Chapter 241: The Treaty of Water Zhenla

Zheng Zhilong said: "Ever since Angkor fell to the Siamese, the kingdom of Zhenla has steadily weakened, losing control of the lower Mekong, allowing bandits to run rampant and the people to live in misery. The Helmsman understands that the Zhenla royal house has its own difficulties, and so does not hold them to blame."

Chaya was overjoyed.

But Zheng Zhilong shifted his tone: "However, the people of our Great Ming cannot remain long in chaos, cannot continue living day to day in uncertainty. Since Zhenla is powerless to govern this region, it would be better for the Helmsman to administer it on their behalf.

To be specific: from Phnom Penh in the north, to the South Sea in the south, bordering Champa in the east and the Gulf of Siam in the west — the alluvial plain region of the lower Mekong." Apart from a small amount of land north of Phnom Penh, nearly all of Water Zhenla was encompassed in Zheng Zhilong's demarcation.

Even Prey Nokor (present-day Ho Chi Minh City), the Khmer's important stronghold on the lower Mekong, was included.

A total area of nearly four million qing!

If this were ceded, Water Zhenla would lose eighty percent of its territory outright, and the kingdom of Zhenla would forfeit all access to the sea along the Mekong.

Even though Chaya had steeled himself for a lion's share of demands, he never imagined Zheng Zhilong would go this far.

To his ears, it was as absurd as if wokou bandits had seized a county town and demanded that Great Ming cede the entire middle and lower Yangtze plain! "Dream on!" Chaya slammed the table and rose, his face flushed red.

Zheng Zhilong remained unruffled: "Dream on? You want to keep fighting?"

Chaya suddenly recalled those twenty Sea Wolf warships, recalled the majestic Candle Dragon.

The Nan'ao army's martial might was at its peak; if they advanced upriver toward Phnom Penh, the Zhenla army would find it difficult to match them.

Even if they managed to crush the Nan'ao forces through numerical superiority, Zhenla would be gravely weakened, leaving them vulnerable to the Siamese.

For a moment, Chaya's heart was filled with humiliation — Zhenla was weak and poor, surrounded by powerful neighbors, and truly could not afford to offend any of them.

Chaya longed to storm out. He did not fear death; he wanted to say something defiant with dignity: "I'll see this through to the end!"

But he dared not. He feared the destruction of Zhenla. He dared not be a sinner.

While he remained frozen in indecision, Zheng Zhilong said to his men: "Bring up that Black Mast."

A moment later, Makutu was led into the officers' mess, and the moment he entered, he knelt on the spot.

Zheng Zhilong said: "Tell us about the fine deeds you've done."

Ever since Makutu had been captured by Zheng Zhilong, he had been held alone in a bright room, his hands and feet secured, and had confessed the full account of his crimes.

Makutu had not cooperated at first, so the torturers kept him from sleeping — at night they set a brazier of fire before his eyes and pushed needles between his fingers. Makutu tried to bite off his tongue to end himself, but the cell had medical soldiers on duty around the clock.

After three days of this torment, Makutu confessed everything, and thereafter came a long, tireless round of repeated questioning.

Back and forth, weighing every word, digging into details — right up until today.

Makutu's spirit had been almost completely shattered; he could recite his crimes backward and forward.

Hearing Zheng Zhilong's inquiry, Makutu recounted how he had been sent by the Siamese to commit atrocities in Water Zhenla.

Some of the details of his evil deeds were so bloody and brutal that even the listeners felt physically ill.

When he finished, Chaya's bearing had visibly deflated.

Zheng Zhilong asked calmly: "When such sea bandits were running amok within Zhenla's borders, killing people for sport, might I ask where your nation's army was?" "Er..."

"When your people's lives hung in the balance, your army did nothing. Our army protected our overseas compatriots and suppressed the sea bandits — and in return your nation sent troops to fight us. What kind of logic is that?" "This..." Sweat had begun to seep down Chaya's back.

"Your army slaughtered our overseas compatriots wantonly, burned their rice paddies wantonly — such base deeds outrage both gods and men, intolerable to heaven and earth! When one's people are humiliated abroad, should the motherland rescue them? Should we fight this war or not?"

Zheng Zhilong's tone grew steadily heavier, and finally he slammed the table, sending Chaya collapsing back into his seat.

He rushed to defend himself: "Injustice! Zhenla has always been friendly to the Tang people. A previous king even issued a decree: if a Khmer kills a Han, he pays with his life; if a Han kills a Khmer, he pays a fine.

In this campaign, Barom acted on his own authority — burning the rice paddies is true, but massacre? Truly, there was none! However bold we might be, we would never dare slaughter the subjects of the Celestial Dynasty!"

Zheng Zhilong said: "Li Ke, Hu Minglu, Chen Lian..."

He slowly recited six names: "After your army burned the rice paddies, these six men slipped out of the city under cover of darkness to rescue the rice, and were captured by your forces. Your army erected an execution platform before Yong'an Fort and tortured these six to death — and you still try to deny it?"

Chaya was stunned: "Only six people... surely that doesn't count as..."

"Not even one is acceptable!" Zheng Zhilong roared. His voice was naturally loud, and now bellowing in anger, it was full-throated and powerful, rattling the eardrums. In the officers' mess, one could have heard a pin drop.

"This... I..." Chaya was momentarily at a loss for words.

Killing only six — that counted as a massacre?

In every great war between Zhenla and Siam, hadn't they always killed a few commoners?

The lives of these mud-footed peasants were cheap — kill them and more would be born anyway. What did it matter?

Were all Tang people made of gold or something?

In all his life, from childhood to now, he had never seen anyone place such weight on the lives of common people.

Zheng Zhilong spoke slowly: "It seems the Second Prince knows little of your army's crimes. Allow me to remind you — bring the man in."

The sailors acknowledged, and shortly brought in the Third Prince, Barom.

Apart from one ear wrapped in bandages, he looked clean enough and showed no signs of mistreatment — only the dark circles under his eyes were severe, and his steps were somewhat unsteady.

Shrinking timidly into the officers' mess, Barom spotted the Second Prince, his eyes lighting up as if grasping at a lifeline. He knelt and clutched desperately at the Second Prince's sarong, pleading in anguish.

"Second Brother, take me away! I beg you, save me! I was wrong, I'll never contend with you again, the throne is yours, I'll never fight for it again, I know I was wrong... wuwuwu...

These Ming soldiers, they won't let me sleep, I can't take it anymore, I truly can't hold on... I'll do whatever you say... I'm so tired, let me sleep a while..."

Barom had only been captured five days prior; the sleep deprivation had only taken half effect.

Zheng Zhilong watched the scene with great interest, making no move to stop Barom's begging and lamenting, while inwardly his admiration for the Helmsman deepened another layer. Zheng Zhilong served as Deputy Director of the Nan'ao Administrative Office, overseeing the military and judicial departments.

The whole battery of tortures — sleep deprivation, humiliation, waterboarding with a cloth over the face, confinement in cramped spaces, noise torment — had all been taught by Lin Qian when interrogating Eastern Depot agents.

The results were remarkably effective, overcoming the crudeness of old-style corporal punishment — which required letting the prisoner recover between beatings — by attacking the prisoner's mind directly. It looked like nothing much, but in truth even the toughest man could not withstand it.

Barom kept pleading until his voice grew faint, as if he might collapse onto the floor and fall asleep. Only then did Zheng Zhilong stop watching the show and bark: "Confess your crimes!" "Yes!" Barom jolted awake by reflex, then hesitated a moment before confessing more of what he had done at Yong'an Fort.

At the end he added a few more lines: "Second Brother, I am guilty. I have wronged Father King, wronged the Tang common folk. I can't take it anymore — take me back, or else... just kill me!

I know you've always wanted to kill me. You can do it now! Kill me, and you and Eldest Brother can fight over the throne in peace — go on, do it!" Zheng Zhilong waved his hand with a smile, and the sailors dragged Barom away. He struggled at first, but the executioner whispered something in his ear, and Barom's face instantly turned ashen; he went as docile as a dead dog, making no further sound.

Chaya recovered from his shock, his tone icy: "You tortured a member of the Zhenla royal house?"

