habit, stood with his back against the gun barrel.

Sailors brought hemp rope and bound him up.

Qian Zhong grimaced in pain, but still managed a fawning smile: "Easy, gentlemen, easy."

"Enemy ship off the port bow, one thousand paces!"

Qian Zhong followed the lookout's pointing direction and saw, beneath the gray overcast sky, a three-masted ship sailing across the ink-blue sea.

When the two ships closed to within five hundred paces, the enemy vessel sensed something amiss and turned about to flee.

That three-masted ship sat deep in the water and moved slowly; two hours later, the Changfeng caught up with her.

Bailangzai commanded: "Open fire!"

The Changfeng's broadside cannons roared—the tremendous blast struck Qian Zhong's chest like a sledgehammer.

That three-masted ship also produced iron cannons and returned fire.

At a distance of just over a hundred paces between them, the bulwarks were blasted into flying splinters.

"Ah! Ah—"

Projectiles whizzed past Qian Zhong's side with a sharp tearing sound, and he screamed uncontrollably.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" Another volley of cannon fire.

A sailor cheered: "Hit!"

Qian Zhong instinctively looked toward the enemy ship and saw several large holes torn through its hull and sterncastle—light shining clear through each one.

The enemy ship answered with muskets, but this time the gunfire was noticeably sparser.

Bailangzai shouted: "Close with the enemy, switch to grapeshot!"

"Port the helm!" the helmsman bellowed.

"Creak!" The ship swung hard about, churning Qian Zhong's stomach and guts into a roiling mess.

"Enemy ship off the port side, fifty paces!"

"Open fire!"

The port guns fired in unison; within the white gunsmoke, a layer of iron shot seemed to be mixed in.

In an instant, the dull thudding of countless iron balls punching into wooden planks came drifting over, mingled with innumerable screams.

The muskets fell silent, and the grapeshot fired three more rounds.

Then Bailangzai called a halt to the bombardment and turned to Qian Zhong: "Supervisor, please observe the results."

Qian Zhong turned to look—the deck of that three-masted ship had been shot nearly to a sieve, transparent holes everywhere.

The muzzle-loading Siren cannons had large bores and good seals, so the grapeshot they fired naturally carried greater power; against the fragile wooden hull of a three-masted Fujian junk, there was almost no defense.

A dozen or so corpses lay sprawled every which way across the deck, along with countless mangled flesh and body parts, now beyond recognition.

"Ugh—" Qian Zhong could no longer hold it in and vomited all over himself.

The Changfeng drew alongside and took the surviving crew aboard as prisoners, while a dozen or so chests of silver were hauled up from the enemy hold.

Bailangzai leaned over the gunwale and called out: "Did you find the ship permit?"

"No! But we found this!" A sailor stood on the three-masted Fujian junk, holding up a samurai sword.

"A private trading vessel bound for Hirado." Bailangzai pronounced judgment on the ship.

In truth, all of this was staged for Qian Zhong's benefit.

They were currently on the shipping lane south of Hirado, and since the Great Ming officially did not recognize trade with Japan, every ship they encountered was without exception a private smuggler.

Bailangzai said to Qian Zhong: "Would the Supervisor care to verify in person?"

"No, no, no! Private ship, definitely a private ship!" Qian Zhong shook his head like a rattle-drum.

Bailangzai ordered the ropes untied and had Qian Zhong escorted back to his cabin, adding: "Supervisor, hurry and write up the battle report—we may trouble you again this afternoon."

Qian Zhong's body trembled, and he scrambled back to his cabin on all fours.

Sure enough, before he had even finished the battle report—indeed, before he'd even had time for lunch—he was summoned back to the stern deck.

Three days in a row it went on like this, and Qian Zhong had been tormented to the point of delirium by sulfur and blood.

Early that morning, Qian Zhong was again called up to the deck.

After being lashed tight to the familiar mast, Qian Zhong spotted a ship's silhouette appearing in the distance.

The day was bitterly cold; a northwest wind drove snowflakes straight down men's collars, and Qian Zhong's body would not stop shivering.

He thought to himself: "Has the Commander stirred up a hornet's nest? How can there be so many ships in these waters? If we keep fighting battle after battle like this, we're bound to come to grief sooner or later!"

The two ships closed.

Qian Zhong recognized the approaching vessel as another three-masted Fujian junk, riding light in the water.

Strangely, this ship did not turn about to flee—it held its original course, as if it hadn't seen the Changfeng at all.

"Enemy ship off the starboard bow, three hundred paces!" the lookout shouted.

Having served as "Supervisor" for some time now, Qian Zhong had grown familiar with naval tactics; at three hundred paces between ships, escape was essentially impossible.

Just as he was pronouncing a death sentence on this vessel in his heart—

Against the gray sky, there was a sudden crack, and a red signal flare burst open.

The lookout's voice turned urgent: "Enemy fleet sighted off the port bow!"

In an instant, everyone on deck wore a grave expression. Bailangzai pulled out a telescope and peered toward the port bow.

"Turn about, heading southeast." Bailangzai said calmly.

"Starboard the helm, turn about!" the helmsman commanded loudly. "Wind from the northwest, port side running before it—change sails!"

Qian Zhong was utterly astonished—in all his time aboard, this was the first time they had turned tail and fled.

He craned his neck toward the distant fleet, but beyond a mass of ship silhouettes, he could make out nothing at all.

"Godfather, what's happening? Why did we suddenly turn around?" a young eunuch asked in a tearful voice.

Qian Zhong didn't take the bait.

It was a nearby sailor who spoke instead: "Li Dan's ships are coming—of course we have to run."

"Li Dan?" Qian Zhong sucked in a cold breath.

Even as a northerner, he had heard of the name of Li Dan, the number one sea bandit of the Great Ming.

The sailor who had spoken nodded: "Of course it's Li Dan. Didn't you see those red sails? What's coming is the Fire Sail Battalion."

Qian Zhong was bound to the mast and couldn't see, but the two young eunuchs looked toward the stern, and their faces went pale.

One of the young eunuchs stammered: "I have a feeling... they're getting closer?"

The sailor nodded calmly: "Our ship has cannons and several dozen chests of silver aboard—we sit deep in the water, so there's no way we're faster than them."

"What?" Qian Zhong's jaw dropped. "Then throw the silver overboard, quick!"

The sailor said matter-of-factly: "That silver is evidence to be handed over to the authorities. If we toss it, wouldn't all our hard work have been for nothing?"

"What?" Qian Zhong felt this was the stupidest thing he'd heard in his entire life. If you lost your life, what use was silver?

And evidence to be handed over, to boot? If Ma Chenglie's men could be that loyal to the court, then he, Qian Zhong, would eat every one of those chests of silver whole!

The two young eunuchs stared at the pursuing ships, their faces growing worse and worse, their lips drained of color.

Watching the two young eunuchs' expressions, Qian Zhong felt his fear mounting and hurriedly said: "Throw the chests overboard, quick—saving our lives comes first!"

The sailor ignored him.

Qian Zhong turned to Bailangzai and said: "Grandpa Bai, please throw the silver overboard! I'm keeping a mental tally of everything seized—once we're back on shore, I'll still report it all for merit!"

Bailangzai: "Half rudder to port."

The moment the words left his mouth, several cannon blasts rang out from the stern, and water columns exploded behind the Changfeng's tail, sending a chill down Qian Zhong's spine in an instant.

He gritted his teeth and said: "I have silver—over twenty thousand taels. Once we reach shore, I'll give it all to you!"

That was his entire life's savings, half of which had been Ma Chenglie's tribute to him. Giving it up meant nearly half a lifetime of work down the drain.

But to save his life, he couldn't afford to care about such worldly possessions.

Bailangzai reacted quickly: "His Excellency the eunuch is generously rewarding the troops—how admirable! Men, won't you thank His Excellency for his bounty?"

"Thank you, Your Excellency!" From the aft deck, the sailors shouted in unison.

Qian Zhong was stunned.

He was giving silver to buy his life, to get them to throw the ship's silver overboard—when had it become a reward for the troops?

At a moment of life and death, they were playing word games? Were they mad?

So there really were people in this world who valued money more than life. Qian Zhong had now seen it with his own eyes.

Another cannon shot came, this time striking the starboard side of the Changfeng.

The spray came crashing down over his head, and Qian Zhong sucked in a cold breath as he was drenched.

"Enemy fleet, three hundred paces!" the lookout shouted.

"It's over!" Qian Zhong lamented inwardly.

"Jettison the cannons!" Bailangzai commanded.

"Aye!" The gunners obeyed, chopping through the recoil ropes with axes, then working together with several crowbars to lever the cannon tails high, tipping them over the bulwark and into the water.

For a time, the constant splash of cannons hitting the water sounded from both sides of the Changfeng.

"Stop!" Qian Zhong shouted in terror. "What are you doing? Have you all gone mad?"

No one explained anything to him. The gunners strictly carried out Bailangzai's orders, and soon all fourteen cannons aboard had been dumped into the sea.

Without the cannons, the ship's speed increased dramatically. Though still not as fast as the Fire Sail Battalion, it wouldn't be caught in the short term.

Bailangzai knew in his heart that the silver was all in the cargo hold—hauling it out chest by chest would be too slow. At a distance of three hundred-odd paces, there was no time.

Besides, the helmsman had said that jettisoning the cannons would make the enemy let down their guard all the more.

"Swoosh—bang!"

Aboard the Eagle Ship, a signal flare shot into the sky and burst, its red fireworks glaringly conspicuous beneath the gray clouds.

East of Hashima, the lookout on the Tianyuan shouted: "Enemy sighted in the northwest sky!"

At the same time, aboard the Danghai, flagship of the Fire Sail Battalion, Yan Siqi watched the red signal flares rising ceaselessly from the Eagle Ship's position, his body trembling slightly.

A year had passed—was that snowy night in the East Fan Strait coming back again?

"Yang Tiansheng!" Yan Siqi took a deep breath, suppressing the fear in his heart. This time, he would wash away his past shame!

"Ship Lord!" Yang Tiansheng clasped his fists and stepped forward.

"Order the left squadron under Liu Xiang and the right squadron under Zhong Bin to spread out and search for the enemy at sea!"

Yang Tiansheng withdrew to relay the orders, while Yan Siqi stared fixedly at the Changfeng ahead, which was fleeing after discarding its cannons.

He recognized this ship—it was the cannon vessel that had blocked their way when they were in the inner seas off East Fan Island.

But times had changed. The cannon vessel that once blocked their path was now stripped of its armor, fleeing in panic with nowhere to turn.

The feeling of the tables turning felt wonderful.

In recent days, many fishermen had come to report frequent cannon fire in the waters west of Nagasaki.

Combined with the fact that Li Guozhu had led ships to raid the Chaozhou fleet over three days ago and not a word had been heard since—

Putting these two pieces of news together, Li Dan had already guessed that something had happened to Li Guozhu.

Whether to protect the shipping routes or to rescue Li Guozhu, Li Dan had no choice but to send out his forces.

After six months of recovery, Yan Siqi was determined to overcome his inner demon and volunteered for the campaign.

This time he had brought nearly fifty ships—the entirety of the Fire Sail Battalion's remaining elite.

With that many warships, even if they just ground the enemy down, they could wear them to death!

Yan Siqi thought of the enormous ship silhouette that had kept firing cannons on that snowy night. Today, he, Yan Siqi, also had cannons, and he could—

Suddenly, the lookout shouted: "Fleet sighted off the port bow!"

Yan Siqi turned to look and indeed saw a fleet emerging from behind a desolate island to the west.

Though the distance was vast, Yan Siqi knew by instinct that this had to be that "Snowy Night Phantom."

The Ming navy had actually pursued them across a thousand li, all the way to Hirado!

Fine then—since they had come, let this be settled once and for all.

Yan Siqi immediately commanded: "All ships, face the enemy!"

But before the Fire-Sail Camp could complete its formation change, the Ming navy had already lined up in a column and begun firing from three hundred paces out.

Red flashes and gunsmoke shrouded the hulls; the thunder of cannon reverberated between sea and sky, like a fire dragon's roar.

Most of the Fire-Sail Camp consisted of small vessels like Haicang boats, and after taking a few hits they began to sink.

In an instant, the Fire-Sail Camp's left squadron suffered a catastrophic blow, with heavy casualties.

"Enemy fleet, two hundred paces!"

The lookout updated the distance.

The Ming navy had abandoned its usual tactics—instead of endless cannon fire, it charged straight at the Fire-Sail Camp's left formation.

Yan Siqi said: "Turn the helm left, encircle them!"

A thousand paces from the battlefield.

The Changfeng slowly turned about and dropped anchor.

Qian Zhong said: "Master Bai, this is still too close. We'd better keep a greater distance, so the Regional Commander has room to maneuver."

Bailangzai: "Less talk, watch carefully. And you two, keep your eyes open as well."

The two young eunuchs immediately stood at attention and gazed toward the battlefield.

Out on the distant sea, the Fire-Sail Camp's left squadron had been ambushed, and the center and right squadrons were both turning left.

Like a red snake nailed to a chopping board, writhing madly.

The Tianyuan's line of battle plunged straight into the Fire-Sail Camp's left squadron. At this range, even the Folangji cannons on the Tianyuan's open deck could fire—one full volley released enough gunsmoke from black powder to shroud the entire hull.

In an instant, the Tianyuan's port and starboard sides combined to fire sixty-four cannons at once, all loaded with grapeshot—each round containing roughly thirty shot pellets.

Every full broadside from the Tianyuan hurled nearly two thousand pellets, and the fan-shaped zone over a hundred paces on either side was like rain pouring down.

Within the grapeshot's coverage, the upper decks of the Fire-Sail Camp's ships suffered devastating destruction.

The mist of blood the enemy raised was almost tangible, staining even the gunsmoke a pale red.

Even from a thousand paces away, Qian Zhong could smell the blood.

The sea bandits of the Fire-Sail Camp were extremely brave—even under such terrifying slaughter, they struggled to fire back.

But the Tianyuan's hull was almost completely shrouded in gunsmoke, so whether their return shots hit or how much damage they caused was anyone's guess.

As the Tianyuan sailed past, the Yunfan behind it and four ahad-class ships also opened fire in turn, all firing grapeshot.

Layer upon layer of muzzle smoke piled up, nearly enveloping the entire battlefield in hazy dust.

The Tianyuan, as the flagship, pressed forward all the way, punching straight through the Fire-Sail Camp's formation while grapeshot never ceased from both sides.

Blood dyed the surrounding seawater a pale red.

An hour later, the Tianyuan's battle line burst out of the Fire-Sail Camp's formation, and the gunsmoke dispersed.

The Tianyuan's hull was now covered in holes both large and small, while the five escort ships behind it had suffered lighter damage.

The battle was so brutal that even Qian Zhong felt dazed.

After more than a month of torment, Qian Zhong had become convinced that Ma Chenglie had tricked him onto the Changfeng.

All that talk about flagship danger and such—bullshit!

But now, seeing the Tianyuan's shell holes, could Ma Chenglie have been telling the truth after all?

He, Qian Zhong, had suffered on the Changfeng, but was it really not dangerous?

He had no time to dwell on it—out on the distant battlefield, the Fire-Sail Camp was reforming and sailing due north, clearly retreating.

The Tianyuan's battle line followed.

Bailangzai also commanded: "Raise the sails, follow them!"

Qian Zhong said hurriedly: "We've seen enough—this distance is close enough to see clearly! I know how to write the battle report!"

Bailangzai asked the two young eunuchs: "Did you two see clearly?"

The young eunuchs nodded incessantly.

"In this exchange just now, how many sea bandits were shot dead?"

"What?" Qian Zhong was stunned.

"Still not close enough. Move to within five hundred paces." Bailangzai commanded.

Two hours later, the Tianyuan caught up with the Fire-Sail Camp led by Yan Siqi, and the two fleets, like sea monsters, began tearing at each other again.

The Fire-Sail Camp was now at an absolute disadvantage, constantly wailing skyward under the Tianyuan's bombardment—the cries of Fire-Sail Camp crewmen and the sympathetic detonation of gunpowder.

As Yan Siqi had expected, the Tianyuan's fleet had come from afar without resupply, and its cannonballs and gunpowder were running short.

But the Tianyuan could still rely on its thick hull and bulwarks to force its way close and fire grapeshot.

Compared to solid iron shot that punched one hole per round, grapeshot was far more efficient at killing.

Unfortunately, the Fujian junks and Haicang boats used frugal materials for their upper decks—the planks were very thin and easily penetrated by grapeshot. The crew standing on them had no cover at all, almost like standing targets.

By contrast, the Tianyuan's hull and bulwarks were much thicker, and the Fire-Sail Camp's iron cannons and small Folangji guns could barely penetrate them.

Moreover, the Tianyuan's freeboard was high—when both sides closed in to shoot, the Fire-Sail Camp's cannons had no angle to hit the Tianyuan's deck and could only fire at the hull.

Thus, although the Tianyuan looked battered, it had only lost hull planking, with very few casualties.

This was the absolute dominance of big ships over small ones in the age of sailing warships.

The artillery duel lasted two hours. The Fire-Sail Camp suffered heavy losses and could no longer endure—six ships, ignoring the flagship's command, broke away from the fleet and fled southwest.

The remaining Fire-Sail Camp ships fought while retreating, and the battlefield shifted all the way from west of Dan Island to south of Hirado Island.

The Changfeng closely followed the battlefield as it shifted, and all along the way the sea surface was covered with splintered planks and floating corpses that would occasionally bump against the Changfeng's hull with a dull thud.

The wind and snow grew ever fiercer; the north wind whipped up snow flurries that scattered across the sky, and both the shores of Hirado Island and Kyushu Island were clad in pure white.

The closer they drew to the mouth of the strait, the more ferocious the Tianyuan's cannon fire became.

Amid the dense bombardment, a solid iron shot struck square on the stern deck of the Fire-Sail Battalion's flagship, the Danghai.

The Danghai immediately fell into chaos; when the other ships of the Fire-Sail Battalion saw the flagship hit, their morale collapsed. They stopped returning fire and fled in a mad scramble back toward Hirado.

Aboard the Tianyuan, Lin Qian ordered his men to search for and take prisoners.

In the winter cold, men who had fallen overboard could not last long before dying, so the search was not difficult—after all, there were few survivors left.

A moment later, five prisoners, soaked through to the bone, were brought up onto the Tianyuan's deck.

Zheng Zhilong stepped forward and asked, "Who commanded your flagship?"

"It—it was Yan—the Mas—·—was—hit—by—cannon—"

The man speaking was trembling violently, his upper and lower teeth chattering without cease.

"Do you people recognize this man?" Zheng Zhilong said as he had his men bring someone over.

It was a young man, of medium build and somewhat thin, with firm, compact muscles. He kept his head lowered, his expression dejected.

One of the prisoners cried out in shock: "Young Master Li!"

"It's the eldest Young Master Li." The other prisoners also recognized the man's identity and exclaimed in hushed voices.

Hearing this form of address, Li Guozhu felt his face flush red. He raised his head and roared, "Just kill me!"

Zheng Zhilong gave a light laugh: "Take him below and keep a close watch on him."

"Yes, sir!" His men led the man down to the cargo hold.

Zheng Zhilong said, "The five of you, deliver a message to Li Dan. Tell him the helmsman is here waiting for him."

With that, Zheng Zhilong waved his hand, and the five prisoners had their ropes untied and were driven off the ship.

A Haicang ship that had been blasted into a veritable hornet's nest was moored alongside the Tianyuan.

The five men boarded the vessel, hardly daring to believe they had escaped with their lives. They paid no heed to the cold that threatened to shrink their balls up into their bellies, and hurriedly raised sail and took the helm to flee this slaughterhouse.

Two days later, a small single-masted boat came sailing over from Hirado.

The Tianyuan lowered a rope ladder, and a man climbed aboard.

This man was past forty, plainly dressed, with unremarkable features—at first glance, no different from any ordinary man on the street.

Sweeping his gaze around, the man's eyes settled on Lin Qian.

"Li Dan of Kyushu Island. Might I ask your distinguished name, sir?"

"Lin Qian."

As he spoke, Lin Qian casually shot Zheng Zhilong a look.

Zheng Zhilong understood. While Lin Qian and Li Dan went into the cabin, he had his men bring the prisoners from Li Guozhu's fleet up onto the deck.

At the door of the officers' mess, Zheng Zhilong said in a low voice to the prisoner: "Take a look—who is that man?"

The prisoner took one look and gasped in a low voice: "Ship Lord Li?"

"Take him back below."

Having said this, Zheng Zhilong quietly walked into the officers' mess and, from a spot in Li Dan's blind spot, gave Lin Qian a slight nod.

At this moment Li Dan was relating amusing anecdotes about Hirado, his words sparkling with wit, so that even the guards nearby wore smiles on their faces.

Then Li Dan continued: "—After that, my little brat went and pissed into the church's red wine—over two hundred people shared that wine! It cost me a whole chapel to make amends to them—that little beast, all he ever does is cause me trouble."

Lin Qian did not take up the thread.

Li Dan rose and made a solemn bow with cupped hands: "Helmsman Lin, I came this time precisely because of that little beast. I heard he itched for trouble and caused you no small amount of it. Whatever losses you suffered, I will compensate in full. Please don't stand on ceremony—just name your price."

Lin Qian smiled and said: "Ah, speaking of compensation makes this too formal. You and I are acquaintances made through a fight, after all. I also sank several dozen of your—what was that battalion called, Ship Lord?"

"The Fire-Sail Battalion."

"Right, several dozen Fire-Sail Battalion warships. We're even."

Lei Sanxiang immediately widened his eyes—how could it be so easily settled? But he knew that since Lin Qian said this, there must be deep meaning behind it, so he held back and did not speak.

Li Dan laughed heartily: "The helmsman is truly a man of the jianghu. This forthright temperament of yours—I like it! Since you and I hit it off so well, and we're acquaintances made through a fight, don't call me Ship Lord—that sounds too distant. How about we address each other as brothers?"

Lin Qian cupped his hands in salute: "Brother Li!"

"Brother Lin."

As they spoke, it came to be lunchtime. Lei Sanxiang used the excuse of preparing the midday meal to drag Zheng Zhilong out, and asked: "Brother Yiguan, what does the helmsman mean by this—being so courteous to this Li fellow and even calling him brother? That real brother of his, that Yan fellow, was blown to pieces by us—not even a complete corpse left."

Zheng Zhilong glanced at the officers' mess, then pulled Lei Sanxiang to the bow and said in a low voice: "The ship's ammunition is running low—we must withdraw. We'll still need to come to Hirado to do business next year. That's why the helmsman is being courteous to this Li fellow."

"Oh." Lei Sanxiang seemed to half-understand. "Then why is this Li fellow being so courteous to the helmsman?"

"Third Brother—have you forgotten that his son is still in our hands?" Zheng Zhilong said with some exasperation. "With Li Guozhu in hand, it's as good as having Hirado's ship permit. Coming back to Hirado in the future will be much more convenient."

Just as Zheng Zhilong had said, at the lunch table Lin Qian and Li Dan toasted each other freely, the atmosphere extremely warm.

Li Dan drained the wine in his cup, his face flushed red, and riding the drink said: "Brother Lin, this nephew of yours has been spoiled since childhood and looks down on everyone. This time he took a great fall at your hands—consider it a lesson well taught. This elder brother thanks you."

The subtext of these words was: Lin Qian was Li Guozhu's elder, so he should not quibble with a junior—and should release Li Guozhu quickly.

Lin Qian smiled in reply: "Guozhu has decent aptitude, but it's a pity that in Hirado, spending his days in the company of wokou, he's wasted his potential—how about sending him to the Great Ming to find a good teacher to instruct him? I know Grand Secretary Ye and Minister Huang both—I'm sure a fine master can be found."

This was Lin Qian's condition: keep Li Guozhu as a hostage, and then he could withdraw his forces.

Now Li Dan had only two cards he could play.

First: he ran smuggling operations and had connections with the great clans of the southeastern Ming, through which he wielded some influence over Ming officialdom—he could make trouble for Lin Qian through the bureaucracy.

This path had been blocked off by Lin Qian, for men like Ye Xianggao and Huang Ke, who stood at the pinnacle of power, were all part of Lin Qian's network. Whether true or false, it was enough to bluff Li Dan.

Second: fight to the bitter end. Li Dan could abandon his son and ask the Matsuura and Shimazu houses to send reinforcements to attack Lin Qian. Even if they couldn't win, at the very least they could shut down the trade routes that ran through Hirado.

That would be mutual destruction, to be used only when all pretense of civility was truly torn apart.

Seeing Li Dan's expression shift uncertainly, Lin Qian added: "With your worthy nephew's aptitude, I imagine he'll achieve no small learning in two or three years."

Li Dan's expression improved—being a hostage for just two or three years was far more acceptable.

He swept his gaze over the table of dishes without betraying his thoughts, seeing a pot of pork and cabbage stewed with vermicelli, a plate of stir-fried mushrooms, and some chicken and duck eggs,

venison, poultry, and the like—fish and shrimp were scarce.

Li Dan was secretly alarmed. From the Great Ming to Kyushu, the voyage took about a month. Even with resupply stops in Ryukyu along the way, one could not keep this much fresh meat and produce.

Lin Qian must have resupply points in Kyushu. The Satsuma domain had long coveted Hirado's maritime trade position—perhaps the Shimazu clan was backing him behind the scenes. Thinking of this, Li Dan felt even more certain that a fight-to-the-death strategy was unwise, for then his son would die no matter what.

Accepting Lin Qian's proposal, even if it meant being a hostage in the Great Ming for the rest of his life, at least he would live.

What Li Dan lacked now was time. Give him three to five years to purchase large cannon-armed galleons from the Dutch and rebuild his Fire Sail Battalion, and he would still have a chance to defeat Lin Qian and rescue his son.

With this in mind, Li Dan took the initiative to bring up the Hirado trade.

Which trade goods had the highest profits, when was the best time to sail, the respective strengths and weaknesses of the different sea routes—Li Dan recited it all like the back of his hand.

Hearing him speak of these matters, Lin Qian knew Li Dan had accepted the proposal, and so the toasts and exchanged cups grew ever more frequent.

When the banquet ended and Li Dan was about to disembark,

he happened to see Li Guozhu being brought onto the deck.

"Father! Father, save me!" Li Guozhu's face had lost all its former sharpness, filled instead with terror and helplessness.

Li Dan stared at his son's face for a long moment, then laughed: "Brother Lin, my worthless son is in your care."

"Rest assured, Brother Li. He's my own nephew—he won't suffer the slightest grievance." Lin Qian smiled.

Seeing his father chatting and laughing amiably with his enemy, Li Guozhu was dumbfounded.

Li Dan looked at him, put on a stern face, and instructed: "Study hard. When you've learned your lessons, your father will sail over personally to pick you up, understand?"

These words were really meant for Lin Qian's ears.

"Y—yes." Li Guozhu answered, bewildered.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen