Chapter 249: The Maiden Voyage and Sinking of the New Moon

While the fleet rode the wind and waves across the Gulf of Siam.

The envoy of the Nan'ao army had just arrived at the Chao Phraya River, preparing to sail upstream toward Ayutthaya, capital of Siam (80 kilometers north of present-day Bangkok). This was a river-port city at the northern end of the Gulf of Siam, situated on the fertile Chao Phraya plain.

Its natural conditions were slightly inferior to the Mekong Delta, but it excelled in long history, dense population, and well-developed irrigation—paddy yields per mu were even higher than in Water Chenla. Nearly a million people lived in the vicinity of Ayutthaya, all sustained by the region's extremely high grain output.

On the boat, the envoy kept questioning the Siamese escort leader about local natural and cultural conditions, secretly committing everything to memory.

The Siamese escort leader said jokingly: "I wouldn't have taken Your Excellency for an expert in agriculture."

The envoy shook his head: "I don't know how to farm, but asking more questions might prove useful someday."

"Hm?" The Siamese escort leader was left speechless by the retort. The envoy's overt and covert arrogance actually made him drop his dismissive attitude. The Nan'ao envoy was named Ning Zhi, a poor scholar from Quanzhou, Fujian, without any examination degree. Since Nan'ao took charge of Fujian and Guangdong, he had passed an examination and become a clerk in the Foreign Affairs Bureau of the Nan'ao Administrative Office.

Before this mission to Siam, the bureau director had told him that if he returned safely, this experience would let him rise swiftly through the Foreign Affairs Bureau. If he died for the country with honor, his family genealogy would merit a separate page, and years later the Nan'ao army would grind the Siamese to dust and avenge him. Either way, he couldn't lose.

Thus Ning Zhi had long since cast aside thoughts of life and death. He was a poor scholar who knew nothing of war or farming, but he excelled at memorization with a remarkable memory—everything he saw and heard along the way was recorded in his mind.

If he could return safely and write it all out from memory, that too would be a great contribution.

Ning Zhi had brought only one attendant and one interpreter; the entire boat was filled with watchful Siamese soldiers.

Surrounded by their surveillance, he calmly continued his questions.

"General, how many harvests per year do these farmlands yield? What is the yield per mu?"

"How does the Chao Phraya climate compare to Water Chenla? Does it also have rainy and dry seasons?"

"How many mu can each farmer here cultivate? The draft oxen you use seem different from those of the Central Plains..."

The Siamese escort leader's threats proved useless, and he dared not resort to force. Forced into a corner, he could only clasp his hands respectfully and say: "Heavenly envoy, please stop asking—these matters I truly cannot disclose."

Ning Zhi then turned to question the soldiers on board: "How much is your monthly pay? Does it include grain rations?"

"What monthly pay? Our country isn't like the Celestial Dynasty—we're just given food..."

"Shut up!" the Siamese escort leader barked.

After sailing a day and a night up the Chao Phraya, they arrived at Ayutthaya.

The city sat at the confluence of the Chao Phraya and the Pa Sak River, its entire expanse laced with waterways, the harbor bristling with masts like a forest.

Merchant vessels large and small from China, Japan, Portugal, Holland, England, Arabia, and the Mughal Empire lay moored together in mixed profusion, goods of every description dazzling the eye—extremely prosperous.

Along the riverbank flew the flags of the Dutch and English trading factories, alongside the building complexes of the Chinese merchants' association and the Japanese quarter.

Among the soldiers patrolling the city walls were many Japanese with shaved pates and topknots.

Ning Zhi kept his gaze straight ahead the entire way, wearing an expression of lofty disdain, and strode chest-out into the royal palace.

Upon meeting Siam's King Songtham, he merely clasped his hands in salute, then stated that the Nan'ao fleet would be clearing sea bandits from the Gulf of Siam, and kindly advised the Siamese king not to send vessels into sensitive waters during the operation, to avoid accidental harm.

Before the king could respond, an official below spoke up: "Quite the bold talk. Might I ask how many men your army has brought?"

Ning Zhi said flatly: "Various vessels, sixty-odd in number."

"Hahaha..." Laughter erupted from the court officials. "Our country has a thousand warships. With such a paltry navy, how dare you speak so arrogantly?"

"My fleet's artillery totals 286 long cannons and over 150 Folangji cannons. Might I ask how many cannons your forces possess?" The laughter in the court stopped abruptly.

Some accused Ning Zhi of bluffing, others berated him for threatening with arms.

Ning Zhi sneered coldly, deigning not to respond.

Suddenly a Japanese ronin stood up in court, bowed first in salute, then said: "Your country first annexed Water Chenla by force, and now presses your fleet against the Gulf of Siam. Launching war without just cause and indulging in military aggression—is this in accordance with righteousness?"

"Where did this Japanese ronin come from?"

"How dare you! This is Lord Yamada Nagamasa, holding the rank of Okya, serving as Governor-General of Ligor—a senior minister of our realm!" an official immediately barked. "Oh?" Ning Zhi sized up the man—around forty years of age, wearing a dark kimono, with nothing remarkable about his appearance.

Recalling the ronin soldiers he'd seen upon entering the city, it seemed Siam had hired many masterless samurai, and this Yamada Nagamasa was clearly the leader of the ronin contingent. For a country to let a foreign mercenary captain into its inner councils—even if its military strength was considerable, it could only be considerable to a limited degree.

Ning Zhi reached his conclusion and said: "And is it righteous for your country to support pirates plundering at will in Water Chenla?"

"Slander!"

Unhurriedly, Ning Zhi produced a written confession from his bosom—the one written by that Black Mast Makutu. An attendant took it and passed it around the court. Most Siamese high officials had some knowledge of Chinese characters, and after reading the confession, they all looked somewhat embarrassed.

Someone muttered: "This is block-printed—it's a forgery."

Ning Zhi said: "Correct. The original is kept on Nan'ao Island, and that pirate is still alive. Should your country have need, he can write another original confession at any time and send it to you."

"Cough, cough, cough..." King Songtham coughed a spell, glaring at Yamada Nagamasa with displeasure.

Yamada Nagamasa knew the king was blaming him for the foolish idea of supporting pirates, which had now been seized upon as a handle against them.

Unwilling to keep tangling over the pirate issue, he turned and sneered: "Our country regards the Great Ming as suzerain. Your so-called Nan'ao army is nothing but Ming rebel bandits."

Ning Zhi was amused. Had he read all those books over the years for nothing?

Debating with a Japanese ronin over what constituted legitimacy, what was the Mandate of Heaven, what it meant to rescue the people and punish the wicked, what it meant to have the people's support—it was simply child's play. He spoke extemporaneously: "As Mencius said: 'One who destroys benevolence is called a thief; one who destroys righteousness is called a brute. A thief and a brute is called a mere fellow. I have heard of executing the mere fellow Zhou, but never of murdering a sovereign.'

Now in the Tianqi era of the Ming house, natural disasters continue unabated while the Liaodong levy is imposed on top, the Nine Border Garrisons cry for help while factional strife never ceases—the Mandate of Heaven has already been lost.

My lord rescues the people from their suffering, truly executing Heaven's punishment in place of Heaven—a righteous man who slew a mere fellow. How can he be called a bandit?"

This passage was Mencius's argument for the legitimacy of King Wu's overthrow of the tyrant Zhou.

Taking "one who destroys benevolence is called a thief" as an example: the first "destroys" is a verb, the second "thief" is a noun. The meaning is "one who destroys benevolence is a thief."

This kind of discourse was indeed hard to understand without having read and studied it.

In the Siamese court, most had only read Buddhist scriptures, never Confucius or Mencius, and could barely follow.

Even Yamada Nagamasa understood only a fraction. Just as he was about to rebut, he heard Ning Zhi continue:

"In former times, the Grand Ancestor, Emperor Hongwu, rose from among the shaven-headed clergy, resisting the Yuan court and rescuing the common people—did he lose the Mandate of Heaven for his humble origins?

Now the Helmsman gathers his forces not for private gain. First, to rescue the people from their suffering; second, to drive out the Jianzhou scourge; third, to uphold the moral order of Heaven and Earth.

The starving people of Fujian and Guangdong greet the righteous army with food and drink in welcome; a million willingly follow the army—is this not where the Mandate of Heaven points?

The sea bandits of the Southern Ocean received Heaven's grace yet harbored no gratitude. Even common folk may punish them—how much more so our Nan'ao righteous army?"

The Siamese nobles listened with only partial comprehension, while Yamada Nagamasa's face had turned red with rage.

Then Ning Zhi continued: "You dwell in a remote southern corner, wearing animal skins and feather ornaments, with no shared script and no instruction in civilization. How dare you, with the views of a barbarian chieftain, presumptuously discuss the dynastic transition of our China?

The mysteries of the Mandate of Heaven cannot be fathomed in a land of coconut groves and banana rains; the rise and fall of legitimate rule—how can one who knows nothing of rites and music presume to perceive it?"

This envoy advises you all to observe proper vassal decorum and quietly await the might of Heaven.

Wait until our helmsman reorders the sun and moon and settles heaven and earth—then you may present your tribute, acknowledge submission, and kowtow northward. Why must you speak so rashly now?

Yamada Nagamasa's mouth hung open for a long while, unable to utter a single word of rebuttal. He threatened: "You are but an envoy of rebels, no true emissary of the Celestial Court. How dare you speak so insolently—do you think we dare not kill you?"

Ning Zhi sneered: "Truly the barbaric nature of Japanese pirates. Since this envoy has come on a mission to a lesser state, I long ago placed life and death beyond concern. Why threaten me with death? Utterly laughable."

He appeared so brazen that the Siamese monarch and ministers assumed he had some backing, and dared not lay a hand on him.

King Songtham conferred quietly with his ministers and decided to detain Ning Zhi for now—if he were merely bluffing, they could kill him later.

At the king's command, guards pressed Ning Zhi down and led him away.

Seeing the Siamese monarch and ministers humbled, Ning Zhi felt unspeakable satisfaction and departed laughing with the guards.

Afterwards, King Songtham ordered his ministers: "Send men to observe the battle situation in the Gulf of Siam, and simultaneously muster the navy."

"Yes!" All the ministers in court acknowledged the order in unison.

At the same time, envoys from Nan'ao also arrived at the Zhenla court, the Aceh court, and the Batavia headquarters of the Dutch East India Company.

They informed them of the suppression campaign and demanded they not send troops to interfere.

Zhenla would have liked to interfere but lacked the strength, and could only agree.

The Dutch had suffered several major losses at Lin Qian's hands and would not fight a battle without certainty of victory, so they too chose to bide their time.

The Sultan of Aceh, unaware that the Nan'ao navy's target was Pattani, assumed they were going to cause trouble for the Siamese, and agreed with the arrogant air of one granting a request. The Sultanate of Aceh had been founded during the Hongzhi reign, when the Great Ming had already tightened the sea ban; the glory of Zheng He's voyages to the Western Oceans was no more, and the Ming's influence had plummeted. Thus Aceh was not a Ming vassal and had limited exchanges with the Ming. It was itself a maritime power, commanding the Strait of Malacca, with formidable economic and military strength—the Ming sea merchants it encountered were all at its mercy.

Naturally, it held no envoy in any regard.

But regardless of the process, Nan'ao's diplomatic objectives were achieved.

Pattani occupied a special position, situated between several great powers. Whenever one side harassed it, it would seek help from the others, and through this skill of playing all sides, it had preserved its kingdom.

But when a true maritime power arrived, it dismantled Pattani's diplomatic talisman into pieces without the slightest effort.

On the sixth day of the eleventh month of the eighth year of Tianqi, Pattani was decked with lanterns and bunting.

Preceded by eighty palace guards bearing long spears, the Yellow Queen arrived at the harbor in a magnificent palanquin.

Sunlight spilled over her splendid robes, golden threads glittering brilliantly, making her appear all the more majestic and noble.

Commoners knelt on both sides of the streets, and from time to time people recited scriptures with tears in their eyes.

The houses large and small along the harbor were decorated with hibiscus and silk. When a breeze blew past, pink petals scattered through the air—a scene of exquisite beauty. The Yellow Queen's procession advanced until it reached a shipway, upon which rested a luxurious great vessel.

The ship was thirteen zhang long and two and a half zhang wide, with twenty nine-pounder cannons on its gun deck.

The vessel had three masts—the foremast and mainmast carried square sails, while the mizzenmast bore an Arab lateen sail. Embroidered upon the mainsail was the royal emblem: intertwined golden crescents and a short sword.

The figurehead was a giant gilded peacock, gleaming with dazzling golden light under the sun.

This was the main flagship that Pattani had commissioned Dutch shipwrights to build over three years.

The overall design adopted the galleon form, but every detail bore traces of Malay culture.

Though the Dutch shipwright was somewhat puzzled by the ship's excessively ostentatious decorations and overly spacious living quarters.

Yet under the queen's orders, he strictly followed the specifications, sacrificing cannon poundage to complete the vessel.

At this time in the Gulf of Siam, all nations fought naval battles with bows and firearms.

This ship's firepower was enough to look down upon all rivals.

With this ship joining, the Pattani fleet could not only defend the harbor, but might even sail the open seas and contend with the Siamese.

Amid the cheers of the populace, the Yellow Queen descended from her palanquin, knelt upon the carpet laid out for the royal family, and recited scriptures.

Behind her, countless subjects joined the chanting procession.

In harmony with the sound of scripture, the imam sprinkled the hull with water infused with roses and sandalwood.

As the chanting grew louder, a white bull was led to the platform and slaughtered, its blood spilling into the sea.

With the imam's permission, the Yellow Queen rose and proclaimed in a clear voice that this ship would be named the "Crescent Moon."

The eighty guards before her shouted the ship's name in unison, and the populace erupted in cheers, endlessly crying out the Crescent Moon's name and the queen's name.

The Yellow Queen looked upon the fervent crowd before her and broke into a smile.

She had only recently taken personal rule; various factions within the kingdom were surging, and her rule was very fragile.

Her mother, the Purple Queen, had taken a hard line against Siam, exhausting the nation's strength and causing trade to decline, which bred resentment among the nobles. The Purple Queen's death remained unexplained. To quell the nobles' anger, the Yellow Queen, after ascending the throne, had reacknowledged Siam as suzerain.

At the same time, arranged by her mother, the Yellow Queen's husband was a young prince of the Johor Sultanate.

This man resided in the Pattani court, treating Pattani's subjects as his personal property, frequently committing acts of rape and pillage and defiling the palace, greatly diminishing the Yellow Queen's prestige among the people.

Johor did not share a border with Pattani, but they shared the same religious culture and were an ally against Siam, so Pattani could not afford to lose this ally. The Yellow Queen turned a blind eye to the young prince's various outrageous deeds.

Additionally, at the suzerain Siam's demand, Pattani strictly inspected Chinese merchant vessels, levied heavy taxes upon them, and was to specially detain those from the Water Zhenla Special Agricultural Reclamation Company.

This move also offended the Chinese merchants.

The Yellow Queen wanted to survive in the cracks, to contend with the great powers, to perpetuate Pattani's queenship—she had to endure.

One cannot level a bowl of water perfectly; no matter how adept she was at dancing on many stages, she could not please everyone at once. She could only strike at the weak Chinese merchants, using their confiscated assets to curry favor with Siam, the nobles, and the populace.

Fortunately, it was all worth it. With the Crescent Moon launched, Pattani's naval strength soared. After enduring humiliation for so long, she could finally stand a little straighter.

The ropes were cast off, and amid the chanting and the gaze of the people, the Crescent Moon slid slowly into the sea.

Its great sterncastle entered the water first, sending up towering waves that surged onto the wharf, spraying mist across the sky.

Then the bow entered the water as well; the Crescent Moon's hull rocked for a moment before stabilizing upon the sea's surface.

The band by the harbor began to play gamelan music—a court music dominated by percussion, its timbre ethereal and magnificent—and the crowd danced joyfully to the rhythm.

Accompanied by the music, the Pattani fleet slowly sailed into view on the sea not far away.

The fleet was composed chiefly of heavy galiot warships, supplemented by lancaran boarding vessels, with many undecked fast boats in support—all oar-and-sail ships fitted with numerous cannons.

The warships large and small numbered over three hundred in total, of which the main galiot warships numbered over sixty.

Viewed from afar, the warships stretched endlessly across the horizon.

Pattani's sailors boarded small boats, climbed aboard the Crescent Moon, and sailed it into the fleet.

The gilded peacock head at the stern held high, its golden feathers shimmering with flowing radiance as the ship sailed, dazzling and resplendent.

Seeing this sight, the subjects felt immense pride in the strength of their nation.

Queen Yellow smiled as she watched the scene, silently vowing in her heart that one day, she would lead the people of Pattani to throw off the control of Siam and Johor, making Pattani a great power.

By that time, all who had bullied Pattani would be punished.

And those who had contributed to Pattani's rise would also be rewarded.

Take the Chinese merchants, for example—though their contributions were not made voluntarily, the Queen would still generously bestow rewards upon them.

A newly launched ship required sea trials and integration with the fleet—this was a very lengthy process.

Queen Yellow ordered the captain of the guard to return to the palace and prepare bonfires, cattle, and sheep, planning to hold a grand banquet that evening to reward her subjects. "As you command, Your Majesty." The captain of the guard placed a hand over his chest, bowed in salute, and ordered the guards to lift the sedan chair.

The surrounding subjects kept shouting praises of "Long live Your Majesty."

Queen Yellow gracefully extended her hand, waving to her subjects in greeting.

Gradually, the subjects' shouts lowered, and some even averted their gaze, looking toward the sea. The crowd began to murmur among themselves.

"Your Majesty, look." The captain of the guard pointed toward the distant sea, alerting her.

Queen Yellow looked toward the northeastern horizon. The day was bright and sunny, the sky azure, the sea covered in glittering waves—visibility was excellent. She saw dozens of black dots appearing along the horizon.

Those black dots grew closer and closer, gradually revealing single-masted triangular sails or four-cornered lateen sails. The hulls were small, and people could still be seen rowing oars at the sterns. They were clearly Pattani fishing boats.

At high noon, with the blazing sun overhead, it was rare for fishing boats to return to port at this hour—and dozens returning together was even stranger, like a school of fish driven to the surface by a whale.

At the harbor, more commoners noticed the scene, raising hands to shade their eyes and gazing into the distance. Unease spread through the crowd. The fishing boats drew closer and closer to the port, until the movements of the fishermen aboard could be clearly seen—all of them rowing desperately, with wild, frantic strokes, as if fleeing for their lives. Mixed among the fishing boats were six or seven slightly larger single-masted vessels, carrying two triangular fore-and-aft sails fore and aft, like the tall dorsal fin of a sailfish. These ships moved swiftly yet with great agility, stopping and starting across the sea—herding the fishing boats, it seemed, or perhaps scouting and probing. Queen Yellow's intuition told her danger was approaching. In a steady voice, she commanded the captain of the guard: "Send the fleet to investigate." "Yes!"

The harbor relayed the order by signal flags, and the Pattani fleet, which had been conducting sea trials, turned and sailed toward the horizon.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The alarm bell on the dock watchtower rang out abruptly. A stifled gasp rose from the commoners as they exchanged uneasy glances. To them, the sea looked perfectly calm—they did not know whether to flee.

"The telescope." Queen Yellow reached out to the captain of the guard, then raised it to scan the horizon.

At the very limit of her vision, several slender masts thrust up from the sea.

The masts multiplied like bamboo shoots after spring rain, and then snow-white sails appeared—great sheets of canvas that blotted out the sky and sun.

The bell in the watchtower grew ever more piercing.

Queen Yellow's chest heaved violently. In her sight, the towering sails leaped above the waterline, followed by the dark mass of hulls emerging, quickly linking together across the sea into a wall of black.

The fleet's formation was extremely orderly, arranged in a square block with equal spacing on all sides, advancing slowly and steadily. Ships at the rear were still hidden below the horizon while the leading warships already showed their broadsides clearly. The entire fleet seemed endless, carrying an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Queen Yellow's scalp tingled and her heart pounded wildly.

By now, the faster fishing boats had reached the harbor. Their owners abandoned even their catches, leaping straight off the boats and running inland, shouting frantically: "The enemy is coming! Hide!"

"Your Majesty, please give the order to return to the palace!" the captain of the guard said urgently.

Queen Yellow lowered the telescope, looked at the subjects around her, and said in a deep voice: "I will not leave. I will stay here and witness Pattani's fleet defeat the invaders."

The presence of the Queen and her guard reassured the commoners. Many forgot their fear, sat down on the ground, and began chanting scriptures.

Meanwhile, troops from across Pattani mobilized rapidly, all surging toward the harbor, standing ready in full formation.

Witnessed by tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians, accompanied by the ringing of alarm bells, the Pattani fleet charged head-on at the enemy.

The distance between the two sides closed rapidly, and the enemy fleet neither changed formation nor slowed—it simply rammed straight ahead.

Only when the two fleets nearly overlapped did the tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians realize a horrifying truth in terror.

Pattani's ships, before the enemy vessels, were like ants.

The disparity in size between the two sides was absurdly vast.

The largest ship in Pattani's fleet, the Crescent Moon, was merely medium-sized among the enemy fleet.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The moment the two sides engaged, the enemy ships fired in rotation from both port and starboard. The cannon thunder tore through the sky like rolling thunder, shaking the very ground with tremors.

More and more enemy ships joined the battle. The cannon fire grew denser and louder, so intense that even on shore it left chests feeling tight and heavy. The alarm bells, the scripture chanting, and the cries of weeping were all instantly drowned out—nothing remained between heaven and earth but the rumbling thunder of artillery.

Pattani's subjects and commoners were stunned. This spectacle exceeded the limits of their understanding—even the Dutch fleet had never displayed such power. The cannon fire over the sea was nearly continuous; the moment it began to fade, a fresh barrage would ring out.

Gunpowder smoke rose like clouds and mist, drifting toward the harbor on the northeast wind, obscuring the crowd's view.

Everyone's heart sank.

Queen Yellow struggled to maintain the dignity of a Sultana. Her hands, hidden within her robes, were clenched so tightly they had lost nearly all color.

The cannonade lasted roughly an hour, then gradually subsided.

The smoke at the harbor was extremely thick—the battle's outcome could not be discerned.

Some commoners rose from the ground, loudly praising God, thanking Him for the victory He had granted.

More commoners craned their necks, anxiously awaiting news of the battle.

The sea breeze gradually blew the smoke away.

On the sea, the gharri warships, the lankaran warships, and the other Malay fast boats—more than two hundred vessels in all—scattered like a disrupted school of sardines, their sterns to the enemy, racing back toward the harbor at full speed.

Their oars on both sides churned frantically, driving the warships at speeds like dragon boats.

Behind the fleeing warships, wooden planks and corpses littered the sea, covering the entire surface.

The Crescent Moon, launched less than four hours ago, had its rear half sunk beneath the water while its forward half blazed with roaring flames, black smoke billowing skyward. The gilded peacock tilted high as if trying to soar into the heavens, but its wings were bound—it could only cry out in desperate lament.

Through the black smoke and fire, a towering warship flying a dark-red shield-and-halberd flag sailed slowly forward.

A two-masted lankaran warship was badly damaged, its oars rowing too slowly, and was caught up by the Zheng He.

The Zheng He made no maneuver whatsoever, no change of course—as if it had spotted an ant, it simply crushed straight over it.

Its thick double-layered teak hull remained completely unscathed.

The lankaran warship, as if struck by a massive blow, had its stern crushed beneath the great ship, hull cracking and taking on water. The sterncastle shattered and broke apart, countless wood splinters flying everywhere, while the bow was pressed up high, lifted clear of the water.

The crew leaped overboard to flee for their lives—those too slow would go down with the ship. Their screams and wails could be heard even from shore.

The Zheng He sailed on without the slightest hindrance, quickly grinding the entire warship beneath its hull, reducing it to powder.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen