Chapter 309: Lin Qian Borrows the East Wind

Although the Ming naval forces had suffered repeated heavy losses, their numbers were simply too great, and the Ming troops at Songmen and Kanglang Mountain had also all been deployed.

On the lake surface, the enemy ships grew ever denser, so Lin Qian directed the fleet to use coordinated turning maneuvers to fight while retreating southward.

To maintain the mobility of the battle line, only fourteen ships of the line took part in this battle; the remaining transport ships were anchored at South Lake Mouth, while the Sea Wolf ships were anchored in the water bay east of Xingzi County.

Moreover, for navigability's sake, the Nan'ao ships were all half-loaded, and fourth-rate ships and above carried even less cargo—they could not withstand this kind of high-intensity attrition and had to return before nightfall to resupply.

But as the coordinated turning maneuvers continued southward, the Nan'ao forces also drifted farther and farther from the lake-mouth region, and the situation grew increasingly unfavorable.

The staff officers aboard held their breath, but Lin Qian remained unmoved. In the span of two hours he executed three coordinated turning maneuvers, retreating more than forty li south in one stretch, with Kanglang Mountain now faintly visible in the distance.

It was now noon, the weather was clear, and the lake stretched vast and hazy, steam rising from the water. The reed catkins along the shore of Kanglang Mountain were sent flying everywhere by the thunder of cannon fire.

The surveyor took routine measurements of wind direction, hydrology, and other data, then reported loudly: "Northwest wind, force three, water depth two zhang."

About fifteen minutes ago, the northwest wind had been force four—the wind was weakening!

Old Cormorant stared at the reed marshes along the shore and muttered: "Soon now—the wind is about to shift!"

On a large scale, spring and autumn were precisely the seasons when the monsoons transitioned and prevailing wind directions were unstable.

On a smaller scale, Mount Lu was the only thousand-meter peak in the Poyang Lake basin. The lake surface was as flat as a board, and there were no other mountains of comparable size around it, which made the mountain-valley breeze variations extremely pronounced.

At night, Mount Lu cooled quickly, forming a cold high-pressure zone, and the wind blew from the mountain valleys toward the lake surface. It was by relying on this wind that Lin Qian had passed through Calabash Mouth.

During the day, Mount Lu warmed quickly, forming a thermal low-pressure zone, and the wind blew from the lake surface toward the mountain valleys, producing southeast or southwest winds.

In the narrow channel region of Calabash Mouth, affected by the complex terrain, the wind direction showed no clear pattern. But over the open waters of Calabash Belly, as long as the day was clear, this wind shift was guaranteed.

Back in the Battle of Poyang Lake, it was precisely at dusk that Zhu Yuanzhang, relying on the sudden shift of the mountain-valley wind, set fire to the chained ships and turned the tide in one stroke.

In the history books of the Great Ming, this was blown up into "Heaven's aid," a sign that the Mandate of Heaven rested with Zhu Yuanzhang.

In the folk storytellers' Romance of the Three Kingdoms, it was further embellished into Zhuge Liang borrowing the east wind.

And now Lin Qian intended precisely to borrow this east wind to deal a heavy blow to the Ming army!

Aboard the temporary flagship, Yuan Chonghuan kept issuing orders, commanding the fleet to spread out and encircle, determined to catch the rebel Lin in one net.

Now that the Ming forces had seized the windward position, the rebel Lin's fleet could not escape even if it grew wings.

"Boom! Boom! Boom——"

After another volley, the rebel Lin's fleet once again executed a coordinated turning maneuver and retreated another five or six hundred paces southward.

Although Yuan Chonghuan had long since ordered the fleet to spread out, every round of firing saw five or six ships struck by cannonballs. Behind the fleet, the water was filled with ships that had taken on water and gone dead in the water, along with wooden planks and mangled corpses.

Along the Ming pursuit route, the Shock Sea Tiger ships also kept firing, but the Ming pursuit formation was ill-suited for gunnery—fire too early and the shots fell short, fire too late and they risked hitting their own men.

The Ming gunners were also undertrained and extremely nervous in battle.

After the last volley aboard the Zhebo, the hull tilted sharply, the ship groaned and creaked, and the entire deck was shrouded in cloud-like gunsmoke. Combined with the thunderous roar and the acrid gunpowder, men were briefly blinded, deafened, and unable to smell anything—the gunners loaded by pure instinct.

Then the navigator was heard drawing his blade from its sheath, bellowing orders for the soldiers to load quickly.

At the same time, a more formidable volley of cannon fire sounded from the distant enemy. All around the lake was filled with the sounds of water and splintering wood, mingled with the shrill screams of the unfortunate.

A gunner named Wang Er was so terrified his heart nearly leaped from his chest. His hands and feet were ice-cold and trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming from his eyes, his vision a blur.

"Load! Load quickly! Keep dawdling and I'll have you all beheaded!" the navigator roared hoarsely.

Wang Er dared not delay. He scooped up a large wooden ladle of gunpowder and stuffed it into the barrel, then packed it down with a copper rod.

He was so terrified that he didn't even realize the previous shot had not yet left the barrel. His hands shaking, he rammed the rammer into the cannon in a frantic jumble, and when he judged it was about right, he loaded the cannonball.

The others in the gun crew were the same. When the cannon was ignited, the sound and flash were so violent that no one dared stare at the gun to see whether it had fired—so even when the fuse went out midway, no one knew.

"Loaded!" Wang Er shouted in relief.

The gunner grabbed a fresh fuse and, without a second thought, jammed it hard into the touchhole.

"Fire!" the navigator bellowed.

The gunner lit it with the linstock. The new fuse burned down in an instant, and everyone turned away, covering their ears.

"Boom!" A thunderous blast—the cannon burst its barrel on the spot. The explosion ignited a nearby powder keg, triggering two more chain explosions.

Wang Er and the entire gun crew, along with the red barbarian cannon, were instantly obliterated. Most of the Zhebo's side was blown away, and the ship heeled violently on the water, nearly capsizing. Most of the guns on the other side plunged into the lake, countless sailors fell overboard, the captain and navigator were killed instantly, and a black mushroom cloud rose into the sky.

Even on a battlefield already filled with cannon fire, this thunderous blast was extremely striking, drawing the eyes of the Ming troops—many assumed it was some explosive weapon of the rebel Lin.

Yuan Chonghuan knew this was a burst barrel. In his heart he cursed the ancestors eight generations back of the ministers of the Ministry of Works and the Ministry of War.

His ordnance—from the quality of the cannon metal to the quality of the fuses to the purity of the gunpowder—was all shoddy goods. Who knew how much bribery and kickbacks had been taken along the way to produce such a disaster of burst barrels in the heat of battle.

He had written to the Grand Secretariat demanding replacement with quality ordnance, but Qian Longxi had replied that he too was helpless—what had been given to Yuan Chonghuan was already the finest of the available stores. At least the gunpowder had no sand mixed in, and the barrels had no blowholes or bubbles.

Fortunately, though the ordnance was poor, the Ming forces held an overwhelming advantage in numbers. Even if it came down to attrition, they could wear the rebel Lin to death!

Yuan Chonghuan ordered the attack to continue with full ferocity. Another hour of battle passed in the blink of an eye, reaching the wei hour of the afternoon. The soldiers had been fighting since dawn and were utterly exhausted, their nerves stretched taut, and having not eaten lunch, their strength had greatly waned.

On the remaining nine Shock Sea Tiger ships, the red barbarian cannons had been firing for hours and were so hot they nearly set the gun carriages alight. The gunners could not even approach, and had no choice but to wipe them down with wet cloths to cool them.

But by now the barrels were scorching hot. When a wet rag touched them, steam billowed up, and in moments the rag was dried bone-dry—it even stuck to the barrel and could not be pried off.

With the battle situation urgent, the only option was to splash water to cool them. A bucket of clear water thrown on produced an immediate cloud of mist, the barrel hissing and crackling, water droplets rolling back and forth across the metal like water thrown into a hot wok. Only after several consecutive buckets did the barrels gradually cool.

When they fired again afterward, three thunderous blasts sounded—and three more cannons burst their barrels in succession.

"Your Excellency, the troops can barely hold on. Let us withdraw." A subordinate general spoke with concern, and the other officers echoed the sentiment.

Though the Ming forces had suffered heavy setbacks, they could still retreat in an orderly fashion and regroup for another fight. But if they fought to the bitter end and morale collapsed, it would be a crushing defeat.

Yuan Chonghuan drew his sword from its sheath and roared: "Any man who dares speak of retreat—executed!"

At these words, the generals all fell silent.

Yuan Chonghuan pointed into the distance and said: "That is Kanglang Mountain. We have reached the southeast of Poyang Lake. The rebel Lin has nowhere left to flee—he can only run into Junshan Lake. Once we seal the lake mouth, this battle is decided!"

Junshan Lake was a lake due south of Poyang Lake. During the high-water season it connected with Poyang Lake. Its mouth was small and its belly large, like a sack. Yuan Chonghuan's plan was to drive Lin Qian's forces into Junshan Lake and annihilate them there, just like the Battle of Huangtiandang in years past.

The difference was that Junshan Lake had no other outlet, and there were no waterways around it through which one could dig a canal to escape.

As soon as the dry season arrived, the water depth of Junshan Lake would plummet, all of the rebel Lin's great ships would run aground, and his entire army would be trapped and die there!

After much more fighting, things went exactly as Yuan Chonghuan had predicted—the rebel Lin was retreating step by step toward Junshan Lake.

Aboard the Zhulong, the staff officers all wore tense expressions.

Old Cormorant muttered: "Why is the wind still not picking up?"

Bailangzai asked: "What's the wind direction?"

The surveyor replied: "Northwest wind, force three."

"Why is it still northwest? The wind should have shifted by now!" Old Cormorant also showed a look of panic.

If the northwest wind kept blowing, the fleet could never charge against the wind through the Ming army's encirclement — it would inevitably be trapped and die within their formation.

One staff officer said: "Helmsman, let's sail toward the northeast."

With the northwest wind on the lake, sailing northeast meant taking the wind on the beam — the ship's speed wouldn't drop too much, and it would lay the groundwork for a hard breakthrough. The cost was drawing closer to the Ming fleet and being harassed by their firearms.

Lin Qian's expression did not change. He shook his head and said: "Hold our course."

In recent days, the northwest monsoon had not been strong. The weather over Poyang Lake was clear, with no signs of squalls or cold fronts passing through, yet the temperature difference between day and night was large — meeting every condition for the formation of mountain-valley winds.

The wind direction was certain to change!

Another incense stick of time passed, and the staff officers grew increasingly restless. Just then, the wind abruptly weakened. The main sails of the Candle Dragon instantly went slack, and the ship's speed plummeted.

The surveyor said in a terrified voice: "The wind—has stopped—"

Lin Qian said: "The southeast wind is coming. Prepare to raise the auxiliary sails!"

Aboard the temporary flagship, the navigator said in disbelief: "The wind has stopped? Your Excellency, the wind has stopped!"

Yuan Chonghuan was wild with joy inside. He looked up at the sky and murmured: "Heaven aids me!"

Then he raised his sword and pointed it diagonally at the enemy formation: "We slay the traitor Lin this very day! Soldiers, charge!"

The Ming army's morale surged, and they shouted battle cries in unison.

With no wind now, the Ming army's Sea-Quaking Tigers and Swift Wolf boats could not move either — but they still had plenty of Bird Boats and oared skiffs, more than enough to close in and kill the enemy!

Just as the two sides were less than a hundred paces apart, the sails on Yuan Chonghuan's flagship suddenly gave a slight flutter. At first no one paid it any mind, but then the shaking grew more and more violent. The bamboo yards and masts kept knocking against each other, making a pattering sound — faint amid the thunder of cannon fire across the battlefield, yet piercingly harsh to the sailors' ears.

The riggers on the flagship hurriedly called out: "The wind has shifted — southeast wind! Change the sails, quick!"

At the same time, the ships on the Candle Dragon's battle line also adjusted their sails, turned their bows, and charged straight at the Ming army's formation.

Earlier, with the northwest wind blowing, the Ming army had been upwind and thus mobile — naturally they had no fear of the enemy charging head-on at them.

Now the wind had suddenly shifted. The Nan'ao fleet's speed grew faster and faster, carrying an unstoppable momentum. Wherever they passed, the Ming army's small boats scrambled out of the way, while those blocking the Candle Dragon's path were crushed to splinters.

In the blink of an eye, the Nan'ao fleet once again burst into the Ming formation. Cannons thundered without cease from both sides of their hulls. The Ming army suffered heavy casualties in an instant, their morale utterly collapsed, and they fled in disarray in every direction.

Yuan Chonghuan watched this scene, his eyes splitting with rage. He murmured: "How could this be? How could this be?"

He knew little of naval warfare, but he was extremely familiar with the great battle of Poyang Lake in years past. Wasn't this sudden shift of wind exactly the same as when the Founding Emperor borrowed the east wind to launch his fire ships?

They had been so close — if this wind had come just two or three hours later, the Nan'ao army would have had nowhere left to retreat and would have been forced into Junshan Lake.

If that had happened, the Ming army would have secured victory: the traitor Lin dead, the entire navy annihilated, and the southeast completely pacified!

The court would regain control of the southeast, freeing its hands to conserve military spending, quell the various rebellions, and recover Liaodong — the realm would be at peace!

Just two or three hours — and it all turned to nothing!

Failure at the final step! Failure at the final step!

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

In the distance, the Nan'ao fleet's cannons thundered without cease. Like a blade slicing through, they tore the Ming formation into chaos. Cannons on both sides poured out grapeshot wantonly, and the drifting reed catkins were dyed pink by the mist of blood.

The Ming army had fought long and hard; their troops were weary and their spirit spent. Now that the Nan'ao fleet had broken through their front, they were no match at all and were slaughtered one-sidedly.

Seeing the Ming army being butchered and the whole force scattering, Yuan Chonghuan's vision darkened before his eyes, and he could barely remain standing.

"Your Excellency!" The surrounding officers rushed forward and supported Yuan Chonghuan.

"Quick — retreat to Kanglang Mountain!" The fleet's Vice Regional Commander hastily gave the order. The five-colored flags waved, and the remnants of the Ming army withdrew with the flagship toward Kanglang Mountain in the southeast.

Aboard the Candle Dragon, Old Cormorant knelt on the deck, kowtowing in thanks to all the gods and Buddhas — the Old Man in Heaven, the Great Turtle, Mazu, and even Chen Youliang's spirit in the afterlife were all thanked in turn.

The staff officers were utterly stunned. The looks they cast at Lin Qian shifted from admiration to fervor.

Lin Qian had never played any mystifying tricks. The tactic of breaking out with the southeast wind had been decided before the battle began. The staff officers all knew this tactic, and they all knew the cause of the southeast wind — everyone understood everything.

But when it truly came to the battlefield, truly driven to a dead end amid a hail of gunfire, the only one who still firmly believed the southeast wind would come was Lin Qian alone!

If this was not the Mandate of Heaven, what was it?

This was clearly the exact same Mandate of Heaven as that of the Hongwu Emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang!

So it had been when braving the typhoon at Manila, so in the thunderstorm at Malacca, and so again today on Poyang Lake.

For Heaven to help a man once — that is luck.

For Heaven to help him twice — that is science.

To be helped three times, and indeed from the very start of his uprising to now, Heaven had always stood on Lin Qian's side — that was simply the Mandate of Heaven!

Even though Lin Qian repeatedly told his men this was science, no one believed it anymore. By this day, everyone believed only in the Helmsman!

By now the fleet had cut clean through the Ming army's formation. The waters north of Poyang Lake lay fully in sight, while the Ming army, thrown into complete chaos, was retreating toward the southeast.

The Nan'ao navy had fought long and hard, suffering no small losses, and their supplies were running short — cannonballs and gunpowder were nearly spent. The Ming army, meanwhile, had many ships and many men; even with heavy losses, their remnants still possessed a great number of vessels.

Lin Qian had never intended to decide everything in a single battle. Per the plan, the fleet should now be withdrawing toward the direction of Hulukou.

But the fleet's morale was now at its absolute peak. Hunger, exhaustion — no one cared about any of that anymore. Everyone stared at Lin Qian with red eyes, waiting only for his order.

Lin Qian asked: "How many cannonballs are left?"

The question was passed down the chain. A moment later, the chief gunner roared back: "Enough to support twenty more volleys!"

Bailangzai's blood surged hot. He volunteered: "Helmsman, let's charge back!"

The other staff officers and even the sailors on deck shouted in unison: "Helmsman, charge back! Charge back!"

Everyone strained their throats, shouting with all their might. The sound was so loud that the warships behind them joined in the battle cries as well.

Old Cormorant heard the shouting. He even forgot to keep worshipping the gods and Buddhas, staring blankly at the man called the Helmsman. He felt the hairs all over his body stand on end, and a surge of hot blood churned ceaselessly in his chest.

Lin Qian said in a deep voice: "Course due south!"

Bailangzai shouted excitedly: "Hard to port, course due south! We're charging back!"

Sweat ran down the helmsman's back, soaking the deck around him as the wheel spun furiously—the Candle Dragon made a sharp turn, the hull heeling hard, yet not a trace of fear showed on the soldiers' faces as they howled and fought with abandon.

To the retreating Ming troops, before the cannon fire even reached them, the shouts of killing came first—they turned back to see the Nan'ao forces had charged back into the fray.

Fourteen gunboats charged a Ming fleet of nearly a thousand vessels—a scene like Xiang Yu's twenty-eight riders cutting through the Han army's formation in ages past.

By now the Ming troops had lost all will to fight, chased and pounded relentlessly by the Nan'ao forces.

The pursuit lasted until sunset dyed heaven and earth crimson—over a hundred vessels had fled, been sunk, or surrendered.

The remnants of the Ming fleet had shrunk back into the waters off Kanglang Mountain, clinging to life behind the island's shore batteries.

And the battleships' cannonballs and gunpowder had been completely spent after a full day of fierce combat.

By evening the weather turned cold, and the mountain-valley winds would soon shift direction—pressing the attack would gain no advantage. Lin Qian ordered the fleet to anchor on the lake north of Kanglang Mountain, facing Yuan Chonghuan across thirty li of water.

Vast as Poyang Lake was, it was still a lake with gentle waves, so anchoring offshore at night posed no problem. The fleet's provisions of grain, gunpowder, and the like were all aboard the transport ships at the Nanhu Mouth.

Several hours earlier, Lin Qian had already sent hawk boats to tell the transport ships to sail up together with the sea wolf ships.

Before supper, the follow-up fleet had arrived. Ships exchanged supplies among themselves, dispatch boats shuttled back and forth—a hive of bustling activity.

Shipboard carpenters patched damaged hulls with wooden planks, a steady clatter of hammering filling the air; each ship's galley bustled with cooking, fragrance wafting across the entire lake.

Fighting burned tremendous energy, so every ship broke out its stew pots—boiled mutton, braised pork, braised fish, all laid on, plus rock sugar caramelized for color. The soldiers ate until grease ran down their chins.

And since today was the Mid-Autumn Festival on the fifteenth of the eighth month, the transport ships even carried mooncakes prepared in advance, served as dessert after the meal.

A northwest wind was blowing across the lake just then, carrying the scents of meat and rice with it, making the Ming soldiers on sentry boats drool with longing.

What truly twisted the knife was that the wind even carried the smell of wine!

The two armies were still locked in combat, so no alcohol was allowed in the soldiers' rations—the smell came from disinfectant alcohol.

But the Ming troops on sentry boats were several li away—how could they tell the difference? They could only flare their nostrils, sniffing wildly at the wind, then go back to gnawing their flatbread with coarse rice.

Before the Temple of Loyal Ministers on Kanglang Mountain, Yuan Chonghuan looked utterly dejected, asking his subordinate commanders: "How many men does the navy have left?"

Wang Xifu, the naval Mobile Corps Commander, said in a low voice: "Only a little over ten thousand remain, with six hundred warships still—"

Yuan Chonghuan felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if struck by a silent blow.

The ten thousand lost weren't all killed by enemy gunfire either—most had fled or been captured.

But no matter how one looked at it, of twenty thousand naval troops, half had been lost in a single day. This rout was unprecedented in all of history.

Back in the day, the Battle of Poyang Lake had dragged on for over a month before a victor emerged—who could have thought that in his case, defeat would show its face within a single day?

Now trapped at Kanglang Mountain, if they just waited here doing nothing, they would likely be annihilated by tomorrow evening.

Yuan Chonghuan let out a long sigh, resentment toward the court rising in his heart—had the Ministry of War's weapons been better, had the Emperor not forced him into battle, he might well have been standing where Lin Qian stood now.

"Whoosh!" A sudden northwest wind swept through, chilling the courtyard by several degrees.

A personal guard held out a bowl of rice to Yuan Chonghuan: "Your Excellency, please eat something."

Yuan Chonghuan took the bowl and chopsticks, seeing cooked coarse rice in the bowl, topped with a few pieces of pickled vegetables.

The grains were dry and white, stiff and under-swollen—one glance told him the rice was still half-raw, and he could even spot fine grains of sand.

Ships generally carried grain stores, so the Ming army actually had plenty of food—the problem was a shortage of water, and even more so of firewood.

Poyang Lake's schistosomiasis wasn't as severe as Leichi's, but it was still a high-risk zone. The Ming army had strict orders not to drink lake water, and cooking with it was absolutely forbidden.

The Ming army hadn't been driven to the brink yet, so there was no need to risk death just for better-tasting rice. This rice had been cooked with the island's fresh water—precious stuff that couldn't be wasted—hence the half-raw result.

And the sand mixed in was a necessary byproduct of corruption. Ming army grain and gunpowder were both weighed, and from requisition, storage,

to allocation, every link had to skim something off—the missing weight had to be made up with sand.

In ragtag forces like the Dongjiang army, three to four dou out of every ten dou of military grain was sand.

Yuan Chonghuan had connections in the Grand Secretariat, so only one dou of sand was mixed into every ten dou of his grain.

Every army cook kept a fine sieve and would sift the rice before cooking, but it was impossible to get every grain out—the common soldiers had long since gotten used to it.

The standard-bearers, household retainers, and officers had their own dedicated rations of fine polished rice and white flour, not suffering alongside the common troops.

Unfortunately, Yuan Chonghuan's flagship had been bombed and sunk, sending the fine rice and white flour to the bottom of the lake, while the rest of the special provisions remained at the Zuoli naval stockade—so now he could only eat this sand-laced, half-raw, stale coarse rice.

Yuan Chonghuan held the bowl of rice but couldn't take a single bite. He sighed and handed it back to his guard to take away.

The other commanders had gone nearly a full day without eating, frowning as they forced the sandy rice down their throats.

Yuan Chonghuan gazed at the Temple of Loyal Ministers behind him, thinking: "In those days, the founding Emperor massed his troops at Kanglang Mountain to face Chen Youliang, also at a disadvantage, with his great generals dying in droves. Only after many battles and untold hardships did he overcome his powerful foe and establish the Great Ming, building this Temple of Loyal Ministers for his fallen generals.

Now the realm is in peril, the rebel Lin grows strong, and our two armies face off on Poyang Lake—this moment is exactly like that moment. Could it be that Heaven's will truly exists in the unseen?"

Yuan Chonghuan stared blankly at the Temple of Loyal Ministers, seeing that in the nearly two hundred years since, the front hall had fallen into some disrepair.

By the ancestral regulations of the Great Ming, this temple should receive sacrifices every spring and autumn, with local officials maintaining it.

But with the nation in decline and funds tight everywhere, there was naturally no spare money to repair the temple. Yuan Chonghuan murmured softly: "May you gentlemen watch over our army from on high. If this battle is won, the Great Ming will be safe, and all living souls under heaven will be safe. I swear I will restore your temple and refurbish your statues!"

A northwest wind blew past, cold to the bone.

Yuan Chonghuan turned, gritting his teeth as he gave the order: "Pick out over a hundred men with strong swimming skills from the army—we're going to scuttle their ships!

Yahei

Yuan

Pen