Chapter 204: The Fleet That Died in the Storm

Wei Zhongxian muttered, "Killing members of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot in secret—this is outright rebellion!"

The Chiliarch of the Eastern Depot said with a mournful face, "I beg Nine Thousand Years to avenge us!"

Wang Tigan said stiffly, "Get out!"

"Yes." The Chiliarch withdrew.

Wang Tigan advised, "Nine Thousand Years, this man's intent to rebel is plain as day. We cannot wait any longer. I beg Nine Thousand Years to seek an audience with the Emperor and obtain an imperial edict to suppress the rebellion." "What use would that be?"

Wei Zhongxian said angrily. He knew Wang Tigan's meaning—it was to have the Emperor first brand Lin Qian a rebel, and by hijacking imperial authority, weaken the impact of Lin Qian's later slogan of "cleansing the court of evil ministers" on himself.

But how could Wei Zhongxian dare gamble his own life and fortune? If the grain transport remained blocked for long, if the Nan'ao fleet sailed north to Tianjin, what road to survival would he have left?

Wei Zhongxian's chest heaved violently, his mind racing through a hundred possibilities: "The realm is ultimately His Majesty's realm, not mine, Wei San's. Why should I risk my own life for something that belongs to another?

That surname Lin and surname Ma—all they seek is a broken patch of land in Fujian. What does it matter if we give it to them?

The Great Ming's two capitals and thirteen provinces all rest on my shoulders—is that not exhausting?

Since I cannot defeat them, then whatever he wants, let him have it. Preserving my own wealth and glory—that is what truly matters!"

His mind made up, Wei Zhongxian said slowly, "A few days ago, didn't Regional Commander Zhao of Fujian submit a memorial, declining his post?"

"That is so."

"Then let it be as he wishes. Let the surname Ma become Regional Commander of Fujian, the surname Lin Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao, and the surname Zhao go back to where he came from."

Wang Tigan's heart jolted. He said, "Nine Thousand Years, is this not handing Fujian over on a silver platter?"

Wei Zhongxian looked up and said, "It is handing it over on a silver platter. What else can be done?"

Wang Tigan grew frantic, about to remonstrate, but opened his mouth and found no words.

He had wanted to say that they could find some literati and scholars to write essays condemning Lin Qian for maintaining troops for his own aggrandizement and plotting rebellion—from the realm of public opinion, casting Lin Qian as a wolf-hearted traitor and villain.

This would neutralize the lethality of Lin Qian's "cleansing the court" slogan. Even if the war went poorly, His Majesty would not easily move against Nine Thousand Years.

This was also why they had dared to keep provoking and testing Lin Qian before, even knowing he could cut off the grain transport.

But now, Nine Thousand Years had been too hasty in killing members of the Donglin Faction, his methods too cruel, causing the empire's scholars and common people to become estranged and disaffected.

Lin Qian's execution of the mounted agents would surely surge his prestige among the literati. It was already too late to sling mud and smear him now.

Wang Tigan thought to himself: "For now, the only course is to stabilize Lin Qian, while at the same time striking even more ruthlessly—sever all of His Majesty's eyes and ears abroad, such as Sun Chengzong and Yuan Keli and their ilk, completely cutting off communication between inside and outside.

That way, no matter how great Lin Qian's prestige among the scholarly class, it cannot reach His Majesty's ears. Then there will be no fear of his threats, and we can strike him down for good." Having finished his deliberations, Wang Tigan laid out the entire plan.

Wei Zhongxian's eyes lit up as he listened: "First use the post of Fujian Regional Commander to stabilize the surname Ma and the surname Lin, then give them plenty of other benefits.

Send word to Tian Ergeng—kill according to that *Donglin Roll of Generals*, and don't let a single one escape!

Arrange for court officials to urgently impeach Sun and Yuan, those two base bones. And those little imps under their command—keep a close watch on them too. Any who are disloyal, drag them down as well.

The civil officials in the provinces must also be watched. Note down all those who haven't built birth shrines, and impeach them one by one."

