Chapter 311: A Scene of Desolation, A Wilderness of Verdure

On the battlefield, naturally no one would respond to Luo Dagu, yet his gong-and-drum-like booming voice kept up its endless stream of curses.

Han Junfu, Company Commander of the Kangshan Naval Camp, heard the sound, drew his blade, and said: "Attack! Blast that noisy wretch to death!"

At this hour, the sky had not yet brightened. Poyang Lake lay shrouded in thin mist, and cut apart by the battle line, the Ming army formations had long since fallen into chaos. Forget obeying the flagship's orders—even telling east from west was difficult. They could only fight each on their own.

Han Junfu commanded a swift wolf boat, a Ming imitation of the sea wolf vessel. Compared to a ship of the line, its hull was small and its guns weak—it could only tickle the Candle Dragon. But amid the chaos of battle, close-quarters fighting was its absolute forte.

Luo Dagu stood at the bow, cursing without pause as he directed his warships in pursuit of the Ming forces. Suddenly spotting an enemy vessel cutting straight toward him, he grew interested at once and barked: "Southwest, fifty paces, enemy ship incoming! Port side, prepare to fire!"

Having a loud voice was a tremendous advantage in the clamor of naval battle—no need for men to relay orders. The entire crew immediately began loading the Folangji cannons.

Luo Dagu's eyes fixed on the enemy ship. Judging that it had entered firing range, he swept his hand down: "Fire!"

"Boom-boom-boom————"

In an instant, the sea wolf's broadside thundered without cease. The Nan'ao navy rarely deployed sea wolf vessels in large-scale engagements anymore, but in pirate-suppression campaigns they were used extensively—and conveniently, the south's waterways were dense, with water bandits as numerous as ox hairs.

It was through round after round of pirate hunts that the sea wolf's gunners had honed their artillery skills.

The gun crews and the coordination between multiple crews were extremely well-drilled. Though the broadside mounted only three cannons, they produced an unbroken, overwhelming rhythm of fire.

Throughout the exchange, the sea wolf kept maneuvering and turning, evading Ming gunfire while exploiting the flexible traverse of its own Folangji cannons to shoot back.

Before Han Junfu's eyes, the Nan'ao sea wolf twisted and turned across the water as agilely as a bass—even wheeling about from time to time, letting its port and starboard guns fire in alternation.

In comparison, the swift wolf boat wasted its name's "swift"—it was ponderously clumsy. Its Folangji cannons were all mounted on fixed carriages, extremely inconvenient to traverse, impossible to aim properly. They could only fire wildly on luck, enduring five or six enemy shots before landing a single hit of their own.

Before long, the swift wolf boat's broadside was riddled with holes. Many crewmen on deck were dead or wounded. Han Junfu looked around—everywhere, Ming warships were fleeing. There was no reinforcement whatsoever, while the Nan'ao sea wolves gathered ever thicker, their shield-and-halberd banners joined together like a crimson cloud.

Han Junfu cursed his mother, ordered his men to break off the pursuit, and retreated toward the shore.

But the Nan'ao sea wolves, seeing him retreat, immediately swung their bows around in pursuit. Closing to close range, they switched to grapeshot to sweep the decks clean.

In a flash, flesh and blood flew across the swift wolf boat. Ming morale collapsed entirely, and soldiers leaped overboard one after another to flee for their lives.

Luo Dagu stood at the bow, reaching behind him: "Quick, hand me the jar!"

A subordinate hurriedly passed the ignited fierce-fire jar into Luo Dagu's hands. Luo Dagu gathered all his strength, swung his arm in a full circle, and hurled it.

The burning fuse traced a parabola across the sky, landing with precise accuracy on the Ming vessel.

The jar shattered. Oil clung to the deck, sizzling and blazing fiercely. The iron filings within burned red-hot and, like leeches, burrowed into the wood.

"Pour water on it, quick!" Han Junfu shouted.

Seeing the whole ship about to catch fire, the Ming soldiers cast aside all worries of water poison or water miasma and frantically scooped lake water onto the deck.

But the moment one basin of water went down, the fire leaped up high with a whoosh. Steam rose, oil splattered everywhere, and instead ignited every other part of the deck.

Meanwhile, the sea wolf's Folangji cannons roared without pause, and three more fierce-fire jars came smashing over. Two fell into the water; the third struck the sterncastle, its fire-oil clinging to the walls and burning there.

Black smoke billowed skyward, stinging Han Junfu's eyes shut. With no other choice, he abandoned ship, leaped into the water, struggled out of his padded jacket, and swam for the shore.

All along the way, he saw the lake surface covered with burning warships and Ming soldiers in the water. The conflagration stretched for several li. Black smoke rose, mingling with the thin mist, blotting out sky and sun—like karmic fire consuming the world.

Aboard the Ming flagship, Yuan Chonghuan watched this scene of flames reaching to heaven, bitterness flooding his heart. But the enemy was still there—he could not simply concede defeat.

Even if Poyang Lake was lost, he could still lead the remnants of his fleet back to the Gan River and, relying on shore-defense guns, stop the rebel Lin from entering the Gan.

As long as the Gan River was not lost, Ganzhou would never fall. The rebel troops would still be trapped and starved within the two provinces of Fujian and Guangdong—no harm to the overall war situation.

So Yuan Chonghuan gritted his teeth and ordered: "Tell the whole army not to linger in battle—retreat to the shore at once!"

The Gan River's main branch lay to the northwest of this position, blocked by rebel interception along the way—impossible to reach. But to the southwest lay the Gan's southern branch and the Wuyang River. These waterways branched in all directions, and their water levels were low, making it difficult for rebel vessels to enter. If the Ming fleet could slip into them, they could escape with their lives.

At this moment, the battlefield was choked with black smoke, flames towering to the sky, day and night indistinguishable. The flagship's five-colored banner was utterly invisible.

Yuan Chonghuan could only have men shout orders at the top of their lungs, guiding whatever vessels could hear toward the lakeshore.

But the signalmen shouted themselves hoarse and rallied few of their own—instead, they attracted a Nan'ao eagle ship.

A red signal rocket shot skyward, and in the distance, the line-of-battle ships rampaging like an evil dragon came following the sound.

Hearing the cannon fire drawing nearer and nearer, the officers aboard the flagship were nearly scared into jumping overboard.

Yuan Chonghuan ordered the flagship to retreat at full speed toward the shore, but the eagle ship clung on like a fly—impossible to shake off—and kept firing signal rockets to point the way.

Yuan Chonghuan gnashed his teeth in fury and ordered the guns to blast the eagle ship.

The Shock-the-Sea Tiger loosed a full broadside—like firing a cannon at a mosquito. The eagle ship sailed calmly through the forest of waterspouts, pulled back a little farther, and continued relaying intelligence to the battleships behind.

Aboard the flagship, the lookout stammered: "Enemy great ship————three hundred paces!"

Yuan Chonghuan turned to look. There, flames had dyed the entire lake surface red. The Candle Dragon, half-lit and half-shadowed by the firelight, its sails spread wide and bow cleaving the waves, was bearing down at full speed.

Unable to win in a fight, unable to escape in flight.

Yuan Chonghuan sighed inwardly: "My life ends here!"

Just then, a thunderous crash came from his flagship's starboard side. The lookout cried out in utter astonishment: "The Breaker-of-Barbarians has run aground!"

The Breaker-of-Barbarians was commanded by his staff officer Mao Yuanyi. This spot was still some distance from the shore—how could it have run aground for no reason?

Startled, Yuan Chonghuan looked toward the grounding site. There, the Breaker-of-Barbarians' bow had run up onto a sandbar beneath the water. The hull listed to one side, its broadside facing the direction of the rebel pursuit, while soldiers on deck were loading shells.

That sandbar was highly conspicuous—part of it even jutted above the waterline. Mao Yuanyi had clearly grounded his ship deliberately.

He meant to sacrifice himself to buy Yuan Chonghuan an escape.

"Zhisheng (Mao Yuanyi's courtesy name)!" Yuan Chonghuan shouted at the top of his lungs.

But the two ships were too far apart. Mao Yuanyi could not hear at all. He was striding the deck, long blade in hand, supervising the soldiers as they loaded their guns.

The Breaker-of-Barbarians had charged the shoal of its own accord. Everyone could see Mao Yuanyi meant to go down fighting alongside the enemy, so some Ming soldiers, seizing a moment when he was not looking, leaped overboard to flee—only to be shot dead by Mao Yuanyi's personal guards with arrows.

"Any man who flees the field shall be beheaded!" Mao Yuanyi roared.

"Two hundred paces!" the ship's lookout called.

"Fire!" Mao Yuanyi bellowed. The red barbarian cannons loosed a volley together. The Candle Dragon's broadside took hits, and the sound of splintering timber rang out.

"Hit! We hit them!" a gunner shouted in excitement.

With the ship beached, it had lost its mobility—but it was also no longer affected by waves or recoil. Its accuracy increased dramatically, like a shore battery.

After several rounds of bombardment, the Candle Dragon's charge was indeed blunted, and it was forced to turn its bow away.

Mao Yuanyi was just feeling a surge of elation when he suddenly saw a dense mass of red flashes along the Candle Dragon's broadside—followed by a thunderous roar of cannon fire across the lake.

Around the Po-Lu, shells screamed incessantly as a barrage of cannonballs crashed down, churning the lake water and sending a dozen or more columns of water shooting into the sky.

Then came a series of thunderous booms, mixed with the splintering of wood and screams of agony, as over ten cannonballs struck the hull.

Had this been out on the open lake, the Po-Lu, having suffered such heavy damage, would surely have taken on water and sunk without question.

But now that she was beached, as long as the enemy's shells didn't strike the deck directly, she would be fine.

Mao Yuanyi roared orders for the soldiers to keep loading and firing. In the intervals between reloads, the Zhu-Long unleashed two more rapid volleys from her broadside, the shells nearly shearing the top off the grounded sandbar, sending mud and sludge pouring down like a deluge, making it impossible to keep one's eyes open.

The Po-Lu's hull took hits, sending tremors through the deck so violent that the gunners could barely keep their footing. All they could hear were the screams of their comrades and the howling of shells. Finally, someone's nerve broke, and he shouted as he leaped overboard to flee for his life. Even as Mao Yuanyi's personal guards hacked down the deserters with desperate fury, it was to no avail.

Seeing that the situation was beyond saving, Mao Yuanyi looked toward the direction where Yuan Chonghuan's flagship had retreated, and said silently in his heart: "May the Minister regroup his forces and raise an army to quell the rebels. Yuanyi will wait in heaven for the day when the seas are calm and the rivers are clear!"

"Bureau Secretary Mao, let us flee as well!" A personal guard came over and tugged at Mao Yuanyi's sleeve.

Mao Yuanyi said calmly: "You all go. Just leave me a torch!"

The guards exchanged glances, all knowing that Mao Yuanyi intended to die together with the enemy. Several guards immediately declared they would stay with him, while most hesitated for a moment before leaping into the water to escape.

Mao Yuanyi ordered the guards who remained to move the remaining gunpowder to the deck, while he himself raised a torch and stood at the broadside: "I am Mao Yuanyi, staff advisor to the Governor-General of Jiangxi! Who dares to fight me?"

Luo Dagu was nearby, yet at this moment he was strangely quiet. After all, that was the zone being shelled by the Zhu-Long—even if there were big fish to be caught there, who would dare to go after them?

To rush in rashly—wouldn't that just be making oneself a shield for the cannons?

The Sea Wolf ships had coordinated with the battle line several times before. They weren't especially in sync, but at least they had never shelled their own men.

Mao Yuanyi shouted twice, but not a single Sea Wolf ship nearby moved forward. Instead, from out of the darkness, another burst of firelight flared along the Zhu-Long's broadside, followed by a hail of cannonballs sweeping in.

Mao Yuanyi was struck by a shell, the torch falling from his hand. The Po-Lu exploded with a thunderous blast, erupting in a great ball of fire visible for five or six li around.

From the moment the Po-Lu ran aground to her explosion, no more than the time of a single meal had passed. The Ming flagship hadn't even managed to flee very far.

Yuan Chonghuan gazed at the ball of fire, closing his eyes in grief as a single line of clear tears streamed down his face.

After the Po-Lu exploded, no one remained behind to hold off the enemy. The Nan'ao battle line wasted no hesitation in turning their bows around and continuing their pursuit of Yuan Chonghuan.

The Eagle ships were celebrating like it was New Year, continuously firing skyrockets into the air, leaving the Ming flagship nowhere to hide.

Yuan Chonghuan had no time for grief; he could only keep fleeing for his life.

By now the sky was gradually brightening. On the eastern horizon over the lake, the first light of dawn was faintly breaking, and the world was bathed in a dreamlike pale blue.

Taking advantage of the dim light, the lookout on the flagship pointed into the distance and said: "The shore! Three thousand paces to the shore!"

A cannonball came screaming in, landing just over ten paces off the flagship's starboard quarter.

Yuan Chonghuan turned to look, and his heart sank to the depths. The Zhu-Long was less than two hundred paces behind him. Being caught was only a matter of time; reaching the shore was now nearly impossible.

Both sides had fought in a chaotic melee through the latter half of the night. By now, the Nan'ao battle line had long since fallen into disarray. Only the Zhu-Long, the sole main flagship, was charging ahead at the front. Most of the other gunboats had fallen behind, and the Xing-Ming had even run aground by accident.

At this moment, if he could rally the remnants of the Ming forces, a fight was not necessarily out of the question. Yuan Chonghuan's heart burned with the fire of vengeance. Watching for the right moment, he was about to order the flagship to turn around, ready to fight to the death—net broken, fish dead.

But then he saw that two Sea-Quaking Tigers had already turned their bows ahead of him, charging straight for the Zhu-Long.

Yuan Chonghuan shouted: "Follow them! We'll fight to the death!"

But his subordinates held him back with all their strength, saying: "The Minister must preserve himself for greater use! The overall situation in Jiangxi still requires the Minister to take charge!"

Yuan Chonghuan roared: "Turn around! Turn around!"

His subordinate officers offered a word of apology, then stuffed something into Yuan Chonghuan's mouth to silence him, pinned both his arms fast, and said to the navigator: "Quick, head for the shore!"

Yuan Chonghuan could only watch as the two Sea-Quaking Tigers that had gone to meet the enemy were quickly suppressed by the Zhu-Long's firepower. In the ensuing panic, one of them suffered a cannon barrel burst, while on the other, a gunner's padded jacket caught fire from a match cord, which then ignited the gunpowder on deck, and that ship exploded in turn as well.

Yuan Chonghuan let out a furious roar, broke free of his subordinates' restraint, his face twisted in fury as he violently drew his sword. Yet as he looked around with sword in hand, his heart was filled with nothing but bewilderment.

By now he had reached the reed marshes at the lake's edge. This was shallow water, and the Zhu-Long could not come any further.

His life had been bought with the desperate sacrifices of countless officers and men. He no longer had the right to turn around and fight to the death.

His subordinates knelt and begged for punishment: "The situation was urgent. Your subordinate acted rashly and without permission. Please punish me, Minister."

Yuan Chonghuan ignored him, turning instead to gaze out over the lake. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but black smoke and raging fire, as if the entire Poyang Lake had been set ablaze.

The Ming warships had sunk or burned. Those that remained were scattering in all directions to flee for their lives. Of those that managed to escape into the reed marshes, not one in a hundred survived. The northwest wind swept past, leaving only the catkin flowers of the reeds drifting wildly through the air.

On the deck of the Zhu-Long, Bailangzai asked Lin Qian whether they should send the dispatch boats in pursuit.

Lin Qian shook his head and said: "No need. Let's turn around!"

The outcome was already decided. A single Yuan Chonghuan could no longer affect the larger situation. Rather than expend manpower chasing him ashore, it was better to destroy a few more Ming warships.

Besides, at this point in the battle, capturing Yuan Chonghuan didn't require Lin Qian to lift a finger—there would naturally be someone in the capital to do it for him.

Another hour passed, and the battle on the lake finally came to an end.

The morning sun rose in the east. As the smoke of gunpowder and the thin mist gradually dispersed, the surface of the lake was covered with the wreckage of warships and the corpses of soldiers. The surviving Ming troops thrashed about in the water, unable even to stretch their legs properly.

The breeze carried a thick, cloying stench of blood tinged with sulfur, enough to make one retch.

Lin Qian reached out and caught a piece of reed catkin, only to see that it had been stained a pale red. He looked up and saw pale red catkins dancing through the sky, while large swaths of reed marsh along the shore were still being devoured by raging fire.

In autumn and winter, reeds were withered and dry—once they caught fire, they would burn across a vast expanse.

After the great fire, the lakeshore lay scorched and blackened. Only the reed catkins drifted down with a rustling sound. The scene appeared bleak and desolate, yet beneath the withered ruin lurked the promise of life. When the spring wind blew again next year, the fields would once more be lush and green.

Lin Qian opened his hand and let the catkin in his palm be carried away by the wind, saying: "Have Luo Dagu come see me."

A stick of incense later, Luo Dagu climbed aboard the stern deck of the Zhu-Long.

Lin Qian said: "You've fought well in these battles. Now I appoint you Commander of the Ganzhou River Fleet. I'm giving you twenty Sea Wolf ships and twenty Bird ships. Sail into the Gan River, mop up the remaining Ming forces, open up the waterway, and support Ganzhou City."

Luo Dagu was overjoyed and clasped his hands in salute: "Thank you, Helmsman! Your subordinate will not fail this mission!"

Though he hadn't been restored to his position as captain of the Fuzhou, this battle had nearly annihilated the entire Ming naval force on Poyang Lake, and the fall of Ganzhou City was within sight. This was merit delivered right to his doorstep, so Luo Dagu naturally accepted with pleasure.

Lin Qian said: "There's no time to lose. While the Ming forces have yet to reorganize their defenses, set out immediately."

"Yes!" Luo Dagu clasped his fists. After returning to his own ship, he expertly ordered the soldiers to relay commands with five-colored signal flags, re-formed his battle formation, and sailed toward the southern branch of the Gan River.

The remaining ships and soldiers continued to clean up the battlefield. Most of the Ming warships had sunk or burned. Those still floating on the surface were all battered and broken, and their weapons and supplies were all of inferior quality—now waterlogged, they were completely useless as well.

Thus, cleaning up the battlefield mainly meant taking captive the Ming soldiers who had fallen into the water.

To guard against schistosomiasis, the Nan'ao troops did not go into the water, nor did they directly haul the Ming soldiers aboard with their hands. Instead, they extended a pole and dragged the Ming soldiers over to empty ships, letting them climb aboard themselves.

Even without having their hands and feet bound, and with no one guarding them, these Ming soldiers would not run. They had endured hunger and cold for days at Kanglang Mountain, had been struck head-on during their retreat, and had soaked in the icy lake water for a long time. By now they had neither the strength to flee nor the will to resist.

Lin Qian appointed Bai Qing as commander of the Poyang Lake naval forces, transferring the six yacht-class vessels and the remaining Sea Wolf ships and bird boats to her command, while he himself anchored temporarily at Kanglang Mountain with eight gunboats of fifth-rate and above.

Though the fighting was done and the dry season was approaching, they could not leave immediately—the fleet still had many matters to settle.

Enemy corpses needed burial, meritorious and fallen soldiers needed to be counted, and prisoners and spoils needed to be inventoried and escorted.

Three days later, when the battle report came out, Zheng Zhilong reported excitedly to Lin Qian: "Helmsman, in this battle we suffered two hundred thirty-five casualties, with only one Sea Wolf ship and three bird boats sunk.

Ming warships burned or sunk number over five hundred, with more than two thousand eight hundred soldiers killed or wounded, and over one thousand two hundred taken prisoner."

These sinking and kill counts were based on the wrecks and corpses the Nan'ao forces could actually find.

In other words, the Ming army's actual casualties and losses were far greater than these numbers—judging from the scene, calling it a complete annihilation of the Ming forces would not be an exaggeration.

Lin Qian instructed his accompanying staff officers: "Meritorious soldiers must be tallied and rewarded. The General Staff Department will handle this."

Zheng Zhilong pointed at the Loyal Ministers' Shrine on Kanglang Mountain and said with a laugh: "Helmsman, the Great Ming's Loyal Ministers' Shrine is already in ruins—might as well raze it flat. We'll build a shrine to the loyal ministers of our new dynasty on the same spot!"

Lin Qian shook his head: "Though the Great Ming acted perversely, Zhu Yuanzhang's merit in restoring Chinese civilization cannot be erased. This shrine should be preserved.

Even if the new dynasty builds something, it shouldn't be some 'Loyal Ministers' Shrine'—that's too narrow-minded.

What should be built is a monument—one that makes no distinction between general and soldier—so that all heroes who shed their blood to change heaven and earth may be revered by posterity."

Lin Qian had won the Battle of Poyang Lake; with his current prestige, even if he proposed erecting a monument to a toad, others would applaud and praise his far-sighted vision.

Zheng Zhilong didn't dwell on the matter of monuments and shrines, but stepped closer and asked in a low voice: "Helmsman, since you've mentioned the new dynasty, what dynastic title are you planning to choose?"

Lin Qian asked, puzzled: "Didn't the Grand Secretary say this matter should be decided at a meeting?"

Zheng Zhilong winked and grinned: "A meeting will be held, but in the end doesn't it still come down to your word, Helmsman? How about Great Shun? 'When Shun arrives, all ceases'—it's auspicious."

Lin Qian smiled slightly: "Shun is out of the question—it doesn't sound very good."

Earlier, when discussing the dynastic title question with Ye Xianggao, Lin Qian had asked about the conventions surrounding dynastic titles.

Ye Xianggao had roughly listed some criteria, the most important of which was that it must be auspicious.

Of course, Grand Secretary Ye was steeped in classical learning and would never admit to being superstitious about metaphysics—by his account, it was called "conforming to the Mandate of Heaven."

Therefore, dynastic titles of short-lived dynasties and regimes could never be used—such as "Qin" or "Sui."

And since the Great Ming had the saying "when Shun arrives, all ceases," using "Shun" as a dynastic title was extremely auspicious.

Historically, aside from Li Zicheng using Great Shun as his dynastic title, Zhang Xianzhong's Great Western regime—having failed to snatch the "Shun" dynastic title—used "Dashun" as an era name instead; the Manchu Qing also had the "Shunzhi" era name.

Three major regimes all scrambled to use the single character "Shun"—which shows just how sought-after it was.

However, the two "Tianshun" era names in history had both been short-lived and ended in untimely deaths.

In Lin Qian's view, this unlucky name was cursed with terrible fortune—better not to use it.

Zheng Zhilong was undeterred and pressed on: "How about Yue? Helmsman, what about Yue? If you think it's too modest, what about Cheng, Jing, or Qian? Helmsman, don't walk away—what about Xuan? Or Run?"

Lin Qian smiled and shook his head. Behind the choice of a dynastic title lay a tangle of vested interests.

To say nothing of more distant cases, the Great Yuan's dynastic title was proposed by Liu Bingzhong, who thereby became a founding meritorious statesman, rising to Grand Guardian—the highest rank a minister could attain—and his family benefited as well.

Now everyone in Nan'ao was straining every sinew to become this "founding meritorious statesman," and there were many contending for the credit. Lin Qian rejecting "Great Shun" was already special treatment for Zheng Zhilong—he naturally couldn't keep opening the back door.

Since there were vested interests at stake, it was better to have a fair discussion at the meeting.

The next morning at dawn, the main warships including the Candle Dragon set sail from Kanglang Mountain.

Just as Old Cormorant had said, though it was only late August, Poyang Lake had already entered its dry season, with the current reversing to flow from the lake into the river. Carried by the current, the fleet sailed swiftly and reached Nanhu Zui before dusk.

The Candle Dragon lowered a launch boat to return Old Cormorant and the other guides to Shizhong Mountain.

Having nothing else to do, Lin Qian went along on the launch to see him off and take a look around the shore.

After the launch docked, Lin Qian said: "With your skills, you'd be more than qualified to serve as an advisor in the army. Won't you stay?"

Old Cormorant laughed: "The Helmsman's army is full of capable men—it wouldn't miss this old fellow. This battle was a rousing one, and this old man still needs to go home and brag about it to his old brothers!"

Lin Qian had his men present the payment—a full five hundred silver dollars, wrapped in oil paper and packed in a money pouch, with one for each guide.

The guides were overjoyed and received the money with endless thanks.

Lin Qian smiled and bid them farewell.

Just then a little girl ran over and asked boldly: "Are you leaving?"

Zheng Zhilong asked curiously: "Do you know us?"

The little girl nodded, pointing at the standard dark-cyan padded jackets Lin Qian and the others wore: "You're the Nan'ao army."

After Yuan Chonghuan withdrew his troops, Lin Qian had established a temporary shore base at Nanhu Zui, and combined with the earlier frontier trade markets along both banks of the Yangtze, many common folk had come to recognize the Nan'ao army.

"You're a sharp-eyed little lass." Zheng Zhilong laughed and took out a silver dollar from his bosom. "Here, buy some candy with this."

The little girl shook her head: "I don't want money. Come with me."

With that, the little girl walked toward the lake beach, waving for Lin Qian to follow.

Geng Wu, hand on his sword hilt, said: "Helmsman, beware of a trap!"

Lin Qian said: "No matter." And followed on foot behind her.

The little girl walked a dozen or so paces and stopped before an earthen pit, waving for Lin Qian to come look. Lin Qian walked to the edge of the pit and felt his scalp tingle—the pit contained over a hundred oncomelania snails, all of them dead for some time.

The little girl said with a proud look: "I caught them all myself. It's these things that killed my father and mother. I catch them every day now."

Oncomelania snails can survive a long time in damp environments, but in dry conditions with direct sunlight, they die within days—the little girl's method of disposal was quite professional.

Lin Qian asked with a smile: "What do you catch them with?"

The little girl extended two fingers, miming a pair of chopsticks: "I use two thick reeds as chopsticks—just pinch them up."

Lin Qian said: "Clever!" He took the silver dollar from Zheng Zhilong's hand and gave it to the little girl. "This is your reward for doing good deeds."

Only then did the little girl accept it happily.

Lin Qian then instructed those around him: "Find out which village she's from, and which other villagers are voluntarily eliminating snails. Inform them clearly of the protective methods, and distribute a few barrels of tung oil."

Soaking trouser cuffs and cloth shoes in tung oil forms a waterproof membrane, ensuring that accidental contact with water won't cause infection.

The little girl took the silver dollar, and seeing that Lin Qian and the adults around him were deep in conversation and walking back toward the launch at the lakeshore, she hastily called out: "Are you leaving?"

Only then did Lin Qian remember that he hadn't yet answered the little girl's question. He smiled and said: "No, we're not leaving. The Nan'ao army won't be leaving anymore."

On the other side, after Yuan Chonghuan fled back to Nanchang, he reorganized the city's defenses, bringing out the remaining red barbarian cannons to guard the river channel.

But it was already too late—Luo Dagu's vanguard had long since passed through Nanchang and pushed upstream, using the Sea Wolf Fleet's firepower advantage to slaughter the Ming troops along the entire river. Within half a month, they had reached the walls of Ganzhou, and control of the entire Gan River and its tributaries had changed hands.

Iron Ganzhou was now completely besieged, reduced to an isolated city.

When Yuan Chonghuan learned of this, he didn't even bother with sleep—he gathered his troops through the night, preparing to rush to Ganzhou's relief.

Though he had lost the naval battle, his land forces were still intact. As long as he could reach Ganzhou in time and join with the city's twenty thousand troops to crush the Nan'ao land army, the crisis could still be resolved.

Just as he was about to march, an oral decree arrived, summoning him back to the capital to "discuss military affairs."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen