Chapter 32: New Target

On the galleon, Lin Qian had no idea that the pursuers had already turned back to port.

Nor did he know about the Spanish fleet's mutual slaughter in Lin Yenga Bay.

After all, his original intention had merely been to set up decoy forces to draw away the Spanish warships—he never expected things to coincide so perfectly.

So that evening, Lin Qian ordered a full blackout of the ship's lights, lowered the sails, and halted the vessel.

When José came to the captain's cabin looking for Lin Qian, he was told by Bailangzai, who stood guard at the door, that Lin Qian was near the mainmast on deck.

José walked to the mainmast but didn't see Lin Qian anywhere. As he looked around, he suddenly heard Lin Qian's voice coming from above his head: "Start with your family's story—how did your family rise, how did they become nobles?"

José looked up and saw a dark figure straddling the main yard.

"Captain, what are you doing up there? Climbing around like that at night is too dangerous."

Lin Qian's indifferent voice drifted down from above: "Thanks for your concern. Just go ahead and tell your story."

José had no choice. He began recounting his family's history while watching Lin Qian move about on the yard with his heart in his throat.

"My full name is José Enríquez de Larrea. My great-great-grandfather was an admiral of the Castilian navy in the 15th century..."

"My great-grandfather sponsored Columbus's voyages and received a 1/64 share of the profits from the New World..."

"My grandfather heavily sponsored the Invincible Armada, and when the Armada suffered its crushing defeat, the investment was lost entirely..."

"Be more specific—who was the investment target, what were the ships' names, and what were the exact amounts." Lin Qian's voice came from above.

By now Lin Qian had climbed up to the main topsail yard, and his figure was almost completely out of sight.

José began explaining in detail as Lin Qian requested. To be honest, Spanish names were mostly extremely long—even as a native speaker he sometimes couldn't remember them all. He had no idea what this Easterner, Lin Qian, wanted to know so much detail for.

José finished describing his family's failed investment in the Invincible Armada, then moved on to the inflation caused by the influx of American silver.

He spoke of the royal decree of 1509, the "Land Price Limitation Edict."

Then he told of how his grandfather and father, in order to maintain a dignified lifestyle, had taken out loans mortgaged against their property from Genoese bankers.

Later, how they had been caught up in the downfall of the Duke of Lerma and had their property confiscated by the crown.

Just then, Lin Qian's foot slipped—he fell straight down from the yard. Fortunately, a rope was tied around his waist, and he didn't splatter into a mess of flesh on the deck.

While José watched in stunned disbelief, Lin Qian climbed back up the rope to the yard, then carefully made his way down along the shrouds.

Only when Lin Qian, clutching his waist, jumped onto the deck did José finally close his gaping mouth.

"You just got to the part about the Duke of Lerma. If I remember correctly, that was 1618. What happened in the two years after that?"

Lin Qian's voice was calm and flat—nothing like a man who had nearly fallen to his death.

José, still not fully recovered, answered mechanically: "After that, nothing. I became a pauper. The crown confiscated the last bit of the family's property, leaving only an empty noble title. I spent my days wandering the streets of Madrid drunk like a beggar. People called men like me 'bled-white nobles'..."

"Then why did you end up on a galleon?"

"To make money and restore my family, of course. I heard the routes to the East were highly profitable, so I asked a friend to sneak me aboard. A noble title still carries a bit of use sometimes."

Lin Qian looked him over appraisingly: "What goods did you bring to Manila?"

"Three hundred pounds of tobacco."

"Why did you personally accompany the ship?"

"Because it was my entire fortune."

"What was the selling price? What was the profit?"

"I sold it for over 300 pesos, with a profit of about 180 pesos."

"300 pesos is a fortune to an ordinary person—surely enough to cover a brothel bill." A cold glint flashed in Lin Qian's eyes.

José said with a bitter face: "Those pesos were spent long ago. It was those damned gambling dens run by the people of the Ming—blessed by heaven and earth..."

"Didn't you keep some as capital for the return trip?"

José sighed and said: "The Governor-General learned of my situation and specifically ordered that I not be allowed to carry return cargo... Speaking of which, the Governor-General may be a bastard, but his daughter is quite something. The pleasure girls in the walled city love to dress up as her... heh heh..."

Lin Qian ran through everything José had said in his mind and for now found no obvious holes.

Seeing that Lin Qian had stopped questioning him, José breathed a sigh of relief: "So then, respected Captain, have I passed the test?"

Lin Qian smiled: "Almost. Now tell me your story again—this time, from the end to the beginning."

Three hours later, José finally finished telling it again. By then his mouth was parched and he was yawning continuously.

Lin Qian, by contrast, not only showed no change in expression but kept tirelessly pressing for details.

Every name, figure, and date in José's first version of the story had been questioned and cross-checked by Lin Qian. Whenever José made an occasional slip, Lin Qian immediately corrected him.

This put José under tremendous mental strain. As he spoke, he grumbled inwardly—if Lin Qian weren't a pirate, he'd make an excellent warden.

Fortunately, everything he said was true. The second version of the story didn't differ much from the first, which could be considered a preliminary gain of Lin Qian's trust.

"Alright, you promised sales channels and ship repairs. Now tell me the specifics." Lin Qian said casually.

José made a bitter face and glanced at the sea to the east, where a faint white light was already beginning to appear. By a conservative estimate, he could still sleep for two hours.

"Shouldn't we... get some rest soon?" José pointed to the east, choosing his words carefully.

Lin Qian turned to look. Since dawn was approaching, he could use the morning light to fill in yesterday's navigation log.

At the current speed, reaching the Ming Empire would take at least ten days, so there was no rush to interrogate José.

So Lin Qian waved José off. José, as if pardoned, ran back to his cabin.

Lin Qian, stretching his waist, walked toward the captain's cabin. The safety rope had cinched around his waist last night, and even after a full night of rest, it still ached faintly.

There was no physician on board, and no one to tend to him.

Thinking of this, Lin Qian walked quickly back to the cabin, opened the navigation log, wrote down yesterday's date, weather, wind direction, and other basic information, then began listing a backlog of items to address.

First, the ship lacked a physician.

In the age of sail, sailors had an average lifespan of only twenty years, and the most important reason was the extreme backwardness of medical care.

At this time, Western medicine wasn't much different from carpentry—for external injuries, amputate; for internal ailments, bleed; for pain, opium; for illness, mercury.

The number of people they killed might well have exceeded those they saved.

Even scurvy alone left them utterly helpless.

Not to mention diseases like cholera, typhoid, yellow fever, infected wounds, and sepsis.

In his previous life, Lin Qian had been a designer and knew nothing about medicine. This time, when he made landfall in the Ming, his top priority was to find a reliable Chinese physician—a physician—to bring aboard the ship.

With a ship's doctor on board, not only could the crew's survival rate be improved, but they could also fight more bravely without worrying about injuries, and it would save his own life too, so he wouldn't die from stepping on a rusty iron nail.

Second, he lacked crew members.

At the most generous count, he now had only a little over sixty sailors. Only by having each person take on multiple roles could they barely keep the voyage going; as for fighting at sea, that was basically out of the question.

Based on the operational needs of a galleon, plus combat personnel, Lin Qian estimated the crew would need to be around three hundred people.

As for where to recruit crew members, Lin Qian already had a preliminary plan—the Tanka boat people at the mouth of the Pearl River were excellent candidates.

The Tanka had lived on boats since childhood, were familiar with the sea, skilled at sailing, and possessed solid technical advantages.

In the Ming, the Tanka were classified as outcasts—beings even more lowly than common folk. Anyone could bully them, and their lives were filled with hardship and discrimination.

As a result, the Tanka deeply loathed the Ming court and possessed a very strong spirit of resistance.

Coincidentally, quite a few of the sailors under Lin Qian's command were Tanka, such as Bailangzai.

This return to the Ming happened to help Bailangzai settle his troubles—first, to fulfill the promise Lin Qian had made back then (Chapter 3), and second, to take the opportunity to recruit more.

Finally, he lacked a base of operations.

Even if the crew didn't need to go ashore, the ship still had to put into port for repairs. A galleon was far too conspicuous—going to a large port would easily draw the attention of those with ulterior motives, while small ports lacked the facilities and expertise for ship repairs.

So finding a base and building a shipyard there became absolutely necessary.

This place needed: one, to not be under the rule of any power; two, to have a deep-water harbor; three, to have a certain population; four, to be able to supply grain and basic daily necessities; five, to not be too far from towns or shipping routes.

Along the Ming coast there were countless islands, but very few could satisfy all the above conditions at once.

Fortunately, Lin Qian didn't have to search inch by inch through his charts—history had long ago picked out a place for him.

And that was—Nan'ao Island.

This island lay in the lawless tri-border zone between Fujian and Guangdong, isolated out at sea. The court had stationed a Vice Regional Commander there with over a thousand men under his command, but the ranks were severely padded with ghost soldiers, leaving almost no real fighting strength.

The island was surrounded by excellent harbors and had abundant fisheries.

The island had lush forests and fresh water, making it possible to build towns, cultivate land, and become self-sufficient.

Most importantly, twenty li west of the island was the Chaoshan region of Guangdong. Six hundred li to the southwest was the mouth of the Pearl River; three hundred li to the northeast was Yuegang in Zhangzhou—it sat precisely at the throat of Ming maritime navigation.

To control this place was to control the lifeline of the entire southeastern shipping route.

In history, Zheng Zhilong had also risen to power by basing himself here.

In the current timeline, Zheng Zhilong was only sixteen years old by age, probably still apprenticing at some small port, and had yet to set his hand on Nan'ao Island.

This was precisely Lin Qian's chance to seize the advantage and get there first.

Pink Round

Pen