"Yes." Wang Tigan added, "Nine Thousand Years, Xiong Tingbi is still locked in prison."

"Ha!" Wei Zhongxian clapped his hands smugly. "The people he could have used to implicate others are mostly dead by now. Why keep him around?

Execute him at once! Let his head be shown to all the frontier generals—so they can see what happens to those who don't attach themselves to me!"

Wang Tigan said, "Put that head on display at Shanhai Pass to pressure Sun Chengzong. As long as he makes a mistake in the chaos, impeaching him will become much easier." Wei Zhongxian was overjoyed: "Then it's settled!"

In mid-May, the weather on Nan'ao Island was hot and humid, with increasing rainfall.

Today was a rest day. The island's workshops were on holiday, children were out of school, and many islanders had come to play on Qing'ao Bay's beach—a place of fine, clean sand and clear turquoise waters, truly a vacation paradise.

The acacia flowers on the hillside were in full bloom, a golden sea of blossoms set against the blue sea, clear sky, and green forest—a truly extraordinary sight that lifted the spirits.

Ye Zhen was now six months pregnant, the fetus stable. Coincidentally, Lin Qian had little business today, so he brought his family and servants to Qing'ao Bay for a holiday. On the beach, servants set up reclining chairs, and Lin Qian helped Ye Zhen lie down.

Maidservants opened sun umbrellas for her and handed over coconut juice.

Ranqiu directed the servants to erect a curtain, but Lin Qian stopped her: "This thing blocks the wind. Forget it."

Lin Qian also lay down on a reclining chair, took the coconut juice, and took a sip—sweet and sour, icy cold.

Xiao Hei ran back and forth between the sea and the sand, tongue flapping wildly, utterly ecstatic.

Su Qingmei chased behind, shouting anxiously: "Don't get washed away by the waves, you silly Xiao Hei!"

Looking further out, groups of two or three visitors were everywhere—men and women alike. Some couples even sat together openly, and some men had stripped off their clothes and jumped into the sea to swim.

The visitors' laughter and chatter never ceased.

Lin Qian's face was full of smiles.

Ye Zhen followed his gaze and asked curiously, "What is my husband looking at?"

Lin Qian said, "Watching the common folk enjoy themselves is more interesting than watching the blue sea and sky."

Ranqiu sighed with emotion: "For common folk elsewhere, having enough to eat and wear is already a life of immortals. A whole family going out together in summer like this—this servant has truly never seen it before." Lin Qian murmured, "If only all our Chinese common folk could live like this."

Ye Zhen was startled: "What did my husband say?"

Lin Qian smiled gently: "Nothing. In the future, when I'm busy with official duties, if you grow bored at home, go wherever you like on your own. Nan'ao Island doesn't have as many rules of propriety as the mainland."

Ye Zhen said playfully, "Without my husband accompanying me, nowhere is any fun."

Lin Qian didn't catch it: "What?"

Ye Zhen's face flushed: "Hmph, if you didn't hear, then forget it!"

At that moment, a fast horse came galloping along the newly built Shenqing Road. Reaching them, it handed Ranqiu a stack of official documents.

Ranqiu said with displeasure, "Didn't we say the helmsman is resting today, and not to disturb him unless it's urgent?"

The messenger guardsman said apologetically, "Heh heh, my apologies—these are all urgent matters..."

Ranqiu was speechless and handed the documents to Lin Qian.

Lin Qian opened the first one and saw it was an imperial decree, appointing Ma Chenglie as Regional Commander of Fujian and Lin Qian as Vice Regional Commander of Nan'ao.

On this imperial decree, in black and white, it read "Lin Qian"—not "He Ping."

Moreover, the decree had been received by Ma Chenglie; they hadn't even troubled Lin Qian to come accept it in person.

Such conduct was completely contrary to Great Ming regulations—nothing short of baffling.

But this breach of protocol, compared with a eunuch being called Nine Thousand Years and infringing on imperial authority, seems rather insignificant.

In history, those who could be honored as Nine Thousand Years and take it in stride—besides Wei Zhongxian, there was only Yang Xiuqing.

And strictly speaking, Wei Zhongxian was Nine Thousand Nine Hundred Years, nine hundred years more than that Yang Xiuqing possessed by the Heavenly Father.

As for what the post of Fujian Regional Commander required, Ma Chenglie already understood it clearly, so Lin Qian saw no need to meet with him in person—he simply wrote an official document ordering him to assume the post. At the same time, he signed another order for Bailangzai to withdraw his troops.

The next document was the proof copy of the first issue of the *Nan'ao Times*, which was to be carved onto blocks and printed once Lin Qian reviewed it and found no errors.

Because of its timeliness, it was also an urgent matter.

On the weekly paper, most of the layout was taken up by the court's Capital Gazette, which had been shipped directly from Tianjin by eagle ships—more than half a month faster than distribution by land routes.

Apart from that, the weekly paper gave prominent coverage to promoting Lin Qian's three slogans.

At Lin Qian's request, the articles were written in a style half-classical and half-vernacular, complete with punctuation marks, so that scholars could read them with furrowed brows and common folk could understand them with a bit of guessing. The remaining space was filled with news from Fujian and Guangdong, such as the Nan'ao naval forces suppressing sea bandits at the Min River estuary.

Although this incident had occurred in the first month, information traveled slowly in this era, and there would always be those who did not know.

The sea bandit suppression story also came with a large illustrated picture, a tactic designed to boost sales.

Lin Qian skimmed through it, found no problems, and signed the character "approved."

The next document was Zhou Qiyuan's list of candidates for the Qingping Office and his preliminary work plan.

The next one was the situation at Hirado port, relayed back by eagle ship.

The next document was the situation at Hoi An port.

To hold sway over a faction, one could almost never have leisure—information from various channels was extremely motley and complex.

The more one wanted sound policies and reasonable decisions, the more information one needed to grasp, accepting large volumes of reports from subordinates and constantly organizing, filtering, and deliberating.

All people have desires for power, greed, and fame.

No matter how loyal a minister or capable a general you are, if you do not impose checks and balances and instead listen only to one side, you will eventually become either a treacherous sycophant or an overbearing minister—no one is exempt.

It was impossible to think that by appointing a few trusted aides or establishing a perfect system of checks and balances, one could just be a hands-off boss.

In the final analysis, to properly wield power was, in terms of workload, a bitter chore.

Fortunately, though Lin Qian suffered, seeing the people under his rule able to play freely beneath the blue sea and sky, showing smiles, not worrying about food and drink, not fretting over their livelihoods—that made everything worthwhile.

Boom!

Lightning tore through the sky, wild thunder shook the four fields.

Though it was noon, heaven and earth were shrouded in darkness.

At the Hirado docks, waves surged over ten feet high, white foam cresting at their tops as they slammed against the pier, a fearsome sight.

This was thanks to Hirado Island blocking the strong southwest wind; out in the open sea west of Nagasaki, the waves were even more terrifying.

On the docks, shipwrights were reinforcing mooring lines amid the wind and waves.

A foreman, holding his hat against the storm, shouted: "The cargo on the ships is precious—tie everything tight, don't let anything get knocked about!"

In the keep of Kameoka Castle, the shogunate's raw silk monopoly official Chaya Jiro gazed at the surging harbor, his heart full of anxiety.

Since Li Dan's death, the Ming smuggling caravans had sharply dwindled. It was now mid-May, and only seven or eight merchant ships had called at Hirado.

Four of those were Dutch merchant ships, all from Batavia, specializing in transshipment trade—scarce goods and high prices, to say nothing of that.

The most critical item, raw silk, amounted to barely two thousand piculs—less than three-tenths of last year's total.

What could this little silk do? Not even enough to fill the gaps between one's teeth!

If this year's silk procurement fell short, triggering price fluctuations, how would the angry generals and daimyo deal with the Chaya family? The thought alone sent chills down one's spine. But the good news was that the Ming treasure fleet had not yet arrived in port.

In previous years, the Ming treasure fleet had been the largest at Hirado in both number of ships and scale.

Just last year alone, it had brought over four thousand piculs of raw silk, supplying silk workshops across most of Japan.

There was so much raw silk that the silk industry boomed, with over a hundred new workshops opening on Kyushu Island alone.

Those people were all eagerly waiting for this year's shipment.

The bad news was that since the start of May, Hirado had been hit by torrential rainstorms every few days.

Today's storm was the strongest of all, and raw silk was the thing most afraid of water damage.

Sailing in such sea conditions, even the Ming treasure fleet, made up entirely of large ships, could not withstand it!

Chaya Jiro prayed incessantly in his heart, hoping the Ming people could avoid the storm and reach port safely!

Suddenly, a fleet of ships sailed past the southeastern ridge of Hirado, heading toward the harbor.

Chaya Jiro's gaze sharpened—indeed, what one fears most comes!

Beneath the gray sky, the fleet struggled through the waves, moving at an abnormally slow pace, barely making it to the harbor's edge.

The hulls were damaged everywhere, and the sails were torn in many places.

Fortunately, they used hard sails; with this degree of sail damage, they could still barely navigate. Had they been the soft sails of a European-style ship, this fleet would likely have already sunk to the bottom of the sea.

"One, two, three... seventeen!" Chaya Jiro counted several times and was horrified to find that only seventeen ships had arrived—less than half of last year's number. He could not sit still, called for his attendants, ran out of the keep, and made his way all the way to the docks.

By this time, Bai Qing and the others had already come down from the ships and were sheltering from the rain in the harbor office.

Chaya Jiro entered, first exchanging a few insincere pleasantries, then asked: "Why have only seventeen ships called at port this year? Has something happened?" His words were a mix of half-Chinese and half-Japanese, but since they were all old acquaintances, they could understand each other.

Lü Zhou took off his shoes and poured out the water—his soles had turned white and wrinkled from soaking. He sighed, his tone very heavy: "Ah, don't even mention it. Just after leaving Nan'ao Island, in the Dongning Strait, we ran into a huge storm, and half the ships sank outright!"

Chaya Jiro: "And the raw silk... ahem! Casualties weren't too heavy, I hope?"

Bai Qing wrung out his hair as he spoke: "Fortunately, the watertight compartments held, so we didn't lose many lives. But most of the cargo was soaked and ruined. Porcelain and deerskin were fine enough, but unfortunately quite a lot of the raw silk was ruined by water."

Bai Qing then lifted his clothes to wring out the hem, and gestured with his eyes toward a corner of the office: "There's a chest over there—please take a look yourself, sir."

Chaya Jiro walked over and saw it was a ship's cargo chest with the lid already open. He looked inside, and his heart turned to ashes on the spot.

Inside the chest, more than half was water, with raw silk and oiled paper floating on the surface—like shark fin being soaked!

Raw silk was the thing most afraid of water: at best it lost its luster and turned yellow; at worst it clumped together and became unusable.

This chest soaked to such a state was clearly waste, not worth a single coin.

Boom!

Another muffled thunderclap sounded outside the government office.

He Sai said, his voice choked with tears: "This is all top-grade Huzhou silk! What a waste of heaven's bounty!"

Bai Qing and Lü Zhou glanced at him, thinking to themselves: "How does a barbarian use Chinese idioms more fluently than we do?"

Chaya Jiro cared little about the loss of the Great Ming Treasure Fleet, but too little raw silk supply would cause violent fluctuations in market prices, and he could not bear that consequence.

He asked in a trembling voice: "Then, then... then how much raw silk has your fleet brought this time?"

The three men exchanged glances.

He Sai said: "Less than a hundred piculs."

Boom!

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky.

"This... this this..." Chaya Jiro's hands were trembling.

As the saying goes, "The spring silkworm spins until death, its silk ends only with life." Among all the silkworm harvests in a year, spring silkworms yield the most; after they spin their cocoons, the silk is reeled into raw silk.

Thus, the peak production period is the third to fourth month of the lunar calendar each year.

By the time the Great Ming Treasure Fleet set sail, it was already mid-April; virtually all the raw silk in the southeast of the Great Ming that could be purchased had already been bought up. Summer silkworms had not yet spun cocoons, and even if they did, their yield and quality would be inferior to spring silkworms—autumn silkworms were the same.

It could be said that this shipwreck of the Great Ming Treasure Fleet had directly cut off Japan's entire year's supply of raw silk!

Bai Qing, having wrung most of the water from his clothes, consoled him: "Your Excellency need not worry. We are a responsible trading company. Any losses caused by insufficient supply will be borne by us!"

These words were a recitation of what Lin Qian had said.

Bai Qing had someone bring over a delivery voucher, handed it to Chaya Jiro, explained how it worked, and then said: "The Helmsman will purchase raw silk at high prices from weaving households along the southeastern coast and ship it to Hirado. By June of next year at the latest, this year's shortfall will definitely be made up."

After hearing Bai Qing's introduction, Chaya Jiro was dubious: "With this year's raw silk supply insufficient, Hirado's market price is bound to soar. Your trading company truly intends to sell a picul of Huzhou silk for one hundred eighty taels?"

Bai Qing said: "The Helmsman is willing to put up one hundred thousand taels from this voyage's trade as collateral."

Doubt grew in Chaya Jiro's eyes—did there truly exist in this world a merchant so generous in aiding others?

Bai Qing said: "Li Dan is dead. The Helmsman's gesture is also meant to leave a good impression on the Hirado domain and the shogunate. I hope Your Excellency can serve as an intermediary and put in a good word or two. If we could establish a trading house, that would be best of all."

At this, a look of understanding appeared on Chaya Jiro's face. So the Great Ming Treasure Fleet also had something to ask for—that made it far more credible.

After Li Dan's death, the shogunate and Hirado both needed someone to take his place and continue supplying goods to Japan.

Recommending this so-called "Helmsman" was no more than a trivial effort.

So Chaya Jiro asked: "How much do you sell these delivery vouchers for?"

Bai Qing said in surprise: "Why would we sell them for money?"

Chaya Jiro was taken aback by the counter-question. Having been steeped in commerce since childhood, he instinctively sensed that this option itself had value.

For instance, if one delivery voucher sold for one tael of silver, then at maturity, even if the market price fell below one hundred eighty taels, one simply did not take delivery—losing only one tael. But if at maturity the market price was two hundred taels, one could use the voucher to buy Huzhou silk at one hundred eighty taels, then sell it at two hundred, minus the one-tael option fee, netting nineteen taels of profit.

If the market price at maturity was two hundred fifty taels, then one would net forty-nine taels.

No ceiling on the upside!

The issuer of the option bore such great risk, so it was only reasonable that selling options should command some consideration.

Yet Bai Qing looked utterly bewildered, clearly intending to give away these "delivery vouchers" for free!

For a moment, Chaya Jiro did not know whether to call the Helmsman generous or call the Helmsman a fool.

Wouldn't this mean the voucher holder was guaranteed to profit without risk, while the voucher issuer was guaranteed to lose without gain?

Chaya Jiro confirmed once more: "At maturity, one may choose not to take delivery on these vouchers, correct?"

"Naturally! Not taking delivery just means forgoing a benefit—no one can object to that."

Seeing that Bai Qing did not understand, Chaya Jiro asked more specifically: "Suppose at maturity, the market price is one hundred fifty taels of silver—what would you do?" "Then we sell at one hundred fifty, and the voucher becomes void! Look at you—what do you take the Helmsman for? Would he force anyone to buy or sell?" Chaya Jiro was now certain: this delivery voucher truly was a guaranteed profit with no risk of loss!

With this silver handed over for free, the resentment of Japan's silk-weaving households could be somewhat appeased.

Yet such an extraordinarily good deal always made Chaya Jiro uneasy. He asked bluntly to confirm: "What if, at maturity, you break your agreement?" "Isn't there the collateral silver? Besides, the Helmsman has come to Hirado so many times—he would never do anything to ruin his own reputation."

"Then... then, what if at maturity the market price is extremely high, and you lose too much?"

Bai Qing smiled: "Raw silk averages seventy to one hundred taels in the Great Ming. Selling at one hundred eighty, we profit either way—just a bit less. The Helmsman often teaches us that we should be Confucian merchants, knowing how to yield profits to the people."

Chaya Jiro clasped his hands in salute: "Admirable! May I ask how many delivery vouchers there are in total?"

"The Helmsman has prepared two thousand piculs' worth."

Not much—but it was being given away for free; what more could one ask?

Chaya Jiro agreed readily. The men warmed themselves by the fire inside the government office, waiting until evening before the torrential rain finally stopped.

Bai Qing had the crew hurry to unload the cargo, and at the same time brought out the delivery vouchers.

Each voucher had a face value of one picul; two thousand piculs' worth of vouchers meant two thousand sheets of paper, stacked about as high as a forearm.

The items took up little space, were stored in the stern cabin, and wrapped in oiled paper on the outside, so they had not gotten wet.

Chaya Jiro remained wary, staring at the vouchers and firing off question after question.

"Why is every single one denominated at one picul?"

Bai Qing said: "The Helmsman felt that Japanese weaving households wouldn't each need much. Printing them in one-picul denominations makes them convenient to distribute and redeem."

According to Lin Qian's explanation, this was actually to facilitate circulation—only financial assets with liquidity had room for speculation.

Bai Qing, for his part, had not understood Lin Qian's meaning at all; he merely recited the script Lin Qian had taught him.

"Were these delivery vouchers printed in advance?"

"The Helmsman owns a print shop in Zhangzhou. They were carved and printed on new blocks, then rushed to the ship by fast vessel."

"Why do they have such intricate patterns, and each one a unique serial number?"

"That's to prevent counterfeiting. The paper is also a special mulberry-pith paper—feel it. The Helmsman is a Confucian merchant, but he's no fool; he won't let people take advantage of him for nothing."

Chaya Jiro exhausted every means at his disposal, yet still could not find any hidden flaw in this delivery voucher.

That was because, at the issuance stage, there truly was no flaw whatsoever—the real trap was hidden by Lin Qian in his later moves.

The reason he used options rather than futures was that options were more deceptive, appearing safer on the surface.

Moreover, Lin Qian had no political power in Hirado, so even if the futures contracts matured, he could not guarantee forced delivery.

A futures contract that cannot unilaterally guarantee forced delivery is, in fact, an option.

At the same time, Lin Qian deliberately refrained from pricing the two thousand dan of delivery vouchers, also to reduce risk.

Hirado's commodity economy was developed, but surely not to the point of being like Amsterdam's—low acceptance of such financial products was only to be expected.

So as a door-opener, the two thousand dan of delivery vouchers were simply not priced by Lin Qian at all—clearly and plainly zero risk!!

If risk could be quantified, then in this era, seeing a financial product with a risk level of 1 would make many people shrink back.

But seeing a financial product with zero risk—how could anyone not try it!

Once greed is stirred up, quitting it is truly harder than quitting smoking.

Besides, Hirado had the Dutch, those masters of speculation—if the delivery vouchers didn't get hyped up, it would defy all reason!

Even if the Dutch didn't speculate, Lin Qian had plenty of follow-up speculative tricks in store!

Just as Chaya Jiro was calculating how to profit from the delivery vouchers, Lin Qian, far away on Nan'ao Island, was already anticipating the spectacle of the bubble bursting! That evening, Chaya Jiro took the two thousand delivery vouchers and returned to the keep of Kameoka Castle.

Along the way, he had already figured out his method for profit.

He called over his subordinates and had five hundred delivery vouchers distributed first, giving them to Hirado's weavers and merchants waiting to purchase raw silk.

At this time it was the thirteenth day of the fifth month in the fifth year of Tianqi; on Hirado's raw silk black market, the trading price for Huzhou silk was 195 taels per dan.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen