Chapter 310: The Reed-Wadded Jacket

Setting aside the cold of the night waters and how long a man can hold his breath underwater, merely touching the waters of Poyang Lake carried the risk of contracting the spider gu, and this was practically sending men to their deaths.

But things had already come to this, so they could only resort to risky measures.

After a moment of silence, the Water Forces Commander Wang Xifu rose and clasped his hands in salute: "This subordinate will lead men to go!"

Yuan Chonghuan nodded. A little less than an hour later, Wang Xifu had assembled his men and stood at the lakeshore.

Yuan Chonghuan had people cut down large quantities of reeds and distribute them to the soldiers, and also had his personal guards buy rice wine from the fishing households of Kanglang Mountain to pour for the hundred-odd soldiers.

"Bottoms up!" Yuan Chonghuan drank his wine dry together with the men. Gazing at the faces of the soldiers, he had a thousand words in his heart but could not speak them. All he did was hold his empty bowl, walk slowly to the lakeshore, and scoop up a bowl of water.

The subordinates around him shouted: "Your Excellency, be careful!"

"Your Excellency, this water cannot be drunk — it has water gu!"

Yuan Chonghuan gestured for his subordinates to fall silent. He raised the water bowl and said in a deep voice: "If this battle is won, then the calamity of the southeast will be pacified, and the Great Ming will turn from danger to safety. If it is lost, then the rebel Lin will grow strong, the people will suffer untold misery, and the realm will fall into chaos.

Gentlemen, your going forth is truly for the common people of the world, not for any one surname or one man. Chonghuan only wishes he could go with you all — so let me use lake water in place of wine, and see you off one more stretch!"

Having said this, Yuan Chonghuan raised the water bowl, tilted his head back, and drank it all.

"Your Excellency!" The officers and soldiers around him cried out in alarm together.

Yuan Chonghuan wiped his mouth and showed the empty bowl, saying: "If there truly is water gu in the lake, then let it gnaw at the heart and liver of me, Yuan Chonghuan — but let it not harm a single one of you gentlemen!"

Every officer and soldier was deeply moved by this scene. After a moment of stunned silence, someone knelt and said: "I swear to die for Your Excellency!"

The hundred-odd men who had been selected also knelt together and shouted, and not a few were so moved that they wept bitterly.

Yuan Chonghuan waved his hand and said: "Go now. Chonghuan awaits your triumphant return!"

Wang Xifu led his men onto the boats. The hundred-odd officers and soldiers sat spread across thirteen sampans, silently rowing northward.

After about an hour, they had reached the outer perimeter of the Nan'ao fleet. On the water surface, the Nan'ao fleet's ship lanterns shone brightly, like floating palaces upon the lake, while nearby, hawk boats ceaselessly patrolled.

Wang Xifu found a Ming army sentry boat, asked about the rebel patrol routines, and then, spotting a gap in the schedule, said: "Into the water!"

The thirteen sampans scattered across the lake surface. The hundred-odd Ming officers and soldiers, each holding a reed in their mouths, slowly entered the water.

It was already mid-autumn, and the temperature difference between day and night on Poyang Lake was enormous. The night lake water was bitingly cold. Struck by the lake water, Wang Xifu gasped several breaths of cold air. He forced himself onward and plunged beneath the lake in one dive, breathing through the reed above the surface.

After swimming a few strokes in the water, the chill gradually receded, his hands and feet moved more easily, and his swimming speed picked up quickly.

Before entering the water, he had already marked the position of the Nan'ao flagship, and now he made straight for it with single-minded purpose.

Though the bright moon hung high in the sky and hawk boats patrolled the lake surface, Wang Xifu's men were excellent swimmers. They swam fully submerged the entire way, with only their reeds showing above the water. Their strokes made no splashes or ripples, and the hawk boats did not notice them.

Wang Xifu swam the fastest and had already reached the side of the Zhulong. The Zhulong sat deep in the water, so to reach the bottom of the hull, the reed would not be long enough — he would have to bore a hole in the side of the ship instead.

Wang Xifu took out the hammer and chisel at his waist and was about to get to work when he looked and froze on the spot. The bottom of the Zhulong was as smooth as a mirror, cold and fine to the touch, with only a few barnacles attached to it.

It was — it was actually made of damned copper!

This shock was no small matter. He failed to hold his breath, and several bubbles floated up to the surface, nearly causing him to lose his reed entirely.

In a fluster, he put the reed back in his mouth and carefully searched along the bottom of the Zhulong. The copper plates were layered one upon another like lamellar armor, leaving not a single gap.

Wang Xifu thought to himself: "No wonder this ship can withstand our army's cannons — so it has a layer of copper armor. Those Nan'ao rebels truly are filthy rich!"

While he was at a loss, more Ming soldiers swam up around the Zhulong, scratching their heads in frustration at the copper-clad hull, unable to find any way to attack it.

Some of the bolder ones discarded their reeds and dove into the deep water to look at the Zhulong's bottom — it was the same, all copper.

Wang Xifu gritted his teeth and signaled his men to start chiseling directly. They had come all this way; there was no way they were slinking back in defeat.

He casually picked a spot and struck two blows with the hammer. The copper skin was chiseled open into a small hole, revealing the wooden hull beneath.

Wang Xifu was overjoyed and thought: "All crows are black the world over — this ship's armor is as thin as paper. Who knows how much kickback the Nan'ao rebels' Ministry of War pocketed!"

His spirits soared, and he continued chiseling. But he quickly discovered something was wrong — the hull beneath the copper plates was hard and tough, as stiff as an iron board. After chiseling for a long while, he could only manage a shallow dent.

If this had been a Great Ming pinewood warship, he would have broken through a hole long ago.

Unfortunately, the Zhulong's hull was made of carefully selected Annam teak. Even carpenters with saws would be drenched in sweat cutting through it. Trying to chisel through it from underwater was nothing short of fantasy.

Moreover, this kind of warship had a double-layered hull with ribs sandwiched between. Even if he chiseled through the outer layer, there was still the inner layer within.

And even if he chiseled through the inner layer as well, the Zhulong still had formidable carpenter damage-control crews and dedicated winch-operated bilge pumps. This warship had been designed from the outset to keep fighting even while taking on water.

Even if the bottom were riddled with holes, the Zhulong could still struggle on for a long time.

At this moment, in the lower hold of the Zhulong, the wounded were sleeping. Suddenly someone was startled awake by the thumping sound of chiseling. He pricked up his ears and listened for a moment, then said in a terrified voice: "It's — it's water ghosts knocking on the ship!"

The medical officer had already risen. He snapped irritably: "What water ghosts? That's someone chiseling the ship!"

Then he ran to the hatch and shouted upward: "You up there, stop sleeping — someone is chiseling the ship!"

Before long, the whole ship was roused. The crew gathered at the gunwales and peered down into the water.

Bailangzai, holding a large miao saber and bare-chested, came out of the cabin. Seeing the situation, he roared: "The enemy is chiseling the ship and you're just standing there watching? Are you all dead men?"

The boatswain said aggrievedly: "The helmsman gave strict orders — we are not permitted to enter the water——"

Bailangzai had already been poised to jump into the water, but at these words he forcibly stopped in his tracks. He did not dare violate military orders either.

"Move the ship." Lin Qian's voice came from the door of the captain's quarters. "There are probably quite a few of the enemy. Have the entire fleet shift two thousand paces eastward."

"Yes, sir!" The men acknowledged and took their positions.

The wind and waves on Poyang Lake were not strong, and to maintain mobility, none of the ships dropped anchor at night, so they could get underway quickly.

The helmsman said: "Hard to port, heading due east!"

Bailangzai climbed up to the poop deck and said to Lin Qian: "Helmsman, why go to all this trouble? Let me take some good swimmers into the water, and we'll soon deal with these small fry."

Lin Qian said sternly: "Have you forgotten how the spider gu came about?"

Bailangzai shrank his neck and did not dare talk back.

Poyang Lake was open water, and they were anchored on the main shipping channel in the deep-water zone, where the current ran fast — not suitable for the growth of needle snails, so the probability of contracting schistosomiasis was greatly reduced. But it would never drop to zero.

When a problem could be solved by simply moving the fleet, filling it with men's lives was simply not worth it.

Soon, the entire fleet was sailing eastward.

Lin Qian also ordered the bird boats and the Sea Wolf ships to trail behind the main fleet's wake, and if they saw any movement in the water, to greet it with guns, cannons,

and harpoons.

Beneath the water's surface, the Cand Dragon and the other ships were moving fast—swimming simply couldn't keep up. Many Ming soldiers were left behind, picked off one by one by the bird boats and Sea Wolf ships behind them.

Wang Xifu, meanwhile, grabbed hold of a clump of barnacles and let the Cand Dragon drag him along.

Copper sheathing could reduce barnacle attachment, but not eliminate it entirely.

Though barnacles would die from the change in salinity when the ship passed from saltwater into fresh, their shells still clung to the hull—and now they served as Wang Xifu's handholds.

By the time he managed to hold on until the ship stopped, Wang Xifu was half-frozen, his mind foggy and his limbs numb. He swept his gaze around—only three men were still clinging to the hull.

Fear had taken root in Wang Xifu's heart by now; he wanted nothing more than to flee. But when he thought of Yuan Chonghuan's parting words, strength flooded back into him. He pulled out his hammer and chisel and resumed chipping at the hull—yet he'd barely struck ten blows before the Cand Dragon went careening across the lake again.

Wang Xifu scrambled to grab the barnacles, moving too fast—the razor-sharp edges sliced his palms bloody. His hammer and chisel were lost in the panic.

Who knew how long passed before the Cand Dragon stopped once more. Wang Xifu had exhausted every ounce of strength. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He struggled a few times, then slowly sank beneath the lake.

In the Cand Dragon's lower hold, a group of wounded soldiers pressed their ears to the deck planks, listening. After a long while, one said: "Seems like there's no more movement."

Another said: "We've come two or three li. Even if those Ming soldiers were born barnacles, they'd have let go by now."

At these words, the wounded soldiers all burst into laughter, then reported the result up deck by deck.

When word reached Lin Qian, he only gave a long sigh and said: "Have everyone rest as soon as possible. Post extra night-watch soldiers in the lower hold."

Seeing Lin Qian in low spirits, Bailangzai asked: "Helmsman, is there still some hidden danger?"

Lin Qian shook his head: "I just think it's a pity these Ming soldiers had to die——"

Schistosomiasis had ravaged the Yangtze basin for over a thousand years. The common folk all knew that contact with infected water made you sick—and besides, the water was freezing cold. Even if you didn't catch schistosomiasis, you'd easily come down with a chill and high fever. Add in the fact that this mission was fraught with danger from the start—it was simply a one-way trip.

These Ming soldiers had clearly all embraced the resolve to die.

If they'd died fighting bravely in Liaodong, they would have been heroes. But now—they died for nothing at all.

Bailangzai scratched his head in confusion: "They're just enemies. What's there to pity?"

Lin Qian shook his head: "I think we and the ordinary Ming soldiers are all victims. The real enemy is the power-holders in the capital."

"Then tomorrow we——"

"Tomorrow, we fight however we need to fight." Lin Qian said calmly. "Don't hold back in the slightest."

The next day, the Nan'ao fleet sortied in full force, pounding the Ming troops around Kanglang Mountain with fierce cannon fire.

Yuan Chonghuan had keenly realized that the broadside cannon tactic didn't fit the Ming navy's combat system, so he ordered the red barbarian cannons stripped from the Shock Sea Tiger and had temporary gun emplacements built on Kanglang Mountain.

The surviving Ming vessels relied on those gun emplacements, maneuvering through the reed marshes and shallow waters around Kanglang Mountain to skirmish with the Nan'ao forces.

Miraculously, they'd formed a defensive posture again—like defending a city.

Even Lin Qian couldn't help but admire it. Yuan Chonghuan truly was the man who'd won the great victory at Ningyuan in history—a genuine genius at defending.

The ships of the line feared the shore batteries and dared not approach too close, while the bird boats and Sea Wolf ships sent forward found no advantage in fighting the Ming's Swift Wolf vessels and other warships.

The two sides fought for a full day amid the flying reeds, ending in a dead even draw—casualties on both sides were light.

The dying sun sank westward; water and sky were stained a mournful red, ten thousand li of molten gold, reed blossoms filling the heavens.

Aboard the Cand Dragon, a staff officer said: "Helmsman, that Yuan barbarian has his defenses tight. Why don't we use fire?"

It hadn't rained in nearly half a month, and the reed marshes were bone-dry. One torch—even if it didn't burn every Ming soldier to death, it would at least burn out the reed marshes and leave the Ming's small boats nowhere to hide.

Lin Qian shook his head, pointing at the western sky: "Sunset rouge-red, the Dipper's breath like a blade; clouds stop and fog rises, three days of howling cold. Old Cormorant, today's sunset is especially bleak and beautiful—is a cold snap coming?"

What Lin Qian recited was a weather rhyme from the Zhoushan sea region. The monk Kongji of Mount Putuo had made his living playing mystic with that very rhyme.

After Lin Qian had wiped out the Zhejiang naval forces in one sweep, he'd also learned the Zhoushan folk's method of judging the weather.

Old Cormorant looked toward the setting sun and added: "The fishing folk of Poyang Lake have a saying: 'Sunset racing molten gold, blows down a sky full of stars.' There will be great winds tonight."

Lin Qian said: "Pull the fleet back. We'll just besiege them."

Soon the sound of the gong rang out from the Cand Dragon. Watching the retreating Nan'ao forces, the Ming soldiers cheered with abandon.

But Yuan Chonghuan gazed at the setting sun on the horizon, and a flicker of despair passed through his eyes.

Late that night, past midnight, the northwest wind suddenly surged, howling and shrieking across the broad expanse of the lake.

The entire Nan'ao fleet held position against the wind, angling their bows slightly into the gale, precisely controlling their hulls with sails and rudders to keep from being blown away.

The small boats were lashed together with ropes and linked to the large ships.

In such strong winds, sailing against the gale was already extremely difficult—let alone sending fire ships. But to guard against the unexpected, Lin Qian still ordered simple river-blocking cables strung across the north and south flanks of the fleet.

Because holding position against the wind required constant tending, the number of soldiers on watch aboard each ship tonight was doubled. Fortunately, everyone had changed into padded winter coats, so standing watch in the freezing wind was barely tolerable.

On Kanglang Island, the Ming soldiers had also changed into winter clothing.

Though this battle had been joined in haste, it was already mid-autumn when they'd made contact—the ships were stocked with padded coats. Now trapped at Kanglang Mountain, at least the shortage of winter clothing wasn't severe.

Yuan Chonghuan made his rounds through the camp. He saw the few soldiers without padded coats huddled together like livestock, warming each other with their body heat.

The soldiers who had coats also curled up into balls, shivering to keep warm.

Yuan Chonghuan's brows were knit tight with worry; in an instant he seemed to have aged a dozen years. When he reached the lakeshore, his gaze sharpened—the reed marsh was swaying incessantly, as if someone were hiding within.

"Who's there?" Yuan Chonghuan bellowed, drawing his sword and charging toward the reed marsh.

His personal guards were startled, rushing forward to shield Yuan Chonghuan behind them.

A moment later, the guards emerged from the reed marsh with a group of people. Yuan Chonghuan ordered torches brought closer and saw they were all his own men—each clutching a great armful of reed blossoms.

A few had even torn open a slit in their padded coats and stuffed them bulging full.

Only after asking did Yuan Chonghuan learn that these soldiers had gone to the lakeshore to gather reed blossoms.

Reed blossom is the seed of the reed, looking much like dandelion fluff; in autumn and winter it scatters on the wind to spread.

Because reed blossoms carry a fleecy down that theoretically provides warmth, poor folk who couldn't afford padded coats would stuff reed blossoms into their clothes to keep warm. Such garments were called reed-blossom coats.

Reed blossom, after all, is not cotton. Its insulating power was almost negligible—and it easily matted, shed fuzz,

absorbed damp, bred insects, and caught fire.

Even among the poorest folk, no one wore reed-blossom coats unless driven to it with no other way to survive.

To guard his army against schistosomiasis, Yuan Chonghuan had issued a strict order forbidding soldiers from wading into the water. Yet these soldiers—who clearly had padded coats on their backs—had still violated military orders. Yuan Chonghuan found it utterly baffling.

A suspicion began to form in his mind. He snatched a padded coat and dug out all the reed blossom inside—only to find that the so-called padded coat was stuffed full of yellowed, rotting wadding.

Coarse paper, old cotton wads, rags, rotten hemp—the cotton-padded jackets contained almost everything under the sun, except for a single ounce of real cotton.

"This—this—" Yuan Chonghuan was instantly stunned. Staring at the handful of yellowed cotton waste, he could not string together a single sentence for a long while.

Before he came to Jiangxi, he had been a commander of the Guanning Army. That place had bitter, freezing winters—without padded jackets, the entire army would truly freeze to death, so the jackets there were only lightly adulterated; even the worst of the thick-padded coats still had at least fifty percent genuine cotton.

But Jiangnan's climate was warm, so stuffing the jackets with more yellowed cotton waste did no harm, as long as soldiers were not frozen to death in formation-strength numbers, it did not matter.

Moreover, compared to the land army, the navy was even less favored; the thick-padded coats issued to them were worse still, to the point of producing the ten-parts-fake, zero-parts-real jacket now in Yuan Chonghuan's hands.

"This—this—" Yuan Chonghuan nearly spat blood. Both hands clenched deathly tight around the rotten hemp cloth, he raised it to his chest and asked those around him, "Are they all like this? The entire army's padded jackets are all like this?"

A soldier who had been gathering reeds said in a low voice: "There are good ones too, but you have to buy them yourself. The decent ones cost three qian, and the best ones cost one liang five qian of silver—most of the brothers are unwilling to spend that—"

"These should clearly have been issued, clearly should have been distributed by the Ministry of War!" Yuan Chonghuan's voice was hoarse and dull.

After he assumed office as Governor-General of Jiangxi, he had requested a full set of superior military equipment from the Grand Secretariat, and the Grand Secretariat had allocated the finest blades, spears, armor, firearms, gunpowder, and more to Yuan Chonghuan.

Only the padded jackets were not provided.

Because there was only so much good cotton clothing to go around—if it were all transferred to Yuan Chonghuan, the Nine Border Garrisons would erupt in turmoil.

Yuan Chonghuan had assumed office as Governor-General of Jiangxi in late autumn of the ninth year of Tianqi. At that time, the various regional navies were still on their way to garrison Poyang Lake; with a myriad of affairs pressing, it was naturally impossible for him to spare thought for padded jackets.

And by the time everything had settled into order, it was already early spring of the following year. The first year of Chongzhen was a warm spring, and when Yuan Chonghuan inspected the naval camp, the soldiers had long since shed their useless winter clothing.

This single moment of oversight, through a twist of fate, had brewed today's situation.

Yuan Chonghuan was not yet willing to give up. He snatched several more thick-padded coats to inspect. Those coats all had extremely loose stitching, the fabric was wretched beyond measure—a light tug tore them apart completely, and the stuffing inside scattered all over the ground.

Every single one was the same—not a trace of real cotton!

Yuan Chonghuan felt as if struck by five thunderbolts from the sky. Standing rooted in place, at a complete loss, he wept in a daze.

A soldier holding reeds comforted him: "Your Excellency need not worry. Stuffing reed catkins into the jackets works well enough—the brothers have gotten through every year like this."

Grief and fury churned together in Yuan Chonghuan's heart. He waved his hand, ordering the soldiers to withdraw.

He understood in his heart that jackets stuffed with reed catkins could barely keep a man from freezing to death. As for fighting—that was a fantasy.

A jacket stuffed with reed catkins puffed up like a ball. Once worn, a man could not bend his waist or raise his arms; movement was extremely inconvenient—he was completely useless.

Reed catkins also absorbed water extremely well. The moment they got wet, they clumped solid, permanently ruined, never usable again.

If the enemy used fire attacks, these soldiers would make the finest kindling.

Even if the rebel troops did not use fire, when one's own men fired the cannons, a single spark flying onto the body could ignite a reed-catkin jacket—one man catching fire could set off a whole string of men.

Yuan Chonghuan drew a deep breath, suppressed his emotions, looked toward the reed marshes, and extended his hand: "Torch."

Mao Yuanyi guessed what Yuan Chonghuan intended to do and urged: "Your Excellency, the soldiers all rely on this reed marsh for warmth."

Yuan Chonghuan's tone hardened: "Torch!"

Wearing yellowed cotton waste, a man could still grit his teeth and endure, could still fight. But wearing reed-catkin jackets would doom the entire army.

This reed marsh he had to burn, even if the whole army came to resent him for it—there was no other way.

As long as he could defeat the rebel Lin, he would brave any blade of wind or sword of snow.

Mao Yuanyi could not dissuade him and could only hand over the torch. Yuan Chonghuan took it and personally set the reed marsh alight.

The weather was dry and the vegetation parched; the fire in the reed marsh spread with terrifying speed, and in no time at all, a great expanse had burned.

Yuan Chonghuan issued the order: "Burn all the reed marshes near Kanglang Mountain. Proclaim throughout the army—anyone who dares wear a reed-catkin jacket will be beheaded!"

The next morning, Lin Qian finished washing up and stepped out of the cabin door. In the distance, he saw wisps of blue smoke curling up from the direction of Kanglang Mountain.

Bailangzai stepped forward to report: "Helmsman, the hawk boats report that yesterday the reed marshes at Kanglang Mountain were all burned."

Before raising his forces, Lin Qian had sold Dongning's low-priced charcoal in Fujian and knew something of how the poor kept warm in winter. Hearing that Yuan Chonghuan had personally set the reed marshes alight, he already had a guess in mind, and said: "Order: halt the attack today. Send hawk boats to scout around the island."

"Aye!" Bailangzai acknowledged, then hesitated a moment before saying: "Helmsman, there is one more matter—Old Cormorant says it has not rained for nearly half a month. This year's dry season may well come earlier than in past years."

Lin Qian asked: "What about the water level?"

"This morning's depth sounding shows it has already dropped half a chi since we entered the lake."

Lin Qian said: "Understood. Go pass the orders."

With the Nan'ao forces not attacking, Yuan Chonghuan took the opportunity to treat the wounded and rest and recuperate. But after three full days of rest, the enemy still did not move, while soldiers in the Ming army had already begun freezing to death—those with frostbite, or who had lost fingers and toes to the cold, were everywhere to be seen.

For days on end, the two sides' scout boats had been fighting quite fiercely, clashing repeatedly with casualties on both sides—yet the Nan'ao main force had not budged an inch.

Yuan Chonghuan stared blankly at the lake surface every day, straining his eyes in vain. He realized that the balance of attack and defense between the two sides had, against all expectation, reversed once again.

The rebel Lin would not attack anymore. He meant to trap Yuan Chonghuan alive on Kanglang Mountain until he starved!

He knew in his heart that even if he waited until the dry season, when all the great ships ran aground, Lin Qian still would not attack.

By then, the Ming army would already have lost half its men to freezing on Kanglang Mountain, and the Sea Wolf ships alone would be enough to annihilate them all.

Things having come to this, Yuan Chonghuan had to break out and return to shore—only by relying on shore-based supplies could the navy continue to fight.

Yuan Chonghuan ordered the cannon platforms dismantled, summoned all his commanders, and assigned their tasks.

That night, at the fourth watch, a thin fog rose over the lake. Under the cover of the mist, the entire army boarded their ships and retreated toward the western shore of the lake.

They had barely sailed for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense when a sky-flower rocket burst in the southwestern sky, followed immediately by another explosion in the northwestern sky.

Kanglang Mountain was closest to the western shore of Poyang Lake—the most likely direction for a retreat.

The Nan'ao forces appeared lax without but were tight within. They seemed unguarded, but in truth the most hawk boats patrolled the west, and they had also strung a simple river-blocking cable several li long.

The Nan'ao fleet's main force lay to the northwest of Kanglang Mountain, ready at any moment to ride the northwest wind south and cut off the Ming army's retreat.

As the Ming fleet sailed ever westward, the way was like New Year's—red sky-flower rockets blazed without end.

Before long, vast shadows appeared within the thin fog.

By now, Ming army morale had sunk to rock bottom. They shattered at the first charge. The battle line cut through the Ming formation like a blade splitting melons, carving in with effortless ease, spraying grapeshot in every direction.

And dozens of Sea Wolf ships followed behind the battle line, plunging into the fray.

Luo Dagu stood at the prow, his voice like a great bronze bell, roaring in fury: "Where is the barbarian Yuan? Your granddaddy has come to take your life!"

Yahei

Pink Round

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