Chapter 210: The Nan'ao Times and United Front Work

The place Lin Qian pointed to was none other than a strategic location west of Zhao'an County in Zhangzhou Prefecture—Fenshui Pass.

This place marked the boundary between Zhangzhou and Chaozhou. With its perilous terrain and commanding heights, it was the transportation throat linking the eight Min provinces to the east and Guangdong and Guangxi to the west, known as "the First Pass of Southern Zhang."

Choosing this spot for the new army's garrison made the intention unmistakable.

It was a sword pointed straight at Chaozhou!

Lin Qian's strategic vision was that once war broke out with the Ming dynasty, Guangdong would be taken first.

Foshan was the most important steel-producing region in all of Jiangnan, the Bocarro cannon foundry was also located in Macao, and Chaozhou—where Lin Qian had operated for years—was a producer of Chaozhou silk, making Guangdong province extremely important.

Lin Qian had originally planned to use institutional means to slowly absorb Guangdong, just as he had swallowed up Fujian.

But Hu Yingtai's tenure as Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi made it difficult for Lin Qian to insert his people into Guangdong.

That said, Hu Yingtai was not a member of the eunuch faction either, stubbornly refusing to build a shrine to Wei Zhongxian.

Wei Zhongxian tolerated him only because he could contain Lin Qian—a rare instance of acting for the country's sake.

Since he couldn't enter Guangdong wearing Ming official robes, he would blast his way in with cannons!

Next, Lin Qian explained the details of the new army to the three men.

This army of ten thousand was to be recruited entirely from commoners, with soldiers selected from farming households in Zhangzhou, Fuzhou, and Funing Prefecture.

The training methods were the same as those previously used for the marines, with the family retainers like Chang Lei serving as chief instructors.

At the same time, Lin Qian would select outstanding and politically reliable men from his personal guard to serve as mid- and low-level officers, ensuring his control over the army. The army's logistics would be temporarily managed by the Soldier Guard Department.

The new army's operational functions were primarily field combat and siege assault, with a tactical system centered on firearms, emphasizing long-range firepower.

As for the specific tactical formations—whether to use the Spanish tercio, the Maurice linear formation, the mandarin duck formation, or line firing—Lin Qian couldn't say for certain. That point would be left for the new army's commanding officers to decide.

Having laid out the basic concept, Lin Qian said, "The chief instructor of this new army will be Lei Sanxiang for the time being."

Ma Chenglie and Huang Hetai had already expected this and showed no surprise.

Lei Sanxiang, however, was taken aback and hurriedly said, "No, no, I can't even train the old army properly—how could I train a new one!"

Lin Qian said, "The future of war belongs to artillery. How to coordinate infantry and artillery, how to conduct creeping barrages, how to position artillery batteries—you've been a chief gunner for so many years and don't understand, so how would I? Old Ma, do you understand?"

Ma Chenglie laughed and said, "When it comes to artillery, no one in the world knows more than Third Brother Lei. I'm nothing but a defeated general beneath his guns."

Huang Hetai also quickly added, "Back when Third Brother bombarded Mount Guolao, not a single shot missed—everyone on the island saw it with their own eyes." These two had been dyed in the cesspool of Ming officialdom, and knew well enough to read the room.

Lin Qian made the final call: "It's settled then. Third Brother, do a good job."

Lei Sanxiang: "What?"

"It's getting late—everyone go back and rest," Lin Qian said.

"We take our leave." Ma Chenglie and Huang Hetai could both tell that Lin Qian had something to say to Lei Sanxiang in private, so they immediately rose and excused themselves.

After they left, Lei Sanxiang scratched his head and said, "Me... an instructor? Can I really do it?"

To be honest, Lin Qian didn't know whether it would work either, but the most important principle in building a new-style army was that it must be held in the hands of one's own people—raising a Yuan Shikai would never do.

By that standard alone, Lei Sanxiang fully qualified.

Chen Jiao couldn't leave Dongning, Zheng Zhilong couldn't be fully trusted, and the other brothers couldn't leave the navy and Nan'ao—only Lei Sanxiang was suitable. Moreover, heavy reliance on artillery was the historical trend, and across the entire island of Nan'ao, no one could match Lei Sanxiang in familiarity with cannons.

He had been a chief gunner for so long that the smell of sulfur had soaked into his very being, impossible to wash clean.

In any case, philosophers like Hegel, Engels, and Marx had long ago proposed the important philosophical view of the "negation of the negation"—that the development of things follows a tortuous path.

A new-style army couldn't grow up without taking a few falls.

Rather than hesitating and second-guessing, it was better to just let go and do it.

Lin Qian didn't answer Lei Sanxiang's question. Instead, he took out paper and a brush and began writing. After a moment, he finished and handed it to Lei Sanxiang.

Lei Sanxiang reached out and took it, his broad face immediately scrunching up.

Written on the paper was:

Below that was a complex table, with column headers reading: "Elevation angle, charge weight, range, trajectory height, flight time, angle of fall," and so on. Lei Sanxiang scratched his head and said, "What is this?"

Lin Qian pointed at the first formula and said, "This one expresses cannon range. R is the maximum range, v₀ is the muzzle velocity, θ is the barrel angle, and g is gravitational acceleration.

This is a theoretical formula that doesn't account for air resistance—it's the theoretical baseline for cannon range.

The next formula is for measuring distance using triangulation, which is more accurate than a lookout estimating by eye.

The table below is a firing table, which needs to be derived through repeated experiments, making it convenient for rapid targeting in battle."

In naval gunnery, because the ship swayed with the waves and kept moving, scientific calculation wasn't of much use—experience-based firing mattered more.

In land artillery combat, however, with a stable ground platform, formulas and firing tables were extremely useful.

Take "trajectory height," for instance—without that, who would dare fire from behind friendly troops? What if you blew off a comrade's head? Lin Qian explained the significance of the formulas and table, then said, "Third Brother, these two formulas are the artilleryman's 'secret manual.' If there's anything you don't understand, you can come ask me, but you must never show this to anyone.

As for calculating the firing table, that can't be done overnight—you can work on it while training the troops."

Lei Sanxiang carefully tucked the paper away: "I've got it."

Lin Qian said, "Third Brother, haven't you always cursed Regional Commander Du for underestimating the enemy and advancing rashly? I hope you can take that as a lesson and be a good Regional Commander."

Lei Sanxiang's heart jolted. He slowly rose, cupped his hands in salute, and said with firm resolve: "I understand. I'll make something of myself—to show that surnamed Du, and my parents and elder brother too."

Lin Qian smiled: "It's late. Go rest."

In early December, before the merchant fleet left port, Chen Jiao hastily held two wedding banquets.

The one at Nan'ao was especially lively, with drinking as fierce as at Lin Qian's own wedding.

Shortly after the wedding banquets ended, the merchant fleet loaded its cargo and set sail for Hoi An.

This voyage consisted of only three whale ships and five Fujian junks, escorted by six yachts—a greatly reduced fleet—yet the total cargo volume increased by 23% compared to the last trip to Hoi An.

That was the power of technology.

Because the Ming situation had deteriorated, and because there were interests on both the Trinh Lords' and Nguyen Lords' sides,

Lin Qian instructed Bai Qing that this voyage should focus on peaceful trade, purchasing large quantities of teak wood, while also establishing a trading post in Ha Long Bay and experimenting with coke production.

They should act as a purely commercial fleet and not provoke the Trinh or Nguyen forces.

As for the arms trade—

The new army's weapon orders alone already had the Bocarro cannon foundry working at full capacity, let alone producing monkey-version weapons to sell to Jiaozhi.

In late December, Lin Qian went to inspect the progress of the new flagship once again.

The hull frame had now finished its settling period. In the dry dock, the new flagship looked like a whale that had rotted away completely, leaving only its spine and ribs.

The next phase was laying the hull planking and deck beams.

Before that step was completed, the hull frame would be held together by many temporary wooden struts, looking much like scaffolding and ropes.

According to Bailangzai's battle report from Hirado, as well as the results of interrogations of the Dutch East India Company's staff at their Japanese trading post.

Sonck's military threat toward Bai Qing was not entirely without basis.

Simply copying the jacht design would not be enough to deal with the Dutch.

The jacht was only the lowest rung in the Dutch fleet system—they had larger galleons of greater tonnage, called "retour ships." As the name suggests, these ships were used to run the Batavia–Rotterdam route.

Though intended for commercial use, they could also be fitted with cannons and serve as warships.

The Dutch had not sent out their retour ships in the several conflicts so far—plainly put, it was the short-sighted mentality of merchants at work.

The Dutch East India Company was a pure joint-stock company; everything served profit.

Before launching any war, they first considered the impact on profits.

Even if deploying retour ships gave them a hope of defeating Lin Qian, they would still abandon the idea out of profit considerations.

But Lin Qian would not be foolish enough to entrust the safety of Nan'ao Island to the hope that the Dutch would never come to attack.

This was also why Lin Qian valued the new flagship—once it was completed, Nan'ao Island would have the ability to produce large warships domestically, and their backbone would be even stiffer from then on.

This was exactly what Old Qian's saying meant: "Having no sword in hand and having a sword but not using it are not the same thing."

The potential enemies in Southeast Asia, besides the Dutch, included the Spanish.

As a former empire on which the sun never set, Spain's glory had not yet completely faded.

Its naval strength in Manila remained very formidable.

Europe was currently in the midst of the Thirty Years' War, and the trade profits from Manila were a vital pillar of the Spanish crown's military funding.

Abandoning Manila would be nearly equivalent to abandoning Spain's position in Europe.

Therefore, in the face of Lin Qian's plundering of galleons and the Dutch threat, the Spanish continued to station naval forces in Manila.

Unlike the Dutch, the old imperial power Spain adhered to the doctrine of big guns and big ships—the firepower and tonnage of its galleons were essentially the best in the world. Pitting a four-hundred-ton jacht against a thousand-ton large galleon was no different from throwing an egg at a rock.

This was also an important reason Lin Qian did not proactively sail to Manila for trade.

At the present moment, relying on the navy to fight head-on truly could not win. Once a merchant convoy sailed to Manila, there was no way to guarantee its safety.

In short, whether domestically or internationally, the situation was extremely complex.

Lin Qian only hoped the current precarious balance could hold for a while longer.

At the very least, it had to hold until the army took shape.

Ideally, it would hold until the new flagship entered service.

Of course, if it could hold until a fleet of large warships was launched, that would be even better.

As the new year approached, Ye Zhen had just finished her month of postpartum confinement not long ago, and her body was still recovering—she was not fit to travel.

And Ye Xianggao wanted to see his great-grandson.

So Lin Qian invited Ye Xianggao's entire family to Nan'ao Island for the new year.

This certainly did not conform to the ritual regulations of the Great Ming, but Nan'ao Island was Lin Qian's home base, and he was not afraid of what gossip people might spread.

Moreover, for what Lin Qian planned to do in the future, it would be best to have Ye Xianggao's support—the united-front work needed to be done in advance.

For this trip to Nan'ao, Ye Xianggao brought his whole family along, and with womenfolk present, it was inconvenient to travel by eagle ship, so they came aboard a Fujian junk instead.

In the stern cabin, Ye Xianggao was holding a sheet of paper, staring blankly at it in a daze, sighing from time to time.

His wife, née Yu, complained: "We're about to see our great-grandson, so why are you sighing? When we see Zhen'er, you're not allowed to act like this!"

Ye Xianggao let out a long sigh: "Alas! The Jianzhou barbarians have attacked the Yi dynasty… This is our Ming tributary state, and a key link in the three-pronged containment strategy, as well as the rear support for Mao Wenlong on Pidao. Once the Yi dynasty falls, it will be difficult to contain the Jianzhou barbarians in the future…"

As he spoke, Ye Xianggao turned the paper over onto the table, revealing that it was printed on both sides—the back bore the four large regular-script characters "Nan'ao Times." This weekly was published on the same schedule as the Capital Gazette, but its timeliness was far superior, and its printing was exquisite while the price was extremely low. As soon as it went on sale, it became all the rage across Fujian, and it was even printed in southern Zhejiang and eastern Guangdong.

The copy in Ye Xianggao's hand was one he had just bought before boarding the ship. Who would have thought the front-page headline would be such bad news…

On the third day of the twelfth month in the fifth year of Tianqi, the Jianzhou barbarian Nurhaci ordered Hong Taiji to lead thirty thousand troops in an attack on the Yi dynasty.

The army swept forward with irresistible force, breaking through the Korean border cities in a matter of days, with their spearhead pointing straight at Pyongyang.

When the lips are gone the teeth feel the cold—what was the Supreme Commander of Ji-Liao doing at this moment?

Busy building Wei Zhongxian's eighth shrine to the living…

Yuan Chonghuan repeatedly submitted memorials requesting permission to launch attacks on the Jianzhou barbarians' rear to relieve pressure on the Yi dynasty, but all were kept unanswered, his memorials vanishing like stones dropped into the sea.

Not all of the above was content from the Capital Gazette.

Part of it had been learned by the Nan'ao Times' "correspondent" stationed in the capital through interviews with "informed sources who wished to remain anonymous."

Because this portion of leaked information was not official court news, its veracity was questionable, so it was separately marked on the newspaper for readers to "reference at their discretion."

Ye Xianggao, after all, had old connections in officialdom and many channels of information. Cross-referencing the two, he knew that what the newspaper said was all true.

He recalled how at the great victory at Fuzhou, the Tartars had fled in utter disarray, Liaodong had been crowded with rising stars of the military, and the Great Ming had been so glorious.

Who would have thought that in just two and a half short years, the situation would take such a sharp turn for the worse, coming to this.

Was that grand vision of devouring the enemy like a tiger and recovering Liaodong ultimately nothing but a dream of yellow millet?

Facing a realm scarred and broken on every side, how could one's heart not be filled with grief?

Even the good mood of going to see his great-grandson had been scattered by this terrible news.

Ye Xianggao rose and paced back and forth in the cabin, full of restless energy with nowhere to vent it.

Yu said: "Stop pacing—you're making the whole ship rock with your walking."

Ye Xianggao stopped in his tracks, wanting to say something, but in the end he could only open his mouth and let out a long sigh: "Alas!"

Yu consoled him: "Look at Fuzhou now—the people live in peace, merchants gather in droves, and official governance is clean. I hear that in Tingzhou they're now vigorously suppressing the mountain bandits. Once the bandits are wiped out, Fujian will be peaceful on both land and sea. Isn't that wonderful?"

Ye Xianggao snorted coldly: "A woman's view!"

Lady Yu raised an eyebrow: "A woman's view? Fine then, when we reach the island, don't you come see your great-grandson. Don't let us women disturb Grand Secretary Ye's lofty opinions!"

Ye Xianggao angrily flicked his sleeve: "Nonsense." He then pushed open the door and left the cabin.

Lady Yu mimicked Ye Xianggao's tone in a low voice: "Ah—'nonsense.' Old fellow, dwelling in the wilds of the rivers and lakes, yet still worrying about his sovereign—even Lord Fan Wenzheng didn't fret as much as you do."

Suddenly, Ye Xianggao returned to the cabin.

"What, over your anger already?" Lady Yu teased.

Ye Xianggao snatched up the newspaper: "I came to get this."

After Ye Xianggao left, Lady Yu muttered: "The older you get, the worse your temper. You're the one talking nonsense!"

Ye Xianggao walked onto the deck. The weather was clear today, the seawater a deep blue, but the wind was strong—the newspaper flapped wildly in the breeze, impossible to read. Ye Xianggao thus went down to his two grandsons' cabin.

Ye Yifan and Ye Yisun rose and bowed when they saw their grandfather enter.

Ye Xianggao bade them sit, then sat himself on a stool and continued reading the paper.

After the Capital Gazette content ended, there followed some local Fujian news—such as where bandits had been suppressed, where floods had been controlled, where roads had been opened, where irrigation works had been repaired, and the like.

Most of it was positive news, the sort that lifted one's spirits just reading it.

Interspersed among the local news were also some advertisements, such as an introduction to "Nan'ao Bonds," as well as the Xiamen shipyard's vessel sales business.

After reading, Ye Xianggao snorted and muttered: "Crass!"

After the local news came lengthy commentary articles.

These were not only written by the editors and reporters of the Nan'ao Times—many were solicited submissions from scholars.

Every issue of the Nan'ao Times carried an advertisement soliciting manuscripts, and each accepted piece earned a writing fee ranging from two taels to twenty taels. To impoverished scholars, this sum was a veritable fortune.

And the newspaper as a platform suited the needs of scholar-officials to publish their writings and establish their doctrines.

Thus every issue received an enormous number of submissions, and the quality of the articles grew ever finer—indeed, there were often such brilliant pieces that even Ye Xianggao found himself sighing in admiration.

Of course, there were also many pieces half-vernacular and half-classical, with crude wording, which Ye Xianggao generally skimmed past without reading.

Ye Xianggao briefly browsed through—seven out of ten articles in this issue were scathing denunciations of Wei Zhongxian.

The acerbity of their language, the directness of their meaning, was enough to make one secretly uneasy.

Indeed, some articles in this issue even showed a trend of progressing from criticizing Wei Zhongxian to criticizing the entire court administration, and even the Great Ming dynasty itself.

For instance, there were those criticizing the corrupt pearl-diving levy and the rigidity of the institutions.

Those criticizing the feudal princes as fiscal parasites who competed with the people for profit, were extravagant and dissolute, and had lost all moral integrity.

Those criticizing Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism for shackling men's hearts, advocating liberation of the individual, that both agriculture and commerce were fundamental, and that Western learning was spreading eastward.

Ye Xianggao sighed again. From these articles, he could roughly sense what Lin Qian intended to do.

Five or ten years ago, he would certainly have sternly rebuked Lin Qian with righteous indignation, lecturing him on loyalty to the sovereign and love of country.

But now, Ye Xianggao himself was lost.

This realm—was it ultimately the Zhu family's realm, or the Wei family's realm?

Loyalty to the sovereign—which sovereign, exactly, was one loyal to?

Among the twelve Donglin martyrs who died for righteousness, which one was not a loyal minister of the court? And which one came to a good end?

If death could bring the emperor to sudden awakening, and the Great Ming to peace and prosperity, it would have been worth it.

But the fact was, the deaths of the twelve gentlemen had brought the eunuch faction even greater power, the people's resentment boiling over, eunuchs severing communication between court and country, and the entire political situation collapsing. At such an extraordinary time, what exactly was the right thing to do—how to be worthy of Heaven's grace above, and the common people below?

Even Ye Xianggao himself could not answer.

Ye Xianggao turned the newspaper over and gave a soft exclamation of surprise.

This side had a new article. Its theme was still furious denunciation of Wei Zhongxian, nothing particularly original, but it excelled in literary style—strict four-six parallel prose with meticulous antithesis, clearly showing the author was well learned.

Looking further at the writing, it was sharp-edged and emotionally charged, as if the author wished to exhaust every last description of Wei Zhongxian's ugliness. Clearly the author was still young, not knowing how to conceal one's brilliance. Such acerbic criticism would easily draw the eunuch faction's enmity and targeted retaliation.

Ye Xianggao thus glanced at the author's name—written as "Zilan."

Ye Xianggao nodded inwardly. At least it was a pen name, not easily traced.

He continued reading, but gradually felt something amiss. The two characters "Zilan" seemed to carry a hidden meaning...

Without changing his expression, he looked up and glanced at his two grandsons.

He saw Ye Yisun looking at him; when the boy met his grandfather's gaze, he guiltily averted his eyes.

Ye Xianggao understood in his heart and said in a deep voice: "Sun'er, it's been a long while since I tested your studies—your literary skill has grown considerably."

Ye Yisun grinned foolishly: "Grandfather, how did you figure it out?"

Ye Xianggao snorted coldly and tapped his finger on "Zilan": "Zi connects to Yi, and both lan and sun are fragrant grasses. That pen name you chose—are you afraid no one will notice?"

Ye Yisun smiled ingratiatingly for a while, then said: "The Wei eunuch wreaks havoc on governance—your grandson was merely speaking out for justice."

"But you cannot be so reckless!"

"Grandfather, rest assured—there are plenty of people publishing articles cursing the Wei eunuch in the papers. They won't trace it back to your grandson. And even if they did, what could they do? With brother-in-law around, the claws of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot can't reach into Fujian."

"You!" Ye Xianggao was furious, yet did not know what to say.

In times past, he would have told Ye Yisun to focus his mind on the proper path of study and earn official rank as soon as possible.

But he himself had already retired from office—lecturing about the official career inevitably lacked persuasiveness.

Moreover, with the court so dark now, after passing the imperial examinations and entering officialdom, should one throw in with the eunuch faction or not?

Join them, and lose one's integrity.

Refuse them, and lose one's life.

Blocked on both ends—better to stay in Fujian and be a country gentleman.

Faced with such a transformation unseen in centuries, Ye Xianggao was momentarily at a loss for how to lecture, and could only say flatly: "In the future when you write articles, use more tactful language, and change your pen name too. Call yourself Table, or Stool—anything would be better than this 'Zilan.'"

Ye Yisun was overjoyed, rose, and clasped his hands in salute: "Your grandson will heed Grandfather's teachings."

Then, Ye Yisun said with a mischievous grin: "Grandfather, that Anhui She inkstone that eldest brother sent the other day—is it serving you well?"

Ye Xianggao had no idea what his grandson was up to, and answered cautiously: "Warm and smooth as jade, silent when tapped, with grain like a painting—this is a fine inkstone." Ye Yisun took a wooden box from the chest and offered it to Ye Xianggao, saying: "This is a small token of your grandson's regard; please accept it, Grandfather." Ye Xianggao opened it, and before he could even see clearly, the pungent scent of ink assailed his nose. Inside the box lay a piece of Huizhou ink, the size of two fingers, inscribed with the three characters "Cheng Junfang"—a renowned ink maker. A piece of ink this size could sell for one tael of silver, making it extremely precious.

Ye Xianggao smelled the ink, delighted beyond measure, when it suddenly occurred to him—the She inkstone from Anhui that Ye Yifan had given earlier was also worth no small sum. Where had the money come from?

Seeing that he could no longer hide it, Ye Yifan rose, clasped his hands in salute, and said apologetically: "Grandfather, I wrote for that newspaper too... but rest assured, Grandfather, there was no reckless talk—only upright words condemning the eunuchs' misrule of the court."

With that, Ye Yifan produced a copy of the *Nan'ao Times* from his bosom—an issue from a month prior—written under the pen name "Cai Mou," another foolishly disassembled-character pseudonym.

The article was written with measured fairness, steady and well-balanced.

Ye Xianggao had skimmed it hastily at the time and paid it little mind.

A sudden thought struck him: "No—with the literary talent you two possess, even if you couldn't earn the full twenty taels of writing fees, you should have made at least ten. What did you do with the rest of the silver?"

Ten taels of silver, to Lin Qian, might as well be pocket change—not even worth bending down to pick up if it fell between the bed slats.

But to a family of incorruptible officials like the Ye household, it was no small sum.

Ye Yifan and Ye Yisun were not yet married—what could they possibly need to spend money on?

Pressed by Ye Xianggao's interrogation, the two stammered for a long while before finally admitting that, apart from the gifts bought for family members, the rest had gone to purchase "Nan'ao bonds."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen