Chapter 374: A Bountiful Harvest

The three of them stood frozen on the spot, and only after the adjutant's footsteps faded away did cold sweat begin to trickle down their cheeks.

The three exchanged glances, summoned their courage, and pressed forward, pushing open Royce's door. The bedroom was extremely cramped, holding only a bed and a desk. Royce's massive frame lay on the bed, his feet even hanging off the edge—the one-meter-nine bald giant was snoring like thunder. The three crept to the bedside, yet none dared to make a move.

Suddenly Royce muttered something in his sleep: "Kill them!"

One of them was so startled he stumbled back two steps, and the heavy footfalls woke Royce. He made out the figures before his bed, gave a start, and shouted: "Huo Jian—" The next instant, a dagger stabbed down, sinking hilt-deep into Royce's lower abdomen. Agony lanced through him; he snapped fully awake, swung his arm with monstrous strength, knocking the two at his bedside to the floor, then lurched upright, clutching the dagger in his belly, and staggered toward the door.

The man who had stumbled back two steps now recovered his wits, stepped forward in one stride, and savagely drove the dagger into Royce's back.

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh came clearly along the dagger. Terrified, the man let go at once and collapsed to the floor.

Royce reached desperately behind himself for the dagger, but no matter how he tried, he could not grasp it—like a caterpillar pierced by a needle, writhing and struggling. Blood poured from the two wounds in his back and abdomen, dripping to the floor with a patter.

Royce tried to call for help, but when he opened his mouth, only a gurgling leak of air came out, along with bubbling blood that ceaselessly spilled from his lips. A warm stream ran down his thigh; with every step he left a bloody footprint on the floor. Meanwhile his vision darkened in waves, his legs could no longer support him, and he toppled sideways to the ground, crawling desperately toward the door.

Suddenly he found he could crawl no further. He looked back and saw two dark figures on either side gripping his feet, while another man walked slowly toward him, cold light glinting off the dagger in his hand.

"Spare... gurgle—" The moment Royce spoke, blood sprayed from his mouth without stop, flecks of it splattering all over his face and bald head, a truly ghastly sight.

No matter how he begged, the figure never stopped approaching.

Royce's terror peaked, then gave way to a surge of fury, and he roared like a broken bellows: "Huo—"

With a wet thunk, the dagger drove straight into Royce's throat. Blood gushed from his neck like a breached dam, hammering the floor with a splashing roar.

Royce clutched the wound, struggling for a few seconds, then went still. In the empty room, only the thunderous sound of blood striking the floor remained. A dozen or so minutes later, the three emerged dazed from the bedroom. Not a single Dutchman in the church was asleep; all watched the three calmly, and some even offered clean towels.

The adjutant gave the order in a low voice: "The commander is dead. I am the highest-ranking officer present. I order you to dismantle some of the fortifications, lay down your weapons, and open the gates!"

Outside the gates, three twenty-four-pounder cannons stood at the ready. Had it been even a few hours later, come dawn, these Dutchmen would have slept their final sleep along with the church.

Li Yu ordered his men to take these Dutch soldiers prisoner and inspect the church.

That night, several more small Dutch positions of this kind surrendered in succession. The next morning, amid the thunder of the twenty-four-pounders, the remaining positions all surrendered as well.

With that, all Dutch strongholds within the city of Batavia were uprooted, leaving only a final bastion still holding out in despair.

Li Yu transplanted the exact policies the Great Xia New Army used for taking cities, imposing martial law throughout Batavia.

Any rioter who seized the chance to burn, kill, and loot was shot on sight. Within a single day, over three hundred ronin were executed, along with more than two hundred Han and natives—order in the city improved with immediate effect.

Three days later, Lin Qian arrived in Batavia.

Though the bastion had yet to fall, in everyone's eyes it was nothing more than an isolated fortress, posing no threat whatsoever to the king's safety. On the southern city wall, Lin Qian saw Batavia ravaged by war—the eastern quarter was riddled with holes, and especially the southeast, which had been bombarded by mortars, had been reduced to rubble.

Near the Governor-General's residence in the northeast, soldiers were digging trenches, preparing to take the bastion in one decisive push.

Batavia's western quarter was relatively intact, rows of Dutch-style townhouses visible in close array.

The city as a whole was built of gleaming white coral stone, and the ground was paved with flagstones, looking quite tidy—except for a pitch-black canal running through the middle like an open sewer, jarring to the eye and sharp to the nose.

Lin Qian said: "The Dutch waterworks craftsmen—did you send someone to fetch them?"

Li Yu clasped his hands: "They are on their way."

Lin Qian paced along the city wall, moving farther from that stinking ditch, and asked: "I hear that when the Dutch retreated, they threw quite a few documents into the canal. Anything of value?"

"Your servant is still sorting through all the documents, but of what has been recovered so far, these two files are the most precious."

Lu Ruoteng said this and handed over two document folders.

Lin Qian took them and opened one. Inside was pale beige rag paper, covered in neat cursive Dutch script running on at length, with a handwritten Chinese translation by an interpreter appended after the original.

Judging by the content, it appeared to be a letter, though the original had been soaked in water, leaving much of the writing illegible—only fragments survived, among which a sea route was mentioned.

Lu Ruoteng said excitedly: "What's recorded here should be the sea route from Batavia to Ambon Island, along with the positions of several dozen islands including Sulawesi, Halmahera, Seram, and Buru, each with a rough description appended.

This should be the preliminary survey draft that a Dutch exploration fleet submitted to the Dutch East India Company. Because it was informal, it was treated as correspondence and not centrally destroyed!"

Lin Qian smiled, feeling that even the slight stench of the rag paper had become fragrant.

This kind of navigational knowledge—especially information on the islands and seas around the Spice Islands—was precisely the secret the Dutch East India Company least wanted leaked. Even a Dutch captain surrendering his ship would destroy all classified documents before handing it over.

The fact that not a single sea chart was found anywhere in the city after Batavia fell was proof of this—from the very start of the siege, these precious charts had either been spirited away or burned.

And Lin Qian was hardly a living atlas of the world. Southeast Asia had tens of thousands of islands; there was no way he knew the location of every one or could recite their latitudes and longitudes. Remembering the rough position of the Banda Islands was already a feat of remarkable memory.

With this text-based chart in hand, Great Xia would not need to explore island by island, slowly hunting for the Spice Islands' location—they could simply sail their warships straight there and take over at once, far more convenient.

Lin Qian set this text chart aside and opened the other folder, which also contained a letter.

Its contents were an investigative report on the Sultanate of Mataram, written in exhaustive detail, covering everything from Mataram's politics, military, and economy to its religion.

The report stated plainly that Mataram's royal guard—that is, its standing army—numbered roughly fifteen to twenty thousand, composed mainly of matchlock musket and archery units. In times of war, the localities could additionally mobilize one hundred to one hundred fifty thousand peasant soldiers.

All of Mataram's armies were rabble—poorly equipped, undertrained, and low in morale—relying on a handful of elites leading masses of cowards into the charge. Once an attack stalled, they could only fight a war of attrition, their tactics utterly rigid.

Lu Ruoteng said: "If what this letter says is true, then the Mataram people hardly seem a formidable foe. The staff office's earlier assessment may have been mistaken." Lin Qian said: "Isn't that exactly how the Dutch view Great Xia? Given their arrogant nature, their judgments of foreign peoples cannot be taken at face value."

Lin Qian read on. The Dutch had also listed the weaknesses of the Mataram regime—namely that it had expanded too quickly, and its various vassals submitted only on the surface, yielding to the martial achievements of Sultan Agung.

Should Sultan Agung die or suffer a crushing defeat, his vast empire would be extremely prone to fragmentation.

The Dutch had even chosen their puppet candidates for after Sultan Agung's death. The first choice was Pangeran Pekik of the old Surabaya royal line; the second was Sultan Agung's youngest son, Raden Mas Alit; the third was...

Lin Qian read on and saw that the Dutch had listed five candidates in a row, each with a full background introduction and the reasons for their candidacy.

Lin Qian could not help nodding repeatedly as he read, and said to Lu Ruoteng: "The Dutch have entrenched themselves here for over twenty years—truly not wasted time. If only I had seen this letter earlier, when Jiang Wei was visiting Surabaya, he could have... ah... um..."

Lin Qian searched through the lines, found the name of the old Surabaya royal line, and read aloud: "Pangeran Pekik... and had a talk with this old Pek. The letter says this man also married Sultan Agung's sister—he would be an excellent partner for us."

Lu Ruoteng said with a trace of dismay: "Your servant's deliberations were remiss."

Lin Qian waved a hand: "No matter. The Dutch studied Mataram for twenty years; you've had at most half a year. It's only natural you don't know it as well as they do.

Besides, propping up puppets, sowing discord, and turning enemies against each other—the English and Dutch are masters of this sort of thing. Compared to them, we are merely juniors."

Lu Ruoteng seemed lost in thought.

Lin Qian continued reading the letter. At the very end came a survey of the distribution of teak on Java, along with a description of teak's properties, proposing that in Southeast Asia, teak was an excellent substitute for oak.

At the letter's close, the Dutch finally revealed their true intentions.

Were it not for the abundance of teak, the Dutch could not have cared less about Mataram's fate.

Lin Qian closed the folder, returned it to Lu Ruoteng, and gazed pensively out over the city of Batavia.

The fact that Java produced teak was something Jiang Wei had only learned after arriving at Surabaya harbor.

According to Jiang Wei's intelligence, Java originally produced no teak—it was during the Majapahit Empire era that overseas merchants brought teak seeds to the island, where they have now been cultivated for several hundred years.

Central and eastern Java have a tropical monsoon climate, perfectly suited to teak's growing conditions. Volcanic ash provides nutrients and the Solo River provides water, making the region extremely favorable for teak growth.

But as with other Southeast Asian countries, Mataram regards its teak forests as royal property—all output must go toward shipbuilding and the construction of palaces and mausoleums, and free trade is not permitted.

On top of that, the Dutch naval blockade of Mataram meant that Java's teak production remained unknown to the outside world.

Lin Qian was pondering how to deal with Mataram, especially since large numbers of Han Chinese were enslaved within its borders.

Though those Han had lived on Java for generations, whether they still considered themselves Han at heart was hard to say.

But that could not serve as an excuse for the fleet to avoid battle.

Daxia was not the Great Ming. When he first founded the army, Lin Qian had established a rule: never allow a single Han person to be bullied overseas.

Even if these people had forgotten their own origins, Daxia would remember for them.

As he was deep in thought, Lu Ruoteng spoke up: "This battle also yielded a great quantity of goods. Here is the inventory—please review it, Your Majesty."

Lu Ruoteng paused, then added: "A bountiful haul!"

Lin Qian took it and saw that the list was extremely long. A single glance told him the spoils far exceeded those of an ordinary Ming town.

Just as he was about to examine it closely, a personal guard stepped forward to report: "Your Majesty, the Dutch hydraulic engineers have arrived."

Lin Qian returned the list to Lu Ruoteng and ordered: "Bring them in."

"Move it! Hurry up!"

From the distance came the guards' shouts, and then a group of Dutchmen was brought forward.

Most of them wore loose garments of coarse cloth in dark brown, with broad felt hats resembling Fanyang hats. They were slightly shorter than Han Chinese, and before Lin Qian's burly, broad-shouldered guards, they looked like little chicks.

Lin Qian said: "Which of you is the leader?"

The Dutch craftsmen's eyes all turned to a fat man in the crowd, who shrank back at the sight.

Geng Wu stepped forward and dragged him up close: "His Majesty is asking you a question."

"Y-your... your Most Respected Highness, I am merely an ordinary public engineer. I... I, I will not help you attack a star fort. I cannot betray my own countrymen... yes, yes."

After hearing the interpreter's translation, Lin Qian could not help but smile: "So you're saying you have a method for taking star forts?"

The fat engineer realized he had misspoken and, in regret, pounded his own head twice.

Lin Qian said: "What is your name?"

The fat engineer kept his head down and his mouth shut, trembling, but refused to speak again—apparently afraid of another slip of the tongue.

Geng Wu barked: "Answer!"

The fat engineer flinched, but still kept his head down in silence.

Geng Wu said: "Your Majesty, this man's mind seems somewhat defective. I have ways to make him talk—just one or two hours needed."

Lin Qian raised a hand in refusal, and said to the interpreter: "Tell him that Daxia will not force civilians into war. They were brought here to open Batavia's sluice gates."

The interpreter translated Lin Qian's words, and the Dutch craftsmen's expressions immediately improved as they whispered among themselves.

The fat engineer looked up: "Really?"

The interpreter had no need to translate—he directly rebuked in Dutch: "A sovereign's word is law. How dare you question His Majesty?"

For Daxia, Batavia's star fort was already an isolated city. By proceeding methodically and digging trenches, it could be breached within a month at the latest, or half a month at the fastest. Asking these Dutch engineers for siege advice was entirely superfluous.

Rather than having these men help with the assault, finding ways to win their hearts and put their skills to Daxia's use would yield the greatest value. To be sure, Lin Qian could compel them by force, but that was a last resort—having these men serve Daxia willingly was the best outcome. The fat engineer nervously rubbed his hands together: "My name is Dirk van Dyck; I am a public engineer of Batavia..."

He Sai quietly explained: "Your Majesty, the red barbarians don't divide trades as finely as we do. What we call the 'eight great crafts'—masonry, carpentry, stonework, plastering, earthwork, painting, lacquering, and papering—they all lump together as 'public engineer.'"

Then Van Dyck continued cautiously: "I believe Batavia's sluice gates should not be opened yet. Because the Ciliwung River's flow has not recovered, the water level on the south side of the tidal gate remains lower than the north side. If the gates are opened..."

Lin Qian cut him off: "Seawater will flow backward, and instead of flushing out the sewage, the water quality will only worsen—am I right?"

Van Dyck shot Lin Qian a surprised look: "Yes, yes."

Lin Qian said: "No need to worry. We have already built a dam on the diversion channel. As long as Batavia opens its gates, the river channel will be restored at the same time." Van Dyck's mouth fell open: "Th-this... forgive me for saying something offensive—with all due respect, it's only a small doubt—" A Dutch craftsman behind him bluntly interrupted: "That's impossible!"

Then another Dutch craftsman said: "Building a giant sluice dam in one month? My God! This defies all reason and common sense!" Lin Qian said: "What is a sluice dam?"

At these words, contempt immediately flashed in the Dutch craftsmen's eyes, though under Daxia's control, they dared not laugh aloud.

Van Dyck, however, explained with words and gestures: "A sluice dam is a dam that can open and close, freely storing and releasing water.

Building such a dam on the Ciliweng River would take at least eighteen to twenty-four months.

Your Highness's dam was built in only one month—it must be a fixed dam blocking the water, forcibly altering the river's course.

In that case, even if the original dam were blown open with gunpowder, the diversion channel would still split off at least half the river's flow, making it impossible to stop the seawater from rushing in. And once seawater flows in, it will contaminate the canals, then the shallow groundwater, salinizing the land. The sugarcane fields around Batavia will see reduced yields, or even be abandoned, and draining the salt..."

As Van Dyck spoke, he picked up a few stones and arranged a diagram on the ground—extremely abstract in layout. Fortunately, Lin Qian was himself half a practitioner in the field, or he would never have understood it.

Halfway through listening, Lin Qian looked toward the southeast. Daxia's makeshift dam was fifty li away, completely hidden behind the rainforest trees. This Van Dyck had guessed Daxia's construction methods with near-perfect accuracy through pure deduction, and his approach to draining salt from soil was quite methodical—directly applicable to Daxia's efforts to reclaim saline-alkali land. He was truly a rare talent.

If this man could be made to serve Daxia, managing the Foshan river channels would become far more convenient.

At this thought, Lin Qian beckoned to Geng Wu and said in a low voice: "Go look into this Van Dyck's background, and find a way to win him over." "Understood." Geng Wu acknowledged and went off to give the orders.

By then Van Dyck had finally finished his lengthy discourse. He clapped his hands and stood up, a chaotic battlefield of stones laid out before him.

Fortunately, Daxia's siege forces had heavily damaged Batavia's city walls—otherwise, there wouldn't have been enough gravel for Van Dyck's use.

Lin Qian said: "Suppose the upstream channel were fully connected—how long would it take to open all of Batavia's sluice gates?"

Van Dyck extended his fingers and calculated carefully for a moment: "Three and a half hours, at most no more than five. Y-your... Your Highness, Your Highness."

Lin Qian glanced at the river channel south of the city. After half a month of seepage and evaporation, the water level had dropped to only half. Within three or four hours, the water certainly would not overflow the banks. He said to Geng Wu: "Give the order."

"Yes!" Geng Wu acknowledged, then turned and shouted to the signalman: "Give the order!"

Moments later, a signal rocket shot into the sky, followed by another ten li to the southeast, then another twenty li out—the command was relayed in sequence to the Ciliwung River dam.

Ge Hong received the order and said gravely from his command post: "Breach the dam!"

Beside him, a signalman struck a bronze gong, and men with axes and pickaxes walked to the center of the dam. Chopping and hacking, they broke open a gap wide enough for one person, letting the river water flow through, then quickly withdrew to the bank.

As the saying goes, "A thousand-li dike can collapse from an ant hole." Once a dam leaks through a small opening, the flowing water continuously erodes it until the whole structure gives way. Compared to blowing the dam apart directly, this slow release had the least impact on the downstream.

Meanwhile, the dam head on the diversion channel had already been completed, and under Ge Hong's command, they were now sinking fascines to close the final gap.

With the experience from the last closure, this time the closure went much more smoothly—successful on the first attempt.

Compared to the original channel of the Ciliwung River, the diversion canal was wider and shallower, requiring a large amount of work, but the construction difficulty was not high, and the closure levee held up completely. To speed up the water blockage, Ge Hong also ordered dozens of baskets of bamboo-cage rocks and dozens of bundles of palm leaves thrown into the river.

The bamboo-cage rocks blocked the lower flow of water, while the palm leaves blocked the upper flow.

As a result, the water flow in the diversion canal instantly decreased dramatically. With nowhere else to go, the river water could only surge against the original dam, pouring down through the breach. The water flow grew stronger and stronger; the shredded abaca ropes could not withstand the strain, snapping one by one, the palm bundles scattering into tangles, and both ends of the levee emitting loud creaking sounds. Moments later, with a loud boom in the water, a section of the closure levee collapsed and caved inward. After another moment, more sections collapsed in succession, with large quantities of ropes and leaves being swept away by the current.

Half an hour later, the closure levee finally collapsed completely, and the river water surged violently into the original channel, the water level rising rapidly.

On the southern city wall of Batavia, Dutch craftsmen led by Van Dijk were staring wide-eyed at the river, only to see the oil film on the water's surface perfectly still, with no sign of the water rising at all.

Lin Qian had already gone to the spice warehouse to inspect the spoils, and the guards on the city wall had been sharply reduced, leaving only a few sentries to watch over them.

The pressure on the craftsmen lessened considerably, and they began to chat idly. Some speculated about how Daxia would deal with them, while others made bets on whether Daxia could actually dredge the river channel.

"I'll bet ten florins that before evening, the water level will rise at most a palm's width!"

"Ha, then I'll bet half a palm—twenty florins."

"Why not bet on taking a sip of the canal water instead?"

"Hey, that could kill a man!"

"What, are you afraid of losing?"

Whether half a palm or a full palm, all these bets were based on the assumption that Daxia would blow up the dam. For the Ciliwung River to flow again and reach a water level high enough to open the tidal sluice gates, the water would need to rise at least one and a half meters.

The Dutch craftsmen had not yet seen Daxia's dam with their own eyes. They assumed Daxia was still using the Mataram method of piling up earth, merely relying on sheer manpower and brute force to block the river completely.

In that case, the river water would overflow around the dam structure, eventually scouring out hundreds of small channels to the sea. Trying to gather the water back into the original channel would be harder than ascending to heaven.

Prejudice is the hardest thing to overcome. Although these Dutch craftsmen had been captured, they still looked down on the people of Daxia from the bottom of their hearts.

And since the sentries standing guard around them could not understand Dutch, the Dutch craftsmen grew even more unrestrained in their joking and laughter.

Suddenly, gentle ripples spread across the river. One craftsman shouted, "Look! The water's coming! If it rises more than half a palm, you'll have to savor the fine vintage from the canal!"

"Damn you, get your florins ready!"

The craftsmen chatted and laughed as they crowded around the battlements, craning their necks to look.

After more than half an hour of watching, the water flow remained extremely gentle, and those who had bet on a full palm of rise gradually turned grim-faced.

Meanwhile, those who had bet on half a palm laughed arrogantly: "Hahaha... even sending a little boy upstream to pee would produce more water than this!"

The ones who had bet on a full palm muttered ruefully under their breath: "Can't the Daxia people even use gunpowder to blow up a dam? Barbarians..."

About another half hour passed, and the ripples on the river surface visibly increased. The water crashed against the riverbanks with a splashing sound.

Those who had bet on a full palm immediately turned from worry to joy: "Hahaha, should I find you a cup?"

Those who had bet on half a palm changed expressions repeatedly and said with a guilty conscience, "Wait a bit longer, wait a bit longer—maybe it's just this one surge."

Roughly another half hour later, large quantities of ropes and palm leaves drifted down the channel. Before the craftsmen could react, a surge of water came rushing toward them.

The surge slammed against the river embankment, shattering into grayish-brown spray that splashed onto the shore. The water moved so fast that large chunks of earth from the embankment crumbled and fell into the river.

The surging water, carrying mud and oil film, pounded heavily against the sluice gates of the Batavia canal.

Spray splashed up more than ten meters, raining a mist over the southern city wall.

The water in the channel flowed faster and faster, accumulating more and more, visibly spreading toward the embankment.

A surveyor's voice came from the sluice gates: "Water level risen half a meter!"

All the Dutch craftsmen wore expressions as if they had seen a ghost. No one mentioned the bets anymore, because everyone had lost.

Van Dijk was the first to react, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Open the gates! Open the gates now!"

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen