Chapter 195: The 64-Gun Ship of the Line

The fourth year of Tianqi, early July.

The goods that the "Zheng He fleet" brought back from Hoi An—pepper, sappanwood, betel nuts, nutmeg, rare treasures, dried goods, and so on—gathered in the four prefectures of Zhangzhou, Chaozhou, Huizhou, and Quanzhou. From there they spread level by level along official roads and rivers into the province's interior, then fanned out across the entire southeast.

Big merchants sold to small distributors, who sold to shops and apothecaries for retail—like an aorta feeding blood into smaller arteries, then on into dense capillaries.

Seen from high above, the entire southeast of the Great Ming was linked by a spiderweb of commercial flows.

The commercial flows reached Huguang and Guangxi in the west, and the Southern Metropolitan Region south of the Yangtze in the north—one thick vessel even ran straight to Luoyang. In the Prince of Fu's mansion in Luoyang, ivory and rhino horn from every channel piled high.

The mansion was so overrun with ivory that a separate warehouse had to be built just to store these treasures.

Meanwhile, in Jiangxi, the mansions of the Prince of Huai and the Prince of Yi also amassed great quantities of jewelry, ivory, and horn.

Among the scattered imperial clansmen living in Guangzhou, the luxury goods from the South Seas were even more alluring; for a time, every clansman of the imperial house took pride in wearing rhino horn and ivory, gradually fostering a spirit of competitive ostentation.

The common folk of Guangzhou said nothing openly, but behind closed doors their resentment seethed hot enough to blow the roofs off the three great halls of the Imperial Palace.

Of course, with this influx of South Seas goods into the market, Guangzhou's apothecaries and taverns were amply restocked, and the price of medicines and foodstuffs dropped somewhat—so the common folk weren't entirely without benefit.

Under these small favors, the people's discontent remained mere grumbling, nowhere near the point of rising up in revolt.

As goods circulated, silver—like waste discharged from the human body—flowed back along the veins level by level, steadily converging toward the southeast, ultimately pooling in the hands of the land merchants and country gentry of the four southeastern prefectures.

Within a few months, everyone with any connection to Lin Qian had grown rich.

Country gentry from all over gathered to discuss matters; everyone wanted to keep the business going, so the usual social niceties played out, and they jointly yielded one-tenth of their profits to Lin Qian. Some, overly eager to advance themselves, privately gave Lin Qian as much as three-tenths.

Nan'ao Island became like the heart of the human body—each beat pumping out goods and drawing back silver.

For months, the abacus beads in the Nan'ao Island Household Registry Office never stopped clicking; clerks working day and night on the accounts became routine.

Few people knew the modern accounting methods Lin Qian had invented, and they were still hard to implement across the board, so the clerks continued using the Dragon Gate bookkeeping method for now. After reckoning, the sales revenue from the Hoi An voyage, plus the revenue from goods sold upon returning to Nan'ao, plus the profit shares yielded by land and sea merchants, came to over six hundred thousand taels of silver in all!

Of course, not all of that silver could go into the treasury yet.

Roughly two hundred thousand taels had to be set aside for next year's stockpiling for Hoi An, and debts from the first half of the year's Hirado stockpiling still had to be repaid.

Thanks to the seasonal nature of maritime trade, land merchants were willing to grant sea merchants a credit period as long as half a year.

Put plainly, it was an interest-free loan.

And because of Lin Qian's absolute dominance in trade, this interest-free credit line was very large—up to one hundred thousand taels.

From the perspective of the time value of money, only a fool would pass up a credit period.

This was also an important reason Lin Qian could simultaneously launch major construction, stockpile goods in bulk, and put warships into the water before the merchant convoy returned.

The fourth year of Tianqi, mid-July.

The fleet transporting teak timber returned.

The Tianyuan led the way, with fourteen Haicang ships following behind; each ship towed a simple raft loaded with teak.

One hundred ninety-six timbers, dragged all the way back like that.

To bring this batch of timber back, Mute Huang had racked his brains, devising countless plans.

The safest plan, naturally, was to avoid the trouble entirely—build the slipway at Fuchun and construct the new flagship there.

But building a flagship of this strategic grade on foreign soil was like building a nuclear bomb abroad—far too unsafe—and Lin Qian vetoed it.

Later, Mute Huang proposed single-deck transport, H-shaped twin-deck transport, purpose-built tugboat transport, and other methods.

All were rejected for reasons of time, cost, safety, and the like.

Mute Huang worried himself nearly white-haired, puffing endlessly on his pipe until he looked like he'd been soaked in tar.

In the end he finally hit upon the most traditional yet most effective method: raft transport.

The large teak timbers went on the decks—the whale's spine, for instance, rode on the Tianyuan's deck.

The slightly smaller ones were lashed into rafts and towed behind the sailing ships.

Aged teak has a natural oily protective layer, absorbs very little moisture, and resists seawater corrosion.

As long as the teak was secured with steel nails and rope, it could be towed safely.

Because they'd set sail near autumn, the fleet hugged the coast to avoid typhoons, and the journey was fraught with hardship every step of the way.

Even after successfully reaching Nan'ao Island, Bailangzai and Mute Huang dared not relax; without even taking time to greet Lin Qian, they went straight to inspect the teak.

Unloading, inspecting, warehousing—they worked from dawn until the small hours.

Not one of the one hundred ninety-six teak timbers was warped, lost, or cracked; only then did the two men finally relax, head home, and sink into deep sleep.

Two mornings later, in the conference room of the Yandun Bay shipyard, Lin Qian convened the final design review meeting for the new flagship.

Over those two days, every shipwright present had handled all one hundred ninety-six precious treasures, committing their size and material to memory, so the discussion was well-targeted.

Lin Qian had already drawn up the overall design plans for the new flagship.

The ship's length and beam, draft, mast lengths, sail arrangement, cabin layout, gun positions—all were fixed.

The design details of each component still needed the shipwrights to refine together.

Lin Qian's set of drawings was, in its entirety, a direct copy of Nelson's flagship HMS Agamemnon.

That ship's gun deck was 48 meters long, 13.5 meters wide, with a draft of 5.2 meters and a full-load displacement of 1,380 tons.

Its appearance resembled a scaled-down HMS Victory.

Three jibs and a gaff sail were set on the bowsprit.

The hull carried three masts; between the foremast and mainmast were three staysails, and between the mainmast and mizzenmast, two staysails.

These sails positioned between the masts could harness the wind passing between them, functioning like jibs while also steadying the hull and assisting with steering.

Apart from the mizzen's fore-and-aft sail, which maintained balance and aided turning, all other mast positions carried square sails.

The hull space was divided into six levels, from top to bottom: the poop deck (12 Folangji cannons), the upper deck (12 nine-pounder gun positions), the upper gun deck (26 twelve-pounder gun positions), the lower gun deck (26 eighteen-pounder gun positions), the lower deck, and the cargo hold.

On the upper deck, between the mainmast and the foremast, there was a large open section of deck used for ventilation and for loading and unloading cannons.

The stern featured four quarter galleries and two stern walkways.

The quarter galleries projected slightly from the hull, letting officers see directly toward the bow; in peacetime they served as officers' latrines and washrooms, and in battle they could serve as firing platforms.

Counting the cannons, it was clear the ship carried seventy-six guns in total.

Historically, the cannons on the quarterdeck and forecastle had no fixed gun positions, so they were not counted in the total cannon count, and the ship type was defined as a 64-gun ship of the line. At the same time, considering hull strength and center of gravity issues, this version's cannon design was relatively conservative, with slightly lower poundage than the historical version.

In the eighteenth century, this kind of ship of the line was mainly regarded as a cheap version of the 74-gun ship of the line, generally being the weak link in the line of battle. Placed in today's world, a hundred years earlier, a 64-gun ship of the line was already overwhelmingly powerful—not to mention dealing with a yacht, even a large galleon would have to steer clear when it saw one!

But no matter how beautiful the design drawings were, if the shipbuilding technology couldn't realize them, it was all for nothing.

The shipwrights gathered around Lin Qian's design drawings, talking from day into night.

The meeting lasted a full ten hours, finally converging on three problems.

First, insufficient structural strength.

The Agamemnon required tens of thousands of copper nails, copper bolts, and wrought iron fasteners, placing very high demands on smelting and forging technology.

Even with standardized workshop production, it was difficult to guarantee that the full frame ribs and thick planks could achieve a stable structure.

Second, insufficient teak timber.

Historically, a 74-gun ship of the line required nearly two thousand oak trees.

As this was the first construction on Nan'ao Island, it was hard to improve timber utilization rates, and the teak needed would only be more.

One hundred ninety-six teak logs could barely produce the keel, sternpost, stem post, and ribs; to achieve an all-teak hull structure, a large quantity of teak planks would still need to be purchased.

Third, a lack of bending capability for rib timber.

Most of the timber from Lord Nguyễn was straight-grained; the ribs used in shipbuilding in this era all had to be made from naturally curved timber.

Although there was a technique for heat-bending, that was meant for hull planks—no one had ever tried it on ribs.

It was already deep into the night, with lamps lit all around the meeting room.

Mute Huang smoked one pipe after another, and the smell of tobacco oil in the meeting room was so thick that even with two windows open it couldn't fully dissipate.

Lin Qian could see that everyone was exhausted, and said with a smile: "Let's stop here for today. Think over these three problems tonight, and we'll continue the discussion early tomorrow morning."

That night, after exercising, Lin Qian lay in bed, unable to fall asleep for a long time.

In his mind, the teak timber and the 3D model of the Agamemnon kept flipping and combining.

The dimensions, sizes, and strength of this batch of teak timber seemed almost born for the 64-gun ship of the line.

If they gave up due to technical difficulties and used it to build small ships instead, it would be a terrible waste of heaven's gifts.

After thinking for a long time, the crux of the problem still came down to the teak.

The next day, just as dawn broke, Lin Qian arrived at the Yandun Bay shipyard, had three large teak logs dragged out, and called all the shipwrights to assemble.

In front of the warehouse, Lin Qian said: "I thought it over last night. Teak planks can be bought—that's not the problem.

Of the three problems raised yesterday, rib bending and structural strength are actually one and the same problem, and it's the only one that's hard to solve.

Therefore, I plan to run an experiment.

Using naturally curved ribs as the control group, with heat-bent ribs, curved laminated ribs, and diagonal scarf-jointed ribs as the experimental groups.

We'll see which method performs similarly to naturally curved ribs.

The evaluation criteria are four items: dynamic structural strength, dynamic fatigue performance, impact resistance, and environmental durability.

The testing period is three months, during which time we'll first proceed with fabricating the keel from joined timber.

Three months later, using the data obtained, we'll revise the gun positions."

Having said this, Lin Qian picked up a tree branch and drew simple fabrication diagrams for the curved laminated ribs and diagonal scarf-jointed ribs on the beach.

These two methods were both mature techniques used by the French and English in the 18th century, capable of perfectly replacing naturally curved timber.

Simply put, curved laminated ribs involve alternately gluing together multiple layers of thin planks and fastening them with bolts.

Diagonal scarf-jointed ribs involve joining multiple segments of timber at long diagonal angles, locked in place with wooden pegs and bolts.

The principles weren't complicated to explain, but actually doing it was exceedingly difficult, and Lin Qian himself had no idea how high the success rate could be.

Mute Huang pointed at the three large teak logs and shook his head.

Lin Qian knew what he meant, and said: "Our bolts, ship nails, and fasteners can't improve much in the short term, and our detail design still has shortcomings, so the hull structure will rely to a great extent on the teak's own strength.

This batch of timber from Lord Nguyễn has been aged for many years, and it all grew under pressure conditions over many years, making it stronger than ordinary teak. Testing with this batch will give accurate results.

Don't worry—I've heard that across the Indochinese Peninsula, countries like Chenla, Lan Xang, Siam, and Toungoo all have the custom of stockpiling teak timber to build Buddhist temples and palaces.

Compared to these countries, Quảng Nam is only a small state.

As long as we have ships, 'transporting' these treasured timbers will be very convenient."

Mute Huang nodded.

Lin Qian said: "Take a batch of the ordinary teak planks bought from Hội An out of the warehouse as well, and build two curved laminated ribs separately as an experimental group."

"Yes!" the carpenters answered in unison.

After giving his instructions, Lin Qian went to the warehouse again and took another look at the teak timber.

He felt that he had previously placed too much importance on the teak timber—this stuff grew all over the Indochinese Peninsula.

A single Quảng Nam could produce the main timber for a 64-gun ship of the line.

What about a country like the Ayutthaya Kingdom of Siam, which had designated teak as "royal timber"—how much teak must it have in stock? And the Toungoo Dynasty, currently the top power on the Indochinese Peninsula and a famous teak-producing region—how many ships could its teak build? And then there was the soft target of the Chenla Kingdom, whose territory was even being steadily encroached upon by Lord Nguyễn—its teak might not be much, but 'acquiring' it would presumably not be too difficult.

Having clearly seen the value of teak timber, Lin Qian no longer felt constrained—so what if he treated the new flagship as another experimental group? Teak was merely a tool; knowledge was the true power!

Several more days passed.

A dispatch from the Ministry of War arrived at Nan'ao, commending the Nan'ao naval forces for exterminating the bandit Zhong Bin.

During this period, Lin Qian had been promoted too quickly, and this time it was only a minor merit of suppressing sea bandits, so the Ministry of War only gave verbal praise.

However, considering there was no substantive reward, the verbal praise was quite lavish, with some phrases so flattering that even Lin Qian found them hard to listen to. For example: "Splitting waves and breaking through billows, manifestly displaying the might of brave warriors; sinking ships and burning vessels, utterly stripping the courage of demons" and so forth.

Aside from the factual narrative portions, the entire dispatch was written in this parallel-prose style, reading smoothly and elegantly—definitely a masterpiece of prose.

The officials and Bureau Secretaries of the Ministry of War must have put considerable effort into writing it.

Lin Qian courteously saw off the official who had read the dispatch aloud.

Then he said to Ma Chenglie: "Write another official document to Governor Shang, and have my official rank moved up a bit as well."

Half a month later.

Ma Chenglie's official dispatch arrived on the desk of Shang Zhouzuo, the Governor of Fujian.

The dispatch requested that He Ping be transferred to the post of Assistant Regional Commander of the Southern Fujian Circuit.

The Assistant Regional Commander of the Southern Fujian Circuit was a standing military post responsible for garrisoning the two prefectures of Zhangzhou and Quanzhou, overseeing both coastal and land defense.

The previous Assistant Regional Commander of the Southern Fujian Circuit was already in his sixties; his family were land merchants who had made a modest fortune. The moment Ma Chenglie's transfer request arrived, his own petition for retirement came up right alongside it.

Shang Zhouzuo appeared to have a choice, but in truth he had none—he could only express his agreement and forward the matter to the Ministry of War.

In fact, anyone with eyes could see that the Ministry of War, the Grand Secretariat, and the Directorate of Ceremonial were merely going through the motions; this dispatch was certain to be approved.

Just in the sixth month, Yang Lian, the Left Vice Censor-in-Chief, had submitted his "Memorial Accusing Wei Zhongxian of Twenty-Four Great Crimes," which had thrown His Majesty into a rage.

Several ministers submitted memorials in support of Yang Lian and were likewise rebuked.

The court had suddenly become a storm of fury, a clash of fire and water that could not coexist.

The Donglin Faction and the eunuch faction had said every foul thing imaginable of each other, fabricated every crime worthy of exterminating entire families against their opponents—the only thing left was coming to blows right in the great hall. At a time when factional strife was raging like this, never mind Ma Chenglie merely requesting a lateral transfer for an Assistant Regional Commander—even if he had raised an outright rebellion in the southeast, both sides would probably have said, "Well revolted!"

It was like two martial arts masters locked in a contest of inner force, at the critical moment of life and death, when a cowherd boy happened to pass by—who would dare curse, "You little brat, get the hell out of here"? No, they would surely say, "Good lad, go stab that bastard across from you, and I'll buy you eggs to eat!" That was the only proper response.

At the same time Ma Chenglie sent his dispatch to Shang Zhouzuo, another dispatch also arrived on Hu Yingtai's desk.

Its contents requested the transfer of the current Garrison Commander of Nan'ao to the post of Garrison Commander of Chaozhou.

This current Garrison Commander of Nan'ao was, naturally, another of Lin Qian's trusted men.

Hu Yingtai flew into a rage: "Does he treat the offices of the court as his own family's private property? Appointing his confidants at will, cultivating his own faction—what does he intend? Even if it costs me my office, I will never tolerate his reckless behavior!"

A staff adviser counseled him: "Nan'ao Island is a key stronghold of southeastern coastal defense. Beyond its formidable garrison, within the court it has Grand Secretary Ye as its patron. I beg Your Excellency to think carefully." Hu Yingtai roared: "What do you mean, Grand Secretary Ye as its patron? The Chief Grand Secretary is an incorruptible official, loyal and devoted to the state. Is his lifelong reputation to be ruined at the hands of such a man?"

Seeing that he could not be persuaded, the adviser tried another angle: "Your Excellency, did the Ministry of War not just issue a commendation for his achievements not long ago? Clearly His Majesty and the Grand Secretariat both hold Nan'ao in approval.

And setting that aside, given the Great Ming's current situation, stabilizing the southeast is also a matter of paramount importance."

Hu Yingtai slammed the table, the shock sending his brush rest clattering to the floor, wolf-hair brushes scattering everywhere.

"Have you not heard the saying—appeasing Qin with territory is like carrying firewood to put out a fire? Today we make concessions to Nan'ao for the sake of the Liaodong affair; tomorrow, once the Liaodong affair is settled, Nan'ao will become a festering threat at the heart of the court!"

Hu Yingtai rose and paced, pondering how to respond.

After a long while, he sat back down and said, "Grind the ink."

The adviser said in a low voice, "Your Excellency, you cannot submit another memorial."

Hu Yingtai said, "Who said anything about a memorial? I am writing to Grand Secretary Ye. The affairs of the realm cannot be ruined by this intermingling of yours and mine. Since the Assistant Regional Commander of Nan'ao is the Grand Secretary's grandson-in-law, he ought not to stand aloof from this."

Early in the ninth month.

Ye Zhen had been married to Lin Qian for nearly a full year, and she returned to her natal home to visit her family.

In the inner quarters, her mother and grandmother held her close, beaming as they looked her over again and again.

Her grandmother said, "You've put on a bit of weight, and you've grown steadier. Good."

Her mother stroked her hand and said, "This past year, have you suffered any grievances in your husband's home?"

Ye Zhen smiled and said, "None at all. My husband treats me very well."

Her grandmother teased, "Look at that girl Baikou—she's even less disciplined than when she was in our household. That just shows how utterly lawless the lot of them must be in their husbands' homes!" Baikou, who had been sneaking a bite of pastry, immediately wiped her mouth and stood at attention upon hearing this.

Her grandmother laughed and said, "Eat, eat. You can't come back to your natal home and be more constrained than at your husband's house."

"Hehe." Baikou grinned. "The young master treats miss so well. He never restrains miss at all—if miss wants to go out, she goes out; if she wants to rise at whatever hour in the morning, she rises at whatever—

"Baikou!" Ye Zhen's face flushed red, and she hurriedly told her to stop talking.

Her mother said with a stern face, "A new bride must pay her respects and serve tea to her mother-in-law each morning. Your mother-in-law may not be present, but you still cannot lie in bed and refuse to rise. If your husband's family sees it, they will start gossiping."

Her grandmother came to her rescue: "I think my grandson-in-law is an easygoing man and wouldn't care about such things... but you two have been married a year now—why is there still no sign of a pregnancy?"

Ye Zhen's face grew even redder.

Her grandmother said, "Where is Ranqiu?"

Baikou said, "She's been busy attending to the young master lately and can't get away."

Her grandmother said, "Never mind. Have Yueyi go find Nurse Li—she's recently obtained a method for praying for children. Have Yueyi learn it, then teach it to Zhen'er." "Oh, no need!" Ye Zhen's face was crimson, her voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

Her mother said urgently, "What do you mean, no need? You learn it properly!"

Greatly embarrassed, Ye Zhen hurriedly changed the subject: "Oh, right—my husband brought gifts for Mother and Grandmother. Baikou, bring them in quickly."

"Yes!" Baikou acknowledged, and a moment later several maidservants carried in three large wooden chests.

Her mother said in surprise, "So many?"

Ye Zhen opened one of the chests. Inside, stacked layer upon layer, were bundles and packages of all sizes—rock sugar, pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, sea cucumber, shark fin, and goods of that sort.

"This is far too precious." Her mother exclaimed in astonishment.

"No wonder everyone outside says our grandson-in-law has made a fortune in maritime trade." Her grandmother said with a meaningful smile.

"My husband said these things are precious in the Great Ming, but in Hoi An they are merely ordinary goods. He feared that sending too little would fail to show his sincerity.

I said the Ye household is certainly not the sort of family that despises poverty and craves wealth—these gifts were personally selected by my husband, and this filial intent alone is more than enough."

At these words, the expressions of both her grandmother and mother improved considerably.

Her grandmother laughed and said, "You little girl—you certainly know how to sell favors on our behalf!"

Ye Zhen smiled and took out a piece of jet-black wood, handing it to Baikou. "Light this."

Baikou fetched an incense burner and, through an extremely elaborate procedure, smothered it open using the method of indirect heat incense.

Within moments, a complex and elegant fragrance began to diffuse through the air.

The room was immediately enveloped in floral and fruity notes.

The scent was crisp and refreshing without being cloyingly sweet, carrying a hint of minty coolness and a faint trace of medicinal aroma, calming the mind and spirit.

Her grandmother said, "Is this agarwood?"

"Yes." Ye Zhen said. "My husband knew that the elders are fond of agarwood, so he prepared it especially."

Her mother nodded. "That was thoughtful of him."

Ye Zhen said, "Where is Grandfather? My husband prepared a gift for him as well."

Her mother looked embarrassed and did not answer, glancing at Grandmother.

Grandmother said: "He has gone to a friend's residence as a guest and will return shortly. When you see him in a moment, don't mention anything about gifts."

"Why?"

Grandmother was unwilling to elaborate: "It's just one of those matters of officialdom — best not to get involved."

"Yes, granddaughter understands."

The three generations of women chatted for a long while, the conversation circling around and inevitably returning to Ye Zhen's belly, until she wished she could dig a hole in the ground and crawl into it. Finally, a maidservant's announcement came from outside the courtyard: "The master has returned."

Ye Zhen rose and said to her two elders: "Granddaughter will go pay respects to Grandfather."

"Go on."

Ye Zhen walked to the flower hall, greeted Ye Xianggao with proper ceremony, and exchanged some ordinary pleasantries.

Ye Xianggao said flatly: "Those gifts outside — Lin Qian sent them, didn't he? When you return, take them all back with you. Though I do not restrain what he does, neither do I accept his gifts."

Just then a maidservant came to serve tea. Ye Zhen took the teacup, set it before Ye Xianggao's table, and said softly:

"My husband is Grandfather's grandson-in-law, truly no different from a son of the house. Should a misunderstanding exist and remain unspoken, I fear it would be like a river dammed until it bursts — harming many. In this granddaughter's humble view, it would be better for Grandfather to offer clear instruction in the hall, so that my husband may know to reflect and reform, and so the whole household may see Grandfather's intent to urge and protect.

Thus the household will remain pure and harmonious, with no resentment within or without — that is the blessing that endures."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen