Chapter 375: The Waving Tricolor

While the Dutch craftsmen were busy opening the sluice gates.

Lin Qian led his naval brothers through the Batavia warehouses, their eyes opened wide at the sights.

A coarse yellow burlap sack was slit open before Lin Qian, revealing an entire sackful of pitch-black peppercorns.

Lin Qian grabbed a handful and saw that the peppercorns were uneven in size, their surfaces covered in raised, net-like wrinkles, mixed with a very small amount of fine fruit stems, bits of twigs and leaves, and dust.

Bringing them to his nose, a pungent, nose-stinging spicy aroma hit him—sharp and intense, carrying a scorched, bitter woody note that shot straight to the crown of his head.

In the Great Ming, pepper was essentially a substitute currency—one jin of pepper could cover half a month's living expenses for an ordinary farming household in Jiangnan, and the sack before Lin Qian held fifty jin.

By both smell and appearance, it was top-grade produce from Sumatra.

Lin Qian tilted his hand and poured the pepper back; in such a short time, the spicy fragrance had already embedded itself into the ridges of his skin, and the scent lingered on his hand.

Lin Qian glanced to his side—the shelves stood over a man's height, more than ten meters long, arranged in seven or eight rows, stacked neatly full of such pepper sacks. The sight was magnificent. Beside him, Lu Ruoteng said, "This warehouse holds five thousand sacks of pepper—two hundred and fifty thousand jin!"

Bai Qing turned his head to look at the shelves, smacking his lips: "No wonder everyone says the Dutch are filthy rich. Today I've seen it with my own eyes."

Bailangzai added, "I wonder how long it would take to eat all this pepper."

Bai Qing said, "Idiot, we can't eat it all ourselves—we can sell it!"

Lu Ruoteng said, "Both commanders, don't be hasty—I haven't finished. This is just one warehouse. The Dutch have twenty such pepper warehouses in total."

Bai Qing blinked: "What do you mean? Twenty times two hundred and fifty thousand... five... five million jin?"

Even Bailangzai's face showed shock: "Five million jin? That's enough to build a city wall with!"

He Sai said excitedly, "Hahaha, it's all ours now! The trading fleet will need to add several more big ships just to sell all of this!" Zheng Zhilong said, "Pepper is a fine thing—braised, stir-fried, in soup, pickled, you can use it in any dish. It can also be used for incense and as medicine. It sells well in the Great Xia too—we should sell more of it there."

He Sai said, "We've got it all, all of it! That's five million jin after all! Anyway, from now on, spices are in our grip—we can charge whatever price we want. Charge the red barbarians more, sell cheaper in the Great Xia, and the trading fleet's profit stays the same!"

Zheng Zhilong was busy calculating profits in his head, and no one spoke, which finally gave Lu Ruoteng a chance to cut in. He hurriedly said, "It's not five million jin. There are twenty warehouses, but they weren't all completely full, and some was destroyed when the mortars bombarded the city. It's only about four million jin."

Bai Qing sighed: "What a pity."

He Sai couldn't hold it in anymore and said, "Pity what? That's four million jin! Do you have any concept of a million? Seventy percent of Europe's entire annual purchase volume is now in our hands! This year, European pepper prices could quintuple or even increase tenfold!"

Zheng Zhilong nodded: "Four million jin is no small amount—enough to supply all of Guangdong for a year!"

As the group chatted, they followed Lu Ruoteng toward another warehouse.

Along the way, warehouses stood in clusters, their interiors filled with all manner of shelves, sacks and crates packed to the brim.

Soon, Lu Ruoteng led the group to another warehouse, where the goods were all sealed in shipping crates, each one marked with the VOC insignia. Lu Ruoteng had someone fetch a crate, and when it was opened, thick oiled paper lay inside, with a spicy fragrance wafting out.

Unwrapping the oiled paper revealed flame-shaped little crimson balls—none other than the mace used at the Great Xia's first Song of the Deer Banquet, filling the entire crate.

Bai Qing and the others didn't think much of it, but He Sai's eyes went wide and he was nearly speechless. He looked at the crate, then at Lu Ruoteng, and finally swept his gaze across the entire warehouse.

Lu Ruoteng understood what he meant and nodded: "Fifty crates of mace, and one hundred seventy crates of nutmeg kernels." Everyone was familiar with these maritime shipping crates, and a quick mental conversion gave roughly ten thousand jin of mace.

Bai Qing pursed his lips: "That's not much either."

He Sai cried out as if someone had stepped on his foot: "Not much? One pound of this stuff can be traded for three sheep in Europe! Just the mace in this warehouse alone could fetch thirty thousand sheep, and with the nutmeg kernels added, that's another thirty thousand. You call that not much?"

Bai Qing was astonished and picked up a piece of mace to fiddle with in his hand: "This thing is worth that much?"

He Sai said excitedly, "Every Han knows pepper is precious, but no matter how precious pepper is, common folk can still afford to eat it—at least they can see it.

Mace in Europe—apart from kings and nobles who've seen it, common people don't even have the honor of a single glance!"

Zheng Zhilong also took out a piece of mace to examine: "If it weren't so precious, the Dutch wouldn't have resorted to massacre in the Banda Islands, and they certainly wouldn't value the Spice Islands more than their own lives."

He Sai carefully retrieved the pieces of mace that Bai and Zheng had taken, placed them back in the crate, covered them with the oiled paper, and fastened the lid, revealing a textbook merchant's sly grin: "From now on, nutmeg, cloves, and the Spice Islands—they're all ours!

Thank those butchers, the Dutch—we can easily monopolize the supply of nutmeg and cloves, keep raising spice prices, and harvest all of Europe's nobles!

Those great nobles with their ancient, noble bloodlines—the Habsburgs, the Bourbons, the Stuarts, the Medicis, and those damned Dutch bankers—will all have to pay us spice tax!

Hahahahaha... cough! Cough, cough..."

Bai Qing glanced sideways at his expression and felt a chill run down his spine.

Lin Qian said to Lu Ruoteng, "Let me see the gift list—no, the seizure inventory again."

Lu Ruoteng took the inventory from his secretary and presented it with both hands.

Besides the three major spices—nutmeg, cloves, and pepper—the list also showed large quantities of raw silk and porcelain.

These were goods the Great Xia trading fleet had sold to the Dutch, and after going around in circles, they had returned to their own hands—perfect for recouping the goods and making a second sale. Beyond these high-value trade goods, there was also a large amount of military materiel, including fifty cannons of various models and materials, six hundred matchlock muskets, one hundred flintlock muskets, three hundred barrels of black powder, and fifty suits of full steel breastplates.

During the siege, the Batavia arsenal had been taken out by a single cannon shot—otherwise the haul might have been even greater.

Lin Qian read through the seizure inventory carefully from start to finish again but saw no precious metals like gold or silver listed. Presumably, they had been transferred to the bastion by the Dutch before the city fell.

Although breaching the bastion was a foregone conclusion, Lin Qian didn't want to waste time grinding against the Dutch.

It was already late May, and Lin Qian's personal expedition had lasted nearly four months. Although eagle ships and falcon ships had been shuttling messages back and forth, the intervals were still too long and the intelligence too delayed. Moreover, according to news from Guangzhou, the Chongzhen Emperor had already dispatched Lu Xiangsheng's Tianxiong Army southward, seemingly with intentions to cross the river—it would be best to return north as soon as possible. And once Lin Qian left, part of the fleet and army would inevitably have to withdraw as well, spreading their strength thin and inviting trouble the longer things dragged on. Better to finish what was started and eliminate any lingering concerns.

Lin Qian walked to the warehouse entrance and stared at the bastion on the horizon, deep in thought.

The Dutch had first seen their fleet destroyed, then their outer city breached. By all logic, their morale should be at its lowest ebb—just one spark away from surrender.

So where was that spark?

Back in the warehouse, He Sai was holding forth to Bai Qing and the others on the wonderful uses of mace.

"Ground into powder, it can color and fragrance butter, cream, desserts, and meat jellies. Its flavor is soft and fresh—it's the essential top-tier spice for high-end cooking and royal kitchens...

Just like, just like how Han nobles all love silk—I've heard the Jianzhou barbarians in Liaodong use silk to win over allies and flaunt status—European nobles use spices..."

"He Sai!" Lin Qian called out.

He Sai immediately walked over and clasped his hands in salute: "Your Majesty!"

"You said earlier that this Christmas Fleet arrives every year in June or July and departs in January or February of the following year, right?"

"Correct, though the Dutch fleet has means of communicating at sea. After the naval battle, who knows whether this year's fleet will still come." Lin Qian said, "No matter—describe the Christmas Fleet's firepower and ship configuration. No need for too much detail, just a rough overview."

A moment later, Lin Qian called Lu Ruoteng over: "The twelve captured Dutch ships—how are the repairs coming along?"

Lu Ruoteng said, "The ones that ran aground only just got free not long ago. The hulls have all been patched up, but these are just emergency fixes. These ships took too much damage—they'll need major overhauls once back in port."

Lin Qian smiled: "No problem. Find a few ships in good condition, hoist the cannons aboard, and sail them out to the open sea."

"Did we capture any of the Dutch tricolor flags?"

Lu Ruoteng said, "There are over a hundred of them, large and small, all worthless things. I didn't put them on the list."

Lin Qian smiled and said, "Good. Bai Qing, Bailangzai, Zheng Zhilong—make your preparations. Tonight we hold exercises in the outer waters. Stay sharp!" "Yes!" Everyone clasped their fists in unison, then exchanged puzzled glances, not understanding what their king was up to.

Deep in the night, within the bastion of Batavia.

Van der Meer was writing a letter begging for reinforcements. He was so tense that the tip of his quill trembled along with his hand.

He knew the letter might never get out, but at this point, he couldn't just do nothing.

Was he supposed to cower in the shadows of his room, shivering like those common soldiers?

Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

Van der Meer said in a hoarse voice, "Enter."

The Company's Minister of Justice, Velde, came in, holding a report. He said in a low voice, "Your Excellency the Governor-General, the casualty count is in. We have lost three hundred and sixty-three men..."

Van der Meer's pen paused mid-stroke, and a huge blot of ink dripped onto the paper. Since the Dutch East India Company's founding, it had never suffered such a disastrous defeat on land!

Even when the Mataram had besieged the city twice, and plague had broken out within the walls, the total of Dutch dead from disease and battle had not reached two hundred.

Two successive Governors-General—one had produced the Company's greatest naval disaster in history, the other its greatest land defeat. One could say their names would go down in history, unprecedented and never to be repeated.

Van der Meer's breath caught. For a moment he felt he could not draw air into his chest. He forced himself to say, "Go on..."

Velde held up the list and read: "Garrison Commander of Batavia, Albrecht von Reuss.

Minister of Finance, Cornelis de Witt.

Velde read out more than a dozen names in succession, all of them officers holding important positions in the Company.

After finishing, he paused a moment and said, "Your Excellency, these men... all either died in battle or were captured."

"Ah!" Van der Meer let out a great cry and swept his arm across the desk. The ink and the letter begging for reinforcements both fell to the floor, black ink splattering everywhere.

Van der Meer came from the nobility. He always spoke in a gentle, soft voice and had never once lost his composure like this.

Even Velde was startled by his sudden outburst of rage.

Van der Meer's face was flushed red. He smoothed his beard, then said between heavy breaths, "Forgive me. I lost my composure."

"It's all right." Velde truly did not know how to offer comfort, so he could only reply stiffly. He stood there for a moment, then said hesitantly, "Your Excellency, the soldiers' morale is low. At this point, should we perhaps..."

"Once the Christmas Fleet arrives, everything will be fine." Van der Meer said, straining to suppress his anger.

Velde dared not press further. He could only withdraw from the office. The moment he closed the door, he heard the sound of porcelain and a brush stand shattering inside the office. While Van der Meer was in his fury, another knock sounded at the door.

The soldier who entered saw the room in complete disarray and hesitated greatly, unsure where to step.

"Just come in. What is it?" Van der Meer sniffed, trying to steady his breathing and recover his aristocratic tone.

The soldier said in a low voice, "Your Excellency, all the sluice gates of Batavia have been opened. The water in the canals is flowing again..."

That meant Van Dijk or some other public engineer was already serving the invaders!

It had only been a few days since the city fell!

Van der Meer gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath, "Traitor!"

"Your Excellency?" The soldier hadn't heard clearly and stepped forward.

"Get out!" Van der Meer said.

After the door closed, Van der Meer pushed over a stack of books, then collapsed into his chair, struggling to calm himself.

He could not admit defeat. The fleet would be here soon!

Just then, the rumbling sound of cannon fire came from the distance.

As if injected with a stimulant, Van der Meer sat up straight, pricked up his ears, not daring to make the slightest sound, even slowing his breathing. Rumble, rumble!

Sure enough, more cannon fire came.

Van der Meer's heart pounded wildly. He leapt straight to his feet.

A guard pushed the door open directly and shouted, "Your Excellency the Governor-General, there's—"

"Out of my way!" Van der Meer shoved the guard aside and rushed out the door.

He climbed the steep stairs almost on all fours, and when he reached the bastion's wall, a great number of soldiers had already gathered there, almost completely blocking the view of the sea.

"Move! Move aside!" Van der Meer shouted as he pushed through the crowd to the front. There, against the ink-blue horizon, orange flashes of fire were continuously flickering. Only after a long delay did the sound of cannon fire arrive—sometimes sparse, sometimes dense—clearly indicating that two fleets were engaged in battle at sea.

"Your Excellency, the Great Xia fleet in the anchorage has dwindled considerably," Velde said.

In the night, ships could not be made out clearly, but the number of vessels could be roughly judged by their lanterns. Indeed, the ship lights in the anchorage had greatly diminished.

What those missing ships had gone to do went without saying.

"The Christmas Fleet has arrived!" Some Dutch soldiers let out cheers. "We're saved!"

Van der Meer kept gazing up at the sky, saying inwardly, "Thank God."

As the cannon fire in the outer waters grew denser and denser, nearly every Dutchman in the bastion heard the commotion and came to the walls to watch the battle.

The bombardment lasted about three hours, then gradually thinned. After five hours, only sporadic gunfire remained.

On the main shipping channel, no vessel came sailing in. Everything was just like the night of the great battle with Lucas Son.

A shadow fell over everyone's heart. Many Dutchmen kept turning their heads back, confirming that Mount Salak had not erupted.

The wall fell into silence. Everyone waited quietly for dawn.

About an hour later, the sky gradually turned blue, and a dozen or more black dots appeared on the horizon.

A Dutch soldier said, "They're coming!"

Everyone strained their eyes, gazing toward the horizon. They stood motionless like that, watching for nearly an hour.

When they could all clearly make out the dark-red flags fluttering from the sides of the fleet's ships, everyone fell into despair.

Low sobbing rose from the wall. Someone wept, "We'll never go back..."

"Bang!" A deafening gunshot rang out from beside them.

Around them, like rain, blood splattered to the ground with a splash.

Van der Meer felt the right side of his face splashed with something warm. He turned his head woodenly and saw that five meters away, a VOC officer had blown his own head open with a flintlock musket. His skull had burst apart, and his body slumped softly to the ground, surrounded by splattered blood and brain matter.

No one showed shock; the rest of the Dutch soldiers merely watched the officer's body fall with numb, cold eyes, and under their superiors' orders, some soldiers carried the corpse away.

Van der Meer opened his mouth, but it was as if a fishbone were stuck in his throat—he could say nothing at all, and could only return silently to his office.

Wilder patrolled along the city wall, watching as the Great Xia fleet slowly came alongside the shore, lowered small boats, and rowed to the beach. Then Great Xia troops unloaded spoils of war from the boats, and near the bastion's moat, tied the loot to kites, sending them drifting toward the bastion the same way they had scattered leaflets.

Moments later, the sky was filled with dancing colored cloth—red, white, and blue, with a VOC emblem in the middle—all of it tattered and torn, riddled with holes, drifting away on the wind.

Quite a few flags drifted down into the bastion itself, and the Dutch all watched the scene with expressionless faces.

One flag floated down to Wilder's feet. He lowered his head, but lacked even the strength to pick it up.

Suddenly, he realized something was wrong—this flag was far too new. True, it bore the marks of smoke and fire, and there were bullet holes in it, but the rest of it was brightly colored with intact fabric, nothing like it had endured six months of ocean voyage.

Those sailors and officers had drifted at sea for half a year, almost as wild as savages—would they deliberately replace their ship's flags before making port?

Since when did the Company have a fleet commander so concerned with appearances?

The moment this thought struck him, Wilder snatched up the flag, examined it over and over in his hands, then held it to his nose and sniffed, muttering: "New! This is new!"

Then, like a madman, he sprinted up the city wall and gazed out at the sea—but there were no captured new ships on the water.

He pulled out his telescope, and in his agitation nearly dropped it over the wall. He barely managed to catch it, then looked toward the anchorage—the Great Xia warships' hulls bore no bullet holes, nothing like they had just fought a great battle.

Counting the time, it was only early June now—the Christmas Fleet had come far too early.

"Fake! It's all a deception!" Wilder cried out in delight. He put away his telescope and shouted to the people around him, "It's fake! This is Huo Jianren's trap! The Christmas Fleet was not defeated—this is a play put on by Huo Jianren!"

No one listened to him. All the Dutch soldiers wore the same numb expression.

Wilder sprinted to the captain of the bastion garrison, clutching the brand-new VOC flag, and told him of his discovery: "Captain, I order you to tell everyone this news."

"As you command, sir." The captain answered listlessly, clearly not believing it himself.

To the ordinary Dutch soldiers, whether the Christmas Fleet had arrived or not no longer mattered—their morale was already shattered.

Whether last night's bombardment was a real battle or a performance, to the Dutch soldiers it was simply a signal to surrender.

"Damn it!" Wilder cursed, and strode quickly toward the Governor-General's office.

He trotted all the way there and pushed the door straight open: "Your Excellency the Governor-General, we've been deceived, this is—"

Wilder pushed through the door, then froze on the spot. The room's doors and windows were tightly shut, the gaps stuffed with wet cloth strips, and in the middle of the room sat a burning brazier of charcoal. Unburned scraps of paper were sent flying by the wind from the opened door.

Van der Meer and his wife sat embracing in chairs, their faces serene—they had already taken their own lives by charcoal fumes.

Wilder stumbled back three steps in fright and fell out of the doorway.

Before dusk, a white flag rose from the bastion's heights, the gates were thrown open, and they surrendered unconditionally.

The last VOC flag in all of Batavia slowly descended.

Under the escort of the Great Xia new army, Wilder and all the other prisoners were bound together in a chain and marched past the Batavia Governor-General's residence. In the setting sun, the Huo people whom the Dutch had once looked down upon gathered at the roadside, cheering in unison.

Wilder was brought to a stop before Lin Qian. He bowed first in salute, then swept his gaze around—seeing Lin Qian surrounded by personal guards, with the high command of Great Xia's army and navy all standing at his side.

Jiang Wei, the Great Xia envoy who upon first arriving in Batavia had been humiliated in every way by Lucas Son, also stood beside Lin Qian, looking down at him from above. Wilder opened his mouth with difficulty and said: "Congratulations, great conqueror, Your Highness the King of Xia. This is a victory worthy of being recorded in the annals of history. You have defeated the Company's fleet and army—Batavia is yours."

Because the interim governor had died, and the other councilors and Company high officials had long since gone missing or been captured, Wilder was now the Company's highest administrative officer in Batavia, and it fell to him to carry out the surrender.

Lin Qian only said calmly: "You will receive a fair trial. Take him away."

On the road to the prison, thunderous cheers rang out from all around—over a thousand voices shouting together, making the rubble tremble slightly. It was the Han words "Long live the King."

Wilder turned back to gaze—in the setting sun, the entire street was filled with soldiers in crow-blue uniforms, and dozens of dark-red flags rolled in the wind, like a surging river of blood devouring Batavia.

"God, please forgive us..." Wilder could not help but sigh, and then he was locked into the Governor-General's prison. As Minister of Justice, this place had once been under his jurisdiction—he never imagined that one day he would be locked in a cell under his own authority. After Wilder left, the long column of prisoners passed before Lin Qian one by one. These were ordinary Dutch soldiers, to be escorted outside the city to pick up caltrops—when Great Xia had attacked the city, they had scattered no fewer than a hundred thousand caltrops beyond the walls. Many had been washed into the mud by river flooding or trampled underfoot, with only a small tip sticking out, making them fiendishly difficult to pick up. Fortunately, these Dutch prisoners had all the time in the world—they could work slowly.

After the Dutch prisoners, what was escorted out next were a small number of Han Chinese and ronin, all struggling and resisting.

These men were either compradors or mercenaries, and quite a few of them had even dabbled in banditry when the outer city was breached. Now they were all marched to the execution ground and beheaded in queues—every time a row of heads fell, the watching commoners burst into cheers.

Even Dutch civilians peeked out from their houses, secretly watching and cheering.

Lu Ruoteng presented a new list of captured goods—the list had been hastily compiled, and the figures on it were still rough.

"Your Majesty, in the bastion there are over one hundred and twenty chests of silver coins, along with a great quantity of treasures..."

As Lu Ruoteng spoke, he had soldiers bring a chest of valuables forward. When it was opened, treasure light blazed brilliantly, and the eyes of everyone around involuntarily grew hot, their breathing growing much quieter.

The top layer of the chest held ducat gold coins, each stamped with a standing figure of Christ—years of circulation had worn their edges smooth and gleaming, gathering in the sunset into a single solid pool of frozen gold.

Pushing aside the scattered gold coins on the surface, beneath them lay neatly stacked long gold ingots, and in the gaps between the ingots were stuffed a dozen or so small deerskin pouches.

Lu Ruoteng casually lifted one pouch and loosened the drawstring—inside were pigeon's-blood rubies packed full. He took one out and displayed it before the crowd; under the warm light, the ruby showed a deep, rich wine-red halo.

He opened another pouch—inside were sapphires as deep as the deep sea itself, mixed with a few emeralds, green as if an entire Java jungle had been sealed within them.

Lu Ruoteng said: "There are twelve more treasure chests like this in the bastion, filled with gold, gems, diamonds, ivory, rhinoceros horn..." Everyone fell silent—the Dutch wealth was truly astonishing.

In the distance, the Chinese Kapitan Su Minggang was also being pressed toward execution. All the way he shouted: "This humble one is willing to serve Your Majesty! This humble one is willing to serve Great Xia! Your Majesty rules Batavia—you have use for this humble one! This humble one, this humble one... spare this humble one's life..."

When his head was pressed down onto the blood-soaked wooden block, the executioner's blade fell, the head rolled off, blood splashed three feet—and the world fell instantly silent.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen