Chapter 305: Water Floods Jinshan

On the first day of the seventh month, the fleet formally set sail from Nan'ao Island.

Compared to the Battle of Malacca, this time the fleet brought five fewer sixth-rate ships, but carried a large number of Sea Wolf ships, bird boats, and supply vessels. In total there were fourteen main gun ships and seventy-five auxiliary ships; counting the marines and a small number of army troops, the fleet's personnel numbered nearly ten thousand. Both in tonnage and in number of vessels, it far exceeded the expedition against Aceh.

After the massive fleet set sail, it rode the summer monsoon northward and arrived at Zhoushan five days later.

After this place had been taken by Nan'ao, a simple dock and fishing harbor were built. Freed from the dual oppression of government officials and monks, the island's residents found life considerably improved. Moreover, with the Zhejiang naval force annihilated and the sea ban relaxed, quite a few Zhejiang commoners even migrated to the island of their own accord, making every fishing village on Zhoushan brim with vitality. The fleet anchored for half a day, briefly replenished supplies, then continued northward, arriving at the Wusong estuary a day later.

Chongming, of later ages, was at this time merely a few sandbars in the river, covered with endless reeds. Warm wind blew past, and the reeds rustled like a wave of green.

On the waterway of the Yangtze estuary, grain boats, merchant ships, and fishing vessels of every sort came and went in an endless, bustling stream.

But the moment the Nan'ao fleet appeared on the sea, all that bustle ceased at once. Vessels turned about one after another, and within less than an hour, not a single stray craft remained on the river.

Watched by the garrison at the Wusong estuary, the Nan'ao fleet swaggered into the Yangtze, arriving at Jiangyin a day later, and at Zhenjiang by noon the following day. Standing on the stern deck of the Candle Dragon, Lin Qian gazed westward and saw the vast Yangtze surging toward him, only to be split apart by three great mountains as it drew near.

Pointing at those three mountains, Bailangzai said: "Helmsman, a little over twenty li ahead is where the Grand Canal meets the Yangtze—the Guazhou canal mouth I mentioned before.

North of the canal mouth lies Guazhou city, and to the south is Zhenjiang city. These three mountains ahead are Jiaoshan, Beigushan, and Jinshan—what others call the 'Three Mountains of Jingkou.'"

Lin Qian looked toward those three mountains. Jiaoshan was nearest, a lone islet in mid-river; Beigushan stood in the middle, connected to the shore and slanting toward the heart of the river; and farthest away was Jinshan.

None of these three mountains was tall, but as the saying goes, "A mountain need not be high to be famous, if it holds an immortal."

Each of these three mountains boasted great renown, with Jinshan the most famous of all. In the fourth year of Jianyan in the Southern Song, during the Battle of Huangtiandang, it was this very Jinshan where Liang Hongyu beat her war drum against the Jin forces.

Beigushan's fame, meanwhile, largely derived from a ci poem by Xin Qiji.

Lin Qian murmured: "How many deeds of rise and fall through the ages—endless, ceaseless, the Yangtze rolls on."

Bailangzai said: "I was just wondering what Second Brother would recite if he were here—and sure enough, it had to be those lines. Helmsman, how do we get past?"

The Yangtze's surface was broad, but at the stretch of the Three Mountains of Jingkou it suddenly narrowed, the narrowest point between north and south being only two li wide—a natural key point for river defense. Yuan Chonghuan's river defense arrangements had been most heavily invested here.

On each of the Three Mountains of Jingkou, cannons had been built. Between Beigushan and the northern bank, three river-blocking chains of thick iron cable were strung across, forming a defensive layout of mountain, city, and chain fused into one, sealing the entire Yangtze so tightly that passage was simply impossible.

Lin Qian asked: "When you advanced into the Guazhou canal mouth back then, what method did you use to get past?"

"In those days the eunuch Wei held power and river defense was lax. I sailed my single ship straight in—nobody paid me any mind."

After all, the Yangtze was a golden waterway. If the blocking chains were raised, shipping would be cut off—and then how would commercial taxes be collected? If Eunuch Wei's money pouch suffered, whose fault would that be? Besides, Lin Qian hadn't rebelled yet at the time; Bailangzai belonged to the Ming's Nan'ao naval force, and no one dared fire on their own men.

