Chapter 223: River of Gold

The dry dock slowly filled with water, and the Candle Dragon rose with the tide, gradually rising above the rim of the dry dock — which made the word "launch" especially apt.

The members of the Ye family all came to the windows.

There they saw a colossal vessel slowly rising — first the sterncastle deck emerged, then the upper deck, then the upper gun deck.

The Candle Dragon had been built entirely within the dry dock, and before its formal launch it had already been fully fitted out. At this moment its sails, rigging, and cannons were all in place — a truly imposing sight.

After a long while more, the lower hull gradually rose into view, its towering freeboard growing ever more apparent — truly like a city wall, daunting to behold. During the launching ceremony, most of the Candle Dragon's hull had lain at the bottom of the dry dock, so the onlookers had no real sense of its size.

When the water first began flooding in, the craftsmen, common folk, and merchants gathered around had been in a mostly festive mood.

But as the hull slowly revealed itself before their eyes, the entire shipyard seemed to press a mute button — the noise gradually faded away.

As dusk approached, the entire Candle Dragon had fully risen.

The westering sun gilded the Candle Dragon's port side in flowing gold, while its starboard side cast a colossal shadow over a dozen zhang long.

The sea breeze blew in, carrying a damp, salty chill against their faces.

At such a magnificent sight, even Ye Xianggao was struck speechless with astonishment.

"When it closes its eyes, darkness falls; when it opens them, light shines; wind and rain it summons…" — it seemed those words were being fulfilled at this very moment.

The water in the dock gate had been mostly drained, and six ships towed the vessel out, clearing the broad expanse of sea before the dry dock.

Lin Qian, Bailangzai, and the chief shipwrights boarded the vessel to take part in the first sea trials.

On the stern deck, Lin Qian ran his hand along the thick camphor-wood bulwark, feeling his heart swell with pride.

On the upper deck, the anchor crew were casting off lines from bow to stern, while riggers climbed the mast towering over a dozen zhang high.

The boatswain patrolled among them, the sea wind snapping his coattails noisily.

"The wind's up! Move faster! Tie every line tight — remember, sheet to sail gets a single bowline, rope ends get a figure-eight knot, and standing rigging gets a clove hitch!"

Down in the two gun decks, the gun captains bellowed at the top of their lungs: "Gun crews, check your lines! If the recoil tackles aren't lashed tight, the moment the ship rolls, they'll crush your toes!"

On the sterncastle deck, five or six young midshipmen each held a ship's logbook, recording everything that happened aboard.

Red clouds burned at the horizon, and the boatswain and gun captains reported in turn.

Bailangzai said: "Helmsman, we are ready to set sail."

Lin Qian said in a low voice: "Course due east."

Bailangzai drew a deep breath and announced: "Course due east, wind on the port beam — set sail!"

At the two-story building of the shipyard.

The Ye family watched as the Candle Dragon was towed out of the dock; then, from the yardarms, snow-white sails unfurled like waterfalls, in an instant spreading into a single expanse that blotted out the sky.

The Candle Dragon's sails bellied full with wind, and the vessel slowly gathered speed.

"It's moving — the ship is moving!" Ye Yisun shouted excitedly.

Even as he spoke, the Candle Dragon had already reached six knots, heading out to the open sea.

From the shipyard, all they could make out was the great expanse of gleaming golden carvings on its sterncastle — dazzling and magnificent under the sunlight.

Ye Yisun said regretfully: "Watching from the second floor is rather dull. Brother-in-law ought to have invited us aboard for a ride."

Ye Zhen laughed: "Do you think your brother-in-law is going out for a pleasure cruise? They're conducting sea trials.

When a new vessel launches, they have to test its speed, maneuverability, rolling, sails and rigging — and also hull strength and the cannons…

To measure accurately, sometimes they even have to deliberately sail straight into heavy winds and waves.

See those boats following alongside?"

Ye Yisun looked out and indeed saw seven or eight Fujian junks around the Candle Dragon, made to look like mere boulders by comparison.

Had Ye Zhen not pointed them out, he truly would not have noticed them.

Ye Zhen said: "Those are there for emergencies."

What kind of emergency, Ye Zhen did not say — seafaring folk consider it the gravest taboo to speak words like "capsize," "sink," or "overturn."

Ye Zhen herself had never been particular about such things, but ever since she married, she neither said them herself nor allowed Lin Qian to say them.

Ye Xianggao said: "Given Ziyuan's current standing, going out on sea trials again seems rather beneath his station."

"Grandfather, rest assured — the sea trials will last two or three months, but my husband will only be gone a few days. He'll be back soon."

Ye Xianggao said no more.

Ye Zhen said: "Grandfather, let's go to the shipyard. Today the Candle Dragon launched successfully, and tonight's celebration banquet will be tremendously lively — Baikou and Yueyi have been waiting impatiently for it."

Just as Ye Zhen had said, the evening celebration banquet was extremely grand — as if it were New Year's. Red lanterns hung everywhere, firecrackers were set off, and joy filled every corner.

The feast stretched across more than a hundred tables, with all manner of delicacies brought out in an endless stream.

During the banquet, Ye Xianggao had little appetite, merely watching the others, lost in thought.

When Ye Zhen asked the reason, Ye Yifan whispered: "Since the start of spring, the Fuqing area has seen only a few scattered light showers. The Min River's flow has dropped sharply — it's shaping up to be a drought year. Grandfather is worried about that."

In truth, it was not just this year — since the early years of Tianqi, natural disasters had been striking frequently across the whole of the Great Ming.

The regions of Min and Yue had suffered consecutive droughts, though in past years they only meant reduced harvests, not total crop failure. But this year, since spring began, the drought had been especially severe — armed clashes between villages over water sources occurred from time to time.

Ye Zhen smiled: "So that's what it is. Please urge Grandfather to set his mind at ease — once tomorrow's newspaper comes out, there will be nothing to worry about."

The next day, the Nan'ao Times reprinted the Nan'ao government's new policy, encouraging the people of Min and Yue to go reclaim wasteland on Dongning Island.

Whoever was willing to go to Dongning would register with the local authorities and receive three taels of silver per person, half a year's rations, fully waived travel expenses, one plow ox for every three people, title deeds for the land they reclaimed, and a three-year tax exemption.

This policy was an extension of the "settle the refugees, reclaim the wasteland" measure among the four strategies of "relieving distress and consolidating the foundation."

The people of the Great Ming were deeply attached to their native soil; unless they truly could not survive, they would not lightly leave their homes.

But unfortunately, the Little Ice Age climate of the late Ming caused frequent famines, and with great households annexing land and population growth intensifying the conflict between people and land, refugees and displaced wanderers covered the mountains and fields.

Both Min and Yue were populous provinces with scarce land; any wasteland that could be reclaimed had long since been mostly developed.

Although Lin Qian vigorously promoted sweet potato cultivation and used government granaries to stabilize grain prices and provide disaster relief,

no matter how good the policies, they were useless against large-scale natural disasters. Without solving the fundamental problem of the people-versus-land contradiction, all other measures were merely treating symptoms. So Lin Qian thought — Min and Yue had no land, but didn't Dongning have plenty?

On the western plains of Dongning Island, the natives mostly lived around the Chi'an area, dwelling along the shores of the inland sea.

The vast fertile lands to the northwest were in dire need of people to cultivate them.

Relocating the refugees from Fujian and Guangdong to Dongning would resolve both problems at once.

The "Three Golds and One Ox" policy wasn't cooked up on a whim—it was a direct copy of Zheng Zhilong's policies from history.

The only change was that Lin Qian's terms were somewhat more generous than in history.

Surely crossing the river by feeling for Zheng Zhilong's stones wouldn't turn out too badly.

But migrating to Dongning could only solve the immediate crisis.

According to historical data and Lin Qian's rough estimates, the western plains of Dongning could support a population of roughly one to two hundred thousand.

Considering the existing native population, Han-native tensions, and the difficulty of clearing wilderness, Dongning's early carrying capacity might fall short of even that number.

And the number of Ming refugees was clearly more than two hundred thousand.

Where were the remaining refugees to go?

Wasn't there still vast land in the Nanyang?

Once the Nanyang was filled, there was still Oceania, and North and South America.

The Ming's man-land contradiction, viewed from a global perspective, immediately became a land-man contradiction—that is, too much land, not enough people to occupy it. This migration to Dongning was the sea trial for future large-scale migration.

After the policy was announced, people signed up one after another, and within three or four days a full Fujian junk was assembled, its destination the old site of Wanggang.

As this ship crossed the Dongning Strait eastward, it happened to pass right by Lin Qian's hawk ship returning to Nan'ao Island.

After three or four days of trial sailing, the Candle Dragon's overall performance was excellent, and every problem discovered was trivial.

Thus, Lin Qian was in an excellent mood. No sooner had he docked at Front River Bay than a personal guard came to report: "Helmsman, someone's come from the north."

"Tell him to wait at the residence," Lin Qian said flatly.

After returning to the residence, Lin Qian first bathed, changed clothes, ate a meal, chatted with Ye Zhen for a while, looked in on his son, then met with Ye Xianggao to discuss governance philosophy, development plans, and similar matters.

By the time he went to the main hall to see Wei Zhongxian's envoy, it was nearly dusk.

The envoy had waited in the main hall for nearly ten hours, starving and dizzy, seeing stars before his eyes.

With Wei Zhongxian's current power, no one under heaven dared treat him with such disrespect.

Only Lin Qian didn't play by those rules.

When he finally saw Lin Qian stroll out leisurely, the envoy showed not a trace of displeasure—instead his face broke into a smile as he rose, hunched his body, and bowed solemnly: "Your servant Li Chaoqin pays respects to the Viscount. May the Viscount enjoy fortune, longevity, and peace."

Lin Qian said with amusement: "Viscount?"

Li Chaoqin smiled: "The Factory Master has petitioned Your Majesty and received special approval to enfeoff you as Viscount Chenghai, with appointment as Regional Commander of Guangdong. From now on, all matters along the southeastern coast shall be at your disposal, and the court will not interfere."

The terms were so generous that even Lin Qian felt a brief temptation.

But a moment later, he changed the subject: "Is the Factory Master in good health?"

Li Chaoqin's smile froze. He had anticipated all sorts of responses from Lin Qian—whether acceptance or refusal, he had prepared for both—but he had never expected Lin Qian to ask about Wei Zhongxian's health.

What did this mean? A threat or a gesture of goodwill?

"Thanks to the Viscount's blessing, the Factory Master is in good health."

"Oh." Lin Qian thought for a moment, then asked: "And how is His Majesty's health?"

Li Chaoqin's confusion grew deeper. Unable to discern the angle, he answered truthfully: "His Majesty's sacred person is hale, his dragon body robust."

"Mm." Lin Qian nodded.

Faced with rebellion, Wei Zhongxian directly offered a noble title to win him over.

With such "great talent," wouldn't it be a pity if, just as in history, he were killed after the Chongzhen Emperor ascended the throne?

Although the Chongzhen Emperor was obstinate and made many poor decisions, in the early days of his reign, executing Wei Zhongxian had indeed won him enormous political prestige. What if, in this life, the Chongzhen Emperor pulled the same move again—wouldn't the righteousness of Lin Qian's uprising be greatly diminished?

At this very moment, no one under heaven probably wished the Emperor and the Factory Master long life more than Lin Qian did.

Lin Qian smiled: "Then I can rest easy."

With that, he rose and returned to the inner quarters.

Li Chaoqin stood frozen on the spot, doubts sprouting in his heart: "What on earth does this mean? If this Lin fellow intends to surrender, he shows not the slightest sign. If he intends to fight, then why does his expression brighten upon learning the Emperor and Nine Thousand Years are in good health?

Could he be dissatisfied with the reward? If he's dissatisfied, he could say so—even enfeoffing him as a prince of a different surname isn't out of the question. What does walking off like that mean? Making me wait a whole day for nothing—this is truly a baffling affair!"

Li Chaoqin grumbled inwardly as a servant led him out the gate. He was about to leave when he saw a man dressed as a scholar waiting outside. The man clasped his hands and bowed to Li Chaoqin: "I am Zhou Youcai of the Nan'ao Administrative Bureau. Please, Eunuch, step aside for a word."

Li Chaoqin's heart blossomed with joy. He suddenly understood Lin Qian's game—there were things inconvenient to say directly, so he had sent a subordinate to negotiate.

He followed Scholar Zhou to a quiet room.

Scholar Zhou got straight to the point: "The Helmsman's ambition lies only in carving out Fujian and Guangdong, with no intention of contending for the realm. As long as the court does not interfere and does not cut off trade routes, our forces will not invade Jiangxi, Huguang, or other regions."

What Wei Zhongxian wanted was nominal submission from Fujian and Guangdong, but if he couldn't get that, settling for keeping the front line within Fujian and Guangdong was also acceptable. Out of caution, Li Chaoqin said: "This matter must be referred to Nine Thousand Years for a decision."

Scholar Zhou agreed and saw the eunuch off.

Given the Nan'ao army's current strength, taking Guangdong would already be a stretch; a head-on clash with the Ming army would yield little advantage.

Thus, using a delaying tactic and focusing on dealing with Guangdong was the best choice.

In the fourth month, Li Chaoqin returned to the capital.

How Wei Zhongxian reacted upon learning the news, Nan'ao did not know.

During that month, several dozen more ship voyages shuttled between Dongning and Fujian.

On the river-mouth plain west of the island, from south to north, seven or eight migrant villages were established—Wanggang, Nanshe, Erlin, Dadu, Zhuqian, and others. Bricks and stone, ironware, craftsmen, physicians, grain, plow oxen—materials surged toward Dongning like a tide.

Primeval forests were felled and seasoned into timber, vast fields of silvergrass were cleared into wheat fields, rushing rivers were channeled for irrigation, and marshes were drained. The entire western plain of Dongning transformed from wild wasteland into a thousand li of fine farmland, striding boldly toward agricultural civilization.

Yet the people of Fujian and Guangdong were not Dongning's only migrants.

While large-scale agricultural production was underway along Dongning's entire western coast—

A fleet was sailing against the Kuroshio Current, heading for the northern part of Dongning Island.

The fleet numbered twenty ships in total: seventeen Fujian junks and three galleons.

On the poop deck of the flagship Columbus, the Burgundian cross flag flew high.

This was the banner of the Burgundian branch of the Habsburg family, the house to which the King of Spain belonged.

This fleet was none other than the Manila Governor-General's "Formosa" expeditionary force.

The bright sunshine of early summer poured down, and the sea breeze carried fresh, moist air.

On deck, Spanish sailors were enthusiastically discussing the legend of the "River of Gold."

"Look! There's Formosa!" someone suddenly shouted.

The sailors, as if injected with adrenaline, surged all at once toward the port side. There were so many of them that quite a few climbed up the shrouds to gaze into the distance. There, between sea and sky, a verdant green island gradually came into focus.

The island's mountain ranges were extremely tall, piercing into the clouds with their peaks invisible, stretching on without end like a great green wall.

Between mountain and sea, the beach was only a narrow strip, as if the entire mountain range had risen straight up from the ocean, making one cannot help but marvel at the wonders of creation.

"My God! That's Formosa!" Many Spanish sailors stared in awe, tracing crosses over their chests with their hands.

The ship's chaplain said fervently: "By the will of God, Formosa shall be bathed in the glory of the Lord!"

The word Formosa derives from Latin, meaning "beautiful."

In the 15th century, the Portuguese sailed the globe and discovered a great number of new islands, species, rivers, beaches, and so on. With limited vocabulary, they often named things Formosa.

And this island before them, called "Formosa," was especially renowned among all the various "Formosas."

Because in Great Ming, it had another official name — Dongning.

The purpose of this fleet's voyage was to establish a colony in northern Formosa.

The Spanish had been preparing this plan for over a decade, but had previously been unable to set it in motion due to the need to guard against the Dutch.

Now, the Dutch had suffered a heavy blow at Hirado, their shipping routes severed, while the Spanish Governor-General in Manila, backed by support from home, had grown in strength — it was the moment for dreams to come true.

As the fleet drew closer to the eastern mountain range of Dongning, the captains and officers all pulled out their telescopes to take a look.

The boatswain called out: "Keep your eyes wide open! Watch the shore carefully!"

A young sailor asked in confusion: "What are we looking for?"

"Natives!" someone explained.

The young sailor said: "I don't get it — Luzon has plenty of natives too. What's so special about the ones here? Are they made of gold?" "Hahaha... you've got it right, boy! Keep your eyes peeled — if you see anything glittering gold, you'll be rich!" The young sailor swallowed hard: "Could it be connected to the River of Gold?"

No one answered. The young sailor felt the call of gold, his expression turning fervent as he too scanned the mountain walls of Dongning.

Unfortunately, even as the setting sun dyed the sea gold, no one spotted a single native.

They were now in inshore waters with uncertain conditions, so the captain ordered the anchor dropped.

As the stars gradually brightened across the sky, the sailors could no longer make out the shore, so they retreated to the deck for supper, gathering in small groups.

Suddenly, the sound of a vihuela drifted across the deck, and the sailors burst into cheers.

Lieutenant Montero was playing his instrument again — this was the sailors' favorite evening entertainment. The young sailor who had asked questions during the day squeezed his way through the crowd.

Holding his breath as he pushed past the smell of sweat and body odor, he reached the front of the crowd and saw Lieutenant Montero seated on the bulwark, plucking at the strings.

He was playing a famous Portuguese "fado" called *Love and the Sea*. The melody was melodious and mournful, instantly transporting one back to a starry night in Lisbon.

The sailors all listened in silence.

The young sailor gazed at the lieutenant with reverence.

Lieutenant Montero had wavy light-brown hair like the sea, loosely tied back. His facial features were sharply defined, his skin a light olive tone kissed by the sun, and a thin scar ran across his left brow.

His pair of gray-green eyes, like an olive grove in the mist, were deep and melancholy.

Over his yellowed linen shirt hung a silver crucifix — devout and elegant.

He perfectly matched every image people held of an adventurer.

When the fado came to an end, Commodore Carinio of Formosa applauded in appreciation, then said: "Lieutenant, beneath this enchanting night sky, why not play something a bit more cheerful?"

The lieutenant performed an elegant aristocratic bow and said in a deep voice: "As you wish, Commodore."

He then played several Spanish country dances, and the sailors danced with clumsy steps, making the deck thud and shake.

They danced one tune after another until they were tired, at which point Lieutenant Montero wanted to return to his cabin to rest.

The young sailor called out to him, pleading: "Lieutenant, please tell us the story of the 'River of Gold' again!"

Lieutenant Montero turned back and said: "Some other day — the sailors are all tired, little Val."

The other sailors also begged: "Sir, do tell it."

The legend of the "River of Gold" was widely circulated in Europe, and every sailor had heard of it, but no one had ever heard the complete story. After all, anything concerning gold was the deepest secret of explorers — no one would share it freely with others.

Seeing the crowd's entreaties, Lieutenant Montero set down his vihuela, sat back on the bulwark, and said: "Very well, I'll tell you all then." The sailors gave a cheer and, at Lieutenant Montero's gesture, sat down. Even the boatswain came over, and Commodore Carinio himself leaned against the mast on the quarterdeck, holding his breath and listening intently.

"About a hundred years ago, a Portuguese explorer, while searching for the Spice Islands, was caught in a storm and blown off course.

When the storm passed, he saw Formosa — this beautiful island upon the deep blue sea."

Little Val interrupted: "I know — that explorer was Captain Fernão."

The lieutenant smiled: "That explorer left no name behind; people called him the Old Captain. The Old Captain ordered his men to rest and resupply on Formosa, replenishing water and provisions.

On the third day on the island, the crew discovered that an axe that had been stuck in a tree stump had gone missing — and in its place on the stump lay a pouch of gold dust!" Hearing this, the eyes of the crew members all burned a few degrees hotter, and even the ship's chaplain came over to listen.

The lieutenant continued: "At first the Old Captain thought it was a miracle of God, but a few days later he discovered that it was the local natives who had left the gold. This method of trade was called 'silent trade' by the natives.

The Old Captain sent men to make contact with the natives, hoping to find out the source of the gold.

The natives said that deep in the mountains there was a river called 'Toloman,' which in the native tongue meant 'the shining place.'

That is our destination — the River of Gold!"

Little Val pressed on: "What happened after that?"

The lieutenant shook his head: "No one knows what happened after that. Some say the crew went to pan for gold, angered the natives, and had their scalps cut off and made into tapestries.

As for the Old Captain, he mysteriously reappeared in Europe as a madman, telling the story of the River of Gold to everyone he met."

Little Val got goosebumps all over and muttered: "Probably just a story someone made up to scare children."

A sailor objected: "El Dorado was just a story too, and it turned out to be real in the New World!"

The sailor was referring to the Inca Empire — as early as the conquest of the Maya, the Spanish had heard the natives speak of the legend of El Dorado.

Seeking that land paved with gold was precisely the main driving force behind the Spanish exploration of South America.

Thanks to the courage and fearlessness of the explorers, decades later, the Inca Empire was truly found.

The first Spaniards to enter the City of the Sun God were stunned by the gold reserves there—the temples had walls covered in thin sheets of gold, with trees and statues cast from gold and silver.

There were golden headdresses like peacock tails, and pure-gold American llamas.

Pure-gold masks, earrings, headdresses, ceremonial maces, and chalices—a dazzling array, too numerous to count.

This seductive golden metal was embedded in nearly every corner of the Inca Empire.

To the children of the Sun God, gold was the sweat of the sun, the very skin of the deities.

And to the Spanish explorers, gold was the reward courage had earned.

After these exquisitely crafted golden artifacts were shipped back to Madrid, they were remelted into gold coins, laying the foundation for the glory of the Habsburg dynasty and becoming the eternal medal of the empire on which the sun never set.

And the Inca Empire?

It had perished fifty years earlier, its capital now the seat of the Spanish Commodore of Peru.

And those tawny-skinned natives—for their own savagery and backwardness, they endured slaughter and plague, and now they have become the empire's miners, bathed in the glory of civilization and the Lord.

Lieutenant Montero often felt regret at having been born too late.

Before he was born, the Aztec, Maya, and Inca empires had already been swept into the dust of history.

The Spice Islands had been discovered by the Dutch, and whether one sailed east or west, one could ultimately reach the Orient.

The treasures of the world had been nearly exhausted; the "River of Gold" was one of the few legends not yet proven.

Montero applied to join the fleet precisely to recreate Spain's glory in Formosa, so that his name, like those great explorers, might also be carved into history!

Watching the crew argue over whether the legend of the "River of Gold" was true, Lieutenant Montero smiled and said nothing.

He knew the legend was real.

Because the old captain's navigation log was in his hands.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen