Chapter 304: The Empire That Never Ceases War

Lin Qian's words stirred everyone present, their hearts surging with emotion, feeling as though the rise and fall of dynasties and the fate of the realm were unfolding right before their eyes.

Rising at Poyang Lake, falling at Poyang Lake.

Could there truly be such a coincidence in this world? Could it be that destiny truly exists in the unseen workings of heaven?

After a moment of silence, Zheng Zhilong clasped his hands and said, "If that is so, I am willing to serve as the vanguard!"

Bailangzai said, "Let me go. I've traveled the Yangtze before and know the shipping routes well."

He was referring to the fifth year of Tianqi, when he had sailed his ship to block the canal mouth at Guazhou—which lay between Yangzhou and Zhenjiang (the Zhenjiang on the Yangtze)—a place already quite close to Nanjing, yet still over eight hundred li from the mouth of Poyang Lake.

Bai Qing said, "I want to go too!"

"Good! We'll go together!" Lin Qian made the decision.

Everyone was taken aback, then came to their senses and tried to dissuade him one after another, but Lin Qian's mind was made up, and no amount of persuasion could change it.

Lin Qian said, "According to Zheng Hongkui's reconnaissance, as well as the hydrological data on Poyang Lake gathered by the Military Intelligence Department, during the high-water season Poyang Lake is large enough to accommodate our entire fleet in battle.

And Yuan Chonghuan has also gathered the cream of the entire Ming Jiangnan naval forces into Poyang Lake.

To ensure complete safety, this battle requires us to deploy all our main naval forces—all fifth-rate and above capital ships will sortie, along with six sixth-rate ships, thirty Sea Wolf-class ships, five Shark ships, ten Whale ships, fifteen Eagle ships, and thirty Bird ships.

The Naval Staff Department must select ships and personnel as quickly as possible. We need to fight this battle while the Yangtze is still in its high-water season!"

"Yes!" Everyone answered in unison.

After finishing the military discussion, Lin Qian led the Bai siblings out of the Provincial Administration Commissioner's office, speaking as they walked: "The military situation is urgent. You two return to Nan'ao Island tonight, prepare the navy, and get ready to head north."

Because the General Staff Department had temporarily relocated to Guangzhou, Lin Qian could not immediately return to Nan'ao Island himself.

Bai Qing nodded in acknowledgment.

Lin Qian then asked, "Have matters in Liaodong been properly handled?"

Bai Qing suddenly remembered: "Right! There are many important things I forgot to mention! The old barbarian chieftain Nurhaci is dead!"

Lin Qian stopped in his tracks, turned around, and confirmed: "Is the news accurate?"

Bai Qing nodded: "The Tartars have already held the funeral. The khan's seat has passed to the young barbarian chieftain Hong Taiji. This news has spread throughout Liaodong, and the Joseon court has also received word from the young chieftain's envoys. It should be true. Moreover... there are rumors that the old chieftain was angered to death by the Skipper's letter."

"Huh." Lin Qian let out a light laugh. "Anything else?"

"Also, the Ming court's Liaodong Supreme Commander has been replaced again. Sun Chengzong, it's said, was implicated by Mao Wenlong and demoted by the Emperor to return home. His successor is the former Liaodong Governor, Cao Wenheng."

Strictly speaking, Sun Chengzong's office was that of Supreme Commander, while Cao Wenheng's was Governor-General—the two were slightly different—but Bai Qing could not quite distinguish between them, and there was little point in distinguishing too finely anyway; knowing that he was the highest military commander in Liaodong sufficed.

The name Cao Wenheng was not particularly renowned in later ages. Lin Qian only knew that since Sun Chengzong's time, not a single Ji-Liao Governor-General of the Great Ming had come to a good end, nor had anyone possessed the ability to hold the Liaodong situation together.

Who would have thought that Lin Qian's help in resisting the Jianzhou barbarians would instead cause Sun Chengzong to lose his post—truly, fate plays strange tricks on men.

Of course, in Bai Qing's words, this was called "the Great Ming is a pile of mud that cannot be plastered onto a wall."

Lin Qian and the others did not take carriage or horse, walking all the way toward the docks. After leaving the official district, the surrounding merchants and common folk gradually increased, and the bustle was extraordinary.

Under Nan'ao's governance, Guangzhou's commerce and trade flourished more than ever before. The docks along the Pearl River had been expanded three times, and in the city, ox-carts and horse-drawn carriages were constantly getting stuck in traffic jams. Amidst the noisy hawking, one vendor called out: "Papers! Papers! Latest news—the Great Ming has abolished the courier stations!"

This news had no direct impact on the people of Guangzhou, so not many bought the paper.

Lin Qian, however, stopped in his tracks and had Geng Wu buy a copy. After reading it, he could not help but feel a pang of melancholy.

The wheel of history was indeed rolling forward, unstoppable.

The Chongzhen Emperor had, in the end, resorted to this disastrous move.

"Skipper, is there something wrong with this news?" Bai Qing asked.

Lin Qian shook his head and continued walking toward the docks.

When they reached the pier, Bai Qing said, "Skipper, wait a moment. There's still a gift from Commander Mao—a very precious one. Let me go aboard and fetch it." Lin Qian was curious, thinking to himself that Mao Wenlong on Pidao lived no better than a Mobile Corps Commander on the shore—what precious gift could he possibly have?

He watched as Bai Qing emerged from the cabin holding a sword.

The sun was gradually setting in the west. The sword, scabbard and all, was entirely gilded, carved with openwork auspicious clouds and dragon patterns, dazzling and extraordinary in the sunlight. Bai Qing presented the sword with both hands: "Commander Mao said that this is the imperial sword bestowed upon him by the court after the great victory at Zhenjiang in the first year of Tianqi. It ought to have been the Skipper's property. Commander Mao, having falsely claimed it, has been uneasy day and night. Now that he has turned from darkness to light, this sword should return to its rightful owner."

The words were spoken in a rather literary fashion—no doubt Mao Wenlong's original phrasing.

Lin Qian drew the sword from its scabbard. In an instant, cold light flashed across the pier, and the blade let out a pleasant, clear ring.

Lin Qian tested the edge and made a few practice cuts, discovering that the sword was not merely a ceremonial piece—its materials and craftsmanship were of the highest grade, truly a divine weapon. It could hold its own even against Sultan Mudan's Malay kris.

"Fine sword!" Lin Qian praised, sheathing the blade, then tossed it to Bai Qing. "It's yours—a reward."

Bai Qing was a person of courage and insight, always devoted to justice. Back when she raided the Lin estate, she had insisted on saving that mad concubine.

When attacking Pidao, she refused to bombard the civilians, sailing alone to the island to defuse the crisis.

And afterward came her series of feats: winning over Mao Wenlong, bombarding Zhenjiang, burning Phoenix City, and foiling the scheme of sowing discord.

In Lin Qian's eyes, her temperament bore some resemblance to the heroic knights-errant of antiquity—a sword suited her best.

Moreover, she had rendered such great service in Liaodong; she deserved a reward.

Bai Qing took the sword, stunned for a moment, then said, "Skipper, this sword is too precious..."

To ordinary people, an imperial sword was an object bestowed by the Son of Heaven himself, incomparably precious. Even Bai Qing, who was always cursing the court, could not help but feel reverence in the face of imperial authority.

But in Lin Qian's eyes, a sword only had meaning in the hands of one worthy to wield it.

"A fine sword for a hero—it suits you best to carry it." Lin Qian said calmly.

"Skipper..." Bai Qing's heart warmed, and she knelt to express her gratitude.

Lin Qian helped her up and joked, "From now on, you siblings—one with a saber, one with a sword—can't accuse me of playing favorites." Bai Qing laughed: "The Skipper underestimates me! I never envied that great Miao saber."

"There's also a letter, written in Commander Mao's own hand." Bailangzai said.

Lin Qian opened the letter and saw that it was very long—fully a dozen or more pages.

Mao Wenlong first recounted in the letter, completely and meticulously, the full story of how he had falsely claimed credit for the great victory at Zhenjiang.

Back then, he had brought two hundred household retainers to Liaodong, intending to launch a surprise attack on Zhenjiang, only to find that "Battalion Commander He" had already gotten there first—and had also rescued a great number of Liaoning refugees, settling them on Pidao.

Although Battalion Commander He's identity was unknown, the people of Pidao were all witnesses. Even with a hundred times his courage, Mao Wenlong would not dare claim the credit falsely. In his battle report to Wang Huazhen, he had clearly stated that the great victory at Zhenjiang was the achievement of "Battalion Commander He."

But at that time, the conflict between the Military Commissioner and the Governor was at its fiercest. It was to gain the upper hand over Xiong Tingbi that Wang Huazhen had altered Mao Wenlong's battle report.

Perhaps fearing that Lin Qian would not believe him, Mao Wenlong wrote this part of the story in exhaustive detail, swearing oaths and making vows multiple times.

Lin Qian couldn't help but smile wryly—Mao Wenlong had treated that false merit as a demon in his heart, tormenting himself for nearly a decade.

If he ever learned that Lin Qian had deliberately given him that credit back then, who knew what he would think.

In the middle of the letter, Mao Wenlong again expressed gratitude for Lin Qian's earlier commendation, and pledged to earn new merits, and so on.

At the end of the letter, Mao Wenlong attached the names, official posts, and service records of all officers above the mid-level in the Dongjiang garrison, written in exhaustive detail. Bai Qing had already collected and organized these men's records during the reorganization of the Dongjiang army in Liaodong.

Mao Wenlong's version was even more meticulous, and since he sent it personally to Lin Qian, it counted as yet another way of displaying his loyalty.

The Dongjiang army had shown a tendency toward warlordism under Ming rule because the Ming's military strength and finances were both insufficient, leaving Mao Wenlong without proper restraints. Now under Nan'ao's governance, the Dongjiang army's grain and pay were held in a death grip, and the surrounding seas belonged to the Nan'ao navy. If Mao Wenlong still wanted to play warlord, that was a dead end—but by actively submitting, he might well win important employment and leave his name in history through merits in destroying the Jianzhou barbarians.

Which path was comfortable, which path brought more profit—a clever man like Mao Wenlong could still tell the difference.

After reading the letter, Lin Qian put it away and saw the Bai siblings onto their ship. Only after the vessel vanished from sight on the Pearl River did Lin Qian turn and head back to the Provincial Administration Commissioner's yamen. A few days later, Ye Xianggao arrived in Guangzhou by boat.

Lin Qian didn't need to guess why Ye Xianggao had suddenly come.

Sure enough, the moment he stepped through the gate of the Provincial Administration Commissioner's yamen, Ye Xianggao said bluntly: "I hear you intend to lead the campaign in person again?"

Lin Qian invited Ye Xianggao into the study and had Ranqiu light some plum-blossom borneol sent by the Sultanate of Banten.

Burning incense and savoring tea were the favorite refined pastimes of Ming literati. The moment the finest borneol was lit, the whole room filled with a crisp, clear fragrance that lifted the spirits. Much of Ye Xianggao's irritable temper was suppressed.

Lin Qian explained the full story behind this personal campaign.

For Nan'ao, the navy was its very lifeline. This battle staked virtually the entire naval strength of the house—failure was absolutely not an option. That was why Lin Qian needed to lead in person.

Even in the worst case, if the battle at Poyang Lake were lost, the Nan'ao fleet could still retreat safely, because the Ming army had no ability whatsoever to blockade the Yangtze. Earlier, Bailangzai had blockaded the Guazhou canal mouth with a single ship, and later Zheng Hongkui had explored the waterway with a single ship—both proved this point. This was the confidence that allowed Lin Qian to lead in person. Historically, after Zheng Chenggong's disastrous defeat at Nanjing, his retreat down the Yangtze met almost no resistance along the way—further corroboration.

And Lin Qian's seizure of the Zhoushan islands first, followed by the annihilation of the Zhejiang fleet, was precisely the advance positioning for this battle at Poyang Lake.

The Ming court had lost nearly its entire fleet at the Yangtze estuary, just like the Qing during Zheng Chenggong's northern expedition—utterly unable to cut off Lin Qian's retreat. Ye Xianggao was half-convinced: "I hear that when Yuan Chonghuan was in Liaodong, his specialty was relying on strongholds and using risky tactics. Hasn't he established river defenses along both banks of the Yangtze?" "Coastal defense cannons need the fleet to coordinate with them to be effective; otherwise they'll be taken out by our troops landing. Besides, the Ming's red barbarian cannons are mostly heavy and limited in number—there's no time to transport them."

Yuan Chonghuan's original strategic conception was to forge the Yangtze into a single block of iron, forcing Lin Qian into a hard-fought land battle.

But Ming finances were strained, and Yuan Chonghuan's meager grain, pay, and weaponry couldn't cover both land and sea—so he could only emphasize land defense.

And Lin Qian had further weakened Yuan Chonghuan's economy through financial warfare, making the Yangtze defenses even more feeble.

Moreover, from Yuan Chonghuan's stationing of troops in Jiangxi to now was barely half a year. Even if funds had been allocated to newly build cannons and river-blocking chains, they shouldn't be finished yet. Ye Xianggao understood nothing of military affairs. Hearing Lin Qian's explanation, he could find no grounds to refute it, yet he felt an inexplicable unease—a sense that something major might go wrong if Lin Qian went—and was about to dissuade him again.

But Lin Qian had already changed the subject: "After this battle is finished, the Ming will find it very hard to threaten Nan'ao on land anymore. Perhaps the matter of proclaiming kingship and establishing a state should be put on the agenda. First and foremost is settling on a state name and era name. Grand Secretary, do you have any suggestions?"

Ye Xianggao's eyes lit up at the talk of proclaiming kingship and establishing a state, but upon hearing about the state name and era name, he said repeatedly: "This is a matter of great weight—it must be carefully deliberated. It's not something I alone can decide. I'm afraid we'll need to convene another military-political conference, with everyone discussing it for several days before a decision can be reached."

Proclaiming kingship and establishing a state was already an open secret among Nan'ao's upper echelons, and quite a few people had their own opinions on the state name and era name.

Some said that Liu Bowen had once cast a prophecy for the Ming, saying the dynasty would "stop upon meeting Shun," so they proposed the state name "Shun," with Lin Qian correspondingly titled King Shun.

Others said Nan'ao had risen from the sea and built its fortunes in the lands of Wu and Yue, proposing the state name "Wu" or "Yue."

Still others proposed state names like Cheng, Yong, Xi, Ning, Han, and so on.

Choosing a state name and era name wasn't a matter of slapping one's forehead and picking whichever character sounded nice—there was immense hidden complexity behind it, encompassing virtually everything from yin-yang and the Five Elements to the Zhou Changes and Eight Trigrams, and even popular rumors.

Everyone held their own views and refused to yield, to the point that merely raising the topic was guaranteed to spark an argument. It had become the issue with the most disagreements and the greatest conflicts since Nan'ao's founding.

Had Ye Xianggao and Scholar Zhou not been restraining them, it would surely have escalated to blows. That was why Ye Xianggao treated the matter with such caution and demanded a conference to discuss it.

Lin Qian found it both amusing and exasperating: "Fine, then we'll do as the Grand Secretary says on this matter."

Then Lin Qian had Ranqiu bring his navigation log, flipped to one page, and handed it to Ye Xianggao.

Ye Xianggao took it and saw a network diagram drawn on it, shaped like a pyramid structure, with each node bearing a brand-new official title. Puzzled, he asked: "What is this?"

Lin Qian explained: "This is the structural chart for the official system of the future Great Shun—or Great Yue, or Great Wu."

At present, Nan'ao's central government had split apart the functions of the Six Ministries, establishing a Government Affairs Hall for unified management, but locally it still followed the Ming official system—Guangdong, for instance, still retained the Three Offices, along with positions like Regional Commander and Governor.

This Ming system had overlapping and redundant institutions, low administrative efficiency, severe internal friction, and actively encouraged corruption.

In the current transitional phase, it was barely tolerable to keep using it. But since they were going to proclaim kingship and establish a state, reform was certainly necessary.

The principles of Lin Qian's system were: authority matched with responsibility, military separated from government, benefits matched with duties, and supervision with checks and balances.

At the center, a Grand Secretariat would manage all government affairs, and a General Staff Department would manage all military affairs.

Locally, there would be four levels of government—province, prefecture, county, and township. The provincial governorship system would be made permanent, while different military regions would be demarcated, so local military and civil authorities would no longer have any subordinate relationship. The traditional Six Ministries system would be abandoned in favor of the principle of dedicated personnel managing dedicated portfolios, establishing central and local departments.

For example, the Ministry of Revenue would be split into a Ministry of Finance, a Ministry of Agriculture, a Ministry of Commerce, and so on.

Additionally, within the military, an entirely new organizational structure and rank system would be implemented—but since Ye Xianggao understood nothing of military affairs, Lin Qian didn't elaborate further. Ye Xianggao looked at it for a moment, then frowned: "The Ming official system is indeed redundant, but it was designed for the separation and balancing of power.

Though your helmsman's official structure is streamlined, won't it return to the old road of localities opposing the center, and ministerial power opposing imperial power?"

Lin Qian said: "If we maintain the old system unchanged, how do we avoid repeating the Ming's mistakes two hundred years from now?"

Ye Xianggao fell silent.

In several thousand years of Chinese history, countless brilliant figures had existed, yet not one had devised a way to escape the historical cycle of feudal dynasties. Historically, the Great Qing was the pinnacle of the feudal dynastic system—but its suppression of thought and control over persons also reached the same pinnacle.

Moreover, the higher the degree of centralization, the more it depended on the personal quality of the emperor.

And under the inheritance system, emperors were bound to decline generation after generation. The Manchus had no historical burden of eldest-son inheritance, so they could institute the secret succession system, selecting the best among the secondary candidates, barely maintaining themselves.

If a new dynasty dared to copy the Qing system, one Jiajing-style emperor appearing might bring immediate ruin—it might not even last two hundred years.

Of course, historically, foreigners had found an answer: constitutional monarchy.

But that system was useless in China, because a feudal dynasty was fundamentally a state ruled by men. The Ming legal code worked for common people, but for anyone with a modicum of power, it was a joke.

Even the so-called ancestral laws had to be viewed dialectically—if they protected the interests of those in power, they were sacred and inviolable, but if they conflicted with those interests, they had to be drastically changed.

As for going further to a republican form of government, promoting that before the productive forces had developed to a certain level would be nothing short of courting death.

Having surveyed the histories of China and the world, ancient and modern, Lin Qian felt the system most suited to a new dynasty was an enlightened monarchy.

Daily administrative affairs would be handed to the Grand Secretariat; the emperor would avoid meddling, only mediating on major matters, never staking the nation's future on the degree of one individual's sagacity.

The center would not establish a Directorate of Ceremonial, eliminating eunuch interference in government, and avoiding the three-track chaos of emperor, Grand Secretariat, and Directorate of Ceremonial fighting among themselves.

Locally, there would be no Three Offices dividing power against each other, improving local administrative efficiency.

After hearing all this, Ye Xianggao's brow furrowed ever deeper: "This won't work. Setting aside the separation of local military and civil authority for the moment, at the center there will certainly be a struggle between imperial power and ministerial power—this is almost a replay of the early Ming affair."

Lin Qian's tone grew heavy: "Correct. Keeping the emperor away from daily governance, not establishing a Directorate of Ceremonial, not contending with the Chief Grand Secretary for power—none of this can be enforced by a mere sentence. Nor can every Chief Grand Secretary be a benevolent aspirant who carries the nation and the world in his heart. This system is riddled with flaws.

I have surveyed the histories and found that no system can be passed down forever. Only one thing can endure unchanged through the ages... interest!" Ye Xianggao sat up straight, listening with rapt attention.

"I believe that the reason every dynasty, the longer it endures, the worse land annexation becomes, the fiercer power struggles grow, and the more corrupt officials get, is that everyone is fighting over a fixed pie of existing benefits.

The Great Ming has only two capitals and thirteen provinces—land is finite, and the frontiers are all barren wasteland. Even if conquered, it's hard to farm, and the cost of holding it is high—far less practical than plundering the people of Jiangnan.

Why is it that at the founding of every dynasty, when they're winning the realm, everyone is incorruptible?

Because there's always a steady stream of new benefits flowing in—fighting your own people over scraps in the bowl is nowhere near as satisfying as going outside and spending a little to feast big.

What I want to do is make sure that feast outside never runs out—that it's always more tempting than the leftovers at home."

As Lin Qian spoke, he flipped a page in his navigation log. The new page bore a crudely drawn world map.

On this map, Liaodong and Jiangxi were no bigger than a fingernail, and the Central Plains and the South Sea occupied only a small corner of East Asia. The world was vast indeed!

Lin Qian pointed to a lone continent in the South Pacific, nearly the size of two Great Mings put together: "Here—I'll call it Australia for now—is an unclaimed continent, with only a small number of natives, no organized military, and wilderness everywhere.

Along its southeast and southwest coasts, the climate is mild—arable wasteland—and it holds the world's largest natural grasslands, perfect for grazing, plus vast deposits of iron ore, coal, and non-ferrous metals.

If the new dynasty vigorously develops industry and navigation, it can monetize this continent's resources at low cost.

Civil and military officials who open it up can be directly rewarded by merit—isn't that far easier than fighting over a scrap of Jiangnan?"

Lin Qian's finger slid across to the Americas: "Here—this land is equal to four or five Mings.

Unfortunately, it's now a Spanish colony. Spain is a declining empire, its rule over the Americas is brutal, and this land is rich in silver.

Civil officials who can assimilate its peoples get promoted; generals who can conquer its lands get ennobled—isn't that splendid?"

Lin Qian tapped several more spots on the map in succession, conquest difficulty rising from low to high. Once the unclaimed lands were taken, there were still Japan, the Mughals, the Ottomans, Europe, and more to seize.

In all of human history, no civilization has ever conquered the world, so theoretically, if one wants to expand outward, there will always be places to take. Ye Xianggao was left momentarily dazed, and his tone turned uncharacteristically stern: "Nonsense! If the new dynasty keeps waging war without end, isn't that militarism? Never mind two hundred years—I doubt it could hold out even a few decades!"

"Since Nan'ao was founded, has there been a single day without war? Has Nan'ao grown richer and stronger, or weaker and poorer?"

"That's because Nan'ao is sustained by maritime trade. Without that trade, the four provinces of Fujian, Guangdong, Guangxi, and Ningxia alone could never have kept it going."

Ye Xianggao was in effect the Chief Grand Secretary, and he knew Nan'ao's fiscal situation very well.

Lin Qian shook his head: "Nan'ao's maritime trade is propped up by sea power. Fighting and earning complement each other—neither can be missing.

If you fight but don't profit, you hold the responsible parties accountable—was the war too costly, or was it a decision error? Only then can this system sustain itself." There's an old Chinese saying: 'One who loves war will perish; one who forgets war is in peril.' That saying is only half right.

After Britain became the empire on which the sun never set, it fought over three hundred years of wars with its various colonies—why didn't it perish?

Because it treated war as an investment—only fighting wars that made money.

That requires not just precise cost-benefit calculations, but also powerful technology and productivity.

Constantly lowering the cost of war, mining the colonies for resource value beyond mere land, and achieving a virtuous cycle.

At the same time, binding the interests of domestic bureaucrats and generals to the national interest, converting the energy of internal infighting into the momentum of outward expansion.

Historically, small states like Britain and Prussia used this system to become masters of Europe, even empires on which the sun never set.

And with China's sheer scale, if it could establish this order, it would possess the world's strongest army and navy—the greatest and most terrifying civilization in human history, an empire that never stops expanding.

Lin Qian said: "This is not something accomplished overnight. The system needs initial thrust and inertia to run.

And how exactly to quantify various merits, how to delineate authority and responsibility—that too needs study. I'll leave this matter to you, Grand Secretary."

Only now did Ye Xianggao realize—he had come to persuade Lin Qian not to lead the campaign in person, and not only had he failed, he'd saddled himself with another task. He smiled bitterly: "So it seems the Helmsman truly must go to Poyang Lake?"

"If this battle is not won, none of it can even be spoken of." Lin Qian, moved by the thought, slowly recited a line of poetry: "Ten thousand years are too long—seize the day, seize the hour."

Pink Round

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