Chapter 255: Three Hundred Li of Fire on the West River

The messenger rode at full speed without stopping, handling even eating, drinking, and relieving himself in the saddle. After swapping horses at Huangdan Post and Bitan Post, he finally reached Xunzhou.

He showed his waist token to the city gate guards and stated his purpose, and the guards led him to the Regional Commander's residence.

Ever since Lin Qian had risen in revolt, Zhu Xieyuan had moved the Guangxi Regional Commander's headquarters here, precisely to be able to respond to Wuzhou at any moment.

On the way, the messenger muttered: "Hurry! The Nan'ao rebels have many ships and cannons—Wuzhou can't hold out much longer. I must see General Yang quickly." The soldier leading him laughed: "General Yang already stepped down and returned to the capital with Governor Zhu. The new Guangxi Regional Commander is Cao Xiong, Commander Cao. The new commander has a fiery temper—mind your words when you speak to him."

The messenger entered the commander's residence and heard screams and wailing from afar; drawing closer, he could also hear the crack of whips.

After a servant announced him, the messenger stepped forward and stated his purpose.

Cao Xiong did not reply at once, and the messenger raised his head for a furtive look.

There sat Commander Cao, legs spread wide in a powerful stance in the middle of the courtyard. He was around forty years of age, powerfully built, with a long beard reaching his chest and blazing eyes—one glance at him was enough to inspire fear.

Several weapon racks stood in the courtyard, holding the full set of eighteen kinds of arms. At the other end were several training posts, and five men were currently bound to them, all dressed as merchants, their bodies covered in whip wounds, with flecks of fresh blood scattered all around.

Hearing the messenger's report, the man doing the flogging stopped and turned to look.

Cao Xiong immediately roared: "Why did you stop? Keep beating, damn it!"

"Yes, sir!" The flogger acknowledged and raised his whip once more.

One of the bound men cried out in agony: "Commander, this humble one truly has no money left—the soldiers already seized my entire cargo of goods... Oh, right, there's the ship—Commander, please take my humble ship! Aiyo... Commander, spare my life, stop beating me..."

Hearing this, the others all chimed in, offering to surrender their ships.

Cao Xiong sneered: "With rebels at our gates, your ships would be requisitioned anyway. Keep beating—let's see when these five Nan'ao spies confess." "Whish—crack!"

"Ah! Commander, I only went to Guangzhou to trade—I'm truly not a spy!"

Cao Xiong snorted coldly: "The Nan'ao rebels control Fujian and Guangdong. You went to rebel territory to trade and still claim you're not a spy? Beat him hard."

The whipping continued for a long while, until the five men, unable to bear the pain, finally all confessed to being spies.

Cao Xiong grinned: "That's more like it. Cut off the heads of these five, along with the rest of their crew, and send them to Governor Zhang to claim merit." The flogger produced an axe and set to work with practiced efficiency. The five men, beaten nearly senseless, offered no resistance and in an instant became five corpses. Watching this scene, the messenger's stomach churned violently, and he could not hold it in—he vomited.

Cao Xiong turned his gaze on him, full of scrutiny: "First time seeing blood? Why did Wuzhou send a greenhorn?"

The messenger hastily kowtowed to beg forgiveness, explaining that the Nan'ao army had blockaded the river, and since he was the best swimmer, the Assistant Regional Commander had sent him with the message.

Cao Xiong's campaign advisor (a Ming-dynasty staff officer), who had been standing in the corner the whole time, finished listening to the messenger's explanation, then sidled up to him and whispered in his ear: "Commander, Governor Zhu, in preparation against the Nan'ao rebels, has stockpiled over two hundred fireships at Xunzhou. If we choose a deep night and release the fireships downstream with the current, we are certain to shatter the Nan'ao fleet. When that day comes, this immense merit will be yours alone, Commander."

Cao Xiong asked in a low voice: "Is it really that simple? I've heard people say the Nan'ao navy is invincible in battle."

The advisor explained the difference between naval combat and river combat, adding: "The West River channel is shallow—the Nan'ao army's large warships cannot enter. This is the perfect opportunity to break the enemy." Cao Xiong pondered for a moment, made up his mind, and rose to his feet: "If we're going to gamble, we might as well gamble big. Send men to scout the Nan'ao army's movements; at the same time, confiscate civilian vessels."

The messenger said urgently: "Commander, Wuzhou cannot hold out that long!"

Cao Xiong leaned close to his ear and said with a smile: "Suppose Wuzhou falls—and I then annihilate the Nan'ao naval force, trapping the rebels inside the city. Wouldn't that be an even greater merit?" The messenger fell silent.

Over the following days, the Nan'ao navy kept up an unceasing bombardment of Wuzhou city from the West River.

The southern city wall was blasted full of holes, its bricks and stones shattered, yet the rammed earth within remained intact, and the defenders, sheltering behind it, could still mount an effective defense. The two moats formed by the Gui River and the West River were far too wide.

Though the Nan'ao army held the advantage in numbers, they remained helpless.

Artillery positions set up across the river could not reach the range; building them on the opposite bank offered insufficient space for the batteries.

Wuzhou city had been built precisely to control the waterways—its walls were practically erected on the riverbank, specifically to make it difficult for enemies to attack.

Bailangzai and Lei Sanxiang had no good solution and could only bombard the city walls day after day.

The Nan'ao army grew increasingly restless, like a tiger facing a pangolin—nowhere to sink its teeth in.

Grumbling voices gradually rose among the ships and banner companies; many men volunteered to storm the walls by force, but Lei Sanxiang suppressed them all.

Lei Sanxiang's central command tent was pitched on the south bank of the West River, and inside it arguments raged daily. One Battalion Commander even declared: "What kind of damned war is this? So timid and hesitant—never mind conquering Guangxi in three months, we couldn't take it in three years!"

The man who spoke was punished under military law, but discontent in the ranks only grew worse.

It wasn't just the army having problems—the navy was plagued by incidents as well.

River combat differed from naval combat. The hydrology of the West River was greatly affected by the weather; often a torrential rainstorm upstream would suddenly surge the downstream current, and ships that failed to adjust their sails in time would collide with one another.

Even the cannon fire was affected, becoming fitful and intermittent.

As the delay stretched on and on, it became clear that conquering all of Guangxi before the dry season was impossible. Compounded by flagging morale, rumors spread that the General Staff was already considering withdrawal. Returning without merit was still better than losing men and ships.

Reading the daily battle reports, even Lei Sanxiang could not help but sigh that Zhu Xieyuan was truly a man of great talent—he had built the little city of Wuzhou into an iron barrel that left an army of twenty thousand utterly helpless.

With no relief force coming from Xunzhou, the defenders of Wuzhou had sunk into despair—yet after more than ten days, the Nan'ao army had found no method beyond bombardment, and all their probing attacks by small detachments had been beaten back.

The Wuzhou Assistant Regional Commander, seeing that the Nan'ao army had exhausted its tricks, grew bold and emboldened, and morale within the city soared ever higher.

On the first day of the third month, deep in the night, the moonlight was dim.

Cao Xiong, leading the Xunzhou river fleet, had arrived ten li west of Wuzhou.

His gaze passed over his own densely packed fireships, and he could even see the lanterns of the Nan'ao fleet.

Around the hour of Zi, a scout boat slid down from upstream, and a spy came before Cao Xiong to report: "Commander, the brothers have fully scouted the channel. The Nan'ao army has over a hundred vessels of various sizes, most of them out on the West River. The enemy camp on the south bank is also lightly guarded."

Cao Xiong asked cautiously: "What of the wind and the current?"

"Today the wind is from the northwest, and in another hour the tide will reach its lowest ebb."

The advisor said: "Commander, we have both wind and current at our backs, and the river is narrow besides—this is a gift from heaven."

One of the subordinate officers said excitedly: "Hahaha, what bullshit Nan'ao army—they're nothing special. These small fry now live or die at a single word from the Commander. Commander, give the order!"

The other officers also clasped their fists: "Commander, give the order!"

A smile gradually crept across Cao Xiong's lips. An immense merit lay right before his eyes. He said in a deep voice: "Advance!"

"Hoist sails, advance!" The soldiers across the fleet repeated at the top of their lungs, while relaying the signal with lanterns.

Over two hundred fireships went first—mostly bird boats, laden with tung oil and dry firewood, their prows fitted with barbed ramming spikes, steered by soldiers skilled in the water, sailing straight for the enemy.

The fireships carried no lanterns; under the starlight they appeared as nothing but tiny black specks. With wind and current at their backs, they flew at tremendous speed, racing out several hundred paces like the wind. Seen from afar, black specks covered the great river, enough to make one's scalp crawl.

Before long, the drumming began from Cao Xiong's flagship, and the Xunzhou fleet behind the fireships moved forward.

Not counting the fireships, the Xunzhou fleet numbered over three hundred vessels of various sizes, stretching for several li, and had to light their lanterns as they sailed.

But at such close range, even with lanterns and drums, the Nan'ao army had no chance of escape.

The fleet's speed steadily increased, each beat of the drums striking at the heart, and every soldier aboard felt his blood boil with fervor.

On the flagship, the navigator reported loudly: "Commander, the fire ships have already passed Sanjiangkou!"

The river section west of where the West River and the Gui River meet is called the Xun River, so the confluence of the West River, the Gui River, and the Xun River southeast of Wuzhou city is commonly known by the folk as Sanjiangkou—the Mouth of Three Rivers.

The Nan'ao fleet lay anchored less than two hundred paces east of Sanjiangkou, still unaware of the danger. With the fire ships already past Sanjiangkou, victory in this battle was all but certain. At these words, the officers and men aboard all wore delighted expressions.

A blaze suddenly erupted on the fire ships—the flames grew with the wind, swiftly engulfing the entire vessels. The remaining fire ships were lit in succession, and the river surface was densely covered with scorching points of fire, illuminating even the city walls of Wuzhou.

The soldiers on the fire ships leaped into the water one after another, and the fire ships, driven by wind and current, sped toward the Nan'ao fleet.

Only now did the Nan'ao fleet notice the approaching enemy. They hurriedly turned their bows about, but it was already too late—a dozen or more Fujian junks were rammed by the fire ships. Flames over ten feet tall, fanned by the wind, easily set the Nan'ao vessels ablaze.

"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

Shouts rang out without cease from the vessels, and all around came the splashing sounds of bodies hitting the water.

At this moment, the Wuzhou Prefect finally ran breathlessly to the foot of the city wall, only to see the garrison soldiers staring blankly at the river, their figures silhouetted against the firelight.

The Prefect climbed up the city wall and was instantly stunned by the scene before him—over four hundred feet of river had been swallowed by raging flames.

Fujian junks, Haicang ships, and all other vessels of every size were shrouded in fire. More fire ships kept streaming down from upstream, and the conflagration was so immense that one could not tell how many ships had been burned. The great fire set the entire West River shimmering with reflected light.

Downstream on the West River, the remnants of the Nan'ao fleet were frantically turning their bows to flee for their lives—any ship too slow would be caught by the fire ships. Around the burning vessels, crewmen kept leaping into the water. The once-arrogant Nan'ao army, without firing a single shot, was burned into screaming, weeping wrecks.

From the Nan'ao army camp on the south bank, the flicker of firelight could also be seen—clearly, morale had been shattered.

The Prefect could not believe this was real.

The pent-up frustration of half a month besieged and bombarded now dissipated like smoke in an instant. He trembled with excitement, and tears could not help but fall.

After their initial shock, the defending soldiers also began to shout and cheer in celebration.

Aboard Cao Xiong's flagship, the Xunzhou river force likewise roared with cheers—they had never imagined the attack would go so smoothly.

On the south bank, the Nan'ao navy had long borne the fearsome reputation of being the finest under heaven.

Cao Xiong had obtained the post of Guangxi Regional Commander only through his status as a confidant of Zhang Woxu, the newly appointed Governor-General of the Five Southwestern Provinces. A native of Beizhili, he was unskilled in naval warfare and had originally not wanted to involve himself in the Battle of Wuzhou.

But Zhu Xieyuan's arrangements had been too well made. In Xunzhou city, fire ships, warships, weapons, and fire oil were all fully stocked—there were even elite land and river troops garrisoned within the city.

Thus this battle was won with extreme ease—it was simply pushing a boat along with the current.

Even though Cao Xiong belonged to the eunuch faction, he could not help but feel admiration for Zhu Xieyuan.

Just as he was lost in thought, the lookout's voice came: "Commander, the Nan'ao navy is collapsing in retreat downstream."

The navigator also said: "Commander, the rebel camp on the south bank seems to be showing signs of withdrawal."

Cao Xiong declared in a clear voice: "The whole force presses forward—landing troops engage! Don't let a single rebel dog escape back!"

"Yes!" The assembled officers clasped their fists in unison.

The fleet moved downstream with the current. Moments later, the lead ships dropped sail and cast anchor without the slightest warning. The ships behind could not avoid them in time and rammed straight into them, sending quite a few soldiers tumbling into the water.

The drawback of sailing with wind and current was that stopping was no easy matter, and with the fleet packed tightly together for ease of command, a chain of collisions ensued.

Even Cao Xiong's flagship was shaken violently by the impact—he lost his footing and nearly tumbled off the sterncastle deck.

"Without orders, why have you stopped the ship? Do you not want your heads?" Cao Xiong steadied himself and bellowed.

"Com—Commander... look..." The navigator pointed ahead, trembling.

Cao Xiong looked, and saw only the river full of fire ships and the Nan'ao vessels' panicked flight. He cursed: "Look at your mother's head!"

The navigator was nearly in tears: "Commander, there's something unclean ahead..."

Cao Xiong flew into a rage. With a clang, he drew his wild-goose-feather saber and made as if to strike, but was stopped by his staff advisor: "Commander, those fire ships at Sanjiangkou are problematic."

Cao Xiong stared intently. At the confluence of the Gui River and the West River, the fire ships were especially dense. At a glance nothing seemed amiss, but after staring for a moment, a chill crept up his spine.

He saw twenty or thirty fire ships, as if possessed, spinning in the middle of the river against both wind and current.

Though no one was steering them, the fire ships seemed to have gained sentience, turning of their own accord without pause, completely blocking the central channel.

Cao Xiong's eyes went wide as he demanded repeatedly: "What is going on here?"

The navigator said in a trembling voice: "Commander, there's something unclean ahead—we should retreat at once."

Behind Cao Xiong, the dull thuds of colliding ships continued unabated. Even with anchors cast, vessels on the water could not be stopped in an instant. While he hesitated, the entire fleet jammed together in one spot, packed as densely as dumplings being dropped into a pot.

The navigator glanced over the side and said in terror: "Commander, the fleet is still moving forward—the current is carrying us ahead."

A chill ran through Cao Xiong's heart. He thought to himself: "Could there truly be ghosts in this world?"

He gave the order: "Avoid the center of the river—charge through!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The war drums sounded from the flagship, and orders were roared from ship to ship.

Those that received the order early weighed anchor and raised sail; those that received it late remained where they were, pushed along by the ships behind them. The fleet instantly fell into chaos. Suddenly, from the upstream channel, a red signal rocket shot into the air and burst with a bang.

Cao Xiong looked back and asked his men: "What is that?"

Before an answer came, another signal rocket burst in the northeast.

The lookout shouted: "It seems to be from the direction of the Gui River."

Cao Xiong roared: "What's going on? What does this mean?"

"Swoosh—crack!" A third signal rocket exploded immediately after.

This one burst extremely close—Cao Xiong felt as though a blood-red peony had blossomed directly above his head.

"North bank—there are people on Baihe Hill on the north bank!" the lookout shouted.

The navigator bellowed: "An ambush! Move the ship quickly!"

Before his words even faded, several faint red flashes flickered from the pitch-black hill on the north bank, followed by thunderclap-like cannon fire.

Cao Xiong heard only a whistling sound as it tore through the air. A Haicang ship less than ten zhang from his side took a hit—its deck was smashed into a depression, splintered planks flew into the sky, and the hull shuddered violently before slowly beginning to sink.

A single shot had pierced straight through that ship's deck and bottom alike.

More cannonballs came immediately after. Cao Xiong's ears were filled with the thunderous cracking of timber. When shells struck the water, they sent up sprays five or six men tall, drenching him completely.

Baihe Hill lay west of the Gui River and north of the West River, commanding a full view of the river surface. The artillery, firing from their commanding height at targets as large as a fleet, scarcely missed a shot.

After several rounds of rapid fire, more than ten warships had been severely damaged. Soldiers and planks that had fallen into the water crammed the gaps between the vessels so densely that the water surface was barely visible.

The ships drifted and collided with the current—a light squeeze was enough to crush several skulls. Screams of agony mixed with the cracking of bone, enough to make any heart tremble and any gall bladder burst.

"Turn around, pull back!" Cao Xiong shouted frantically.

The navigator hastily stopped him: "We can't turn around, there's no time—we have to charge through!"

Cao Xiong panicked and said in a rush: "Right, charge through! Anyone who doesn't want to die, get moving now!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

On the flagship, the war drums grew ever more urgent, as if urging the ships ahead to get moving faster.

"They're moving, they're moving!" the navigator shouted in delight. The ships ahead had received the order, weighed anchor and raised sail, gradually picking up speed as they headed downstream.

The Xunzhou naval force finally escaped the jam-packed situation. The channel ahead of Cao Xiong's flagship was clear, and the flagship slowly began to move.

Cao Xiong looked behind him—cannonballs were still falling without cease, and most of the ships had taken damage.

At least they had escaped.

Suddenly he noticed firelight to the north as well. He turned his head and froze on the spot—there on the Gui River waterway, a fiery dragon was racing toward them, riding the same wind and current, moving with the same flying speed.

Only this time, it was he himself who was downstream.

The entire fleet saw this desperate sight. The navigator roared hoarsely: "Faster! Charge through!"

But it was already too late. The Xunzhou naval force had wasted too much time dodging the fire ships spinning in mid-river.

The Gui River fire ships came downstream with the current, colliding head-on with the Xunzhou naval force at Sanjiangkou.

In an instant flames erupted, leaping two or three zhang into the air. Over a dozen warships could not evade in time and slammed directly into the fire ships, while the ships behind could not stop and could only watch as they charged into the conflagration.

The roar of flames and the crack of splitting planks drowned out even the cannon fire.

On the river, the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and charred wood. Even from a great distance, it made one's skin feel as if it were burning.

Cao Xiong's flagship was extremely close. His prized great beard curled up in the searing heat.

"Ghosts! Ghosts!" the crewmen kept shouting.

For before their very eyes, the Gui River fire ships also began to spin at Sanjiangkou, and the Xunzhou warships with their sails burned away slowly rotated along with them. More and more ships were caught in the spin, completely blocking the middle of the river. Farther off, the Xunzhou naval force's fire ships and the burned wrecks of the Nan'ao forces sealed off the remaining channels.

Only now did Cao Xiong's heart shake violently: "Could this be a trap by the Nan'ao rebels? They can command fire and water? What kind of demons are these bastards?"

The navigator screamed at the top of his lungs: "Regional Commander, we've fallen into their trap! Even if we can break through this ghost-wall of water, there will surely be an ambush downstream. We have no choice but to risk turning around!"

Cao Xiong looked toward the southern shore. As an army officer, his first instinct was to run for the bank—but how could the Nan'ao rebels, with such meticulous and ruthless schemes, possibly leave an escape route on shore?

By now the Nan'ao army must already be lying in wait in the woods.

Better to turn back the way they came. The Xun River had only one channel—even if the Nan'ao rebels knew sorcery, they could not possibly appear behind them out of thin air. Having made up his mind, Cao Xiong ordered the fleet to turn around.

From the bombardment at Baigegang to the fleet's turnabout, less than two hours had passed, yet the fleet had already lost nearly half its strength. The river surface was covered with the corpses of Xunzhou soldiers. A great many ships were also fleeing toward both banks to save themselves.

Cao Xiong could no longer concern himself with such matters. As long as he preserved his own life and position, that was enough. After all, he was a trusted man of Lord Zhang, and Lord Zhang was a man of Nine Thousand Years—even if he lost the battle, the executioner's blade would never fall on his neck.

Turning a fleet around while sailing downstream was extremely difficult, and with today's unfavorable wind, it was doubly hard.

Fortunately, difficulty cut both ways—if the Xunzhou army could hardly turn around, the Nan'ao army would find it no easier to catch up. As long as he could return to Xunzhou, Cao Xiong would be safe. The fleet was halfway through its turn when suddenly the lookout's despairing cry came: "Due west… fire ships incoming—"

Due west? Wasn't that the upper reaches of the Xun River?

Cao Xiong was dumbfounded. He ran to the port side, leaning out over the water as far as his body would allow. There on the waterway, over a dozen fireballs were racing toward them. "How is this possible?" Cao Xiong murmured. "How did the rebels get upstream? How is this possible?"

The navigator was on the verge of collapse as well. Everything tonight had completely exceeded his understanding.

Now the entire fleet was lying broadside across the river. The fire ships came down with the current, presenting the largest possible target, with nowhere to dodge.

The fire ships drew close, their sharp barbs biting into the hulls, igniting the Xunzhou naval vessels one by one.

The Xunzhou fleet was densely packed to begin with and downwind to boot, and the Nan'ao navy's tung oil was of excellent quality—the flames rose astonishingly high. A single fire ship could ignite two or three warships.

Within the space of a single stick of incense, the entire Xunzhou naval fleet was engulfed in a sea of fire. The flames lit up both banks as bright as day, and the warmth could be felt even several li away.

On Cao Xiong's flagship, his men tried to drag him overboard to escape by swimming, but Cao Xiong could not swim at all and absolutely refused to jump into the water.

After much delay, the flagship itself caught fire. Flames touched Cao Xiong's body—at first he could beat them out, but then more and more fire climbed onto him.

The air around him grew ever hotter, as if squeezing the very oil from his skin. His great beard, along with his eyebrows and hair, burned clean away. Unable to bear it any longer, Cao Xiong jumped into the water. He floated and sank for a while, then found a plank of wood. Before he could even feel relief, he realized the current was carrying him toward Sanjiangkou. A fire ship that had already burned itself out came charging straight at him. The plank slipped from Cao Xiong's hands, and after struggling in the water for a long time, he drowned.

Atop the city walls of Wuzhou, all was utterly silent.

Within three hours, three hundred warships, several hundred fire ships, and over ten thousand Xunzhou soldiers had all become fuel for the flames.

The entire Xi River, as far as the eye could see, had been set alight—looking out, it was like a river of hellfire.

A gentle breeze blew, and the air was thick with an overpowering smell of scorching. The Prefect's stomach convulsed; he bent over and vomited on the spot.

The great fire burned through the entire night and only ceased at dawn. The whole waterway was strewn with shipwrecks and wreathed in wisps of blue smoke.

The Nan'ao cannon ships reappeared on the river, while their army also took up positions at Baigegang and began bombarding the city.

Judging by the fleet, the Nan'ao forces had only lost a few broken boats last night—their main fleet had suffered no losses at all, and their men had suffered almost no casualties. Guangxi, by contrast, had seen its entire naval force annihilated, all ten thousand of Xunzhou's elite troops wiped out, its Regional Commander dead amid the chaos of battle, and every bit of the foundation Zhu Xieyuan had painstakingly accumulated lost without a trace.

The morale of Wuzhou's defenders sank to the absolute depths, and they opened the gates to surrender.

Meanwhile, Bailangzai was already leading the main naval force toward Xunzhou. With Xunzhou's main army completely destroyed, surrender there was surely to be expected as well. Zhang Moye, commander of the Nan'ao army, was leading his own banner company into Wuzhou city to inventory the spoils.

On the Xi River, Zheng Hongkui stood on the deck of a Fujian junk, supervising his men as they cleared the waterway.

Also on deck were the cadets of the naval academy's newest class, each with a notebook in hand, asking Zheng Hongkui about the ins and outs of the Battle of the Xi River. One of them asked: "Captain, how did our fire ships get behind the enemy last night?"

This tactic had been top secret before it was executed, but there was no longer any need for secrecy. Zheng Hongkui said: "Seven or eight li west of here, there is a sandbar in the river called Changzhou. The northern branch channel around Changzhou is wide and deep enough for large ships to pass, while the southern branch is shallow and narrow, with few ships using it.

Our Nan'ao fire ships are all single-masted shallow boats. In peacetime they were hidden on the shoals of the southern branch, evading the Ming army's patrol boats. When battle began, they lit up and charged out—that's how we caught them off guard."

The cadets' eyes gleamed with admiration as they exclaimed in praise. One said: "It's just like Zhuge Liang's fire attack at Red Cliffs!"

Zheng Hongkui laughed: "Nan'ao's hydrographic surveys always cover both the channels and the banks. This kind of petty trick wouldn't fool a capable man. Truth be told, we should thank the Ming court for sending such incompetents to serve as Regional Commander."

"Then what about the fire ships spinning in circles? I heard the local fishermen all say it was ghosts building a wall of water?"

A cadet pointed at the fire ship wrecks at Sanjiangkou and asked.

Elegant Black

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