Chapter 31: The Tip of the Duckweed

Lin Qian felt speechless and said with irritation, "Tonight, you will tell me everything you know. You don't think I'd go see the Portuguese like a fool based only on your one-sided story, do you?"

"Oh, thank God!" Jose let out a long breath.

"Until then, you will train the ship's 'sail-rope hands'—what we call the 'sheet handlers.' You said you understand navigation, so show me your ability properly." Lin Qian instructed.

"Yes, Captain!"

The galleon sailed along Luzon's western coast for seven or eight hours.

Around two in the afternoon, they spotted the Fujian junk anchored near the shore.

Lin Qian ordered the galleon to lower sails and slow down, then had a ladder lowered to bring the men left aboard the Fujian junk up.

Scholar Zhou came aboard with a look of astonishment: "I thought I'd have to follow the backup plan and meet you in Manila. I never imagined you'd actually seized this ship. The helmsman truly has the foresight of one who moves firewood before the fire."

Lin Qian replied with a smile, "If you would, Second Brother, take stock of the cargo, water, and provisions aboard."

Scholar Zhou cupped his hands and said, "This is simply my duty—I dare not accept the helmsman's word 'trouble.'"

After everyone was aboard, the crew used the galleon's wooden derrick to hoist several chests of silver coins from the Fujian junk onto the galleon.

Also hoisted aboard were several chests of well-preserved cloves and nutmeg, along with Lin Qian's navigation log, sea charts, sextant, and other items.

The *Sacred Justice* could catch up at any moment—time was limited now, so everything else had to be left on the Fujian junk.

And this three-masted Fujian junk was too slow; keeping it would only be a burden, so it too had to be abandoned here.

With all people and cargo aboard, Lin Qian ordered the galleon to raise sails and set off.

Watching the Fujian junk bob with the waves, growing smaller in his field of vision, Lin Qian felt a momentary pang of emotion.

Come to think of it, this Fujian junk had never been given a name—it wasn't written on the ship permit, and he and the other crew members had simply referred to it as "the ship" all along.

In a daze, Lin Qian recalled a line he'd read somewhere: "The wind rises from the tip of duckweed; waves grow from the faintest ripples."

"Then I'll call you Qingping." Lin Qian murmured to himself.

Before long, the Qingping vanished between sea and sky.

Lin Qian withdrew his gaze and ordered, "Half rudder to port, heading northwest."

Half an hour later.

The *Sacred Justice* also arrived at the Qingping's anchorage.

The lookout shouted from afar: "Enemy vessel sighted ahead—a Ming three-masted Fujian junk, distance ten thousand paces."

The captain of the *Sacred Justice* immediately ordered: "Battle stations!"

The first mate and gunnery officer repeated the order: "Battle stations."

The gunports along the ship opened one by one, and the gunners blew on their slow matches, waiting for the two ships to converge.

"Distance five thousand paces!" the lookout shouted.

By now, every officer on the *Sacred Justice*—including Alonso himself—was straining through their telescopes, observing that ship.

"Distance two thousand paces!"

"It's that band of pirates' ship!" someone among the officers cried out.

The captain scanned the sea but saw no sign of the galleon. Fearing an ambush, he said, "Hold at seven hundred paces and fire probing shots."

"Distance one thousand paces."

Through the telescope, the Qingping still drifted on the waves without raising sails, as if it hadn't noticed them at all.

Alonso flew into a rage: "You fools, that's an empty ship!"

"What?" The captain raised his telescope for a closer look—indeed, he saw no figures on the deck. But this band of pirates was far too cunning; this could well be another trap, and he found himself hesitating.

Alonso gave the order directly: "Full speed after the galleon—steer around this empty ship."

The captain of the *Sacred Justice* voiced his concern: "What if the pirates are hiding inside the ship?"

Alonso's face twisted with fury: "Then they'd be just as stupid as you."

"Do we hold our original course, sir?" the first mate asked.

After a moment's thought, Alonso said, "No. The galleon sailed along the coastline the whole way precisely to rendezvous with its accomplices on the Fujian junk. Now that they've achieved their goal, they'll certainly head for open sea. We sail northwest."

"Yes, Governor-General!"

The *Sacred Justice* sailed at full speed northwest across the sea for a day.

The sea was utterly empty; the lookout could only gaze aimlessly at the horizon, and everyone felt that catching the galleon was already a fading hope.

By evening, the captain found Alonso and urged him: "Governor-General, the *Sacred Justice*'s speed is roughly equal to the galleon's. If we keep chasing like this, I'm afraid—"

Alonso knew this as well, but to admit defeat now—to acknowledge that the galleon had been stolen and that he'd been led around by the nose by Lin Qian—was simply impossible.

Alonso frowned and thought for a long while before saying, "Sail east, to find the *Golden Lion* and the *Silver Wolf*."

Both of those were caravels, fitted with twin-masted lateen sails. Their firepower was weak, but catching up to the galleon and fighting a boarding action was well within their capability.

The captain hesitated: "We're close to the coast here. Sailing at night risks running aground on reefs."

Alonso squeezed two words out from between his teeth: "Set sail!"

The *Sacred Justice* sailed east all the way, returning to the shores of Luzon Island by daybreak. After sailing north along the coast for several hours, a fleet appeared in view.

The lookout lowered his telescope and reported loudly: "Fleet sighted off the bow—about five ships, distance twenty thousand paces."

Alonso thought to himself: toward Lingayen Gulf, he'd only dispatched three warships—why were there five on the return? Could the two ships returning from the Medusa Island direction have joined up with them?

Because the waters south of Luzon were dotted with many islands and the channels were narrow, Spanish naval expeditions generally sailed north of the islands; the fleet returning from Medusa Island had likely chosen the northern route as well.

"Fleet off the bow, distance ten thousand paces."

"Fleet off the bow, distance five thousand paces."

As the lookout kept updating the distance, the five distant ships grew clearer in the telescope, and indeed they bore the form of Spanish warships.

But all five ships were moving slowly, and several had damaged sails—as if they'd just been through a major battle.

A bad premonition welled up in Alonso's heart.

"Fleet off the bow, distance two thousand paces."

From this distance, they could already make out the other ship's hull, its sides riddled with gaping holes, clearly blasted out by cannon fire.

The sailors on deck were listless and demoralized, many of them still wrapped in bandages.

Both sides recognized each other through their telescopes, and at a distance of a thousand paces, they together lowered sail and slowed.

Only after both ships had come to a halt did Alonso summon the Fury's captain to report. Ten minutes later, the Fury sent out a small boat carrying her captain to Alonso's presence.

"I can see your hull is badly damaged. By God, you'd better tell me you drove off the pirates at Lingayen Gulf!" Alonso's tone was hostile.

The Fury's captain was deeply embarrassed and hedged: "Your Excellency the Governor-General, there's good news—Lingayen Gulf need no longer fear pirate raids. I swear to God, not a single pirate set foot ashore there."

Alonso's expression softened: "Well done. Now tell me about the engagement—how many pirate ships did you sink?"

At that moment, the captain of the Our Lady of the Rose also came aboard and stepped before Alonso. Hearing this, he could not wait to lodge his complaint: "Zero, Your Excellency. Because there were no pirate ships in Lingayen Gulf at all. The fools aboard the Fury, the Golden Lion, and the Silver Wolf mistook my ship for a pirate vessel and bombarded the Our Lady of the Rose all night long!"

"What?" Alonso's eyes went wide, and the world seemed to spin before him.

The Fury's captain retorted: "Who told you to sail at night and barge into a combat zone?"

"Ha, weren't you sailing at night too? Weren't you in the combat zone?"

"We were acting on the Governor-General's orders!"

"And weren't we acting on the Governor-General's orders?"

Listening to the two captains argue, Alonso tried to intervene, but darkness kept washing over his vision.

The captain of the Our Lady of the Rose accused in bleeding anguish: "Thirty-two men in all—your cannon fire killed thirty-two Spanish sailors. You murderer, you belong on the gallows!"

"Didn't you fire back? The Fury also lost twelve sailors, with more than thirty wounded. You're the butcher!"

"You were the one who doused your lights first and fired blind. Was I supposed to hold my fire and put my bow right up to you, politely asking the honorable 'Mister Dutchman' why he was disturbing his sailors' rest with cannonballs?"

"I told you, that was a combat zone!"

"I never received any notice of a combat zone! Regardless, you've got your own people's blood on your hands!"

"So do you!"

"Mine is less!"

"That's because your gunnery is inaccurate!"

"Bastard, I challenge you to a duel! I'll show you how accurate my sword thrust is!"

Alonso, overcome with fury and anguish, tried to speak but no sound would come. His body swayed several times, and at last he could no longer hold himself up—he collapsed.

Everyone on board panicked for a moment. After some discussion, they decided to turn back and return to Manila harbor.

On the way, the fleet passed the Green Duckweed again.

When the Fury's captain learned this was Lin Qian's abandoned ship, a stroke of inspiration hit him—he sent a small boat to board the Green Duckweed and "capture" it.

In this way, the Spanish Royal Navy's tally of victories finally achieved its breakthrough from zero.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen