Chapter 38: The Beauty Trap

"Good, Brother Yiguan, let's not stand on the deck—please, come to the sterncastle for a proper talk." Lin Qian's expression did not change, but inwardly he thought: who would have guessed that after all this time of constantly mentioning Zheng Zhilong, he'd run into the very man himself by sheer chance.

"After you." Zheng Zhilong's courtesy was impeccable as he walked with Lin Qian toward the sterncastle dining room.

Both parties took their seats.

Zheng Zhilong spoke first: "In Señor José's letter, he said the cargo aboard this ship was worth four hundred thousand taels. I had my doubts at first, but now that I've seen this great vessel, I realize how shallow my own knowledge was—truly shameful. That the Spaniards would entrust such a treasure ship to Elder Brother Lin's command fills me with the deepest admiration."

José's letter had already explained the ship's origins.

Zheng Zhilong's choice of "entrust" over "capture" was merely a matter of saving face—polite talk. And by keeping his posture so low, he also avoided any chance of touching on Lin Qian's taboos.

The fact that he'd been sent aboard as a special envoy suggested the "Councilman" hadn't just grabbed some random man to handle this.

Since Zheng Zhilong was fond of pleasantries, Lin Qian likewise kept his patience and chatted along, waving a hand: "What's all this 'elder' and 'junior' business? There's not much difference in our ages—calling me that only makes things distant. I've been calling you Brother Yiguan; if you don't mind, just call me elder brother."

Zheng Zhilong's face lit up with joy. He rose, clasped his hands, and bowed all the way to the floor: "Brother Lin!"

Lin Qian stood and made a gesture of support, speaking with great warmth: "Brother Yiguan, you're being too formal—please, sit, sit... You there, go brew a pot of tea, and also bring out my cigar collection for Brother Yiguan to try."

"Brother Lin, this is far too generous..." Zheng Zhilong was flattered and a little overwhelmed.

He put on the airs of a seasoned operator, but at the end of the day he was only a sixteen-year-old youth. He might have weathered wind and sword, but he had certainly not weathered luxury and flattery.

Lin Qian had met plenty of people who pretended to be worldly-wise beyond their years—he had all sorts of ways to handle them.

In a moment, tea was served and cigars brought out.

Lin Qian had someone fetch scissors and a candle stand, then demonstrated the method of smoking to Zheng Zhilong: "... Like this, cut off the cap of the cigar—mind you, don't cut too much, just a small opening is enough... then light it over the flame like so..."

After finishing his explanation, Lin Qian took a puff. Whether it was a hallucination from having gone so long without coffee or something else, he felt the smoke carried a coffee flavor—rich, fragrant, and invigorating.

Zheng Zhilong imitated Lin Qian's manner, drew a mouthful into his lungs, and was immediately seized by a fit of coughing, his head spinning and throbbing.

Lin Qian laughed: "Brother Yiguan, this smoke can't be swallowed—you only hold it in your mouth and then blow it out. My fault for not explaining clearly. Try again..."

Cigars have no filter. Draw one into the lungs and the nicotine overdose will leave you "drunk on smoke." Lin Qian had deliberately left it unclear, precisely so Zheng Zhilong would get a good buzz first—then the matters afterward would be easier to discuss.

Zheng Zhilong tried again as instructed, and after several attempts, he indeed appreciated the finer points, praising it endlessly.

"This cigar is a pleasure item among the nobles of the West, often paired with wine or brandy. When enjoying it, one should find a quiet chamber..."

Lin Qian began an endless stream of introduction about cigars. In truth, everything he said was fabricated—cigar culture had not yet formed, and American tobacco was still mostly smoked in pipes. Pipe smokers were everywhere in Europe, with none of these fussy pretensions.

But Zheng Zhilong could hardly be expected to know European nobles that well, and Lin Qian's account was vivid and detailed. Combined with the nicotine stimulation, Zheng Zhilong felt as if he were floating on clouds, drifting into bliss.

This whole routine was precisely the method Lin Qian had used on clients in his previous life—the more effort you put into hospitality, the easier the negotiations become.

After all, nothing in this world escapes the two words "human sentiment." Business is business—that's one face. But once sentiment enters the picture, it's immediately another face entirely.

While Zheng Zhilong was puffing away in clouds of smoke, Lin Qian had already ordered the evening banquet arranged, and also sent someone to find two young women.

Lin Qian's cargo had unclear origins, and the goods feared moisture from seawater. A galleon couldn't stay anchored in open waters for long, nor could he keep holding onto the goods indefinitely—every condition worked against Lin Qian, leaving him with little leverage for negotiation.

As long as the "Councilman" kept his composure and dragged out the delivery, the price would have to keep dropping. If he were truly ruthless, he could even squeeze it down to a hundred thousand taels. Sending Zheng Zhilong aboard was, in all likelihood, precisely a move to pressure the price down.

That was why Zheng Zhilong had spent so long on pleasantries—"elder" this and "senior" that, calling him brother—all while never getting to the point.

If Lin Qian were to proactively propose inspecting the goods or asking about prices, he'd reveal his weakness, and any further negotiation would inevitably put him at a disadvantage. So Lin Qian couldn't afford to be anxious. If Zheng Zhilong wanted to stall, let him stall—drag it out a day or two and see who loses their composure first.

The subsequent meeting went exactly as Lin Qian had predicted: Zheng Zhilong never once mentioned inspecting the goods, and Lin Qian chatted idly about everything under the sun.

Lei Sanxiang listened with growing agitation, scratching his ears and cheeks, several times unable to hold back and wanting to speak up—but each time Lin Qian stopped him with a look, then found him an errand and sent him out of the cabin.

They dragged on until evening, when Lin Qian invited Zheng Zhilong to drink and dine.

Having been entertained and flattered all afternoon, Zheng Zhilong finally lost patience and took the initiative, speaking with probing indirection: "Since Brother Lin has been to the South Seas, would you tell us about the customs and people of those lands?"

"Of course." Lin Qian agreed readily, then launched into rambling tales of this and that—starting with the geography of Manila, then the distribution of islands, the population structure, the conflicts between different peoples, and so on.

He simply never steered the topic toward his cargo.

Having lived two lives, Lin Qian was a man of wide experience and knowledge. His words drew on sources far and wide, wit flowing in a stream of clever phrases.

Though Zheng Zhilong was mature for his age, he was still only sixteen. The farthest place his young life had taken him was Macao. His intention in bringing up the South Seas had merely been to prompt Lin Qian into talking business.

But unexpectedly, after a few sentences, he found himself captivated by Lin Qian's tales of the South Seas, an expression of longing unavoidably creeping onto his face.

During dinner, Lin Qian repeatedly pressed drinks on Zheng Zhilong.

But Zheng Zhilong's tolerance for alcohol proved far better than Lin Qian had estimated—he couldn't be gotten drunk.

After the banquet, Lin Qian again urged Zheng Zhilong to return to the cabin and rest.

Zheng Zhilong hastily declined: "The Councilman is still waiting for my report..."

Lin Qian pulled him toward the guest cabin while urging: "It's already dark, and sailing at night is inconvenient. Just stay one night—you can head back first thing tomorrow morning."

Zheng Zhilong made every excuse to refuse, but Lin Qian simply wouldn't let him go. Pulling and tugging, he dragged Zheng Zhilong into the cabin, then firmly shut the door behind them.

Zheng Zhilong grew greatly alarmed, pounding on the cabin door: "Brother Lin, open the door! I truly cannot stay on this ship. I appreciate your kindness, but please let me go back..."

At that moment, a soft voice sounded from within the cabin: "Young sir, would you be so kind as to hand me my shoes?"

Zheng Zhilong froze as if struck by a spell. He slowly turned his head. By the dim lamplight of the cabin, he saw two young women sitting on the bed, gazing at him with shy, bashful looks.

One of them sat curled at the edge of the bed, and beneath the hem of her horse-face skirt, delicate pink toes peeked in and out of view.

From that single detail alone, Zheng Zhilong recognized at a glance that these were a pair of first-rate natural feet.

"Oh my—young sir, what are you staring at on this one's person? How shameless!" The barefoot young woman seemed scalded by Zheng Zhilong's gaze. Her face flushed crimson as she tucked her toes back beneath her skirt.

Zheng Zhilong's breathing grew heavy, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

The other young woman laughed: "Silly boy, hurry and pick up my sister's shoe for her—any later and she'll die of embarrassment."

Zheng Zhilong looked down and scanned the floor, and sure enough, he spotted an embroidered shoe lying scattered on the ground.

Zheng Zhilong picked it up, and as if possessed by some ghostly impulse, brought it to his nose.

"Ah~" Seeing this, the barefoot young woman let out a soft cry in coordination, her face red as if it would drip water, and murmured in a voice so honeyed it seeped into the bones: "You mustn't sniff~"

Elegant Black

Pink Pearl