Chapter 225: Changfeng Stained Red with Blood

"Three gold, one cow"—it sounded as though it had something to do with gold.

Montero had initially held that very notion when he established an outpost north of Zhuqian.

But as he observed and exchanged words with the locals, Lieutenant Montero came to realize he had misunderstood.

Zhuqian was nothing more than an ordinary migrant settlement—no gold was produced nearby at all, and there were not even any native tribes around.

Montero was deeply disappointed and sailed back in low spirits.

Yet the Commodore was greatly interested in his discovery—a settlement of living people on a wild island was precisely the bridgehead for missionary work and trade. So after the expedition departed, the Commodore's men took over the outpost and kept probing.

First they traded with the villagers, then, under the pretext of surveying, sent men into the village to map it, then, under the pretext of offering protection, sent soldiers in to patrol, and finally sent friars into the village to preach.

This was a blatant test of Zhuqian's bottom line, but hampered by insufficient troops, Zhuqian could only yield step by step, while the colonists grew ever more unscrupulous. The conflict finally erupted over a plow ox.

A Spanish soldier shot and killed a farmer's plow ox, then butchered the carcass, taking the beef back to the outpost as spoils.

The moment the incident broke, the people of Zhuqian were seething with indignation—several hundred farming households grabbed axes and hoes and surrounded the outpost so tightly not even water could leak through.

The Spanish outpost had only a few dozen soldiers; in their panic, they fired warning shots.

The Spanish heavy matchlock muskets were extremely powerful, their reports carrying far like small cannons.

On the deck of the Changfeng, the sailors all gathered at the starboard rail, gazing toward the shore.

Having lived with guns and cannons year-round, they were most sensitive to the sound of gunpowder and immediately reported the matter to their shipowner, Zhang Tiemao.

The sailors buzzed with discussion.

"Damn it, the Franks are killing the common folk!"

"I hear these Franks never treat Han people as human—the sea merchants who go to the South Seas have suffered no small amount of humiliation."

"Shipowner, today the Franks have fallen into our hands—fire the cannons!"

Zhang Tiemao said in a low voice: "Nonsense! Go ashore first and find out what's going on before we talk!"

When the Han people of Min and Yue had first opened up Chitan, they too had often clashed with the Siraya, and instances of both sides drawing guns and blades were common. At Lin Qian and Chen Jiao's insistence, the soldiers restrained their force to the utmost, got to the bottom of the matter, and tried their best to negotiate a solution that satisfied both sides.

At first Zhang Tiemao also felt this was too weak, not satisfying enough.

But after a few years, as Han and Siraya in the Chitan area got along more and more harmoniously, Zhang Tiemao came to understand the value of winning people over with virtue.

Moreover, before departure, Governor-General Chen had instructed him not to stir up trouble recklessly, so Zhang Tiemao was all the more restrained.

The two ships, Changfeng and Yunfan, slowly sailed up to the pier and moored.

Looking out across the harbor, apart from fishing boats, there were indeed only two Fujian junks docked, and they carried no cannons.

It seemed the Spanish were short on firepower, which put Zhang Tiemao's mind even more at ease.

Once the gangplank was set, Zhang Tiemao personally led more than thirty soldiers ashore, heading straight for the Spanish outpost.

As they climbed the hill, they heard several more gunshots from the outpost at the summit, and the farmers' shouts grew louder, mixed with a few screams. On the mountain path, a boy of about ten-odd years was hurrying downhill.

Zhang Tiemao called out to him: "Where are you going?"

The boy had only recently come to the island and did not know Zhang Tiemao. Without slowing his steps, he said: "The barbarians have killed someone—I'm going to the village to fetch people!" "What?" Zhang Tiemao was startled and had his men stop the boy and bring him over. "What happened? Explain clearly."

The boy struggled, but when he saw that Zhang Tiemao's party all carried matchlock muskets on their backs, he knew they were from the authorities, and only then told the whole story. "…After the ox died, we followed the village head to demand justice from the barbarians. At first they only fired into the air, but when they saw we weren't afraid, they shot at our feet… Uncle Li… Uncle Li's leg was blown off—he's dying… wah wah wah…"

"Damn it!" Zhang Tiemao cursed fiercely, then said to his men: "Send word to the harbor—keep an eye on the barbarians' ship, don't let a single person leave port. Stop crying. Take us there—we'll get revenge for your Uncle Li!"

The boy wiped away his tears, nodded heavily, and strode quickly to the front.

They soon reached the outskirts of the outpost, where a ring of villagers stood some dozens of paces away, every one clutching farm tools and taking cover behind trees, rocks, and other obstacles.

Behind a large boulder nearby, a crowd had gathered around a wounded man in his forties.

Everything below the knee of his right leg was gone, the wound gushing blood, bone splinters and lead shot visible, blood pooling on the ground.

This must be Uncle Li.

Uncle Li's face was deathly pale, his lips trembling with pain, ceaseless groans escaping his mouth, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

Several ropes were tightly bound around the root of his right thigh, but to little effect—blood still seeped steadily from the wound at the knee.

Zhang Tiemao glanced at the medic accompanying him; the medic slowly shook his head.

"Damn it!" Zhang Tiemao cursed under his breath, then called over the village head, explained the situation, and had the medic untie the ropes.

Uncle Li's right leg bled out rapidly, and soon he felt no more pain.

Zhang Tiemao asked the village head about the situation at the outpost.

The village head's face and arms were covered in blood, his expression both furious and guilty. He said: "Inside the outpost, there are about twenty barbarian soldiers and a dozen-odd guns… I only wanted them to compensate for the ox… I never thought it would cost a life. It was all my poor judgment…"

Zhang Tiemao had his men take the village head down to rest, then carefully observed the outpost from behind cover.

The outpost was built on the hilltop, with a ring of tents in the middle surrounded by a wooden palisade. The barbarian soldiers were gathered in the center of the camp, using wooden barrels and sandbags as cover, guns trained and glaring menacingly.

Zhang Tiemao first ordered an interpreter to urge their surrender; seeing the barbarians unmoved, he then had the village head organize the villagers to dig a firebreak.

The villagers happened to have their farm tools on them, and the hill was low with sparse vegetation at the summit. Everyone worked together, and after two hours they had cleared a firebreak one zhang wide.

Zhang Tiemao shouted: "If you surrender now, you'll only be punished for killing the ox and the man. If you keep holding out, just wait to be smoked to death!" The interpreter rendered his words into Spanish.

Within the Spanish outpost there was a flurry of panic, and after a moment someone said: "Those were only two accidental shots—we are willing to pay compensation. Please withdraw back down the mountain." Zhang Tiemao roared: "Accidental my grandmother's leg—light the fire, boys!"

After the men pushed down the firebreak, they set fire at the southern side of the hilltop. Driven by wind and terrain, flames and thick smoke rolled toward the summit. The barbarians coughed without cease, tears streaming down their faces.

After stubbornly holding out for a little over half an hour, the barbarians could bear it no longer and came out from behind their cover, laying down their weapons.

Zhang Tiemao took the barbarians prisoner, confiscated their weapons and supplies, and distributed the spoils to the farmers who had lost their ox and to Uncle Li's family.

The village head ordered people to put out the mountain fire. With nothing on the hilltop to burn and the firebreak dug in advance, extinguishing it was not difficult.

Zhang Tiemao ordered the soldiers to escort the barbarians back to the village. Along the way, the farmers glared at the barbarians with hatred, wishing they could devour them alive. Zhang Tiemao noticed that among these barbarians, few had white skin and brown hair—most looked little different from Han people, and by their accents they were natives of the South Seas.

Among them was also a missionary in a black robe with a cross hanging on his chest.

In the Great Ming, privately killing a plow ox was a grave crime—seventy strokes of the cane and one and a half years of penal servitude; killing a man demanded a life in return.

Out of a desire to avoid trouble, Zhang Tiemao merely locked up the Spaniards, awaiting Chen Jiao's orders for disposition.

Of course, though the death penalty might be spared, the living punishment could not be escaped.

Zhang Tiemao singled out the two barbarians who had killed the ox and the man, and gave them five lashes and ten lashes respectively.

The two were beaten until their skin split and flesh burst open, nearly dying from the pain.

At dusk, the Santiago appeared in the bay ten li northwest of Zhuqian.

She was a standard galleon, with 40 cannons on a single gun deck, 41 meters long, 12 meters wide, with a full-load displacement of 1,085 tons. Launched in 1615, she had participated in numerous escort missions from Havana to Lisbon, surviving countless naval battles—the planking replaced due to cannon fire was nearly enough to build a new ship.

After the ship-seizure incident in Manila, the House of Habsburg decided to dispatch this vessel to Manila to suppress pirates and guard the galleon trade route. Captain Diego was renowned for his coldness and paranoia—a pure Spanish soldier with no mercy for his enemies.

In 1618, in the Caribbean, he fought a Dutch pirate ship in a great battle, crippling the enemy vessel. Deeming it worthless as a prize, he set fire to the ship and burned it together with the prisoners.

This act greatly enhanced his reputation, earning him the name "The Butcher of Havana."

Of course, such cruelty was not acceptable to the bishops and nobles—at least not openly—so sending him to the "West Indies" was not without the nobles' desire to have him out of sight and out of mind.

Since arriving in Manila, Captain Diego had found few opportunities for battle—compared to the Caribbean, this sea was far too peaceful. Diego had repeatedly petitioned the Manila Governor-General's office to dispatch forces against the southeast coast of the Great Ming to seize back the stolen galleon, but was repeatedly rebuffed. This made Diego even more cold and withdrawn.

When he finally got the chance for this "Formosa" expedition, Diego resolutely applied to join.

Diego was a double-edged sword—keep him close and he would eventually cut you. So the Governor-General approved his request.

Likewise, the Formosa Commodore, for the same reasons, permitted Diego to provide "protection" to the outpost.

Unexpectedly, no sooner had they sailed near the forward outpost than they saw a wisp of blue smoke rising straight into the sky.

On board the Santiago, the crew's hearts sank.

Diego raised his telescope and looked toward the hilltop. The hill was like a monk's shaved head—burned bald—and where the outpost had stood was now a patch of white ash. Lowering the telescope, a hint of eager anticipation appeared on Diego's face. He spoke coldly: "Close on the harbor!"

The first mate shouted: "Southwest wind, half-port helm! Lads, look alive!"

Three li from the harbor, two large Chinese-style junks sailed out, stopping at about a thousand paces, their broadsides aimed at the Santiago.

A small boat was lowered from the Ming warship, and a party of envoys rowed over.

Diego: "Furl sails, port side to the enemy, gunners stand ready."

By now, the sun had largely sunk below the coastline; the sky and sea had both turned blackish-blue, with only a sliver of red light along the western horizon. On shore, the warm yellow lights of the Shengli people's village flickered to life.

The sea breeze grew stronger, carrying salty damp air and a faint smell of charcoal.

Diego keenly noticed that in the harbor, besides fishing boats, there were two "junks" crewed by Spanish soldiers, the Burgundian cross flag fluttering from both vessels—yet the men standing at their bows were clearly not Spanish soldiers.

Diego snorted coldly: "Lazy, base Shengli people."

At this moment, the small boat had reached the Santiago's side, and three Shengli men climbed up the gangway—clearly coming to negotiate.

The leader said: "This is Zhuqian Harbor, under the rule of the Helmsman. The harbor waters are shallow, with no berths for large vessels. Please turn around and leave." One of the three was an interpreter, translating the envoy's words into Spanish.

Diego sneered: "I am here under the Commodore's orders to protect the outpost.

I also see Shengli soldiers aboard our junks—this is an illegal seizure of Spanish property. On this ground alone, I can declare you pirates.

Now, tell me: where are the men of the outpost?"

The envoy said: "They violated the law and have been detained."

The envoy then recounted the whole affair.

Diego's expression was contemptuous at first, then gradually turned mocking, as if he had heard a joke.

"I don't believe a word of your nonsense, Shengli man!"

Diego said with utmost scorn.

"You and your kind have no honor, no faith. Release the Spaniards you have illegally imprisoned at once—otherwise, I will attack the harbor and teach you the might of civilization."

Diego held up two fingers: "I give you two hours. Get out!"

The three prepared to disembark but were stopped by Diego: "Choose one of you to go back and deliver the message. The other two stay. I don't trust you Shengli people."

The envoy said angrily: "It is you who are behaving like pirates!"

"Smack!" A crisp slap landed on the envoy's face.

Diego flexed his wrist, offering no explanation.

Before brute force, further argument was useless. The three conferred briefly and could only send one back to deliver the message while the other two remained as hostages.

Stars gradually climbed into the night sky, and darkness enveloped the surroundings.

Diego continually observed the harbor and the two Ming junks through his telescope.

Soon, Diego's patience ran out. He shouted: "Raise sails! Fire when within a hundred paces!"

The envoy cried out in alarm: "Not even an hour has passed! What are you doing?"

Diego couldn't be bothered to answer. He commanded: "Tie these two Shengli men to the mast and let them see what happens to savages." "Let me go! Get off me! You motherless bastards, you'll die horribly!" The envoy struggled desperately, then a rifle butt slammed heavily into his face.

The envoy heard his own nose crack—a sharp pain like steel needles stabbed straight into his skull. Tears streamed uncontrollably, mixing with blood and snot, dripping steadily down until his chest was stained a large patch of red. The agony robbed him of the strength to cry out.

The interpreter received the same treatment.

Under the night sky, the Santiago closed on her prey like a shark. Her port gun ports opened, and twenty bronze cannons were run out.

"Sir, the enemy ships are approaching us!" the first mate shouted.

"Mm." Diego's expression did not change. In terms of tonnage or firepower, before the Santiago, these two Ming warships were no different from sampans.

The stupidity of the Shengli charge made Diego want to vomit.

"Two hundred paces!" the lookout shouted.

"Boom! Boom! Boom..."

The Long Wind and Cloud Sail were the first to open fire.

The red muzzle flashes were stark against the night—combined, the two ships produced only fourteen bursts of light.

Against the Santiago, such firepower was a joke.

"Incoming fire from port!" the first mate shouted.

The next second, more than a dozen columns of water erupted around the Santiago, with three or four shots striking the port side directly.

The twelve-pound solid shot, after smashing through the thick two-layer oak hull, had nearly exhausted its kinetic energy—it couldn't even leave a dent in the opposite side of the hull. Thanks to the high toughness of the thick oak, the port hull only bore fist-sized holes.

For a great ship over forty meters long, such damage was no different from a mosquito bite.

Diego said in a low voice: "Close in, faster!"

"Aye!" the first mate relayed the order.

Soon, the two ships *Changfeng* and *Yunfan* unleashed another volley of cannon fire, punching more holes into the port side of the *Santiago*.

"Casualties?" Diego asked.

The gunner roared up from the gun deck: "No one injured, sir!"

"One hundred fifty paces!" the lookout shouted.

Then the Ming warships' third volley struck. With the distance closing, the cannons hit harder this time, and the sound of splintering wood grew louder. Diego silently admired them—these raw barbarian gunners matched Spanish sailors in both rate of fire and accuracy.

With a navy of this caliber, no wonder the pirate Lin Qian could dominate the southeast of the Great Ming.

A pity—pirates are pirates. Before a regular army, they are nothing but armed rabble.

"Fire!" Diego ordered coldly.

Twenty bronze cannons roared, the red flash at their muzzles casting Diego's face in flickering light and shadow.

The massive recoil pushed against the hull, tilting the ship slightly to starboard as the planking groaned.

Through the gunsmoke, Diego raised his telescope toward the Ming ships and saw a dozen or more columns of water erupting around their hulls.

One cannonball struck the leading *Changfeng* dead-on, blasting a head-sized hole clean through her fragile sterncastle, wood splinters flying in all directions. The two sides ran parallel at slow speed for over a thousand paces, trading fire, sulfur and the stench of blood hanging over a wide stretch of sea.

The *Santiago* had taken a dozen or more hits fore and aft, with only twelve men lightly wounded.

As for the Ming ships, though their casualties were unknown, the visibly slowing rate of their fire made it clear they were running short of hands.

Diego had grown tired of this foolish game. He ordered: "Close in further. Let's send these raw barbarians to hell quickly."

By now, the deck of the *Changfeng* was covered in severed limbs and blood.

Two of the six twelve-pounder guns on the starboard side had been destroyed, and a four-pounder shot had collapsed the sterncastle outright, sending it tumbling into the sea.

The *Yunfan* behind was in even worse shape—water flooding her hull, listing to one side, her speed steadily dropping.

Far off across the sea, red light flickered, and then the thunder of cannon rolled in.

"Boom, boom, boom..."

Water columns erupted around the *Changfeng* once more. A cannonball struck the deck dead-center, and three crewmen, without even a scream, were torn into severed limbs and flesh, splashing over the side into the sea.

The pattering of flesh and blood hitting the water was the last sound they ever made in this world.

A tremendous blast came from astern—gunpowder exploded on the *Yunfan*'s deck. A blinding flash vanished in an instant as the *Yunfan*, consumed by fire, snapped apart at the middle. Burning planks and chunks of flesh shot out from the black smoke, scattering in all directions like rain.

On the *Changfeng*, the surviving sailors stared blankly at the sight, their faces full of disbelief.

Zhang Tiemao stood on the *Changfeng*'s aft deck, murmuring to himself: "Helmsman, Governor-General, forgive me—I've disgraced you!"

Then he wiped his tears and roared at the crew still alive: "Brothers! The helmsman will avenge us! Now—full sail, hard to starboard, we're ramming them!"

The *Changfeng* was outmatched in both speed and firepower; the crew knew death was certain, and all that remained was to trade their lives for blood.

At these words, every man's face turned savage.

"Ram them!"

"Blow these bastards to hell!"

On the *Santiago*'s stern deck, Diego watched the enemy ship turn and smiled contemptuously: "Switch to grapeshot. Fire on their deck!"

"Aye, grapeshot, fire on the deck!" the first mate shouted down the gun deck hatch.

"Open fire!" the gunner bellowed.

Twenty bronze cannons loosed a wall of death woven from grapeshot.

A mist of wood splinters and blood sprayed across the *Changfeng*, then quickly fell to silence.

Diego carefully inspected the enemy deck through his telescope, then said flatly: "Back to port. To the raw barbarians' village!"

"Hard to starboard, turn about!"

On the sea, the riddled *Changfeng*, bleeding, sailed with the wind into the endless dark.

Before the *Santiago* returned to Zhuqian Harbor, she sent out a launch demanding the village's surrender.

After about two hours, the launch returned, and a sailor reported: "Captain, the villagers have all fled—there's no one in the village. But the priest and soldiers at the outpost have been rescued."

"Cunning bastards!" Diego slammed his fist against the bulwark.

He suddenly understood why the Ming junk had fought to the death despite knowing it couldn't win—it was buying time for the villagers to escape. The sailor licked his lips and added: "The villagers left in a hurry. Quite a lot of valuables and livestock were left behind."

Diego waved his hand: "Go on, then. That is our rightful compensation!"

The crew cheered in unison.

The looting began at midnight and lasted until dawn, ending when a great fire was set to the village.

On the southern hillside, the people who had barely escaped watched their home turn into a sea of flames, their hearts torn asunder, weeping and wailing.

A few days later, an eagle ship on patrol around the island reported the Zhuqian massacre to Chi'an.

After the initial shock, Chen Jiao's blood surged hot. He shot up from his seat and drew his blade in one swift motion: "Damn it! Those Frankish bastards have some nerve! I haven't killed in too long—they think I'm some farmer? Pass the order—full assembly!"

His subordinates urged him: "Governor-General, we have no warships. We can only endure!"

From Chiqian to Zhuqian, the entire route was forest and river—overland travel was simply impossible; all transport depended on boats.

Now that the *Santiago* had sealed off the waterways, no matter how many men Chen Jiao had, it was useless.

Chen Jiao calmed himself. He ordered the eagle ship to report the matter to Nan'ao Island with all speed, and had men saddle a horse—he would go to Madou-she in person.

The Siraya war knives had not been adorned with new hair for a long time.

A day later, in the manor on Nan'ao Island.

Lin Qian was drafting new policies. Hearing of this, his brush paused, and a blot of ink bloomed on the page of his sailing log.

Lin Qian set down his brush and said coldly: "Have Bailangzai and Zheng Zhilong come to the study at once."

The two hurried to the manor and emerged an hour later, both with faces of iron.

Zheng Zhilong especially—normally the most gregarious of men, greeting everyone he met—now wore a face even colder than Bailangzai's, his eyes brimming with killing intent. The two headed straight for Qianjiang Bay, and moments later, a shrill whistle sounded from the military camp.

"Emergency assembly!"

In the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, a large force of sailors poured out of the barracks and boarded the two ships, the Tianyuan and the Zhulong.

At present, the whale ships and the Ahad ships of the Nan'ao naval force had all gone to Hirado for trade.

Only these two main warships remained in the harbor.

The Zhulong had originally been undergoing sea trials, but upon receiving Chen Jiao's report, it had been recalled by Lin Qian and had only just anchored in Qianjiang Bay at dawn this morning.

On the surrounding trestle bridges, the Fujian junks serving as auxiliary ships, along with the eagle ships used for reconnaissance, had already set sail ahead of time.

An hour later, the two main warships also weighed anchor and left the harbor, converging into a fleet that sped toward Dongning Island at full sail like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen