Chapter 3: The Age of Great Voyages

Hearing Lin Qian's question, Bailangzai seemed somewhat conflicted, but after a moment he slowly shook his head.

Lin Qian shrugged and went back to packing up his star plates.

To him, the star-plate art was hardly worth keeping secret—if Bailangzai wanted to learn, he'd gladly do him the favor; if not, there was no need to push the lesson on him.

After putting away the star plates, Lin Qian walked toward the sterncastle.

Bailangzai followed silently behind. After a stretch, he suddenly spoke up: "Have you really been to Luzon?"

"Of course."

Whether in his past life or this one, Lin Qian had never set foot in Luzon, but that didn't stop him from telling a few "white lies" to "calm the crew."

Bailangzai seemed to want to speak but held back—clearly still harboring doubts about Lin Qian.

Though Bailangzai put on a cold, worldly air, he was after all only sixteen, and his worries were written all over his face.

These past days, Lin Qian had been observing his newfound brothers, and he'd long since seen that the trouble Bailangzai had gotten into was no small matter. Agreeing to seize the ship surely wasn't just for the sake of a hundred-odd taels of silver.

"Your family's from Guangdong, aren't they? Did you run into some kind of trouble?" Lin Qian asked, feigning casualness.

Bailangzai froze again, then said in a cold voice: "None of your business."

Lin Qian stopped, turned around, and looked at him, his gaze sharp as a blade, as if trying to pierce right through him.

Bailangzai's throat bobbed, his whole body tensing, his right hand instinctively moving to the knife at his waist.

"In at most twenty days, we'll reach Luzon without a hitch. We'll unload the silk and porcelain, load up the hold with Spanish silver dollars, rest for a month or so, and set sail home the moment the monsoon turns."

Lin Qian spoke slowly, his tone calm and firm.

"Once we're back in the Great Ming, I'll help you with your matter."

With that, Lin Qian pushed open the door and went into the cabin.

To him, at the start of an enterprise there was nothing concrete he could promise—if he didn't even dare write a rubber check, he might as well go home and fish.

As for making good on his word, he'd only said he would help—and helping to the very end or lending a modest hand both counted as helping.

Exactly how he'd help would depend on the size of the trouble and the value of Bailangzai.

Hearing Lin Qian's words, Bailangzai's expression grew complicated. He stood frozen for a moment, then took a deep breath, composed himself, walked to the sterncastle door, and stood guard with his knife in hand.

After dawn, Lin Qian came out of the cabin, saw Bailangzai who had kept watch all night, patted him on the shoulder, and told him to go back to the cabin and rest.

He then ordered the crew to correct their course and sail south along the island of Dongfan.

At this time, the marine chronometer had not yet been invented. On long ocean voyages, a ship's longitude could not be determined—once they left behind landmarks on land, all they could do was rely on the compass and the star-plate art and trust to fate.

Fortunately, Manila lay due south of Dongfan Island.

As long as they didn't veer off course or run into a storm along the way, with the prevailing northwest monsoon at their back, reaching port was all but certain.

Thanks to the numbing effects of the alcohol, the crew's spirits were much better today.

Without the shipmaster and Steward Wu oppressing them, the sailors worked with even more vigor.

As they set sail, one sailor bellowed out a line of a work song: "Hey! Everyone pull together!"

The other sailors joined in: "Hey-zo, hey-zo!"

"Riding the wind on all eight sides!"

"Hey-zo, hey-zo!"

"Anchors breaking through a thousand feet of waves!"

"Hey-zo, hey-zo!"

"Bowsprit piercing toward the heavens!"

"Hey-zo, hey-zo!"

One led the chant, the rest of the crew joined in—though off-key and out of tune, it was full of spirit.

Dozens of men roaring "hey-zo" in unison sounded like dull drumbeats striking hard against the heart, stirring a surge of boldness in all who heard it, making them feel that even if the road ahead was fraught with wind and perilous waves, they had the nerve to charge through.

The voyage went smoothly all the way.

Fifteen days later, a faint line of green appeared at the edge of the sky.

"Land? It's land!" The lookout at the bow saw it first and shouted in delight.

In an instant, the sailors all rushed to the bow and the gunwales, gazing into the distance.

That patch of green grew larger and larger at the horizon, and faint cries of seagulls could be heard.

"Have we arrived?"

"Mazu be praised, Luzon is here!"

The sailors' faces were full of joy as they shouted excitedly.

"Lin, old brother, you really did it!" Lei Sanxiang laughed as he ran up and clapped Lin Qian on the shoulder.

Lin Qian smiled and gave the order: "Half rudder to starboard, sail around the island and enter Manila Bay."

"Half rudder to starboard!" Lei Sanxiang relayed the order at full volume.

"Half rudder to starboard!" the helmsman repeated loudly, and the ship turned right.

Luzon was a large island—the Fujian junk sailed around it for a full day before entering Manila Bay.

The harbor was already visible in the distance, with all manner of sailing vessels anchored in a line stretching for several li, faintly discernible and quite a magnificent sight.

A small two-man boat approached from afar. Lin Qian knew this was the harbor pilot, and ordered someone to lower the rope ladder.

The pilot climbed up the rope ladder.

Lin Qian stepped forward and gave a salute, but the pilot did not return it. With a rather arrogant bearing, he gave Lin Qian a once-over and said: "New here? Don't know the rules?"

This pilot had yellow skin and black hair—he was a Han Chinese. Everyone could understand his speech, though his accent was strange.

Lin Qian's sworn brothers were all somewhat angered by the man's arrogance, but over the dozen-plus days of sailing, Lin Qian had built up some authority. Since Lin Qian didn't make a move, they didn't feel they could speak up either, and could only glare at the pilot.

Lin Qian took a ingot of silver from his belt, handed it to the pilot, and said with a smile: "I'll trouble you for your guidance, sir."

The pilot took the silver, weighed it in his hand, and said with a stern face: "This money isn't taken for nothing. Per the rules of the Han Merchants Guild, harbor pilotage upon docking is a paid service."

Lei Sanxiang: "You thieving—"

He got halfway through the sentence before Lin Qian silenced him with a look.

Then Lin Qian took out another ingot of silver and handed it over: "This is a little extra for your drinks, sir."

Only then did the pilot break into a smile: "Very well, since you're new here, I'll fill you in on the harbor rules. Follow my skiff into port."

As he spoke, he waved toward the side of the ship, and another man on the skiff began to scull the oars.

With his back to the crowd, the pilot gazed out at the harbor with the air of one commanding the world: "This port only handles incoming, outgoing, and cargo operations during the day. After the hour of You, the port closes—no one enters or leaves at will."

"The citadel district belongs to the Franks. You'd best stay away unless you want to lose your lives for nothing."

"Han merchants all trade at the Bayan Market—gambling dens and brothels are set up there too..."

"When doing business here, the Han Merchants Guild takes one in twenty as a protection fee, and the Franks take one in ten as a tax..."

As they drew closer to the harbor, a massive sailing ship moored there caught everyone's attention.

The vessel sat deep in the water, its bulwarks twice as high as those of a three-masted Fujian junk, with a towering sterncastle and dense rigging lashed along the sides—a truly imposing sight.

This ship was larger than any vessel in the Great Ming, and even these boatmen, who had seen their share of seagoing ships, stared in stunned wonder.

Seeing this, the pilot said with no small pride: "This is a Frankish ship. They call her the 'Galleon of Manila.' The Franks guard this kind of ship very strictly—guards are posted all around. If a Han man so much as approaches, they'll raise a musket and shoot."

The boatmen nodded as if they understood, only feeling that the ship's name was extraordinarily profound.

The pilot kept prattling on in praise of the Spanish sailing ship. Lin Qian felt nothing but contempt for this bootlicker's fawning demeanor, but since it wasn't convenient to burn bridges, he merely humored him.

Lin Qian could speak Spanish and knew that the so-called "Galleon of Manila" simply meant the "Manila Galleon."

This type of vessel closely resembled the famous Western galleon, and because it was chiefly used on the Latin American and Manila shipping routes, it had earned that name.

Had this been two hundred years earlier, when Zheng He sailed his treasure ships to the Western Seas, the Manila Galleon would not have ranked as the world's finest.

But the Great Ming of today, after more than a century of the sea ban, had lost the treasure ship blueprints, and its navigation and shipbuilding techniques had regressed by a wide margin—on the seas, it could no longer contend with the West.

Although the Manila Galleon was an armed merchantman, its firepower, speed, oceangoing endurance, hull structure, strength, and every other aspect were enough to utterly outclass any warship of the Great Ming.

It was precisely by relying on strong ships and powerful guns that the Spanish were able to strut and swagger in Luzon, the Portuguese forcibly occupied Macao and refused to return it, and the Dutch quietly colonized the southern part of the Eastern Barbarian Isle.

For the world, this was now the golden age of the great voyages.

Yet the imperial court remained obsessed with factional infighting, basking in the glory of the Celestial Empire, unaware of its own predicament.

Gazing at the great ship before him, Lin Qian felt a surge of emotion—in such an age of great contention, how could he rest content without carving out some achievement of his own?

Drawing closer, the galleon's masts appeared even taller, and the dense rows of gunports along its hull were faintly visible, exuding an overwhelming sense of pressure. Even the boatmen's voices dropped low.

Lin Qian turned to size up his own Fujian junk—not a single cannon aboard. Compared to the Manila Galleon, it was truly a shabby sight.

A thought flashed through Lin Qian's mind: how much silver would it take to buy a Spanish warship?

The value of the cargo on his Fujian junk probably couldn't even buy a single keel...

But then again, considering his brand-new profession... perhaps buying a ship wouldn't require silver at all.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen