Chapter 308: The Sinking of the Gong Ship

Zheng Zhilong rose to his feet, his face beaming with delight: "I'll send the eagle ships to scout ahead."

Lin Qian stopped him: "No eagle ships. We go straight in."

Lin Qian had driven off the messenger precisely as a ruse to make Yuan Chonghuan believe he would not attack—so now sending eagle ships repeatedly into the lake mouth to probe would be self-contradictory, wouldn't it?

Besides, they were not entirely ignorant of Poyang Lake's waterways—Zheng Hongkui's twin-gun small craft had already thoroughly charted the channel from Nanhuzui to Kanglang Mountain.

Lin Qian added: "Find some fishermen on both banks who know the waterways well to serve as pilots. Three days from now, we'll catch Yuan Chonghuan completely off guard."

Three days later, at the beginning of the yin hour, the Nan'ao fleet formally set sail and entered Poyang Lake, deploying small contingents along the way at Jingjiangkou, Nanhuzui, and other points.

It was already deep autumn; the nights were bitter with frost and heavy dew, and standing on the deck was sheer misery.

"Course southwest!" From the stern deck, the helmsman gave the order.

The steersman obeyed and turned the rudder. The Candle Dragon eased into the lake mouth, the ships behind following in a single long line, entering one by one.

After sailing forward for a while, an enormous shadow appeared on the western shore—so vast it inspired awe.

"That's Mount Lu," someone on the stern deck murmured.

The speaker was an old fisherman, his hair and beard streaked with white, his weathered face taut and seamed with wrinkles, wearing a woven bamboo hat and a straw rain cape.

His surname was Sun; nobody knew his given name, only that his nickname was Old Cormorant.

Old Cormorant's family had been fishermen of Hukou County for generations—from his ancestors down to himself, they had fished Poyang Lake all their lives, and he knew every mountain and stretch of water here like the back of his hand.

When the Nan'ao army opened frontier trade markets on the south bank and recruited Poyang Lake pilots, he had volunteered himself.

Pilots like Old Cormorant—one was assigned to every main warship, and the eagle ships that led the way blind through unknown waters each carried one as well.

For the Ming army, hiring this many pilots at once would have been nearly impossible.

Fishing was a trade that scraped blood from the blade's edge; skilled fishermen earned decent money, and most of them were extremely capable—the moment they slipped their little boats into the reeds, they vanished without a trace.

Even those the Ming army managed to seize through threats or bribes were mostly the incompetent ones.

During the month of standoff with Yuan Chonghuan, the Nan'ao fleet had opened frontier trade markets on both banks of the Yangtze, buying and selling fairly, and treating the common folk's illnesses for free—that was what made these men willing to serve as pilots of their own accord.

Lin Qian gazed toward that vast shadow on the western shore. It looked like a giant whale beached on land, its presence so oppressive that no one dared speak above a whisper; under the moonlight, wisps of cloud and mist wreathed the mountain.

Old Cormorant said: "Be careful—fog's about to roll in."

It was the fifteenth day of the eighth month; a bright moon hung high in the sky, illuminating both shores of Poyang Lake with unusual clarity—but no sooner had the old man spoken than the lake surface gradually grew hazy.

This was advection fog, formed when the lake surface cooled at night and water vapor condensed. It typically formed at the yin hour and dissipated at sunrise, appearing almost every night. Lin Qian had chosen this time to enter the lake mouth precisely to use the thick fog as cover.

Sailing onward for a while longer, the fog visibly thickened, and the outlines of the eagle ships ahead gradually blurred out of sight.

Old Cormorant squinted: "Slow the ships down. The lake channel looks wide here, but the deep trough that can carry big vessels is narrow—in some places the little boats ahead can pass where these big ships may not."

The helmsman said: "Lower the mainsail."

Orders were shouted in relay across the deck.

Advection fog was, in essence, countless fine droplets of water; sound was scattered and absorbed by them, traveling with great difficulty.