Zheng Zhilong sneered: "A barbarian backwater, utterly crude — have you never heard that 'kings, lords, generals, and ministers — are they born to their station?'

This criminal is at least still alive. We have not subjected him to corporal punishment — we have already shown your royal house ample face."

Hearing this, the accompanying Zhenla envoys all felt deeply humiliated. The envoys stared hard at Zheng Zhilong, eyes seeming to spit fire, yet constrained by their nation's weakness, they dared not erupt — truly suffocating in the extreme, and some even had red-rimmed eyes.

Zheng Zhilong continued: "As for the so-called royal house, their conduct is hardly better than the common folk's.

Among the Six Righteous Men of Yong'an Fort, the clan chief's third daughter, Chen Rui, was one of them.

A maiden as fair as a flower, in the bloom of youth, was beaten bloody by Chenla soldiers until her flesh was a blur—yet she did not utter a single cry, and even urged the fort's people not to come out and rescue her.

Now that is a true hero, a true champion!

Even if your Third Prince had half of Lady Chen's mettle, I would respect him as a man.

A pity—ha..."

Hearing this, the Chenla envoys felt even more humiliated, ashamed, and in the wrong. They could not win an argument, could not win a fight, and dared not even curse—truly, never since birth had they felt so stifled.

Many Chenla men looked up at the sky, whether praying to gods and Buddhas for protection, or simply unwilling to let their tears fall.

While everyone was stunned, Zheng Zhilong relented: "Enough. In view of years of tribute, the friendship between our two nations, and our amicable relations, our side will take a step back. Chenla need not cede territory—it shall merely be a concession, how about that?"

Having said this, Zheng Zhilong went on to explain the concept of a concession.

In simple terms, apart from nominally remaining Chenla territory, a concession was no different from ceded land.

Zheng Zhilong guided them patiently: "Chenla's national strength is waning, Siam eyes you hungrily, and the Nguyen Lord is restless as well. Even if the Mekong Delta remains in your hands, can you actually hold it?

Is the Nguyen Lord's alliance with Chenla truly out of goodwill?

His subjects have long been migrating into Water Chenla. At this rate, within twenty years, Water Chenla will be swallowed up by the Nguyen Lord!

Renting the land to the Nan'ao Army now at least lets you preserve something for your descendants, no?"

The Chenla envoys heard this and suddenly felt it made some sense.

One envoy asked naively: "Since it is a concession, what is the rent?"

Zheng Zhilong asked back in surprise: "The Nan'ao Army is helping Chenla defend its territory, and you want to charge us rent?"

That envoy was rebutted into speechlessness.

Another asked: "Then how long is the lease?"

Zheng Zhilong said: "That is easy to discuss—how about one hundred and ninety-nine years?"

"What?" The envoys erupted. "How is that any different from ceding it outright?"

"Silence!" Gaye shouted. "All of you, leave. I wish to speak with the Heavenly Envoy alone."

After the Chenla envoys departed, Gaye also entreated Zheng Zhilong to dismiss the guards inside the officers' mess.

Zheng Zhilong glanced at Bailangzai, who, cradling his great miao saber, gave an almost imperceptible nod. Bai Qing also quietly gripped the dagger at his waist.

Thereupon Zheng Zhilong had the guards withdraw.

Only the four of them remained in the officers' mess.

After the sound of footsteps faded into the distance, Gaye rose from his seat and knelt without the slightest hesitation: "Heavenly Envoy, I beg you—in view of Chenla's two hundred years of uninterrupted tribute and sincere service to the Great Ming—please mete out a lighter punishment!"

Zheng Zhilong remained unmoved, still seated as he said: "Did this envoy not just now, in view of your years of tribute, change the cession of territory into a concession?" Gaye suddenly understood—Zheng Zhilong's so-called step back had been nothing but a way to silence the Chenla people.

He steeled himself and said: "Then... could the lease term be somewhat shorter?"

"One hundred and eighty years, then," said Zheng Zhilong.

Gaye made up his mind and kowtowed: "I beg the Heavenly Envoy to reduce it further."

Zheng Zhilong smiled with amusement: "Chenla's strength is failing. Even if the lower Mekong remains with you, it will only be carved up bit by bit by Siam and the Nguyen Lord. What are you so desperately protecting it for? Afraid that once the treaty is signed, you will go down in history as a traitor?"

At these words that stabbed at the heart, Gaye's body trembled, yet he dared not answer directly. He merely changed the subject: "My country is weak and its people poor, lacking in cultivation and refinement. We have offended the dignity of the Celestial Kingdom and deserve punishment, but I beg the Heavenly Envoy to show mercy and stay your hand."

Zheng Zhilong said: "Very well—one hundred and fifty years. In addition, I will help you ascend the throne as king, and sell armor to Chenla to resist Siam. How about that?" Gaye looked up, his eyes full of hope: "Truly?"

"A gentleman's word is faster than a team of four horses," Zheng Zhilong said with firm conviction.

Zheng Zhilong's promises satisfied Gaye's personal ambition and political aspirations—he simply could not help but be tempted.

Once this treaty of national humiliation was signed, Gaye's reputation would inevitably suffer greatly, and contending with the First Prince for the throne afterward would become all the more difficult. But with the Nan'ao Army's support, it would be far simpler.

And with the Nan'ao Army's weapons, he could resist Siam and restore the glory of the Angkor dynasty—then Gaye would be the great restorer of Chenla. Compared to that, what did surrendering the lower Mekong amount to?

With this thought, Gaye's gaze turned resolute: "I will sign!"

Zheng Zhilong smiled: "Very well. Call the envoys and everyone else in—we shall draft the treaty on the spot."

When the other Chenla envoys entered and learned that Gaye had agreed to sign, apart from sighs and silent resignation, they offered little further objection. At that time, on the Indochinese Peninsula, apart from Jiaozhi, the other states were little influenced by Han culture and greatly influenced by Indian culture.

They did not uphold notions of "when the lord is humiliated, his ministers die," nor did they possess the literati spirit of dying for one's country. Their very concept of nationhood was vague, and their definitions of frontiers, borders, and national boundaries were blurred.

What they practiced was a "mandala polity," something like a combination of enfeoffment and tribal chieftainship.

The "mandala polity" used religion as its bond, with the king as the "god-king," and the chieftains of surrounding tribes swearing fealty to him.

If today the Chenla king's power was strong, they pledged loyalty to him.

If tomorrow the Siamese king's power surpassed his, they pledged loyalty to the Siamese king.

Some tribes even pledged loyalty to both.

This fence-sitting behavior would be called vacillating between two sides in the Great Ming, or a thrice-surnamed slave—but in these tropical jungles, it was survival wisdom, perfectly normal. Thus when Gaye signed the treaty, ceding four million qing of Water Chenla as a concession,

in the envoys' view, it was merely a contraction of the god-king's domain. Since the god-king's representative had approved it, they need not add their objections. Compared to the cession of land, it was Zheng Zhilong's humiliation of the royal house that the envoys found harder to bear.

The draft of the treaty had long been prepared. After filling in the many details discussed, it was recopied in duplicate.

What surprised Gaye was that the treaty, besides detailing the various rights of the concession, also included a map marking out every geographical feature along the concession's borders.

Gaye swept his eyes over it, saw that it differed not at all from the terms just discussed, and signed his name readily.

Of course, sensitive matters such as helping Gaye seize the throne and selling weapons were verbal agreements, not written into the treaty.

With the treaty signed, Gaye felt light as air. Zheng Zhilong escorted him and the envoys off the ship.

He gazed at the sea, where the Chenla boats were "escorted" between the massive Sea Wolf galleons.

Zheng Zhilong felt a surge of accomplishment. Curling his lips, he said to Zheng Zhihu with full confidence: "Second Python, carve the treaty into printing blocks and show it well to every fort of Water Chenla. The matter of establishing the chartered company should also be reopened for discussion."

"Yes!" Zheng Zhihu clasped his fists and went down to relay the order.

Zheng Zhilong added: "Lady Bai, I entrust the matter of recruiting immigrants to you."

Bai Qing glanced at the wild marshland and mudflats and asked: "Recruit now?"

"Water Chenla's farming seasons differ from Jiangnan's. In a few months the rainy season will be upon us, so we must hurry to sow. The migrants cannot afford to move slowly."

Zheng Zhilong spoke at length as he gazed at the marsh.

"This place is warm. Migrants can survive by throwing up a simple shack. The soil is soft and fertile—even without plow oxen, migrants can till the land themselves. They don't even need to plow or build irrigation; just scatter seeds and there will be a harvest. All we need is people, people!"

Bai Qing said, "I understand. So how many people do we need?"

"The more, the better!"

Pushed forward by Zheng Zhilong, the Water Chenla Chartered Agricultural Company was formally established.

Eighteen Han stockade villages bought in as shareholders, and another five Han stockades, having witnessed the strength of the Nan'ao army, shamelessly begged to join as well.

Zheng Zhilong approved them all.

But the share ratios were crushed extremely low by Zheng Zhilong—the twenty-three Han stockades combined held less than 10% of the shares.

Risk and reward go hand in hand. If the Han stockades insisted on seeing the rabbit before releasing the hawk, they couldn't blame anyone for earning little.

The company's first order of business was to recruit militiamen in force, filling a full thousand men, then beginning intensive training. Battalion Commander of the militia was held by Shitou.

During the startup phase, Zheng Zhilong had full authority, and all company positions were temporarily managed by Nan'ao soldiers.

Meanwhile, over 1,800 li north of Water Chenla, there lay a great city called Yi'an Town.

The city stood north of the Lin River, a key southern stronghold under Lord Trinh's rule—and across the river lay Lord Nguyen's sphere of influence.

Bordering the Lin River with convenient irrigation, the city had once been a land of fish and rice, a place of abundant produce, surrounded by prosperous villages with dense populations.

Unfortunately, it sat at the crossroads of two great powers at war.

In the summer of the seventh year of Tianqi, Lord Trinh, in the name of the Le Emperor, issued a decree ordering Lord Nguyen, Nguyen Phuc Nguyen, to appear at court, pay tribute, and send his son as hostage. Nguyen Phuc Nguyen refused in no uncertain terms, and the two sides completely broke relations.

Lord Trinh sent an army of thirty thousand south to attack the region of Thuan Hoa.

Lord Nguyen relied on the Lin River to build fortifications and hold his ground. Though short on troops, he had natural defenses without and bronze cannons sold by the Englishman Victor within—and managed to hold Lord Trinh's offensive firmly in check.

The thirty-thousand-strong southern expeditionary army suffered heavy losses and returned without success.

Neither side lost many men in this battle, and neither had its strength fundamentally sapped.

But for the livelihoods of the common folk on both banks of the Lin River, it was a devastating blow.

Once war broke out, press-ganging men, conscripting laborers, and requisitioning grain all demanded manpower. Tens of thousands of people on the north bank were seized for military service, and many were even used as cannon fodder in river crossings.

Those lucky enough not to be seized still bore crushing taxes, while the army's marches and fortress construction destroyed vast stretches of farmland.

The little food they managed to keep was stolen by bandits and routed soldiers. On top of that, local officials used the chaos to extort and embezzle, or simply abandoned their posts and fled—making it even more impossible for the people to survive.

Villages and towns that had once been prosperous were reduced to ruins in a single summer. Farmland lay barren in great swaths, and on both banks of the Lin River, the dead lay piled upon one another. A folk song said: "Northern troops come, southern forts close; fathers die in ditches, sons fill the trenches." Truly a tragedy beyond words.

According to rumor, Lord Trinh's capital of Thang Long was recruiting soldiers and buying horses, preparing for a new southern campaign.

Fifty or sixty li north of the Lin River, the people fled in droves—some heading north to seek refuge with relatives, others diving straight into the Hoanh Son mountains to become mountain folk and drifters. Both banks of the Lin River were nearly emptied of human traces.

In Dung Kham Port, the largest port in Lord Trinh's territory, someone had built a tall platform.

The platform stood four chi off the ground, open to the wind on three sides, with only its back hung with dark cyan Zhangzhou velvet as a backdrop.

Before the Zhangzhou velvet slanted six crimson banners, painted with golden crossed rice-stalk patterns, their edges hung with gold-thread tassels—an imposing sight. These were the charter company's banners.

At the center of the platform, someone was beating gongs and drums while performing a lion dance, a lively spectacle.

It drew a large crowd of Jiaozhi commoners to watch, including no small number of northern refugees who had fled with their families.

When the dance ended, a recruitment officer stepped onto the platform, smiling with clasped hands: "Elders and fellow villagers, have you heard of Water Chenla?"

Its territory spans four million qing. It has more rain and hotter weather, and with careful cultivation, rice can ripen three times a year.

The Mekong River flows through it, bringing vast amounts of fertile silt. The river teems with fish and shrimp—so many fish they leap into boats on their own.

It is truly a land of plenty, a paradise on earth!"

As he spoke, the recruitment officer pulled a handful of rice from his pocket and scattered it to the crowd before him: "Take a look, everyone—this is rice produced in Water Chenla." The Jiaozhi people picked up the grains and saw they were plump and full—indeed fine rice—and could not help believing him somewhat.

The recruitment officer continued: "Most importantly, Water Chenla is under the rule of the Nan'ao army and the charter company. There is no war, no forced conscription, no corvée labor, no arbitrary tax increases.

Everyone can create wealth with their own hands—the more you work, the more you earn.

Everyone can eat their fill and dress warmly, never again wandering homeless or seeing families torn apart!"

Someone in the crowd called out loudly: "Is everything you say true?"

"We can sign a contract as proof!" the recruitment officer said, thumping his chest. "If I speak a single word of falsehood, may heaven strike me with lightning!"

That man spoke again: "Even if it's true, Water Chenla is more than a thousand li away from us. How are we supposed to get there?"

The recruitment officer said: "The charter company will send ships to pick you up. Tools, housing, and medical care are all provided in advance by the company—you can repay with your farmland output."

"So you're saying that if we go, we'd become tenant farmers of the company?"

Someone said: "Being a tenant farmer is still better than starving to death or being killed, isn't it?"

This interjection caught the recruitment officer off guard—after all, this man wasn't part of the scripted exchange.

The recruitment officer adapted on the spot: "The contract stipulates that after twenty-five years as a tenant farmer, the land belongs to the farmer outright. In just one generation, you can leave a plot of land for your children and grandchildren!"

At these words, the watching crowd—especially the Jiaozhi refugees—all shifted expressions slightly.

To a farmer, land was the greatest temptation of all.

Their homes by the Lin River were already destroyed. Fleeing to Dung Kham Port or fleeing to Water Chenla were both, in essence, leaving their homeland—no different. And in Dung Kham Port, they could only work as coolies on the docks, barely scraping by.

Going to Water Chenla, no matter what, at least offered some hope.

As soon as the recruitment officer finished speaking, many people rushed to sign up.

A smile on his face, the recruitment officer sized up the applicants while registering the migrants in the rolls.

Meanwhile, he had the lion dance troupe continue performing on stage. An hour later, he would return to the platform and give the same speech again.

Of course, some Jiaozhi commoners harbored doubts and were unwilling to leave their homeland.

At that point, the registrar would offer another option—going to Ha Long Bay to work as miners.

At a tavern by the port, Lü Zhou sat by the window, quietly watching it all as subordinates continuously reported the latest migrant numbers.

At Hoi An port in Lord Nguyen's territory, Jose had also recruited a batch of hands, doing the same work.

Besides immigrants, José also purchased large quantities of water buffalo, farming tools, seeds, and other agriculture-related goods.

Under the Nguyen Lord's rule, foreign trade was monopolized by the Nan'ao faction, and the weapons supply was gripped by the English.

With the two joining forces, the Nguyen Lord could not and dared not resist anything they wanted to do.

This was the reason the Nguyen Lord remained unmoved when Zhenla sought aid from him.

Now the Nan'ao faction openly drained Cochinchina's population and agricultural resources, and the Nguyen Lord could only tacitly permit it.

To resist external threats, one must first secure internal stability.

The Nguyen Lord secretly swore in his heart that after destroying the Trinh Lord and unifying Cochinchina, he would cast off his dependence on Nan'ao and the English!

Yahei

Tofu

Pen