Chapter 267: The Descendants of the Old Port Pacification Commission

"Wind! It's wind! A big wind is coming!"

On deck, the sailors on night watch heard the howling at their ears and joyfully shouted the news.

Those days of no wind or light breeze were tolerable for a day or two, but enduring them for long could drive a man mad—for sailors, it was as agonizing as being unable to breathe.

Fortunately, that was all over now. They had left the doldrums behind.

Hearing the commotion, Lin Qian threw on his clothes and walked out of the captain's cabin.

"What's the situation?"

"Reporting to the helmsman: wind force 5, wind speed 9 knots, southeast wind."

"Latitude?"

The crew hurriedly searched the sky for the North Star, but after looking for a long while, they found nothing. The starry firmament above had become both familiar and strange. The navigator was first lost in confusion, then excitedly reported at full volume: "Helmsman, the Big Dipper and the North Star are gone... southern latitude—we're in the southern latitudes!" The earth is a sphere, and the North Star lies on the extension of the earth's axis, so it is visible only from the Northern Hemisphere.

This knowledge had all been taught at the Nan'ao Naval Academy—every navigator in the Nan'ao fleet knew it well.

But knowing it in one's head and witnessing it with one's own eyes were two entirely different things.

Only now did everyone wake as if from a dream, suddenly realizing that they had truly crossed the equator and reached the "underside" of this spherical earth—and just as the helmsman had said, none of them had fallen off.

All those theories were real!

Everything they had learned was not in vain!

The navigator pulled a small booklet from his bosom and clutched it tightly in his hand: "Use this, helmsman—at noon tomorrow, this subordinate will use this to measure latitude!" The cover of that booklet read *Solar Declination Angle*—a reference work used to correct errors when measuring the sun's angle with a sextant. Because the solar declination angle changes every year, this booklet required daily observation and periodic replacement.

Ever since Lin Qian had the sextant made in Manila, he had been observing the solar declination angle, then handed the task over to Bailangzai; after Nan'ao was established, dedicated personnel took it up.

Nine years of preparation, and finally this little booklet had the day it would prove its worth!

From then on, while sailing in the Southern Hemisphere, the noonday sun was the only celestial body that could be used to measure latitude.

Combining speed and heading, Lin Qian estimated they were now at roughly 2° south latitude.

Today was the eighteenth day of the sixth month in the ninth year of Tianqi—late summer—when the sun's direct point lay between the equator and the Tropic of Cancer, moving southward.

As a result, the equatorial low-pressure belt and the monsoon belt had both shifted northward, so 2° south had essentially cleared the core zone of the doldrums. Tonight's southeast wind was precisely the product of the Southern Hemisphere's trade wind belt.

Sailing due south from here, roughly a hundred-plus nautical miles would bring them to the southeastern region of Sumatra—an area riddled with countless islands, mangroves, and hidden reefs. Moreover, they had been sailing the open sea this whole time without any way to determine their longitude, and Sumatra ran northwest to southeast.

The fleet's actual distance from the islands could be fifty nautical miles—or even closer.

So despite the wind, this unfamiliar inshore water was not suitable for nighttime sailing.

Lin Qian gave the order: "Turn the bow around. Prepare to heave to against the wind."

The helmsman said: "Wind is southeast—raise the mizzen staysail, port rudder, slight! Sound the depth!"

The sail trimmers and helmsman all loudly repeated the orders, and the entire deck burst into activity in an instant.

Moments later, the three triangular sails at the stern rose and filled with wind, forming an elegant airfoil shape that, working with the rudder, slowly turned the bow toward the direction of the oncoming wind.

The leadsman hauled in his line while reporting loudly: "Depth forty-three zhang! Muddy bottom!"

The seabed composition was suitable, but it was far too deep—the anchor chain could barely touch bottom, making it impossible to drop anchor.

The helmsman said: "Rudder amidships!"

The helmsman repeated loudly while returning the slight port rudder to center; at this point, the angle between the stern and the wind was approximately 15°.

The helmsman continued with the order: "Lower the fore main sail!"

By the light of the moon, one could see at the bow the sail trimmer nimbly climbing the mast; the snow-white sail came down, and the trimmers on deck hauled in the sheets and mast rigging, adjusting the sail's angle so that it faced the wind yet did not fill completely.

The helmsman continued: "Slight port rudder!"

"Slight port!" the helmsman shouted.

"Port half rudder."

"Half rudder port."

Lin Qian said not a word, watching the hull sway gently in the wind.

What was called heaving to against the wind was a technical maneuver performed when a fleet stopped at sea for the night, to avoid being blown off course by sea winds and currents. First, the bow faced the wind to reduce the wind-catching area, but not fully head-on, so as to retain maneuverability when setting sail again.

At the same time, the fore sail was lowered at a special angle to catch the wind, keeping the hull's angle constant and preventing sideways drift.

Finally, the rudder was adjusted to the appropriate angle, working with the fore sail to maintain the bow's heading while avoiding being blown far backward by the wind. The helmsman's constant fine-tuning of the rudder position at this moment was precisely to find the optimal angle.

After several attempts, the hull finally held steady, and the bow's heading locked in place, unmoving.

The navigator took out his compass and repeatedly confirmed the bow's angle; once he verified the bow was no longer shifting, he announced loudly: "Heaving to complete!"

The moment the words left his mouth, sailors were already tossing the speed-measuring line over both sides of the ship.

Moments later, the speed reading came back at 2 knots—meaning the hull was drifting backward slowly at 2 knots.

Once the speed was reported, it was recorded in the navigation log by Captain Bailangzai; when they set sail tomorrow, they would adjust the course based on speed and direction. Of course, this couldn't be measured just once, and after heaving to was complete, it wasn't as if everyone could go sleep—wind direction, wind speed, and currents would all change. The sails and rigging, the rudder, and the speed readings all had to be watched in real time by designated men.

Without the heaving-to maneuver, this force-5 gale could blow the ship dozens of nautical miles off course in a single night.

It could scatter the fleet, send them off course, run them aground—or even blow the whole fleet back into the doldrums. Every one of those was a matter of life and death.

As for sleep—compared to one's life, it hardly seemed so important anymore.

This was also why the fleet commander and the flagship captain had to be two separate positions—if one man did both, he'd be worked to death.

Lin Qian turned and looked back, watching the entire fleet turn around one after another and complete their heaving to. Only then did he return to the captain's cabin and lie back down on that narrow berth squeezed between the two cannons.

Even though he hadn't needed to take part in the follow-up work, the whole commotion had still consumed nearly a full two hours.

There wasn't much time left for sleep.

At dawn the next day, sunlight streamed into the captain's cabin. Lin Qian rose, picked up a cup of water, and went to the wash area on the fishy-smelling companionway to freshen up.

The morning sun had not yet risen above the sea's surface, and the sea and sky were in that blue-hour state before sunrise—beautiful, dreamlike, and ethereal, as if not of this world.

Lin Qian wet his finger and dipped it in a bit of salt, brushing his teeth carefully, then rinsed his mouth in small sips. The cup still held six-tenths of its water, which he used to dampen a towel and wipe his neck and face.

Though they were in the tropics, no one knew when the next rainfall would come—the limited fresh water had to be used with meticulous frugality.

Finally, he took one last piss into the sea.

Lin Qian's morning wash complete, he passed through the captain's cabin and stepped up onto the quarterdeck.

"Helmsman."

The navigator and crew members who had been on duty through the night all snapped to attention when they saw him come up.

"How far did we drift last night?"

The navigator said: "West by north 23 degrees, 5 nautical miles."

"Only 5 nautical miles?" Lin Qian confirmed.

The navigator said: "The wind was too strong in the latter half of the night. After requesting the captain's permission, we deployed the sea anchor."

Lin Qian looked over the side of the ship and indeed saw a huge white canvas sail floating on the sea. The canvas was tied to a wooden board, connected to the hull by a rope. This was the sea anchor—one on each side of the bow and stern—using the resistance of the seawater to stabilize the hull.

The sea anchor was also called the emergency rudder. When the ship's rudder failed, it could serve the purpose of temporary steering.

During the Battle of Macao, the *Batavia* had its rudder broken off, and the Dutch Governor-General Coen had once used this very trick.

Lin Qian looked back at the fleet behind him: "No ships scattered by the wind?"

"Reporting to the helmsman, none," the navigator said. "The galleys and eagle ships are all lashed together with cables and connected to the big ships—not a single vessel drifted off." "Well done," Lin Qian said.

Without a large ship alongside, small vessels of the galley and eagle ship tonnage would find it very difficult to cross the open ocean.

By now the sun had largely leaped above the sea's surface. The morning roll call on deck was complete, and the crew members had taken their positions.

Lin Qian said: "Course due south."

"Course due south! Southeast wind, port tack, helm half to starboard, hoist the sails!" the helmsman barked orders to the crew.

The crew busied themselves. The rudder returned to center, the mizzen sail at the stern caught the wind full, the hull gradually turned to starboard toward due south, the main sails were lowered, and the fleet slowly sailed due south.

A moment later, the eagle ship passed the Candle Dragon and moved ahead of the fleet to scout the way.

The narrowest point of the Sunda Strait was only thirty kilometers wide. In an age without GPS, sailing straight through from the open sea was no different from threading a needle with one's eyes closed. So regardless of whether it might expose the fleet, Lin Qian had to approach the shore to confirm their position.

Due south of these waters should be the island of Sumatra. With luck, they should be able to reach the vicinity of Palembang.

In Zheng He's era, this place belonged to the Old Port Pacification Office, and could be considered broadly speaking Ming territory.

Later, when the Ming dynasty enforced the sea ban and the various sultanates on Sumatra rose, the Old Port Pacification Office perished along with it.

Present-day Palembang was dependent on the Banten Sultanate on Sumatra, but enjoyed a high degree of autonomy. Within the city, the power of Chinese merchants and the power of the Islamic faith coexisted. It was one of the rare places in the South Seas where Chinese merchants still had a certain say.

Even if Lin Qian's fleet could not obtain supplies here, they could at least gather precious intelligence on Aceh, the Dutch, and Mataram.

The trade wind belt blew with great force.

Riding the strong wind, the expedition fleet reached the shore two days later.

Lin Qian ordered the main fleet to stop ten nautical miles out in the open sea, sending only the eagle ship to scout close to shore.

They learned that this place was the Jambi Sultanate, located northwest of Palembang.

Lin Qian immediately determined his position: due south of the entrance to the Strait of Malacca—more specifically, due south of what would later be Singapore.

Lin Qian ordered the fleet to sail along the inshore waters toward Palembang, and at the same time had Zheng Zhilong send men on the eagle ship to go ahead to Palembang and find their contacts.

Much of the Agricultural Reclamation Company's intelligence came from Palembang; the company had connections there.

Just one day later, an elderly man was brought aboard the Candle Dragon.

In the meeting room, Lin Qian sized him up. His etiquette and attire were almost indistinguishable from those of a Han Chinese, but his features had become somewhat Malayized, and his accent was very strange.

But as the saying goes: "When barbarians advance into China, they become Chinese; when China retreats into barbarism, it becomes barbarian."

The Confucians judged whether a person was a barbarian not by blood, but by ritual and music culture. Even a Westerner with white skin and blue eyes, so long as he studied ritual and music and accepted civilization, would likewise be recognized as a subject of Huaxia.

Let alone this old man whose heart still yearned for his homeland.

According to Zheng Zhilong's introduction, this old man's surname was Shi. He was a descendant of the first Pacification Commissioner of Old Port. His family had been established in Palembang for over two hundred years and wielded deep influence among the Chinese merchants.

Generation after generation, his family had held the ancestral injunction to return to Huaxia and rejoin the great Ming. But bitter was the Ming sea ban, and the rise of Islam in the South Seas—they had never been able to fulfill their wish. Now Nan'ao was making its mark in the South Seas, restoring the Ming's maritime glory, and this gave the Shi family of Palembang hope. They took the initiative to send ships and make contact with the company. Since then, they had been quietly supporting the Agricultural Reclamation Company, hoping only that one day they might see the arrival of Zheng He's fleet again.

Now the dream had come true. When he boarded the ship, this old man surnamed Shi trembled all over with excitement, tears streaming without end. He touched and looked around the ship left and right, saying repeatedly to those around him: "Yes, yes, that's right! This is what the great Ming treasure ships were like! Though this ship is a bit smaller, this is a small treasure ship—my great-grandfather said so! Not a bit different!"

The crew of the Candle Dragon found it both amusing and heartbreaking, and brought him into the meeting room.

Old Master Shi entered. Before Lin Qian could speak, he had already knelt down shakily, continuously swearing loyalty and promising to grant whatever was asked.

Zheng Zhilong said quietly behind Lin Qian: "Helmsman, we haven't told him the goal of this voyage yet."

Hearing this, Lin Qian stated plainly that they had come for the Aceh Sultanate.

Old Master Shi was immediately greatly disappointed: "But the Old Port Pacification Office..."

Lin Qian said to Zheng Zhilong: "Who destroyed the Old Port Pacification Office?"

"The Majapahit Kingdom. That kingdom has already perished amid internal strife and external threats. The present Banten Sultanate has no connection to Majapahit, and it is also a tributary state of the great Ming."

Zheng Zhilong understood Lin Qian's thinking. In simple terms, this meant the excuse of avenging the Old Port Pacification Office would not work, because the enemy was already dead—and without heirs.

Lin Qian pondered for a moment, then said: "Then let us use the justification of 'restoring ancestral territory, reviving the fallen and continuing the severed, pacifying merchants and protecting the people, and reclaiming our native soil'—how about that?" In simple terms, Lin Qian's words boiled down to four characters: "since ancient times." The legal basis was very solid.

Zheng Zhilong clasped his hands in salute: "The helmsman is wise!"

Lin Qian said to Old Master Shi: "Nan'ao does not raise an army without just cause. Within these few months, you must gather accounts of the Banten Sultanate oppressing Chinese merchants and write them into a declaration of war, so that my forces may dispatch troops."

Old Master Shi's face flushed with color: "That is exactly as it should be, exactly as it should be!"

Palembang's position was unique—northwest was the Strait of Malacca, southeast was the Sunda Strait. It had always been a vital thoroughfare.

Even without the plea of the Shi family descendants of the native chieftain, Lin Qian had long wanted to plant his influence here and establish a port.

That long, flowery declaration of war—Lin Qian had consulted Ye Xianggao and memorized it in advance.

Of course, considering that they needed to fight the decisive battle with Aceh first, and could not alert the enemy beforehand, Lin Qian had proposed a buffer period of several months. Afterwards, Lin Qian promised that after the Palembang Pacification Office was reestablished, the Shi descendants would continue to serve as native chieftains.

Only then did Old Master Shi finally set his heart at ease, willing to stake his entire life and fortune on the gamble.

"Helmsman, this old man has modest family assets in Palembang. I am willing to give up my fortune to fund the army's needs."

Lin Qian's gaze swept over the captains and staff officers in the meeting room. Everyone shook their heads slightly.

The fleet was currently anchored in inshore waters but had not come to shore. With a bit of luck, perhaps they would not be discovered.

But if Old Master Shi were to supply the fleet—boatload after boatload of water, grain, and supplies ferried out to the open sea—even a fool could guess what was going on.

One had to know there was a Dutch trading post in Palembang. Even if they transported supplies secretly at night, such a massive quantity of goods could not possibly escape the eyes of the Dutch spies. So Lin Qian did not answer the question of supplies for the time being, and instead turned to ask about the two matters he was most concerned with.

First, the situation of Dutch support for Aceh, and whether the Sunda Strait has been blockaded.

Second, who commands the Acehnese army, and how the battle is going now.

Old Master Shi replied: "The Sunda Strait cannot possibly be blockaded. That cursed place has shifting winds, chaotic currents, and unknown waters. Moreover, west of Sumatra is plagued by storms with extremely dangerous sea conditions. Aside from the Dutch, no one at all travels that route."

Lin Qian knew that the Sunda Strait's peculiar sea conditions were determined by its location and topography.

This place sat at the junction of the Java Sea and the Indian Ocean. The rising and falling tides and alternating monsoons caused the strait's current to reach 4–6 knots, sometimes even exceeding the cruising speed of ordinary merchant ships.

The storms west of Sumatra came mainly in two types.

One was tropical cyclones — simply put, winds by a different name. These occurred frequently in the southern Indian Ocean during the monsoon transition season.

It was now the end of June, past the peak season, so one could gamble on it.

The other type of storm was the convective squall line, known in later ages as the "Sumatra squall."

Its cause was a towering mountain range running along the southwest of Sumatra. By day, sea breezes blew against the mountains, forcing the air currents upward.

At night, the land air cooled more quickly, and the airflow cut into the sea surface in the form of mountain winds, violently forcing warm, moist air upward and forming a string of fierce thunderstorm clouds in the sky.

This kind of Sumatra squall could occur year-round, and now was precisely its peak season.

Squall lines formed with extreme speed and no warning whatsoever. Within half an hour, the sea could go from a gentle breeze to Force 10 gales, accompanied by torrential rain and thunder and lightning.

In such a short time, sailing vessels had no chance to furl their sails — masts were easily snapped, and hulls could even capsize.

Even the Dutch, who regularly plied this route, often met with shipwreck and death.

But the Sumatra squall's weakness lay in its very cause: stay far from shore, and one could escape it.

Specifically, one needed to stay roughly 100 nautical miles from the coast.

This method of avoidance was inherently counterintuitive — just as a drowning person must not thrash about to survive. Without understanding the meteorological cause, testing it with human lives would never yield the answer.

So Lin Qian concluded that neither the Dutch nor the Acehnese would ever imagine Lin Qian daring enough to forcibly charge through the "storm" to circle around for a surprise attack. This was the power of knowledge.

Old Master Shi continued: "Moreover, this old man has heard that the Mataram Sultanate is besieging the Dutch lair. At the same time, the Dutch have also sent warships to support Aceh, so they should have no troops to spare guarding a strait no one uses."

In true history, the Dutch, hard-pressed to deal with their enemies' siege, could barely save themselves and thus sent no reinforcements to Aceh.

But because of Lin Qian's arrival, Dutch expansion had suffered repeated setbacks. To counter the threat, the board of directors had sent additional ships and men to Batavia, giving the Dutch surplus strength to dispatch divided support.

The so-called "butterfly effect" was roughly like this.

Lin Qian knew full well that Aceh would suffer a disastrous defeat in this war, yet he still sent his fleet to participate — precisely because he feared the butterfly effect's influence might change the outcome.

Historically, the Acehnese had lost that battle too stupidly — so stupidly it seemed unreal, so stupid that if it were made into a film, audiences would curse the screenwriters to death.

Such an astonishingly idiotic defeat, even if no factor changed at all, Lin Qian felt would be very difficult to repeat.

Sure enough, Old Master Shi's words confirmed Lin Qian's conjecture.

"As for the helmsman asking who leads Aceh's army — this old man has heard that Sultan Muda is leading the campaign in person. The great army is currently besieging the city of Malacca, and the fighting is exceptionally fierce."

Lin Qian confirmed: "Sultan Muda personally commands the troops?"

Old Master Shi's expression turned grave: "There is no mistake. This man has reigned for over twenty years, campaigned abroad without cease, and never known defeat. He acts with great arrogance. It is he who personally commands the army."

Lin Qian pressed further: "What about Aceh's naval commander — a man surnamed Sha or something? Isn't he the supreme commander?"

"Never heard of him." Old Master Shi pondered for a long while, then shook his head.

Lin Qian thought to himself: "Just as I expected."

Historically, Sultan Muda of Aceh was a man of great ambition and extraordinary ferocity, who throughout his life took Suleiman and Saladin as his models.

Just as Old Master Shi had said, in the first twenty years of this man's reign, he had personally campaigned many times, fighting across the entire Malay world and conquering over a dozen sultanates great and small, bringing Aceh's national power to its peak.

Yet such a monarch, at the critical moment, went blind and appointed a fool surnamed Sha as supreme commander.

The first thing Commander Sha did after taking over the Acehnese army was to order the entire navy to sail into the Duyong River, then turtle up and refuse to come out.

This was as baffling as if the Jianzhou barbarians' iron cavalry were to face the Ming army in a decisive battle on the plains, and Hong Taiji suddenly ordered the entire army to squeeze into a mountain gully to await death. Commander Sha dragged things out in the Duyong River for a full four months, waiting until Portuguese reinforcements arrived, and successfully trapped the Acehnese navy in the river. The Duyong River was damp and insect-ridden; the Acehnese army suffered terrible casualties from tropical diseases like malaria and dysentery, with fully eighty percent of the entire force dying from non-combat attrition. And so, in this utterly spineless fashion, the whole army was wiped out.

That battle was known historically as the Battle of the Duyong River, and it had a profound impact on the political landscape of all Southeast Asia. Yet because the process was too stupid and too dull, it earned little renown in military history.

Now that the Acehnese sultan personally commanded the army, the odds of victory would surely rise greatly — and even in defeat, he could preserve his main forces.

This was the meaning of Lin Qian's personal expedition: to ensure Aceh suffered the same disastrous defeat as in history.

Lin Qian revealed a smile. If the enemy truly crawled into the river channel and sought their own doom, then many of his prepared countermeasures would have been set up in vain.

Lin Qian pondered a moment, then raised his head and said to Old Master Shi: "My fleet, counting everyone aboard, numbers nearly seven thousand. Twenty days of water and provisions — can you scrape that together in three days?"

"Helmsman!"

Zheng Zhilong and the other staff officers all started in alarm and hastened to dissuade him, but Lin Qian raised his hand to stop them all.

Old Master Shi thought for a long while, then raised his head and said with certainty: "It can be done. Only, time is too tight — it cannot be kept from people's notice…"

Lin Qian said: "No matter."

"This old man will exert every effort!"

Lin Qian had his accompanying staff officers discuss the provisioning details with him, and by the time he left the cabin, it was already dusk.

Old Master Shi boarded his own small boat, only to find a large chest in the cabin.

"What is this?" Old Master Shi asked in surprise.

The servant opened the chest, revealing neatly arranged silver ingots that dazzled the eyes.

The boat's servant said: "While you were aboard the treasure ship, sir, soldiers of the Celestial Dynasty carried it aboard, saying it was for purchasing water and provisions — three thousand taels in all." Old Master Shi had already prepared to fund the army's supplies himself, never expecting that the Nan'ao army had already loaded the silver onto his boat. Gazing at the gradually receding Candle Dragon, he could not help but sigh: "The righteous army of which my great-grandfather spoke was just like this. The Great Ming has truly returned!"

Three days later, the expeditionary fleet's supplies were fully replenished, and it vanished upon the vast sea.

Early July, one hundred li southeast of Malacca city.

On a small path through swamp and rainforest, the Johor army's supreme commander fell face-down into a mud pit.

And his body still knelt in its original spot, blood spraying from the wound, staining the mud all around a dark red.

Cut down alongside him were five hundred Johor prisoners.

The entire path was strewn with the corpses of Johor men, stretching five or six li, the stench of blood so thick it nearly overflowed.

Just two hours earlier, the Johor army marching to reinforce Malacca had been ambushed by the Acehnese.

The Johor army was stunned by the sudden gunfire and cannon blasts from the rainforest, offering almost no resistance—the battlefield instantly turned into a slaughterhouse. At the far end of the battlefield, on a high ground, Sultan Muda of Aceh sat astride an Arabian steed, his gaze indifferent.

He wore composite armor of chainmail and plate, draped in a deep crimson war robe, with the royal crescent emblem embroidered on his chest.

His pot helmet, war robe, armor, and sword were all lavishly adorned with gold thread and gold wire, accented with gems and diamonds—even his horse's barding was heavy with gold ornaments, making him gleam brilliantly under the sun like a deity.

The commander of the Acehnese royal guard trotted forward, pressed a hand to his chest, and reported: "Your Majesty, we have won. All two thousand Johor soldiers have been slain." Sultan Muda slowly raised his hand and made a dismissive gesture.

"Yes." The royal guard commander bowed and withdrew to one side.

Before long, a soldier rode up on horseback, halted nearby, and presented a letter.

A staff officer stepped forward to receive the letter, read it through, then walked before the Sultan, saluting with a hand to his chest: "Your Majesty, it is a letter from Admiral Laksamana—the helmsman's fleet has been found!"

"Where?" Sultan Muda asked.

"Exactly as Your Majesty anticipated. That despicable wretch called the helmsman led his forces out of Patani and sailed south the whole way. He was last seen resupplying at Palembang, and his next move will be to head north through the Strait of Malacca."

A rare smile broke across Sultan Muda's stern face.

The staff officer continued his flattery: "According to reports from Palembang, the helmsman's fleet numbers about seven thousand men with over sixty vessels of various sizes, most of them heavy sailing ships. Haha, this fool probably thinks the weak winds near Malacca are just a fluke!"

Having finished his flattery, the staff officer reported smugly: "His Excellency Laksamana has already set up an ambush at the mouth of the strait. If the enemy fleet dares to come, they will meet the same fate as the Johor men!"

Pen