Chapter 269: The Sultan's Dragon-Yang Fancy and the Woman's Headcloth

A naval fleet sailing into a river?

This was the most idiotic idea Rellson had ever heard in his life. He was just about to object when he heard the Sultan say, "It's Lin Qian."

"What?" The ministers were taken aback.

The Sultan said calmly, "The one who has been raiding our army's supply lines is Lin Qian's fleet."

"Your Majesty, that's impossible..."

"Lin Qian must still be hiding somewhere in the Java Sea."

Laksamana hastily explained as well, "Your Majesty, your servant has absolutely not allowed a single ship through the Strait of Malacca — I swear it before Allah!" A smile spread across the Sultan's face: "The Portuguese do not have the capacity to dispatch a fleet, and Lin Qian has vanished from the Java Sea for nearly half a month. The warship described by eyewitnesses is not the shape of any Malay galley. So although the truth is hard to believe, there is only one possibility — Lin Qian used some means to pass through the strait."

Laksamana hurriedly tried to defend himself: "Your Majesty, I..."

Mid-sentence, the Sultan raised his hand, making him swallow the rest of his words.

The Sultan looked at Rellson: "During this period, has any fleet passed through the Sunda Strait?"

Rellson looked like a man whose tail had been stepped on, his voice turning shrill: "Impossible — this is precisely the season of violent storms west of the strait. No fleet would choose to cross the strait at such a time."

"So the Dutch fleet has not been watching the strait, has it? Storms are indeed dangerous, but compared to fighting our fleet in battle, crossing the strait has actually become the wiser choice. Lin Qian is a rational yet mad gambler. He got lucky this time, but he cannot be lucky every time."

The Sultan revealed an excited, fanatical smile.

"It has been a long time since I last met an opponent of this caliber."

Laksamana said with murderous intent, "Your Majesty, your servant requests permission to lead the fleet into battle and personally tear off Lin Qian's skull to present to Your Majesty." Rellson felt a vague sense of unease in his heart. From his understanding of Lin Qian's cunning nature, if the man had no confidence in victory, he would not lightly engage the enemy in battle.

At present, although Lin Qian had cut off the Acehnese army's supply lines, the Acehnese forces could still hold out for at least one or two months on their stored grain. Moreover, the Sultanate of Perak on the Malay Peninsula was still Aceh's vassal and could temporarily provide supplies for the main army — sustaining them for three months would be no problem at all. As for Lin Qian's fleet, far from home, how long could it last? At most two months. By comparison, it was Lin Qian who was anxious for a decisive battle.

If Laksamana rushed off to battle in such high spirits, he would likely be playing right into Lin Qian's hands.

Just as he was about to speak, he heard the Sultan say with a laugh, "Do not be led around by the nose by the enemy, Laksamana. The navy is responsible for guarding the strait. Maraja, send someone to contact the Sultanate of Perak and have them handle the army's subsequent supply lines.

Lin Qian wants to starve our army to death — I will use his own tactics to defeat him!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Just then, the sound of hoofbeats arrived, stopping outside the Sultan's tent. The rider dismounted, then came running over at a quick pace.

Everyone inside the tent looked toward the entrance.

A moment later, a messenger rushed in frantically, knelt on the ground, and said, "Your Majesty, the capital of the Sultanate of Perak is under siege!"

"What?" The ministers were greatly alarmed.

The smile on the Sultan's face froze, slowly turning into shock.

At the very moment the four ahat ships were raiding the enemy's supply convoy, the main force of Lin Qian's fleet had already struck directly into the Sultanate of Perak.

The Sultanate of Perak was a vassal state of Aceh, and throughout history had always provided supplies to the Acehnese.

The place was located six hundred li northwest of the city of Malacca, at latitude 4.5° north, lying within the doldrums.

Lin Qian's appearance at Palembang, flying Portuguese flags while raiding the convoy, had all been to buy time for the attack on the Sultanate of Perak.

Now the Acehnese had indeed fallen for the ruse. The main fleet was anchored southeast of the strait, the army was too far away to help, and all they could do was watch helplessly as Lin Qian attacked. In just ten days, the capital of the Sultanate of Perak had been breached.

Though this place was called a sultanate, it was little different from a tribal confederation. Once the capital fell, the various small tribes that had attached themselves to the Sultan each scattered on their own. Its capital did not even have stone walls — even the royal palace was built of bamboo and wood. But no matter how one looked at it, Lin Qian had gained a small but stable source of supply on land. Dusk.

The sailors aboard the Candle Dragon were clanging away, reinforcing the main mast with copper wire, bolts, and the like.

Amid the bustle, Ma Xianglin and his wife watched the sunset on the deck, each holding a chilled coconut in hand, complete with reed straws. One sip — sweet and refreshing, body and mind at ease.

Before their eyes, the sun was rapidly sinking. A gentle breeze brushed their faces, the sea surface bore only the faintest ripples, and vast stretches of water mirrored the sky — truly, sea and sky became one. In the span of a few short moments, the colors of heaven and earth shifted rapidly between bright blue, orange-gold, rouge red, and pinkish purple.

The swamps, mangroves, beaches, and coconut palms along the shore constantly changed their light and shadow, all stretched into long silhouettes by the setting sun.

In the instant the last trace of sunlight vanished, the wind between heaven and earth abruptly ceased. The waves gradually calmed into a single sheet of mirror, reflecting molten gold, ink blue, and deep crimson.

This breathtaking scene lasted only a brief moment — in the blink of an eye, the sunlight dispersed, the sea breeze gradually rose, and day completed its turn into night. The two watched, utterly transfixed, and only then remembered to take another sip of coconut juice.

The deck was gradually enveloped in darkness. Seeing no one around, Zhang Fengyi nestled closer into her husband's arms and whispered, "So beautiful."

Ma Xianglin, utterly oblivious to romance, said, "The ancients always said the sun sets slowly. Do you know why the sun sets so fast here?" Zhang Fengyi pounded his chest hard, annoyed at his lack of romantic sensibility.

Ma Xianglin looked completely bewildered.

"Why?" Zhang Fengyi still cooperatively asked.

Ma Xianglin was secretly delighted and showed off: "Heh heh... the helmsman said that the Great Ming is in the mid-latitude zone, where the sun goes down at an angle, so it sets slowly. But here, near the equator, the sun falls straight down, so it's faster. Also, this place is sparsely populated, the air is clean, and there's plenty of water vapor, so the light and shadow changes at sunset are intense — the sat... sat... uh..."

"The saturation is high." Zhang Fengyi finished for him.

"Right, exactly — the saturation is high!" Ma Xianglin said, then looked at his wife with a beaming smile.

Zhang Fengyi said, "When Mother taught you to read military classics, you were never this earnest."

Ma Xianglin laughed heartily: "If Mother's lessons had been even half as interesting as what the helmsman says, I wouldn't have gone off to climb trees for birds and fish for turtles!" Zhang Fengyi looked toward the stern cabin and murmured, "I wonder how their discussions are going?"

"Pat!"

Soldiers lit candles all around, and the Candle Dragon's meeting room was instantly flooded with bright light.

Lin Qian sat in the main seat, the conference table covered with all kinds of maps. Qin Liangyu sat at one corner of the table. The remaining captains, staff officers, as well as the Portuguese representatives, the Johor representatives, interpreters, and others packed the meeting room full — many had no seat and could only stand.

The Portuguese representative said, "... No good, we can't hold out that long anymore. Malacca city's drinking water has been cut off. Those damned Acehnese have thrown livestock carcasses into the rivers and wells — a pack of heathens who deserve to burn in hell!"

A Johor man squeezed up to the table and, pointing at the map, said, "Sultan Muda has built the Acehnese camp southeast of Malacca city, cutting off our army's line of advance. Earlier, a vanguard force of two thousand men was ambushed by the Acehnese — wiped out to the last man. In our view, we must fight a decisive battle in the middle of the strait. We can commit sixty galleys!"

Lin Qian asked Zheng Zhilong, "How much longer can the fleet's supplies hold out?"

Zheng Zhilong's expression darkened: "At most a month and a half."

Zhong Aqi exclaimed in surprise, "That fast? Don't we have that Sultanate of Perak providing provisions?"

Zheng Zhilong said, "That's a weak state — its own army doesn't even number three thousand. How could it possibly supply our seven thousand troops with food without interruption? Besides, after the chaos of war, many tribes have already slipped out of the Sultanate of Perak's control. That puppet we installed has no pull either.

Of course, there's fresh water on shore, and coconuts in plenty — but a man can't survive on coconuts alone."

Bailangzai said, "Then let's go plunder?"

Zheng Zhilong picked up a map and circled a vast area of land northwest of Malacca city.

"This whole stretch is almost nothing but rainforest and swamp. Even if we wanted to plunder, we wouldn't know who to plunder. And even if there really were villages or towns worth looting, the Acehnese would have gotten there long before us — it wouldn't be our turn."

The Portuguese representative said, "Fresh water would be good too. Ship some water and coconuts into the city — at this rate, Malacca won't hold out even half a month." Lin Qian said to Zhong Aqi, "See to this matter."

"Yes!" Zhong Aqi replied.

The cannons of Malacca City were formidable, so the Acehnese blockade fleet dared not approach too closely, and their oared galleys had poor endurance, requiring frequent returns to shore for supplies. All this back-and-forth created gaps in the blockade line, allowing supplies to be smuggled into the city—which was how this Portuguese representative had come aboard Lin Qian's ship. Of course, because it was done by stealth, the shipments couldn't be too large or too frequent, and weather and wind conditions had to be taken into account as well.

So they used an eagle boat to make a run every few days.

The Johor representative said, "Helmsman, this can't go on. We should force a decisive battle as soon as possible!"

Johor and Aceh were hereditary enemies, and with only a strait separating them, Johor shared a relationship of mutual dependence with Malacca City—lips and teeth—so naturally they most wanted an early decisive battle. Even if Lin Qian and the Acehnese crippled each other in mutual destruction, that would still be an acceptable outcome for Johor.

Moreover, half a month had already passed since the Acehnese supply line was cut, yet the Acehnese showed not the slightest sign of anxiety. Who knew how long their reserves could last? If they could hold out for three months, wouldn't Lin Qian's expeditionary fleet be doomed?

Zheng Zhilong said, "Helmsman, if things go badly, our fleet still needs water and provisions for the return voyage."

Seeing that the Portuguese and Johor representatives were present, Zheng Zhilong phrased this obliquely.

Lin Qian understood his meaning—that if this battle couldn't be fought, and the Strait of Malacca couldn't be passed, they would still need food and water on the return journey through the Sunda Strait to Palembang, so provisions for the voyage had to be set aside.

To be safe, they would need to reserve at least half a month's worth.

Everyone's gaze fell upon Lin Qian, waiting for his decision.

After a long while, Lin Qian said in a deep voice, "We wait!"

At these words, reactions varied—some let out long sighs of relief, while others wore faces full of anxiety.

But then they heard Lin Qian add, "But we won't wait idly."

Lin Qian looked at the Johor envoy and said, "Your faith's teachings forbid the drinking of alcohol, do they not?"

The Johor envoy nodded blankly.

Lin Qian smiled wickedly. "Suppose wine were discovered among Aceh's supply ships—what then?"

The Johor envoy cried out in shock, "They—they dare defy the teachings of Allah!"

Zheng Zhilong slapped his forehead: "What 'they'? It's 'he'! Don't you understand? The helmsman wants you to write a declaration of war against Sultan Muda, using the matter of drinking as the angle! And also usurpation, kinslaying, blaspheming the Prophet—throw whatever mud you can at him!"

The Johor envoy's eyes went wide, his face full of disbelief: "This… this is wrong. One should not slander a good believer like this…" Sultan Muda performed his five daily prayers, scrupulously kept the fast, paid his zakat in full, provided aid to pilgrims, and personally funded the construction of numerous mosques—such virtuous deeds were known to all from Mecca in the west to Luzon in the east, and even Johor, his enemy, held great respect for him.

Zheng Zhilong clapped his hands and laughed heartily: "He's a good believer? Even better! People love watching sanctimonious types like that make fools of themselves! The greater the contrast in the story, the more people believe it!"

The Johor envoy's worldview was shaken; he lowered his head and muttered, "This… this is wrong………"

Lin Qian then said to Zhong Aqi, "Go find some Malay women's clothing—the more colorful the better, in all sorts of styles—and also get a set of women's cosmetics, the more fragrant the better."

Zhong Aqi grinned. "Understood!"

Qin Liangyu's eyes lit up, suddenly recalling the old tale of the Marquis of Wu, and said, "Buying more is fine, but for the gift, only send one or two pieces—that will have the best effect." Lin Qian clasped his hands in salute. "Brilliant!"

Then he said to Wang Ruzhong, "Go deliver word to the puppet ruler of the Perak Sultanate, and have him tell Pahang, Kedah, and the other sultanates conquered by Aceh that the time to rise against tyranny has come!"

"At your command!"

Lin Qian thought for a moment and said, "Sultan Muda is ambitious and capable, but also hungry for glory. To keep the gifts from being locked away in his treasury, we need an envoy—this journey will likely be fraught with peril, so let's send a middleman. I'll have Yiguan handle this."

Zheng Zhilong clasped his hands in acknowledgment.

Another half month passed in the blink of an eye.

Lin Qian's fleet's provisions were gradually running out—wild fruit and bananas gathered from the jungle, and fish caught from the sea, could not feed an army of seven thousand. The Acehnese army fared even worse: with their supply lines cut, the camp had to implement wartime rationing, soldiers received extremely limited food, morale plummeted severely, and they even suffered attrition from disease.

Ministers including Laksamana repeatedly urged the Sultan to give battle, but the Sultan adamantly refused.

Even though the navy from top to bottom believed they had an eighty percent chance of defeating the enemy in a decisive engagement, this battle staked the fate of the Acehnese nation—he had to be exceedingly cautious. Fortunately, the eastern mouth of the strait was not blockaded, and with the Dutch transporting supplies over the long sea route, the army could still hold on for now.

That day, a small boat came sailing close along the shore, carrying only two men—one working the oar, the other holding aloft a white flag.

An Acehnese galley moved forward to intercept and captured the two men.

The one who had been holding the white flag claimed to be an envoy from the Nan'ao army, come to discuss terms of surrender, and that he had brought gifts for the Sultan as well.

Upon hearing the news, Sultan Muda's lips curled upward with satisfaction. He thought to himself that this contest of endurance—he had won it after all. He ordered the envoy brought to his tent, and summoned all his ministers to witness the acceptance of surrender.

An hour later, Sultan Muda changed into a splendid long robe, entered the tent, sat upon the carpet, accepted the honey tea poured by a slave girl, and fixed his gaze upon the man within: "You have come to surrender?"

The Nan'ao envoy clasped his hands and said, "I am Wei Lan of the Nan'ao Army's Foreign Affairs Bureau. I pay my respects to His Majesty the Sultan of Aceh."

The interpreter translated his words.

The Sultan took a sip of honey tea and said flatly, "Spare me the pleasantries. Hand over the Candle Dragon, punish the culprits who raided my supply ships, and I will let you leave the Strait of Malacca."

Wei Lan smiled and said, "I thank Your Majesty for your generosity. I will certainly convey your words. The helmsman has entrusted me to present two gifts, in hopes of mending our former relations." These words were an admission of weakness—the Acehnese ministers in the tent relaxed their expressions and put on smiles.

Even the slave girl pouring tea gazed at the Sultan with adoration.

Another great victory without a drop of blood spilled.

Wei Lan wore a fawning, nervous smile as he took a wooden box from the interpreter's hands.

The box was round, about the length of a forearm in diameter, entirely bright red, as if glazed, emitting a faint precious sheen in the sunlight.

Upon closer inspection, one could see the box's surface was carved with two orioles, the craftsmanship so lifelike that every feather was rendered in exquisite detail. Other areas bore patterns of auspicious clouds, flowers, pines, and cypresses—the entire round box was covered in carvings, with not a single empty space.

This lacquer box was called carved red lacquer—even in the Great Ming it was a top-tier treasure, reserved for the imperial court, rarely seen among the common folk.

Such ingenious craftsmanship was something even the Acehnese, who had skilled artisans in abundance, had never seen before.

The Sultan of Aceh cast a subtle glance at his guard captain, who gave a slight nod, signaling that the box had already been inspected.

After requesting the Sultan's permission, Wei Lan set the box on the ground and slowly opened it with both hands.

The Sultan's ministers all craned their necks to look.

Their loss of composure was hardly surprising—the box itself was already a precious treasure, so one could only wonder what priceless object it contained.

The lid finally opened, revealing two items resting on a silk lining: a light pink silk headscarf and a round, palm-sized copper object. The assembled ministers were greatly disappointed.

The two items together were probably not worth even a fraction of the box.

A minister immediately snorted coldly: "So these are your army's treasures? Hah! How shabby!"

"Everyone, please be patient—look!" Wei Lan took the light pink silk headscarf from the carved red lacquer box and displayed it.

The ministers examined it closely. It was a standard headscarf, capable of covering the head and shoulders—worn by every Acehnese woman when going out. In the local language, such headscarves were called "ijasawak."

The headscarf Wei Lan held was made of silk, embroidered with pearls as decoration, but it was hardly a rare item.

Holding the headscarf aloft, Wei Lan displayed it proudly before the assembled ministers, leaving everyone utterly bewildered.

After the display concluded, Wei Lan declared in a loud voice: "The helmsman has a message. Since Your Majesty is Sultan, commanding the people of Aceh, you should report to Allah above and bring peace to the common folk below. Now the enemy presses at the border, and war has suddenly erupted—yet you think not of donning armor and taking up arms to decide the contest, but willingly cling to your earthen nest, hiding from sword and blade. How is this different from a woman? I have therefore prepared a headscarf and a bronze mirror, and request that Sultan Mudha change his attire!"

Having spoken, Wei Lan took the bronze mirror from the carved lacquer box and held it up for display.

The interpreter's face went pale with fright, his lips trembling, not daring to translate.

Wei Lan laughed: "Translate in peace—they won't kill you. They must keep someone to carry word back! Hahahaha!"

The interpreter still dared not speak, but the Sultan Mudha's own interpreters had already translated every word.

The ministers in the tent were first stunned, then one by one flew into a rage, rising to their feet and cursing Wei Lan loudly.

Wei Lan merely laughed without cease, laughing so hard he could barely hold the headscarf.

He tossed it casually, flinging the headscarf toward Sultan Mudha.

The Sultan's face darkened. He rose slowly, and at the sight, the slave women around him all knelt, pressing their heads to the ground and trembling. The ministers fell silent one by one. For a moment, only Wei Lan's laughter filled the tent.

The Sultan said coldly: "Do you not fear death?"

Wei Lan gave a cold snort: "Death is but death—what is there to fear?"

The Sultan ground his teeth: "What a sharp tongue! Bring me a knife—I will cut out his tongue with my own hands!"

"Hold on." Wei Lan then produced a sheet of paper from his robes. "The helmsman has one more document—a proclamation—to present to Your Majesty!"

At a look from the Sultan, the captain of the guard took it and unfolded it before him. The proclamation was written in four languages: Acehnese, Persian, Arabic, and Malay.

It enumerated ten great crimes of Sultan Mudha, beginning with blasphemy and kin-murder, and running all the way down to his alleged fondness for men—and specifically, that he was the one on the receiving end. Most of the content was baseless rumor, though not entirely without foundation.

For instance, it was fact that Sultan Mudha had executed his own son.

For another, whether the doctrines of Hamzah Fansuri, whom Sultan Mudha supported, constituted heresy was itself a matter of dispute.

And again, Sultan Mudha was extremely cruel to his enemies, readily gouging out eyes, castrating, amputating limbs, and burying people alive—which also conflicted with the Islamic teaching of respecting life and treating others with tolerance.

As for the fondness for men and such—that was pure slander, as proven by the fact that Sultan Mudha had offspring and made extensive use of maidservants and female slaves. However, Sultan Mudha was an extremely self-disciplined man who never visited his maidservants, and his harem had indeed been rather unproductive, bearing him only three sons—two of whom died young, and one whom he himself had executed.

Thus by the time the Sultan reached forty, he did not have a single living son, and when he set out on campaign, it was his son-in-law who governed behind him.

With such coincidences stacking up, rumors found room to grow.

Moreover, homosexuality was also a grave sin in Islam, and these ten accusations possessed a kind of internal logical consistency that made them hard to refute at first glance. As the saying goes: "The one who knows you best is your enemy."

These ten great crimes had been carefully crafted by the Johor people under Zheng Zhilong's guidance, blending several thousand years of Chinese expertise in slinging mud—writing it as viciously and as impossible to untangle as possible.

Though the proclamation's contents were based on hearsay, its tone was grave, its attitude sincere, with not a trace of mockery—just a calm statement of facts.

Sultan Mudha was an extremely devout, proud man of high self-esteem. At first glance, a surge of heat rushed to his brain; his body swayed, and he nearly fainted. "Your Majesty!" The ministers all looked over in concern.

"This proclamation has already been distributed around Banda Aceh. The Sultanate of Perak and Aceh's other vassal states will soon see it as well. As for your religion's holy city of Mecca—our Portuguese allies will see to it that the proclamation is delivered there.

Your Majesty need not doubt it. The Candle Dragon has a dedicated engraving room aboard; it can print a thousand proclamations a day. Given time, we will surely put one in the hands of every citizen in the city."

Seeing Sultan Mudha driven nearly mad with rage, Wei Lan rejoiced at the completion of his mission even as cold sweat soaked his back—he knew he did not have long to live.

"Ah!" Sultan Mudha let out a great roar and tore the proclamation to shreds. His eyes were bloodshot, his nostrils flared wide, his breath came in ragged gasps, the veins on his forehead bulged, and his chest heaved violently.

With a clang, Mudha drew the sword from the captain of the guard's waist, gripped it in his hand, and moved to kill.

Wei Lan said: "Hold on! There is one more thing!"

The last shred of the Sultan's reason made him stay his hand.

"This man is an interpreter I found on the road, an Acehnese. I ask that Your Majesty not raise a hand against your own countryman."

As he spoke, Wei Lan unhurriedly produced a brocade box from his robes. Opening it, inside lay a pill the size of a fingertip.

"No—he means to take poison!" someone shouted.

But it was already too late. Wei Lan swiftly stuffed the pill into his mouth and swallowed.

The captain of the guard was quick-eyed and quick-handed, reaching out to pry it out—but Wei Lan clenched his jaw tight, and within a few breaths, he was still.

"Dead..." The captain of the guard rose in frustration.

"Ah!" Sultan Mudha's fury reached its peak, and he howled like a wild beast.

No wonder he was enraged—Acehnese culture had no Sima Yi or Zhuge Liang, no tradition of enduring the humiliation of a woman's headscarf.

And in Islamic nations, a Sultan's stable rule was highly tied to his masculinity; this single humiliation was enough to send Mudha's prestige plummeting. And Lin Qian, to leave no room for mercy, had also printed those leaflets of ten crimes.

If Mudha did not act now, in a few months he would no longer be Sultan, but a coward on the receiving end, mocked by all.

And what would follow would be vassal states declaring independence one after another, Acehnese nobles rebelling, and the Malay Empire he dreamed of building becoming a joke. "Laksamana!" Sultan Mudha clutched his chest and called.

"Your servant is here!"

"Assemble the fleet. We sail to war!"

Yahei

PingFang

Pen