Now the situation was completely different. The blocking chains had long since been raised, the cannons on the three mountains were manned, and the garrison stood at strict readiness. Against the Ming navy, such a defense could already be called impregnable.

But in Lin Qian's view, this kind of passive defense, uncoordinated with any naval force, was a joke. How to break it didn't even require him to think.

Think back to when Zheng Chenggong marched north against Nanjing and reached Zhenjiang—the Qing army had used the very same defensive measures, even stricter than the Ming's, with even more cannons.

And how long did Zheng Chenggong take, from breaking through the blocking chains to capturing Zhenjiang city?

Seven days in all.

If one says the Qing troops were poor at river warfare and Zheng Chenggong seized the opportunity, then Yuan Chonghuan could hardly be called an expert either.

Historically, before the great victory at Ningyuan, Yuan Chonghuan's deployment of the Juehua Island naval force had been just as stupidly inept, letting the Jianzhou barbarians reap the advantage for nothing. Lin Qian said: "Order the Fuzhou and Funing to fire on Jiaoshan at a distance of seven hundred paces, to probe the enemy's gun positions."

Bailangzai acknowledged and passed the order. The five-colored flags waved, and the Fuzhou and Funing advanced side by side toward Jiaoshan.

On the Jiaoshan artillery position.

Seeing the Nan'ao fleet's movement, a Ming soldier shouted: "Company Commander, sir, the enemy has sent two ships!"

Startled by the sudden shout, the Company Commander flinched and snapped: "What are you bellowing about!"

Though the commander of the Jiaoshan artillery was a Company Commander, half his pay had been skimmed off. He had fewer than two hundred men under him, and all their weapons and equipment were in shambles.

On the position there were only ten heavy Folangji cannons, handed down from commander to commander over the previous dozen or so tenures. They had never been test-fired, and no one knew whether they still worked. The only thing that gave him any peace of mind was a single red barbarian cannon that Governor Yuan had transferred here.

He had assumed the Zhenjiang defense line was as solid as iron and the enemy would never dare come. He'd treated his post as Company Commander as just an ordinary job—drawing rations for serving—never imagining that one morning he'd open his eyes to find the Nan'ao rebels, bold as could be, attacking straight at him. His soul nearly flew out of his body.

From the artillery position halfway up the mountain, the Nan'ao warships stretched across the river like a field of weeds, masts and oars as thick as a forest, nearly filling the entire waterway.

Whether or not the Nan'ao force could take Zhenjiang, he was as good as dead either way. His mind was now a complete mess.

Just as he was at a loss, he suddenly heard thunderous cannon fire from the river. The two ships had turned broadside, their flanks wreathed in gunsmoke. In an instant, a whistling sound tore through the air, followed by a hit at the foot of the mountain—a tremendous boom, the ground trembling slightly, dust flying everywhere. The Company Commander shouted hastily: "Return fire! Return fire now!"

His soldiers fumbled to load the guns. But the pay-skimming had been too severe—the gunners couldn't eat their fill and had no strength. One gunner had just lifted a cannonball when his hand slipped, and the ball landed square on his foot, sending him to the ground with a howl of pain.

Of the other soldiers, some trembled as they loaded, spilling half the powder they measured; others didn't bother with powder at all and simply jammed the ball into the barrel first.

The Company Commander scolded them repeatedly, but the more he cursed, the more chaotic things became. A long while passed, and still not a single cannon had been fully loaded.

Meanwhile, the Funing and Fuzhou had already fired five volleys.

On the deck of the Fuzhou, her captain Luo Dagu lowered his telescope and cursed: "Damn it all, stop firing! The enemy doesn't want to expose their gun positions, so they're gritting their teeth and holding their fire. Who'd have thought little Jiaoshan had some men of mettle."

His nickname was "Dagu"—the Big Drum—and naturally his voice boomed like thunder. One roar from him needed no relayed orders; the gun deck ceased fire at once.

Luo Dagu gritted his teeth and said: "Close in!"

Startled by this, the helmsman urged: "The enemy's firepower is unknown. Getting too close could be dangerous."

Luo Dagu said: "I came out of the naval academy—do you think I don't know danger? We're here to probe the enemy's gun positions. If we don't take this risk, are we supposed to let the Candle Dragon take it? Close in!"

The Fuzhou raised her sails, turned her bow, and sailed toward the north of Jiaoshan.

On the other side, the Funing, unwilling to be outdone, also ceased fire, raised sail, and headed for due south of Jiaoshan.

Finally, at a distance of five hundred paces, several flashes of fire appeared halfway up Jiaoshan, and moments later several columns of water erupted near the mountain.

Luo Dagu was startled for a moment, then burst out laughing: "Hahaha! The enemy has no red barbarian cannons—their Folangji can't reach us. Sail around!" On Jiaoshan, watching the two gun ships draw closer and closer, the Company Commander was drenched in sweat, urging incessantly: "Is it ready yet?"

The red barbarian cannon's gunner, wiping sweat as he rammed the powder charge with his rammer, answered: "Almost, almost ready!"

The Ming had few red barbarian cannons, and even fewer qualified artillerymen who knew how to operate them. Yuan Chonghuan knew Zhenjiang was important—but Poyang Lake was important too, and Ganzhou even more so. He had only so many cannons and gunners under his command, and limited military funds. A place like Jiaoshan could only be given ragtag troops.

After a long while, the gunner finally finished loading and reported loudly.

The Company Commander roared: "Then fire, damn you!"

The gunner touched off the charge. The red barbarian cannon let out a thunderous report, and firing from its commanding height, it struck—by sheer blind luck—five paces in front of the Fuzhou's bow.

Just a little more, and the Fuzhou would have been pierced clean through.

A cheer went up from the artillery position, but it quickly died down, for the Fuzhou's speed did not slacken—she still charged toward the north of Jiaoshan.

Before the next round could be loaded, the Fuzhou had already sailed to due north of Jiaoshan, entering the cannon's dead angle.

Luo Dagu ordered the Fuzhou to prowl between Jiaoshan and Beigushan, probing not only that Jiaoshan's rear had no cannons, but also the firepower layout of Beigushan.

Because the artillerymen on Jiao Mountain had performed so poorly, Luo Dagu was struck by a bold idea—he directly ordered the landing craft lowered and landed on the western shore of Jiao Mountain, planning to flank the cannons from behind.

Seeing this, the Funing also sensed a rare opportunity and landed alongside them.

A sixth-rate ship's crew was mostly sailors, with usually only ten marines aboard, so Luo Dagu pulled half the sailors and gunners to join the marines in landing, and even went ashore himself to command.

The Zhulong's view was blocked by Jiao Mountain—she only saw the Fuzhou and Funing sail behind the mountain and never emerge again, while the rumble of cannon fire came from the direction of Beigu Mountain instead.

The staff officers' hearts all skipped a beat. After a long pause, someone said, "Captain, send a bird boat to scout the situation."

Just then, dense gunfire erupted from Jiao Mountain.

A staff officer cried out in surprise: "The Funing actually landed?"

The gunfire lasted only a brief moment, and before long a small boat signaled that Luo Dagu had taken Jiao Mountain.

Lin Qian said with a dark face: "Have the captains of those two ships come see me immediately."

Moments later, on the Zhulong's quarterdeck, Luo Dagu and the Funing's captain came aboard, uneasy and anxious.

Lin Qian said to his staff officer: "Taking Jiao Mountain was these two men's achievement—record it."

"Yes." The staff officer nodded.

Luo Dagu's heart relaxed, and he was just beginning to feel pleased when Lin Qian said coldly: "Transfer command of the Funing and Fuzhou to their two helmsmen. You two will escort the prisoners and await orders at Zhoushan."

Luo Dagu and the other man were shocked and hastily begged forgiveness.

Lin Qian asked: "What was the mission ordered by the flagship?"

"It… it was fire reconnaissance…" Luo Dagu's voice sank low.

"And what did you two do?"

"Landed and seized the island…" Luo Dagu's voice grew smaller and smaller.

"You are a first-class graduate of the Nan'ao Naval Academy—ninth in your class. Do I still need to teach you the relationship between discipline and initiative?"

Luo Dagu's face flushed crimson in an instant: "Captain… I…"

Lin Qian said sternly: "In a great army's operations, military discipline must be strict. You two landed on the island on your own authority, disregarding the flagship's orders—by military discipline you deserve severe punishment. Fortunately you took Jiao Mountain, so merits and faults cancel out—I won't punish you. But you two need not participate in the battles to come."

Setting aside what the future held after having their gunboat commands stripped away—

Just speaking of this campaign, it was to be fought on Poyang Lake, and might well be as breathtaking as the water battle between Zhu Yuanzhang and Chen Youliang two hundred years ago. Zhu Wenzheng holding Hongdu to the death, Zhang Dingbian charging the formation with a single boat, Chang Yuchun saving his lord with one arrow, Chen Youliang chaining his ships together with iron locks, Liao Yongzhong burning the fleet on the river… these stories were familiar to every Ming commoner.

Add to that the popularity of *Romance of the Three Kingdoms* in Jiangnan—the tale of the burning of Red Cliffs closely resembled the Poyang Lake battle, known to every man and woman. To be able to take part in such a great battle might bring glory for a thousand ages and a name in history—how could the two men be content to turn back for the sake of a tiny Jiao Mountain? Luo Dagu knelt directly: "Captain, I beg you—punish me however you like, I'll accept anything, just don't send me away!"

In this attack on Poyang Lake, the Nan'ao navy held the advantage on paper—they weren't afraid of a head-on clash with Yuan Chonghuan, but rather of Yuan Chonghuan using tricks to lure them into disorder and run their ships aground.

Lin Qian had emphasized once before that the army must guard against arrogance and impatience, but after all, the Nan'ao navy had never tasted defeat—once such an attitude took root, how could a single speech turn it around?

This time Lin Qian was determined to use Luo Dagu as a warning to all the fleet's captains, so he hardened his heart and refused to relent no matter how Luo Dagu begged. Luo Dagu said: "I beg the captain to give me a chance to atone for my crimes through merit—even if you demote me to a common foot soldier, I'll accept it willingly." A staff officer nearby received the battle reports from the Funing and Fuzhou, handed them to Lin Qian, and said in a low voice: "Captain, of the landing troops from both ships, only five suffered light wounds. Thirty Ming soldiers were killed, and the rest were all captured. This is a fierce warrior—it would be a pity to send him back just like this."

Lin Qian looked over the battle report. The Ming troops on Jiao Mountain were indeed rotten fish and spoiled shrimp, but Luo Dagu's men were only sailors and gunners, without armor, using old-style Folangji matchlock muskets—to achieve such results, they had indeed fought well.

Lin Qian's tone softened somewhat: "Get up. Stop kneeling."

Luo Dagu and the other man rose uneasily.

Lin Qian waved the battle report in his hand: "Enough. Since you two enjoy landing operations so much, go to the marines and serve as assault squad leaders. Tonight you'll have your chance to prove yourselves."

Luo Dagu and the other man were overjoyed and quickly thanked him before withdrawing.

In the fourth watch of the night, a thick fog rose over the Yangtze.

A bird boat, showing no lights, came up from downstream through the fog, and near Ganlu Harbor northwest of Beigu Mountain, crept slowly along the cliff face. After a moment, someone on board pointed ahead and said in a low voice: "The float is there!"

Luo Dagu followed the pointing finger and saw, in the river a dozen paces away, a section of deadwood the size of a man. The deadwood bobbed in the current but never drifted downstream—clearly something was weighing it down, keeping it from floating away.

This device was called a float, and connected beneath it was the river-blocking chain.

From Zhenjiang to the north shore, the Yangtze channel was fully two li wide. Building such a long river-blocking chain meant its own weight was enormous—a wooden winch would struggle to hold it, and even if it did, the middle section of the chain would sag loosely downward.

So at intervals along the river-blocking chain, floats made from hollowed-out tree trunks supported it, providing buoyancy.

These floats were the weakness of this great river-blocking chain—once they were destroyed, the chain would destroy itself under its own weight.

For the navies of the old era, sending small boats to dismantle the floats would have them driven off by the enemy fleet, while sending large ships would face the shore batteries—so the river-blocking chain could indeed hold back an enemy.

But this trick had been useless since Zheng Chenggong's time—laboring to build a river-blocking chain was less practical than simply building two more shore-defense cannons.

To ensure complete success, Lin Qian had deliberately chosen a foggy day to dismantle the floats, and the fleet's main force was at Jiao Mountain, able to rush to reinforce at any moment. Luo Dagu directed the bird boat forward, then a crewman carrying an arm-sized bolt cutter jumped into the water.

Moments later, the float suddenly bobbed up and drifted downstream with the current.

The crewman surfaced with the bolt cutter and climbed back aboard.

The floats and the river-blocking chain were bound together with thick coir rope—a rope made from palm bark, extremely tough and resistant to water, generally used as ship's mooring cable.

In the Nan'ao fleet's ship-launching ceremonies, the rope that had to be cut with a great axe was exactly this kind.

Coir rope was hard to cut with ordinary scissors, knives, or saws—it had to be chopped with a great axe.

But a great axe obviously couldn't be used in the water, and the floats were weighed down by the river-blocking chain beneath them, so they couldn't easily be hauled aboard.

The connections between floats and the river-blocking chain were all tied in dead knots, then wedged tight with wooden pegs and bound with iron hoops—assembled and secured on shore, then sunk into the water. Once submerged, unless they rotted away, they would never come undone.

The Ming troops normally slackened the river-blocking chain through precise coordination between the winches on both banks and the buoyancy—this too counted as the wisdom of the Old Ancestors.

This top-grade river-blocking chain existed only on the Yangtze. Compared to it, the river-blocking chain at Zhejiang's Haimen Guard was as simple in construction as a pair of chopsticks.

When Zheng Hongkui had reconnoitered the Yangtze, he had noticed this river-blocking chain, so Lin Qian had directly designed a heavy-duty pair of pliers—formally called "heavy cable cutters"—the same tool soldiers used to cut barbed wire in the Great War.

Lin Qian estimated the heavy cable cutters could exert two to three tons of shearing force—cutting steel wire with them would be child's play, let alone coir rope. When Luo Dagu cut the floats, he cut all three river-blocking chains together, so that all three would break as simultaneously as possible, giving the enemy no time to react. More than an hour passed in the blink of an eye—over twenty floats had been cut, yet the river-blocking chain remained utterly unmoved.

Luo Dagu looked around and couldn't help wondering—were these floats truly without end?

As the sky grew brighter and the fog over the river gradually thinned, the crewmen who had gone into the water one by one were shivering from the cold, and all began to harbor thoughts of retreat. Every time they suggested it to Luo Dagu, he would demand one more cut—and in the blink of an eye, another twenty-odd had been cut.

By now the sun had risen, and the entire eastern sky was lit up.

Luo Dagu swept his gaze across the river and saw another bird boat not far away—that was the vessel led by the Funing's captain, also out cutting floats. Sending too many boats would easily alert the enemy, and it would also be hard to keep track of which sections had been cut and which hadn't.

Seeing the friendly bird boat, Luo Dagu's spirits lifted, and he said to his crew: "There aren't many left—everyone, one more push!"

As the first light of dawn rose, a sentry on night duty at Beigu Mountain stood sleeping upright—his two legs and his spear happened to form a stable triangle, so he slept very soundly.

Right beside him, the giant river-blocking chain winch, over a zhang tall, groaned painfully with creaks and squeaks.

Suddenly the winch let out a sound of wood splintering.

The soldier on guard woke with a start, still half-asleep, and hurriedly wiped the drool from his mouth before standing at attention.

Suddenly there came another sound, this one even louder, as if the pillar were about to be crushed flat.

The soldier turned to look, and all drowsiness vanished at once—the round winch had been squeezed into an oval shape, two of its wooden anchor points had completely snapped, and the entire winch was tilting toward the river, as if some water ghost were dragging it down to its doom.

"H-Help! Someone come!" the soldier shouted in panic.

The moment the words left his mouth, he heard a thunderous crash—the winch was crushed flat by a tremendous force and yanked straight into the river, wood splinters flying everywhere. The winch smashed against the cliff face and shattered to pieces. A moment later, a great splash echoed up from the base of the cliff.

The soldier stood frozen on the spot. Everyone in the entire camp had been roused by the tremendous noise and came pouring out of their barracks to see what was happening.

They saw that the other two winches were also cracking apart one after another, on the verge of plunging into the water.

The Beigu Mountain Company Commander was scared out of his wits and immediately shouted at the top of his lungs: "Grab it! Grab it now! Don't let the river-blocking chain fall!"

Three soldiers obeyed and reached out to grab the winch—but with a tremendous crack of splintering wood, one of them was struck by a broken timber and spat out a mouthful of blood on the spot before collapsing to the side.

The other two were dragged along by the immense force and tumbled off the cliff with them, letting out shrill screams that were abruptly cut short by two dull thuds of bone against rock.

The Beigu Mountain Company Commander stared blankly at the river. The floats had vanished entirely, leaving only a shimmering expanse of water. Ten li downstream, the Nan'ao fleet was bearing down with menacing momentum.

"Load! Load the cannons!"

The Beigu Mountain Company Commander shouted in a fluster. Though his words spoke of repelling the enemy, in his heart he knew full well that with the river-blocking chain severed, as long as the Nan'ao navy sailed into the cannon's blind spot and then landed troops at Beigu Mountain, defeat was certain.

Just as his men were slowly loading the cannons, several small boats of extreme speed had already closed in, darting back and forth in front of Beigu Mountain.

The Company Commander bellowed: "Don't fire!"

But the artillerymen were too nervous—someone had already lit the fuse with quick hands and sharp eyes, and a cacophony of cannon fire erupted.

"Boom, boom, boom..."

The Nan'ao warships were small, scattered, and fast—how could they possibly be hit? Every cannonball skipped uselessly across the water.

The Company Commander could only order his men to reload immediately, but their gun positions were now exposed, and the Nan'ao fleet returned fire at once.

The entire Beigu Mountain was instantly engulfed in artillery fire. A hail of solid iron shot screamed down with death in their wake, and the rocks, trees, birds, and beasts on the island all met with terrible misfortune.

The ground shook violently, and for a moment the soldiers at the cannons dared not even raise their heads.

Lin Qian ordered the fleet to suppress the enemy with shipboard cannons from seven hundred paces out, while shark boats carried marines around the rear to land.

This tactic was the classic British method for dealing with shore batteries. During the Opium War, the British had used exactly this approach to take out the Humen forts and every other Qing cannon emplacement. The Qing army's tactics were almost identical to the Ming army's, and their firearms had changed little either, so Lin Qian took only three hours to capture Beigu Mountain.

Yuan Chonghuan had invested the most effort in Beigu Mountain—he had deployed no fewer than five red barbarian cannons there—yet not a single shot had found its mark, and all of them became Lin Qian's spoils of war. By now, of the Ming army's Jingkou Three Mountains, two had already fallen, and the three most heavily relied-upon river-blocking chains all lay at the bottom of the river.

The remaining Jinshan and Guazhou City, though they supported each other like a pair of horns, had no red barbarian cannons. Their heavy Folangji cannons had poor seals and short range—before the Nan'ao shipboard guns, they were completely sitting ducks.

Lin Qian considered that Jinshan Temple had a long history and did not wish to see it destroyed by cannon fire, so he wrote a letter to the Jinshan garrison commander urging surrender, while also giving the Guazhou City garrison commander an equal opportunity to surrender.

Now that both Jinshan and Guazhou were under threat from the Nan'ao fleet, the garrison commanders of both places naturally dared not harm the Nan'ao envoys.

The envoy reported back: the Jinshan Company Commander had surrendered, but the Guazhou Garrison Commander refused to yield.

Lin Qian smiled upon hearing this. Guazhou City sat on the north bank of the Yangtze, constantly eroded by the river's waters—by the Qing dynasty, the main body of the city had already collapsed into the Yangtze. It wasn't destined to survive into posterity anyway, so destroying it carried not a shred of psychological burden.

So Lin Qian ordered a bombardment of the Guazhou city walls.

The Guazhou city walls were nothing but rammed earth faced with thin brick—nowhere near as sturdy as Ganzhou's, and far inferior even to the Zhenjiang fortifications on the Yalu River. Lin Qian ordered the eight main warships of fifth-rate and above to line up abreast in the middle of the river and pour fire into Guazhou.

After one round of bombardment, nearly two hundred cannonballs had been fired. The Guazhou city wall was like a rundown house struck by a massive iron hammer—its bones broken and sinews snapped, dust and debris flying everywhere.

After two rounds, the outer brick facing of the wall was completely shattered, exposing the rammed earth core beneath.

After five rounds, even the rammed earth had been shaved down a layer, and the entire southern section of the wall had collapsed. Most of the city's defensive cannons were destroyed as well.

Wang Ruzhong then led the marines to occupy it—almost a foregone conclusion, meeting no resistance at all.

While the Nan'ao forces were attacking Guazhou, the common folk on the outskirts of Zhenjiang City stared blankly toward Jinshan.

Zhenjiang had long been home to the legend of Fahai subduing the snake demon. In the story, the monk Fahai was a cleric of Jinshan Temple—though the tale was not yet complete, lacking the episode of the flooding of Jinshan.

In the early versions of the story, Fahai was a positive figure. But as storytellers passed the tale from mouth to mouth, the common people came to prefer the bold, loving White Lady, and they all sneered at that monk Fahai of Jinshan Temple.

The people's view was blocked by Jinshan, so they could not see the Nan'ao fleet pouring fire into Guazhou City—they could only hear the thunderous roar sweeping across the Yangtze. Wasn't this exactly the sign of a flood dragon on the move?

Everyone thought to themselves: could it be that the White Lady had attained enlightenment and come to take revenge on the monks of Jinshan Temple?

Meanwhile, on Jiuhua Mountain ten li to the southeast, Feng Menglong was climbing the heights with a friend. No sooner had they reached the summit than they witnessed the scene of thunder rolling and mist rising over Jinshan Temple.

Though Feng Menglong was merely a lowly Confucian instructor in Dantu County of Zhenjiang Prefecture, he was already a master of the folk literary world.

His Sanyan collection was enormously popular among the common people—so much so that others writing books would forge his pen name to sell their work.

And in the fourth year of Tianqi, his work *Stories to Caution the World* would include the tale "The White Lady Is Eternally Suppressed Under Leifeng Pagoda"—though he had never visited Zhenjiang at the time and had only heard the story secondhand, so the version he published featured Fahai as a positive character.

It was only after he became an instructor and went among the common people that he discovered the story in their hearts was nothing like what he had written.

He had long wanted to write a new version, but every attempt left him dissatisfied—he always felt the story was missing something.

As a writer, he had to regularly go among the people to gather material before he could produce good stories that resonated with the common folk. This was also why, even amid the chaos of war, he insisted on climbing to a high vantage point with his friend.

Little did he expect that the moment he reached the summit, he would witness this stunning scene—he stood there utterly dumbfounded.

His friend said: "It must be those Nan'ao bandits up to their mischief again. Let's head back into the city and take shelter!"

Seeing that Feng Menglong did not react, his friend thought he had been scared senseless and tugged at his sleeve.

Unexpectedly, Feng Menglong roared: "Don't move!"

He stared fixedly at Jinshan and said: "Yes, yes, yes! How beautiful! This is it, this is how the story should go! Perfect!" Someone asked worriedly: "Are you all right?"

Feng Menglong was already too excited to contain himself: "The new White Lady story has been missing a piece, and I've finally found it, hahaha... it's this, this... the Flooding of Jinshan! Yes! I'll call it the Flooding of Jinshan! Hahahaha..."

Pink Round

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