Not just voices—even footsteps, the clang of iron, and the stroke of oars were all swallowed up, making it all the more favorable for a night raid.

Soon the Candle Dragon's mainsail was lowered, and she sailed on only her jib and spanker, her speed dropping sharply—but the hull became steadier and easier to handle.

Beside him, a surveyor lowered the sounding line and, after a moment, shouted a report—though what he reported could barely be made out across the deck.

Shortly after, all the surveyors' data was gathered at Bailangzai's position. Bailangzai said: "Helmsman, current depth is two zhang three chi, speed three knots, wind force four, from the northwest."

"Understood." Lin Qian acknowledged, then looked out over the gunwale, watching the fog churn and roll with the gentle breeze.

Suddenly Old Cormorant spoke in a grave tone: "Bear a little to the left!"

Bailangzai looked at Lin Qian; Lin Qian gave a slight nod, and the helmsman ordered: "Half rudder to port!"

A moment later, Old Cormorant had the rudder brought back to center, then let out a breath and explained: "There's a big iron anchor on the bottom right there—hitting that would have been a disaster."

Bailangzai asked in wonder: "What's a big iron anchor doing in the middle of a perfectly good lake?"

Old Cormorant chuckled: "Where else would it be from? Chen Jiusi's anchor, of course."

Chen Jiusi was Chen Youliang—the number-name he used before he rose to prominence, just like Zhu Chongba.

Bailangzai said: "Over two hundred years, and it's still there?"

"It's not just anchors—keels, weapons, armor, all sorts of things are on the lakebed. When you sail at night, sometimes you hear a thumping against the hull—that's when you've hit one of those. Some folk call it water ghosts knocking on the boat."

Bailangzai gave an "oh" at this and said no more.

It was then that Lin Qian spoke up: "Old uncle, are you familiar with the waters around Lord Temple?"

Earlier, by questioning the fishermen, Lin Qian had learned that Yuan Chonghuan had split his forces and stationed them at several points around Poyang Lake, with his main force near Lord Temple.

That spot was also where Zhu Yuanzhang had massed his troops during the great battle back then.

The Nan'ao fleet's mission this trip was to strike straight at Lord Temple.

"I know it—that place is cursed something fierce." Old Cormorant, who had told the tale of water ghosts knocking on boats as a mere curiosity, now showed real fear on his face. "Waves rise there out of a dead calm for no reason, and once a boat goes down, it vanishes without a trace beneath the water. Over the years, who knows how many people have died there.

Never mind ancient times—just the year before last, three grain barges of the imperial court went down in that spot, killing a hundred-odd people, and no one even dared to go rescue them."

Fishermen observed many taboos when sailing; they replaced the word "sink" with "go down" to ward off ill omens.

What the old man said largely matched what Lin Qian already knew. Lord Temple got its name because a temple did indeed stand on the shore, enshrining a giant turtle.

In all the temples of the Great Ming, those honoring Buddhas and gods, Dragon Kings, Mazu, and Earth Gods were everywhere—but a temple enshrining a giant turtle could not be found anywhere else, and even across all of Chinese history it was extremely rare.

Legend had it that during the great battle on Poyang Lake, Zhu Yuanzhang's flagship took a cannon hit and began taking on water; just as it was about to sink, a giant turtle carried it to shore. So after Zhu Yuanzhang took the throne, he conferred upon the turtle the title of Dingjiang Wang—King Who Settles the River—and the Dingjiang Wang Temple came to be called Lord Temple by the local folk.

The story was half true and half false, and with shipwrecks occurring so frequently in those waters, it only seemed the more uncanny.

Lin Qian knew there was a scientific basis for the frequency of wrecks there—in later ages the place was called the "Bermuda of the East," and accidents still happened constantly.

But the fact that both Zhu Yuanzhang and Yuan Chonghuan had chosen to mass their forces there suggested the dangerous zone had a definite boundary, and one that was easy to recognize.

