Chapter 273: The Fetid Swamp Camp

Lin Qian smiled and said, "Oh? Let's go take a look, and bring that big giant grouper along too."

At Lin Qian's command, the oar-and-sail ship returned to the dock.

An hour later, Lin Qian received the envoy of Sultan Muda at his temporary residence in the city of Malacca.

"Esteemed Helmsman, Commander of the Nan'ao forces, Zainal Abidin, envoy of the Sultan of Aceh, conveys to you his most noble greetings."

Upon seeing Lin Qian, the envoy first performed a chest-touching bow, but the moment he raised his head, he froze.

There sat Lin Qian in the main seat drinking tea, flanked by five or six guards, one of whom was holding a giant grouper fish.

The fish was extremely large and heavy—one hand could not lift it; it took two hands together. The grouper struggled from time to time, splattering water everywhere. Groupers have tenacious vitality and are extremely tolerant of oxygen deprivation; they can survive one or two hours out of water.

And to ensure the Aceh envoy could also witness the splendor of the great fish, Lin Qian had people pour water over its gills the whole way, and the fish had held on like that all the way to now. "This... this is?" Envoy Abidin looked utterly bewildered.

"Oh, this is something I just caught—a full forty-six catties." Lin Qian set down his teacup and said calmly, "Grouper is delicious; you're in luck, honored envoy." With that, Lin Qian shot a glance at a guard, who took the grouper to the kitchen. Seafood is all about freshness—the sooner it hits the wok, the better. "Hmph!" Abidin let out a cold snort. He wanted to imitate Wei Lan's imposing bearing, but he was truly afraid of death, and even more so, on a spiritual level, he feared the sorcerer or prophet who could command lightning. This cold snort carried no intimidation whatsoever—it was bluster masking cowardice.

Lin Qian spoke up and asked, "Honored envoy, having come from afar, what business brings you here?"

Abidin scanned the room, seeing only guards, staff officers, and Lin Qian—no other ministers. He was greatly displeased: "Is this all the men under your command, sir? Do your other ministers not dare to meet this envoy?"

"Most of my generals have gone to the Duyong River to besiege your army."

Lin Qian spoke plainly, which left Abidin choked and speechless.

Abidin said, "Very well. This envoy has come to convey His Majesty the Sultan's decree to the Helmsman.

His Majesty says this war has dragged on for months, and both armies have suffered heavy casualties, all because of you and His Majesty.

His Majesty, showing compassion for his soldiers' lives and unwilling to see more deaths, wishes to settle this with you in single combat before the two armies on a chosen day. The loser shall concede and withdraw. Does the Helmsman have the courage to accept?"

Silence fell over the hall for a moment, then Lin Qian said, "That's it?"

"His Majesty's message is only this."

Abidin held his head high, looking at Lin Qian with a gaze full of provocation, as if questioning Lin Qian's courage.

But then he saw a faint smile appear on Lin Qian's face, and the smile grew more and more obvious, until finally he burst out laughing outright, and even the personal guards filling the room could not help but laugh loudly as well.

Abidin looked bewildered, and gradually his embarrassment turned to fury. He said indignantly, "What is the meaning of this, if you would be so kind as to explain? Laughing so wantonly—are you trying to cover up your cowardice?"

Lin Qian smiled and said to the staff officers beside him, "It seems Muda is at the end of his rope, resorting to tricks like this."

One staff officer said, "Two armies facing off, with champions dueling—that has happened in history, to be sure, but two sovereigns dueling each other? There has never been a single case. The Acehnese truly are barbarians, spouting whatever wild nonsense comes to mind."

Geng Wu said, "Even if it were a champion duel, it should happen before the armies clash. Who waits until their army has suffered a crushing defeat before thinking of a duel? This barbarian chieftain's proposal is an insult to the Helmsman. Let me cut this envoy down!"

The Acehnese proposal was so absurd that no one even bothered to advise Lin Qian against accepting it.

Abidin waited a long while, heard the translator relay the insults Lin Qian's men had hurled at him and the Sultan, and heard Geng Wu's threat to kill him. He gritted his teeth and threw caution to the wind.

Trembling, he took something out from his robes and said with a cold laugh, "His Majesty long ago guessed the Helmsman would not dare accept the duel, so he had this envoy return these two treasures to you. Please... please make use of them yourself."

Lin Qian focused his gaze and saw it was a pink gauze scarf with something wrapped inside. Without even looking, he knew—it was the woman's headscarf and bronze mirror he had previously sent to humiliate Muda.

Seeing this, Lin Qian found it even more amusing. He thought to himself, Muda truly has exhausted his bag of tricks, trying to provoke me by returning my gifts. Does he take me for some hot-headed youth? Anyone who has read even a little history could never fall for such a shallow provocation.

Geng Wu was greatly enraged and said through gritted teeth, "How dare you insult the Helmsman! You're asking for death!"

He moved to draw his blade but was stopped by a wave of Lin Qian's hand.

Geng Wu wasn't that stupid, and his acting was somewhat lacking, but Lin Qian still acknowledged his loyalty.

Lin Qian said, "Geng Wu, take the items. When we breach Banda Aceh, they might actually come in handy."

"Yes." Geng Wu took the headscarf and bronze mirror, shooting the envoy a vicious glare.

By now Abidin's courage was spent. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat, and he looked utterly pathetic. He dared not meet Geng Wu's gaze, nor dare show the slightest displeasure at Lin Qian's words.

Then Lin Qian asked, "What about that carved lacquer box?"

Abidin stammered, "That... that one I did not bring."

Lin Qian laughed. "I didn't think the Sultan, though rash, would know a good thing when he saw it—he didn't go and return the box while keeping the pearl. Never mind. Your army doesn't have long to live anyway; I'll go fetch it myself when the time comes."

"Yes, yes..." Abidin kept wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "This envoy will certainly convey everything to His Majesty. If the Helmsman has no further business, then I..." With his mission complete and Lin Qian in a good mood, Abidin wanted to slip away—nothing was more important than saving his own skin.

"Hold on." Lin Qian said with a beaming smile, "Eat the grouper before you go. I caught it with my own hands—you simply must taste it."

"Yes, yes..." Abidin dared not refuse.

It was still early, not yet dinnertime, so Lin Qian kept Abidin for tea, casually probing him about the situation in the Acehnese camp.

Although the Acehnese were trapped in a desperate position, they still had over three thousand elite Sultan's Guard troops and three to four thousand auxiliary troops—they still held the numerical advantage. If they launched a desperate last-ditch counterattack, the Nan'ao forces would suffer too many casualties for it to be worth it.

Abidin sat before Lin Qian as if on a bed of needles, speaking with extreme caution. He seemed not to reveal any information, but his constant gulping of tea had already exposed the fact that his camp was short of fresh water.

Lin Qian noted this, called over a personal guard, and whispered, "Inform the kitchen: make a dish of braised pork, but use beef."

At dinner, Abidin dismissed the light and fresh grouper with contempt, instead showing a particular fondness for the rich, dark braised beef. He picked out all the fatty pieces and made sure to soak them thoroughly in the sauce. Seeing this, Lin Qian already had his answer.

After dinner, Lin Qian kept the envoy for more tea and refreshments before finally letting him go.

After he left, the personal guard inspected Abidin's dessert plate and found that the heavily sweetened pastries had been eaten the most.

Several hours later, Abidin returned to the Duyong River camp and met with the Sultan.

"Did he agree to the duel?"

The moment he saw Abidin, Sultan Muda could not help but ask. The other ministers in the tent also cast hopeful looks.

Abidin shook his head.

"Coward!" Army Commander Malaja burst out cursing.

Sultan Muda's voice was cold and stern: "Did you return the headscarf and bronze mirror to him?"

Abidin nodded, recounted Lin Qian's reaction, and then repeated verbatim everything Lin Qian had said while keeping him for the meal. "The damned coward! No shame, no sense of honor! I feel ashamed for him!" Malaja cursed, spittle flying.

Even his last resort had failed. Sultan Muda sighed inwardly, his figure slumping.

It suddenly occurred to him that if, when he had been humiliated, he had reacted the way Lin Qian did, perhaps now he could have traded places with Lin Qian. One misstep—what a pity, what a shame!

Navy Commander Laksamana asked, "What else? That demon Lin Qian—what else did he say to you?"

Abidin thought hard for a long while. He had already said everything he should, but finally he added, "At the banquet, there was a giant grouper weighing forty-six catties, caught by Lin Qian's own hand."

The ministers in the tent swallowed in unison, a faint green light glinting in their eyes.

Grouper fish — what a tender and delicious delicacy!

In a clay pot, add palm oil, stir-fry the spice paste, pour in coconut milk, bring to a boil over high heat, then add the grouper chunks, simmer over low heat until the sauce thickens, season with sea salt and palm sugar, and add kaffir lime leaves for fragrance.

Praise be to Allah!

The finished grouper is tender and springy, rich with coconut aroma and complex spices — so delicious it feels like sitting on a seaside beach.

Paired with coconut rice, it's like a summer beach — cool sea breeze blowing, sipping coconut water, so comfortable your bones go soft. The ministers thought of Lin Qian leisurely fishing in the open sea, then gorging on tender grouper at night.

Then they thought of themselves trapped at the Durian River, enduring dampness, stench, mosquitoes, and disease — throats dry as if slashed by knives every day, stomachs burning with hunger — and their morale sank to rock bottom.

Everyone thought of surrender at the same time, but Sultan Mudah's authority was too heavy — no one dared to raise it.

Laksamana said, "What if we retreat north?"

Another terrible idea — north of here there is nothing but mountains and rainforest; the army wouldn't last ten days before dying in the jungle. Sultan Mudah's voice was hoarse: "How many men do we have left?"

Malayaja bowed with a hand to his chest: "Your Majesty, the Sultan's Guard still has 2,300 men; counting the vassal troops and slaves together, fewer than 5,000." When the naval battle had just been lost, the camp held nearly 8,000 men in total; in five or six days, nearly a thousand had been lost — truly alarming. At this rate of attrition, in less than two months, the entire army would be dead.

"Some died of illness, some ran off on their own — damn deserters!" Malayaja added.

"How much food and gunpowder remains in the army?" Sultan Mudah asked again.

Malayaja: "Gunpowder is sufficient; food can last two months... if attrition continues like this, perhaps even longer. But fresh water is running short — the stores have gone bad, and the Durian River's water is undrinkable. We can only send men into the rainforest daily to cut water vines for water; other than that, we can only wait for rain."

Neither water vines nor rain are reliable sources, let alone safe — drinking it brings diarrhea at best, dysentery and death at worst. Boiling it is even harder; everything here is so damp that starting a fire is nearly impossible.

Moreover, due to the swampy terrain of the Durian River, many of Aceh's cannons have sunk into the mud and had to be abandoned.

The warhorses, unable to be groomed in the constant damp, have mostly developed skin diseases, and the rest can't be fed either — they've all been slaughtered for meat. The Acehnese army could not be more aptly described than by the phrase "at the end of the road."

After the Sultan finished his inquiries, silence fell over the tent.

It was already deep night; no lamps were lit in the Sultan's tent. Candles remained, but the female slave responsible for lighting and serving had been killed.

The army was in dire straits — every drop of water and every grain of food had to be saved for the warriors; there were no surplus supplies to keep female slaves alive.

After a long silence, Sultan Mudah said, "The army will rest and reorganize for three days. After three days, I will personally lead the troops into a decisive battle against Lin Qian! I will reclaim everything the Acehnese have lost. I, Iskandar Mudah, swear by Allah!"

Aboard the Candle Dragon, the ship's carpenter, Plane Li, was leading his apprentices in dismantling the lightning rod's conductor cable.

The conductor was a copper cable as thick as a thumb, responsible for channeling lightning from the rod down into the ship's bottom.

In the lightning rod system, the copper cable was actually the hardest component to install.

Because the mainmast swayed during sailing, the copper cable was also connected in segments — each segment fastened with lug plates and bolts tightened together, which raised resistance at the joints, causing some current to pass through the mainmast and accumulate damage over time.

After removing the copper cable, the carpenters gathered around the mainmast, knocking and inspecting it continuously.

Lin Qian saw that the bolts of the copper cable and the joints on the mainmast had turned charred black; the threads of several bolts had melted away, stuck fast in the wood and impossible to pull out. The carpenters' expressions grew increasingly grave. After a moment, Plane Li walked up to Lin Qian, not even daring to meet his eyes as he spoke: "Helmsman, the mainmast... I'm afraid it's done for..."

"No matter — speak plainly." Lin Qian's tone was gentle.

Plane Li said, "There are cracks inside the mainmast. They're small now, so short voyages are fine, but its strength has dropped greatly. One more storm and it might split open. Even without a storm, it can last at most a year or two."

Lin Qian said a few words of reassurance to Plane Li — this wasn't the carpenter's fault.

Historically, early lightning rods were inherently disposable; surviving three lightning strikes was already remarkable.

Once back at Nan'ao, the Candle Dragon was due for a major dry-dock overhaul anyway — they could replace the mainmast then, and also copper-sheathe the entire hull while they were at it. After the Aceh campaign ended, the Dutch would be the only major enemy left on the southern seas, and a fight probably wouldn't break out for months or even a year — Lin Qian had ample time to repair the ship.

Just then, a staff officer hurried over: "Helmsman, we've just received two letters.

One is from the Shi family of Palembang. The letter says the Sultanate of Banten learned of the Shi family's draft proclamation and has mobilized heavy forces, blockaded the river, and besieged Palembang. The Shi family's envoy is now in the city of Malacca, awaiting your summons, Helmsman."

Lin Qian said, "And the other letter?"

"The other is from the front line at the Durian River, saying Sultan Mudah is reorganizing his army — it looks like he's preparing for a last-ditch fight. Just yesterday alone, over five hundred men from the Acehnese army came to surrender. Zheng Ting is already arranging defenses at the river mouth."

Even in dire straits, he still refuses to surrender, still thinking of desperate resistance.

Lin Qian murmured to himself in admiration: "Truly a great lord of his age."

Then he said to the staff officer, "Send a hawk ship to the front line immediately — remind Zheng Zhilong to keep those prisoners well guarded, and not to repeat Yuan Yingtai's mistake. In Malacca city, leave the necessary ships and troops; the rest of the men will muster and follow me to the Durian River front."

"Yes!" the staff officer acknowledged, then asked, "Helmsman, what about the Shi family's envoy?"

Lin Qian said, "With a great enemy before us, we can't spare him. Have him deliver a message to the Sultanate of Banten: the Nan'ao army repays grievances a hundredfold. If the Sultan of Banten dares to touch a single Han man, he can expect to follow in Aceh's footsteps."

The next day, Lin Qian sailed the Zhangzhou to the mouth of the Durian River.

Viewed from the stern deck, the Durian River ran northeast to southwest — the channel was very wide with gentle currents, flanked by swamps, mangroves, and rainforest on both sides. The riverbank and coastline almost merged into one, with no clear boundary.

The Nan'ao fleet's warships were anchored over a thousand paces from the river mouth, which was defended by Pattani's galleys and hawk ships. The Nan'ao army had camped on high ground northwest of the river mouth — the camp spanned three li around, with trees and vegetation cleared away and ponds filled in. It looked filthy, but at least it was habitable.

With terrain like this at the river mouth — forget warhorses and cannons, even sending men in on foot was exhausting — it truly was easy to defend and hard to attack.

But that ease of defense cut both ways: the Nan'ao army couldn't get in, and the Acehnese couldn't get out.

Looking at this bizarre terrain, even Lin Qian couldn't imagine how the Acehnese planned to counterattack.

The Zhangzhou anchored near the river mouth. Lin Qian transferred to a small boat to reach the shore, then arrived at the Nan'ao army's central command tent.

Zheng Zhilong and many staff officers and commanders were in the tent; seeing Lin Qian, they all clasped their hands in salute.

Lin Qian noticed several listless Acehnese men in the tent and pointed at them, asking, "Who are these?"

Zheng Zhilong laughed: "These are surrendered Acehnese prisoners — all high officials of the Sultan's court. This one is the chief of staff, this one is the chief advisor, this one is the Sultan's brother-in-law, and this one is the naval commander."

Lin Qian grew interested and walked over to the naval commander.

"You are Laksamana?"

"Yes, it is I, Your Honorable Helmsman." Laksamana's eyes suddenly lit up.

Lin Qian asked coldly, "What is Sultan Mudah doing?"

Laksamana said, "The Sultan has gone mad! He wants to lead the Guard charging straight out — it's sheer suicide. I wouldn't die with him, and I certainly won't follow a man who's doomed. That's why I've come to pledge myself to you, great conqueror, Your Honor the Helmsman!"

Lin Qian looked at Zheng Zhilong.

Zheng Zhilong nodded: "That's right. According to our forward sentries, the Acehnese are distributing gunpowder and muskets, mobilizing cannons, and scuttling their ships — they're clearly preparing for a fight to the death.

The vast majority of Acehnese soldiers don't want to die. Just this morning, another two hundred came to surrender, and even more fled into the rainforest.

Of course, virtually none survive crossing the rainforest alive — Aban and his men have had a bountiful harvest these past few days."

Lin Qian asked abruptly, "What's today's date?"

Zhong Aqi said: "The twenty-seventh day of the eighth month, the ninth year of Tianqi."

"The spring tide is coming, and it's an exceptionally large one compounded by the equinoctial tide," Lin Qian said.

Zheng Zhilong suddenly understood, and clasped his hands in salute: "Understood. I'll go prepare at once."

A spring tide occurs when the sun, moon, and earth align in a straight line at the start and middle of the month, with their gravitational pulls combining to cause a high tide. An equinoctial tide is an even larger spring tide that occurs around the spring and autumn equinoxes each year, when the sun shines directly on the equator and the sun and moon share the same declination.

Under such tides, the water level of the Duyong River would rise greatly, and the surrounding marshes and mangroves would become navigable, allowing one to bypass the sunken ships blocking the river channel. Add to that the dim weather of the new moon, and Muda might well seize the chance to slip out under cover of darkness.

The so-called fight to the death was likely Muda's trap to lull the Nan'ao forces into complacency, while also driving away subordinates who were disloyal to him, reducing the number of targets during his escape.

One stone, three birds.

Clever as the scheme was, it carried far too many uncertainties — a top-tier terrible idea. It seemed Sultan Muda truly was at the end of his rope. In the following days, the Acehnese army continued sorting their gunpowder and equipment, putting on a show of mutual destruction, yet never making a move. Instead, more and more troops deserted, until barely two thousand of the Sultan's personal guards remained.

Presumably Muda was waiting for the tide and the phase of the moon.

During these days, Lin Qian was meeting with representatives of Johor and Portugal to discuss the division of spoils after defeating Aceh.

The Portuguese were the weakest and had almost no say, while Johor had a strong army but a weak navy in the Malay region. Lin Qian need not have concerned himself with Johor's interests either.

But once Aceh declined and Lin Qian took Malacca city, he would leap to become the greatest power in the strait. To avoid making the Johor people feel threatened enough to ally with the Dutch, a little sweetener was necessary — at the very least, Johor should be kept neutral.

And the Acehnese, the former overlords of the strait, now had no choice but to be served up on the table.

Late in the night of the first day of the ninth month, the tide reached its peak. Seawater gradually crept into the mangroves, flowing backward up the Duyong River and expanding the marshes on both banks severalfold. In pitch darkness, the Acehnese cast off more than fifty medium-sized galleys, and Sultan Muda led his final elite downstream with the current. The voyage was utterly silent — the Acehnese had spent over a month in this damp hell and had become intimately familiar with the local vegetation, their oars almost never striking anything by mistake.

Everyone, Sultan Muda included, held their breath and dared not make the slightest sound. The only noises were the flow of water and the creaking of the hulls. After a long while, the fleet rounded a bend in the winding channel, and the scene before them suddenly opened up. Beyond the shadowy silhouettes of the mangroves, a sea dyed ink-blue by starlight lay right before their eyes.

Before Muda could even feel relief, he heard a sound that made his hair stand on end.

"Whish-pop!"

A red signal flare burst in the sky over the west bank, and immediately flares exploded over the east bank and out at sea as well.

Sultan Muda's eyes split with fury as he roared: "Row! Row for your lives!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Fierce cannon fire came from every direction, completely drowning out Muda's voice.

The mangroves gave off sharp cracking sounds of snapping trees, their canopy shadows trembling without cease, followed by the great splashes of cannonballs plunging into the marsh, along with mud and the stench of rotting vegetation splashing onto the decks.

Deep within the mangroves, the enemy's position was impossible to discern — all one could see was the red flash of cannon muzzles flickering endlessly atop the canopy.

The cannon fire came from near and far, continuous and unbroken, like a fishing net cast over the Acehnese. Soon, ships began taking hits.

These medium-sized galleys were extremely fragile, and packed densely with men — even the rowers were Sultan's guards. One cannonball caused terrible casualties, and the stench of blood instantly overwhelmed the marsh's putrid odor.

"Row! Row faster!" The Sultan's heart ached as if cut with a knife. These guards were his last bastion for turning the tables — every one of them a veteran of a hundred battles, elite warriors forged through fire and gold.

To die like this in a stinking marsh, without a single glorious battle, without a shred of honor — dying like slaves.

This was a desecration of loyalty and courage!

Yet Sultan Muda could do nothing but keep urging his men to row faster.

There was no wind at sea tonight — if they could just clear the mouth of the Duyong River, they would live!

Mud, branches, and leaves grew thicker before their eyes, nearly blinding them. Faintly, they could hear shouts from the enemy artillery positions: "Rapid fire down the channel! Don't let them escape!"

Before Muda, the sea drew closer and closer. Finally, through the hail of gunfire, his flagship burst out.

Tonight there was no moon and no wind; the sea was smooth as a mirror, reflecting the myriad stars above.

Before Muda could even savor the waves and starlight, he saw the scene before him, and a wave of despair surged into his heart.

Twenty galleys lay in a semicircular encirclement around the river mouth. On their decks, Pattani warriors stood at the ready with matchlock muskets, javelins, and other weapons, faces wearing smug smiles of prey fallen into a trap.

And further out, a dozen or so Nan'ao gunboats presented their broadsides toward the enemy.

Sultan Muda turned to look back — only a dozen or so galleys had made it out of the channel; the rest had become splintered wreckage upon the marsh.

Fewer than three in ten of his guards had escaped.

Grief and despair reached their peak in Muda's heart. Seeing that things had come to this, he drew a deep breath, slowly pulled the Malay kris from his waist, and roared: "Guards! Charge with me!"

At the same time, from the Pattani galleys, muskets fired in unison, loosing bullets of vengeance for the Sultana.

Yahei

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