Chapter 37: Zheng Zhilong

In the latter half of the night, José pushed open the cabin door, sleepy and furious.

A wave of smoke rushed at him, choking José and making him instantly dizzy.

"Please, sit." Lin Qian's voice came from the darkness.

José looked toward the voice and saw, at the oval table near the door of the captain's quarters, a red glow flare up, go out a few seconds later, and smoke pour forth—the smell in the room grew heavier.

José's eyes adjusted to the dark, and he groped his way to the table and sat down, thinking to himself: "Doesn't this man ever need to sleep?"

"The night gives us plenty of time—we can have a good talk, and a man in a drowsy state isn't so good at telling lies." Lin Qian seemed to see through his thoughts, explaining as he bit down on his cigar.

José inwardly cursed him a pervert, but dared not let his mind wander further. He could only force himself to rally and lightly change the subject: "This is New World tobacco? I didn't expect you had such a hobby, sir."

Lin Qian explained: "This thing is called a cigar. It tastes a bit like coffee."

Cigar? Coffee? These two words, José had never heard of.

In this era, the concept of the cigar did not yet exist.

Coffee had only just been introduced to Venice from the Arab world.

The most popular non-alcoholic drink in Spain was still hot chocolate.

Of course, the English had not yet developed a taste for tea either.

Europe at this time was still very different from the eighteenth century so often depicted in films.

"That's not important. The reason I asked you here is to talk about the Portuguese vassal you mentioned. If you want me to work with you, you'll need to be clearer about it."

José complained: "I'm afraid we'll be going over it again and again many times today, won't we?"

Lin Qian blew out a plume of smoke: "Today it only needs to be said once."

"How can you be sure what I say is true?"

"I don't need to be sure of truth—I only need a guarantee."

"I can't produce a single peso."

"A guarantee doesn't have to be property, does it?" Lin Qian's words were thick with menace. Pale moonlight fell through the porthole, illuminating the smoke curling around him.

José's neck went cold. Forced to recall the fact that he was still a captive, he could only sigh and confess everything in full detail.

Macao, unlike Manila, had a dual-headed system of Governor-General and Senate.

Power was therefore more dispersed, with each senator holding the right to decide matters within his own remit.

José's "Portuguese friend" was also a landless noble of faded blood, but he had clearly done far better for himself than José—he was now a senator on the Senate, and with his permission, Lin Qian could trade in Macao.

José's plan was for Lin Qian to anchor off the coast of Macao while he went ashore to negotiate with his senator friend.

"The Portuguese have always been formidable competitors to the Spanish. I think they would be very welcoming of a man like you." José concluded.

Lin Qian did not answer, sinking into thought. In the darkness, only the red glow of the cigarette tip could be seen flaring and fading.

Finally Lin Qian spoke: "I was thinking about what you said before—about wanting to join us."

Lin Qian's leaping train of thought caught José off guard.

"…Your ancestors did, after all, rise from piracy. You could say you're returning to the old trade." Lin Qian said flatly.

José grew agitated: "What pirates? That's called being an adventurer!"

Lin Qian smiled: "Call it what you like. I'm giving you a choice now: join us, or after this job is done, I'll let you go."

"I choose to join!" José said firmly.

Compared to the Great Ming, Europe had a far more flexible moral outlook on pirates.

For small bands of pirates, people hated their harassment and plunder, seeing them as greedy and cunning.

But for great pirate lords, people were extremely enamored with their adventures and wealth.

Take, for example, the famous English pirate Francis Drake: because he frequently plundered Spain's American colonies and helped the English defeat the Armada, he was knighted and is regarded as a national hero in the eyes of the English.

It rather resembles the Chinese saying: "He who steals a hook is executed; he who steals a state becomes a lord."

Yet even Captain Drake, in all his life, never managed to successfully capture a single Spanish galleon.

In fact, as of today, in the hundred-plus years Spain had been colonizing the world, the only men to have truly captured a Spanish galleon were Thomas Cavendish—and Lin Qian alone.

For that single feat alone, the young East Asian captain before José was worthy of being written into the history books.

Therefore, José decided to follow the example of his great-great-grandfather, who had invested in Columbus—he would invest in Lin Qian, join his fleet, and one day restore his family's glory.

For Lin Qian, selling off stolen goods and converting them to cash in the future would inevitably require the Portuguese, and José would be indispensable as the middleman.

So even if José had chosen to leave, he would not have been let go. Fortunately, José was clever and picked the right option.

"Good. I appoint you as advisor. You won't share in the profits from this galleon raid, but I will allocate five hundred taels of silver from the public accounts as your advisor's fee."

Hearing this, José felt his whole life brighten. In Manila he had only three hundred pesos, and now in the blink of an eye it would more than double—the East truly was paved with gold.

"You needn't go ashore yourself. Just write a letter and send it up to land, and have that 'senator friend' of yours send a representative aboard to negotiate." Lin Qian pushed paper and brush in front of José.

Ten days later, Guangdong, Macao—the offshore anchorage.

A single-masted lateen-rigged boat slowly sailed toward the galleon.

Lin Qian stood at the gunwale to receive them, with José, Chen Jiao, Scholar Zhou, Lei Sanxiang, Bailangzai, and a host of other crewmen standing behind him.

The small boat drew close, and a mooring line was tossed up.

The crewmen caught it, tied it fast to the gunwale, then threw down a rope ladder.

Before long, a man climbed up the rope ladder—this was the "senator friend's" representative.

What slightly surprised Lin Qian was that this man was not only a Han Chinese, but a youth of barely ten-some years.

Lei Sanxiang said with some displeasure: "Just you alone? Where's your Folangji master?"

The youth climbed aboard, straightened his clothes, and answered unhurriedly with a smile: "This is the Manila galleon, is it not? I don't seem to see any Spaniards either."

The youth looked around the deck, then walked straight up to Lin Qian, smiling with clasped hands: "You must be Senior Lin Qian? I am the senator's special envoy, named Nicolas. I've heard much of you."

Lin Qian returned the greeting while sizing up the youth. He was of medium build with darkish skin, a square face, thick brows and large eyes, a sharp glint flashing within them—an imposing keenness utterly unlike the dull, numbed look of coastal fishermen.

Moreover, the youth's speech and bearing were extremely mature, nothing like someone of his age.

The reason he had registered the foreign name "Nicholas" was, first, because of his status as a council envoy, and second, he must have seen the cross hanging around Lin Qian's neck.

Lin Qian took the cross from his neck and explained, "Since we are both Han Chinese, there's no need for Frankish formalities. May I ask your honored name, brother?"

The young man laughed and said, "I don't dare claim any honored name. I am called Zheng Zhilong, and as the eldest son of the family, by Fujian custom you may also call me Yiguan."

Yahei

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Pen