After all, Lin Qian hadn't asked about this to hear ghost stories.

"Do you know those waters well enough to steer clear of them?"

The old man nodded with confidence.

The deck fell silent for a time. They sailed on for about another two hours, until the sky brightened in the east and the fog over the lake dispersed.

At this moment, the Ming army sentries on both banks finally spotted the Nan'ao fleet and immediately sent out alarm signals.

The Nan'ao fleet numbered over a hundred ships in total. For such a massive fleet to pass through the Gourd Mouth of Poyang Lake without being detected by the Ming army was simply impossible.

At the same time, Yuan Chonghuan had over a thousand ships under his command. Even if he spotted the Nan'ao fleet, gathering and forming up that many ships in a short time was beyond his ability — Lin Qian still retained the advantage of surprise.

Moreover, even without the thick fog, there was the strong wind.

Poyang Lake was shaped overall like a gourd. From the lake mouth to the Old Lord Temple area was the Gourd Mouth. On the west bank stood the towering Mount Lu, while the east bank had the Sand Mountain, Ji Mountain, Lotus Mountain, and other hills — creating a pronounced narrow-channel effect.

And the temperature was lowest around sunrise, when the land-water temperature difference peaked. The cold air from Mount Lu cascaded down the slopes to form mountain winds, which, compressed by the terrain on both banks, became strong winds — just enough for the fleet to rapidly traverse the final stretch.

On the Candle Dragon, the surveyor shouted: "Northwest wind, force five!"

Lin Qian said in a low voice: "Full speed ahead."

The helmsman shouted across the deck: "Lower the main sails!"

The order was passed from mouth to mouth, echoing across the deck like a ripple. Sailors nimbly climbed the masts, untied the sail ropes, and the snow-white sails dropped down — whoosh! — billowing full as the wind caught them.

"Northwest wind, force six! Still strengthening!" the surveyor shouted.

On the Zheng He, Zheng Zhilong had already keenly noticed the change in wind strength without waiting for the surveyor's report. His face lit up with joy as he said: "Haha, the wind's finally up! Hoist the sails quickly — let's go slap that Yuan barbarian's arse!"

On the Tianyuan, Bai Qing commanded: "Hoist sails, stay close to the flagship! Brothers, keep your spirits up — Chen Jiusi is watching us from the lake!"

The Ming army's beacon fires passed the signal along, quickly reaching the vicinity of the Old Lord Temple.

Because Lin Qian held his position and refused to come out, Yuan Chonghuan had been racking his brains for days, desperately seeking a way to attack the Yangtze, but to no avail. Instead, he had worn himself down — sleeping very little, eating only one meal a day, and visibly wasting away.

In the latter half of tonight, Yuan Chonghuan had finally managed to feel somewhat drowsy. He had just fallen asleep when, half-awake and half-dreaming, he was startled awake by a commotion. Wearing only a thin shirt, he went out to check and saw the beacon fire at a glance.

"What's going on?" Yuan Chonghuan shouted as he stepped outside.

The camp was in a panic. Yuan Chonghuan shouted several times before Wang Xifu, the Naval Commander, came to report: "Your Excellency, the Nan'ao navy sailed into the South Lake Mouth last night. They are no longer far from us now."

"What?" Yuan Chonghuan was startled, but quickly steadied his emotions and said, "Why are you only reporting this now?"

Naval Commander Wang Xifu said: "The rebel troops are cunning. They slipped in using last night's fog, and the sentry posts on both banks failed to detect them."

Yuan Chonghuan's heart jolted. He thought to himself: "Just three days ago I received their declaration of war, and Lin Qian still seemed determined to hold his position and not come out. Could it be a feint? He didn't even send ships to survey the water conditions, yet he dares to sail recklessly into the fog — he truly has some nerve!"

Just then, someone came running up quickly to report: "Your Excellency, the rebel navy is less than thirty li away from us!"

This man was Huang Cai, the Mobile Corps Commander of Zuoli. Yuan Chonghuan's garrison camp was called the Zuoli Naval Stockade, located ten li southeast of the Old Lord Temple. This man was specifically responsible for the stockade's safety.

"What's there to panic about!" Yuan Chonghuan barked. "Have the soldiers board the ships and prepare for battle!"

"But the rebel Lin——"

Yuan Chonghuan cut him off: "Have you forgotten the River-Calming King? The waters around the Old Lord Temple are extremely treacherous. If Lin Qian sails recklessly in, even if he doesn't lose his ships and men, his advance will certainly be hindered — that's enough time for us to form up."

Yuan Chonghuan excelled at using natural defenses. He had chosen to station his troops at the Zuoli Naval Stockade precisely because he valued the natural barrier of the Old Lord Temple waters.

Based on his understanding of the enemy, Lin Qian was a man with more recklessness than caution.

The battle at Fuzhou in Liaodong had been perilous in the extreme. Had the Nan'ao navy not arrived at the very last moment, tens of thousands of Fuzhou civilians would have perished on Changsheng Island.

And before entering Poyang Lake, Lin Qian had dared to lead his lone force deep into the Yangtze, dared to trade with patients afflicted by the spider gu, dared to sail into the Gourd Mouth without surveying the waters — all of this confirmed Yuan Chonghuan's judgment.

So although the Old Lord Temple waters had a fearsome reputation, given Lin Qian's reckless nature, he would absolutely charge headlong into them!

Huang Cai, the Mobile Corps Commander of Zuoli, suddenly understood and clasped his hands in salute: "Your Excellency is brilliant. This subordinate will go down and organize the troops at once!"

After settling the navy, Yuan Chonghuan returned to his quarters to don his armor. When he came out, he overheard his personal guards whispering outside the door.

"That rebel Lin could actually navigate through the fog — could it really be that Chen Jiusi is guiding him?"

"I hear the rebel ships are all great vessels with massive cannons, exactly like the old Chen Han navy — and I've also heard people say that rebel Lin is one of the Nine-Surname Fishing Folk——"

"Ah, right! His surname is Lin!"

According to legend, after the Hongwu Emperor established the Great Ming, he demoted Chen Youliang's former followers to the status of base people, forcing them to fish on the water for eternity. Since most of his subordinates bore nine surnames, they came to be called the Nine-Surname Fishing Folk.

More than two hundred years had passed, and no one knew whether the story was true or false. But as luck would have it, among the Nine-Surname Fishing Folk, there was indeed a branch surnamed Lin.

Now the rebel Lin had risen against the Ming and was fighting a great battle against the Ming army on Poyang Lake — it seemed to be a continuation of nearly three hundred years of enmity, truly inviting speculation.

The two personal guards chatted for a moment, then suddenly noticed Yuan Chonghuan standing behind them watching. They immediately fell silent.

They heard Yuan Chonghuan say coldly: "Chen Youliang relied on brute force and charged recklessly ahead, his troops weary from prolonged campaigning, stubborn and self-opinionated. The rebel Lin of today is exactly the same. Even if he has more ships, what is there to fear?"

The two personal guards clasped their hands and acknowledged their fault.

"You two, today——"

"Boom! Boom! Boom——"

Before he could finish his sentence, a terrifying barrage of cannon fire suddenly thundered across the land. Even when the firing briefly paused, the echoes continued to reverberate without end.

From the Zuoli Naval Stockade came the crack of splintering wood, the gurgle of water flooding into hulls, and the screams of officers and soldiers — all sounding together.

Cannonballs struck the ground, causing the very earth of the stockade to tremble violently.

Yuan Chonghuan strode quickly toward the docks. In the faint light of the rising sun, he saw a dark mass appear on the distant lake surface. Counting carefully, there were fourteen great ships arranged in a line, their broadsides aimed at the shore. A thick wall of gunpowder smoke was drifting toward the horizon.

Immediately after, another burst of scarlet fire flashed from the enemy ships' broadsides — over two hundred flashes of light, forming a wall of flame through the smoke, followed by rolling thunder of cannon fire.

Over two hundred cannonballs came with earth-shattering force. They smashed into the ground as if heaven and earth were collapsing, shaking people so violently they could barely stay on their feet.

A three-masted Fujian junk anchored in the harbor took a hit. Its hull burst open like an eggshell, and splinters mixed with severed limbs and shattered armor flew more than a dozen paces through the air.

Another Haicang ship's main mast was struck. The enormous mast snapped clean off at its base and crashed down onto a nearby Cangshan ship with a tremendous boom.

"What's going on?" Yuan Chonghuan was stunned for a moment. How had the rebel Lin passed safely through the Old Lord Temple waters?

Huang Cai, the Mobile Corps Commander of Zuoli, came over to report, covered in dust and grime: "Your Excellency, the rebel troops — the rebel troops — went around — and came straight for us——"

His words were drowned out by the rising and falling roar of cannon fire.

Yuan Chonghuan had no mind to investigate further. He shoved Huang Cai aside, boarded his flagship the Zhenhai, and directed the navy to leave the harbor and meet the enemy.

The Ming army had, after all, received advance warning, and the stockade's cannon batteries kept up a continuous counter-fire, preventing the Nan'ao fleet from approaching too closely. Thus the Ming army quickly left the harbor and charged straight at the enemy.

On the Candle Dragon, the lookout shouted: "Enemy fleet, six hundred paces, approximately four hundred ships!"

Yuan Chonghuan's ships were not all moored in one place. There were several other naval stockades and docks at Songmen, Kanglang Mountain, and elsewhere.

But the Zuoli Naval Stockade held all of Yuan Chonghuan's main forces — the Swift Wolf ships, the Sea-Shaking Tigers, and the Fan ships were all moored here.

Lin Qian raised his telescope to look, and saw that by the shore of the water fortress, there were dozens of ships that had run aground or stalled in the water, including no small number of tall three-masted Fujian junks.

In this surprise attack, with only a few volleys of salvo fire, the Ming army had been severely crippled.

Lin Qian lowered his telescope and looked toward Yuan Chonghuan's fleet, seeing that it was divided into three divisions—left, center, and right—occupying a wide expanse of lake nearly three li across, clearly still employing the classic tactics of bombarding from long range, firing guns at medium range, and boarding at close range.

After all these years, the Ming army's naval weapons had improved, but their naval warfare philosophy had remained stuck in place.

Still, one couldn't be too harsh on the Ming army—after all, Lin Qian had never given them a chance to improve either.

"Two hundred paces!" the lookout shouted.

At this moment the leading Ming ships opened fire. Though each individual Ming ship carried few cannons, the sheer number of vessels made the volley thunderous. Wood chips flew from the Candle Dragon's port side as the sound of cracking planks rang out in succession.

Lin Qian said in a low voice: "Prepare to turn hard to starboard, all ships together!"

The helmsman shouted the order, and the turning lights at the sterns of each ship in the battle line lit up one after another.

"One hundred paces!" came the lookout's shout.

At this distance, the Ming army's light Folangji cannons also came into range. The exchange of fire grew ever more intense, and the entire surface of Poyang Lake was shrouded in gunpowder smoke, as if a thick fog had fallen.

The soldiers' ears rang without cease from the cannon thunder; aside from sulfur and blood, they could smell nothing else—their senses were almost completely numbed.

Lin Qian judged the distance to be about right and gave the order: "Turn!"

The helmsman ordered the rudder hard to starboard. The entire battle line turned to starboard simultaneously, and relying on their speed advantage, they forcibly stretched the distance to three hundred paces, then straightened their bows and continued pounding the Ming fleet with heavy fire.

Aboard the Ming flagship Zhenhai, every officer and soldier stared in shock—at the closest point, they had been only a hundred paces from the rebel Lin, almost within arm's reach.

Who could have imagined that a single-line formation like this could move sideways?

The Ming army could only keep chasing while enduring the battle line's fire, never expecting that the enemy would execute several more coordinated turning maneuvers, repeatedly crushing the Ming army's fighting spirit.

Back in the Poyang Lake naval battle of old, Chen Youliang had also possessed giant ships and great cannons, yet his tactics were still head-on clashes between two fleets—when had there ever been this kind of fighting-while-retreating style?

Yuan Chonghuan said: "Once they reach the shore, the enemy will have no room left to retreat—press forward quickly!"

At the same time, Old Cormorant on the Candle Dragon looked toward the west bank and said: "We can't retreat any further. The west looks like it still has plenty of water, but it's all very shallow."

Lin Qian said in a low voice: "We sail south!"

At this time on Poyang Lake, the Nan'ao fleet was to the west and Yuan Chonghuan to the east, with the wind coming from the northwest. Lin Qian sailing south meant giving up the weather gauge in exchange for a broader battlefield.

The lookout said: "Two hundred paces!"

The moment the words fell, a violent barrage of cannon fire erupted, and the Candle Dragon's side was struck again.

The Ming army's Zhenhai Tiger was a Fujian junk fitted with red barbarian cannons, capable of firing at the Candle Dragon even from long range.

And Yuan Chonghuan's flagship was a fan ship equipped with a Chinese-style gun deck, carrying more cannons of greater power—a single broadside from her matched the thunder of an Ahat-class vessel.

The muzzle flashes from her guns were too dazzling and caught Lin Qian's eye. He lowered his telescope, pointed at that fan ship, and said: "That must be the enemy flagship—charge at it and destroy it!"

The helmsman gave the order without the slightest hesitation: "Hard aport!"

The two helmsmen's muscles were taut as they threw all their strength into turning the rudder.

Soon the Candle Dragon swung her bow around, heading southwest, drawing closer and closer to the Ming fleet.

Aboard the Zhenhai, Yuan Chonghuan was overjoyed. He slapped the railing and said: "Excellent! The rebel Lin has been cornered to his death—this commander orders all guns to hammer the rebel Lin's flagship!"

As the Candle Dragon sailed into the midst of the Ming formation, the cannon fire grew ever fiercer, shaking the lake into rolling waves. The Ming troops pulled out bows and arrows, bird guns, Folangji cannons, dragon-spout water jets, and all manner of firearms, unleashing them savagely upon the Candle Dragon.

For a moment the smoke reached its densest extreme—besides the white gunpowder smoke, there was the yellow smoke of Ming powder rich in sulfur, and green smoke laced with poison powder; the multicolored smoke stained the sky above the lake in a riot of hues.

Yet—the Candle Dragon was thick-skinned and tough. Aside from the close-range red barbarian cannon fire, all the other weapons striking her were nothing but a tickle. She pressed forward into the enemy formation, weathering every kind of firearm attack.

Because the Candle Dragon's bulwarks were so tall, the Ming troops, looking up from below, could not attack her deck, and inflicting casualties on her crew was extremely difficult.

On the contrary, the Candle Dragon switched to grapeshot, charged into the midst of the Ming formation, and fired left and right with savage abandon, instantly suppressing every kind of firearm the enemy had.

Wherever the Candle Dragon passed, the Ming warships suffered grievous casualties. The blood-qi hung congealed in the air, interweaving with the gunpowder smoke to form a dirty pink haze that looked utterly horrifying.

Moreover, the other ships of the battle line followed the Candle Dragon through the breach in the Ming lines, and any Ming warship that survived continued to endure a baptism of grapeshot.

By the time the rear warships sailed in, the nearby Ming troops were nearly all dead, and dozens of empty ships drifted on the lake's surface.

So the warships in the rear all switched to solid shot and bombarded the distant targets.

Seen from high above, the battle line was like a sharp blade hacking straight into the flesh and bone of the Ming army, forcibly tearing open a bloody wound.

Watching this scene, Yuan Chonghuan's fury and terror reached their absolute peak. He could not fathom how the rebel warships could possibly be so powerful.

Back then, Chen Youliang's warships had been four or five decks tall, with room to run horses on their tops and hulls sheathed in iron—and even they could not withstand cannon bombardment.

Yet now the rebel Lin's warships were of pure wood—how could they possibly endure so many cannon hits without sinking? Could the rebel Lin truly be blessed by Chen Jiushi?

Just as Yuan Chonghuan stood dumbfounded, his subordinates discovered that the Candle Dragon was heading straight for the Zhenhai. They were struck with terror—no matter how strong a fan ship was, it was still mortal wood and could not possibly take dozens of cannon hits and stay afloat—and they urged Yuan Chonghuan to retreat.

But by now Yuan Chonghuan's blood was up, and no matter what was said, he refused to withdraw, ordering his broadside to keep pounding the Candle Dragon without cease.

At this time the two ships were about two hundred paces apart. The fan ship loosed a full broadside, the recoil rocking the vessel violently. The Candle Dragon took three hits in succession, sending up a few splinters of wood, then kept sailing on as if she had merely been bitten by a mosquito.

Yuan Chonghuan stared in disbelief. Just as he was about to order continued fire, he saw the Candle Dragon had already swung her bow around, exposing her port side. That side was battered and scarred as if gnawed by worms, yet dozens of cannon muzzles still thrust out from the gunports.

Then orange-red muzzle flashes lit up one after another. Yuan Chonghuan's vision was filled with afterimages from the blinding light, and he heard only the rumble of cannon fire as dozens of black dots swelled rapidly in his field of view.

A dozen or so of those black dots struck the water's surface, then skipped up again like stones skimming across a pond, charging onward at full speed.

In an instant, the shrieking of cannonballs arrived. The fan ship took nine hits in succession, her hull letting out a mournful groan as pine planks were blasted into the air in every direction.

A soldier on the deck was struck by a cannonball; his body flew backward across the lake like a kite with a snapped string, his limbs and torso scattering separately across the water.

"Lord Minister, retreat! Retreat now!" the navigator aboard shouted. Taking matters into his own hands, he said, "Hard to starboard—avoid the cannon fire!"

A moment later, another volley of cannonballs came. The sound of the fan ship's hull planks splintering was unceasing, and everyone on deck was thrown this way and that.

"The hold is flooding!" someone shouted.

The rest of the Ming fleet, which had been spread across the lake like a great net, saw the flagship in peril and rushed to her rescue, the encirclement tightening rapidly as several warships used their own hulls to shield the flagship.

The Candle Dragon loosed two more volleys. Though they did not strike the fan ship, the warships clustered around to block the fire were so densely packed that hardly a single cannonball missed.

Seeing that the Ming ships gathering around were growing ever more numerous, and that staying any longer would be extremely dangerous—and with the Candle Dragon having also lost her firing angle—Lin Qian ordered the Candle Dragon to sail south.

The ships behind the Candle Dragon each took turns bombarding the densest concentration of Ming forces, and in that moment the Ming army's casualties were devastating.

By this time, Yuan Chonghuan's flagship had three watertight compartments flooded and was completely dead in the water. Yuan Chonghuan had no choice but to transfer to a Zhenhai Tiger to continue commanding.

Watching the Ming's only Fujian junk sink on its first engagement, Yuan Chonghuan's heart was filled with humiliation and rage.

He gritted his teeth and said hatefully, "We can't let that traitor Lin get away. Attack, attack now!"

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen