Chapter 17: The Great Secret

The sheer audacity of this woman made Lin Qian inwardly click his tongue in amazement.

Lin Qian stepped over two articles of clothing, set the chest down, sat at the desk, and wrote up the ship's log for yesterday and today.

Catherine followed him into the cabin, curiously watching what Lin Qian was doing.

Without even raising his head, Lin Qian said coldly, "Put your clothes away. There's no place on this ship for you to hang laundry."

Catherine dared not argue. She secretly made a disgusted face, put her clothes away, then looked around and asked, "Where should I put them?"

"I'll arrange a cabin for you. Until then, just hold them in your hands."

Catherine hugged her two wet garments, stood behind Lin Qian, and mouthed curses at him.

Seeing that Lin Qian had no reaction, Catherine stood on her tiptoes, leaned over his shoulder, and looked at what he was writing.

"Wanli forty-eighth year, third month, twenty-fifth day... May 6, 1620 AD, clear weather..."

This string of text mixed Chinese, English, and Spanish, blending the lunar and solar calendars—Catherine couldn't understand it at all.

Fortunately, she recognized Arabic numerals and could tell it was a string of dates. May 6 was just yesterday, and from that she guessed Lin Qian was writing a ship's log.

Catherine continued reading downward, seeing that Lin Qian had recorded in detail yesterday's wind direction, heading, and other information, as well as describing what he had seen and heard during the typhoon.

But it was still a mix of Chinese, English, and Spanish, and Catherine only recognized the occasional Spanish words scattered throughout.

It wasn't until her neck ached from reading that Catherine finally gave up.

"Couldn't understand any of it?" Lin Qian's faint voice came over.

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" Catherine widened her eyes and asked in surprise.

Lin Qian let out a soft laugh and did not answer.

Catherine cursed inwardly: "Damn pirates."

After a while, a ship's worker pushed open the door and came in.

"Helmsman, lunch is ready." As he spoke, he set the rice bowl on the round table.

"What about mine?" Catherine asked.

Lin Qian pointed at Catherine: "Fetch her a bowl too."

In a moment, the ship's worker placed another bowl of rice porridge on the table.

Lin Qian set down his brush, walked to the table, picked up the bowl, blew away the steam, and—without using chopsticks—downed half of it in a few mouthfuls. The porridge was packed with snail meat and shrimp, and its flavor was quite fresh.

Catherine stirred the porridge with her spoon and frowned: "It's all white and mushy... Is this really edible?"

"If you can eat that half-raw rice in Spanish seafood paella, then you can eat this."

Catherine was so angry she felt dizzy. She took a deep breath to suppress the urge to retort, and then, unable to bear her hunger any longer, scooped up a little with her spoon and cautiously brought it to her mouth.

Her eyes lit up. She wolfed down several mouthfuls, then remembered her composure and switched to small, slow bites. She glanced at Lin Qian, saw that he had finished eating and returned to his desk without so much as looking at her, and only then relaxed.

Shortly after, a ship's worker came in to clear away the bowls and chopsticks.

Lin Qian asked, "Has a cabin been cleared out?"

"Two cargo holds took on water, and all the empty cabins are being used for storage. There's no spare cabin at the moment."

Lin Qian's head ached. He turned to look at Catherine—now there was nowhere on the ship to put this woman.

He couldn't just keep her tied to the mast. The tropical sun was hot and vicious; one day tied up would bake the oil right out of a person, and without timely water, two days would kill them.

"Forget it. Bring me a piece of canvas." Lin Qian said.

In a moment, the ship's worker brought a piece of canvas. Lin Qian tied it between two crossbeams, fashioning it into a hammock, then said to Catherine, "You sleep here tonight."

"I protest. You promised me a cabin." Catherine said discontentedly.

"Hammock or mast—your choice." Lin Qian tossed out the words and left the cabin.

From the deck came Lin Qian's voice ordering the sails raised and the ship underway, and before long the vessel began to move slowly forward.

"Damn pirates." Catherine cursed viciously.

She walked over to Lin Qian's bunk and gave the bedding two hard kicks to vent her anger.

Then she suddenly remembered the instrument she had seen that morning. Now was the perfect chance to sneak a look. She hurried over to the chest, only to find a lock had been added to it.

Faced with such a thick lock, she was helpless, and stamped her feet in frustration.

She then walked to Lin Qian's desk and flipped through the ship's log.

The first page read: "Wanli forty-eighth year, second month, fifteenth day, thunderstorm... East of Dongfan Island, 23 degrees north latitude... northeast wind at 20 knots, heading due south, speed 4 knots, sailed 4 hours then dropped anchor, water depth 53 meters, wave height approximately 0.6 meters..."

Catherine could barely make out the gist through the Spanish and Arabic numerals.

She turned to the next page: "Wanli forty-eighth year, second month, sixteenth day..." This page used far less Spanish, and she couldn't understand it at all.

She flipped through several more pages like this, when suddenly her eyes lit up and she couldn't help exclaiming, "Wow."

Before her appeared a bamboo-pen line drawing, depicting the scene of Manila harbor.

In the drawing, the sky was a clear azure, the water utterly calm, and Manila harbor rose between sea and sky. Countless sailing ships lined the coastline, their masts crisscrossing in orderly array.

The houses of the Parian market stretched out in tight rows, and further beyond, one could see the towering European walls of the walled city and the bell tower of its church.

Though rendered in only a few strokes, it was drawn with lifelike vividness.

Catherine held the drawing and gazed at it for a long time. Suddenly she remembered that she had been abducted onto this pirate ship, with no idea when she might return to Manila. Her heart ached, tears streamed down, and she wished she could tear the picture to shreds—but she feared Lin Qian would discover it and punish her, so she forced down her anger and turned the page.

The next page was also a drawing, depicting a Manila galleon. It was in a different style from the previous one—this drawing was extremely precise and realistic, capturing nearly every cable and rope of the ship, though with somewhat less artistic flair.

Catherine knew the Manila galleons very well and had little interest in this drawing, so she hurriedly flipped past it.

The following pages recorded Lin Qian's observations in Manila, with extensive notes on Manila's local products and prices. Catherine couldn't make much sense of them and skipped over them all.

Then a new drawing appeared. This one was a charcoal sketch. It showed a figure riding a white horse, the face unclear. The sea wind whipped up the rider's long, wavelike hair, and the clothing fluttered loudly in the breeze.

Catherine stared at the drawing in a daze for a long time. Was this her?

Though the face was not drawn, the long hair and the clothing were exactly hers, and the bearing of the rider on horseback was utterly identical to her own.

"Damn bastard..." Catherine cursed with a complicated expression.

Reluctantly, she turned past her own portrait and continued reading the following content, hoping to find some clue in the scattered words that might lead to her escape.

Growing tired of reading, she simply picked up the ship's log and went to lie on the hammock to read.

Halfway there, she turned back to look at Lin Qian's bunk.

That bunk was clearly bigger and more comfortable—why should she cram herself into a hammock?

At that thought, Catherine unceremoniously lay down directly on Lin Qian's bed.

The later pages of the ship's log were mostly filled with all kinds of data, which made Catherine drowsy; only the occasional illustration could perk her up.

Flipping through several more pages, she came to the newest entry—amid the dense simplified Chinese characters, the two characters "Lin Feng" stood out sharply, with "1574" written beside them and a question mark drawn after.

Having lived in Manila, Catherine naturally knew the history of the place and what had happened in 1574—that was the year the Ming dynasty pirate "Lin Feng" attacked and entered Manila.

Though Catherine couldn't read Chinese, she knew that two syllables corresponded to two Chinese characters, and she could roughly guess that "Lin Feng" was the name of that pirate.

Her pupils contracted, her heart pounding wildly, as if she had glimpsed the edge of a colossal secret.

Yahei

Pink Round