Chapter 389: The Great Xia Army Marches on Nanjing

Compared to Ningbo and Songjiang, Nanjing has tall city walls and deep moats, and sits on the banks of the Yangtze rather than by the sea.

Landing at Nanjing carries greater tactical risk, but less strategic risk.

Hangzhou is only a little over two hundred li from both Ningbo and Songjiang, and over four hundred li from Nanjing, even farther from the Guanling defense line, beyond the reach of Tianxiong Army reinforcements — that is one point. Nanjing is the Ming's secondary capital, site of Zhu Yuanzhang's Xiaoling Mausoleum, saturated with political symbolism; once it comes under attack, Lu Xiangsheng will have no choice but to risk everything to save it, which forces Lu Xiangsheng into a decisive battle on the open plains where the New Army excels — that is the second point.

Third, Nanjing is where Zhu Yuanzhang founded his dynasty and established his capital, holding immense orthodox symbolic weight in the minds of gentry and commoners alike. If Great Xia takes Nanjing, resistance in Jiangnan can be minimized to the greatest extent.

Of course, with the New Army's current strength and equipment advantages, there is no fear of Jiangnan resistance — it is just that this region is wealthy, and it would be a pity to see it ravaged by war. A peaceful occupation would be best.

After hearing Lin Qian's analysis, the staff officers exchanged glances, all feeling it was feasible.

Xu Fengjie mused: "Military Intelligence estimates Lu Xiangsheng's forces at between twenty and fifty thousand, of which only about ten thousand are hardened veterans capable of enduring bitter combat. Stretching that many men to defend both eastern and western Zhejiang is already a strain; dividing further to watch Songjiang and Ningbo would leave him overextended. Nanjing's defenses are bound to be insufficient."

Lu Ruoteng said: "The North Sea Fleet has already sent numerous hawk ships to scout the Zhejiang coast. Lu Xiangsheng is still using the old anti-wokou playbook — conscripting fishing boats along the shore, setting up layered early warning."

If our fleet sails through the outer waters off Zhoushan, we can slip past the Ming sentries. This plan is workable!"

Lin Qian said: "In that case, let Lei Sanxiang lead the New Army's First Battalion to land at Nanjing!"

Of the six battalions in the Great Xia New Army, the Third through Sixth are all under Qin Liangyu, Ma Xianglin, and Fu Zonglong, spread across the Sichuan-Chu front. The Second Battalion remains on Java, helping defend Batavia while assisting the South Sea Fleet in taking the Spice Islands.

The First Battalion is the only general reserve left.

Lu Ruoteng hesitated slightly: "Your Majesty, once the reserve is committed, the Sichuan-Chu and South Seas fronts will have no safety net left. I fear this is not the most prudent course." Xu Fengjie also nodded in agreement: "The Seventh Division has eighteen thousand men, and with Huang Hetai's nearly ten thousand garrison troops assisting from the side, surely no more reinforcements are needed?"

Lin Qian pondered for a long while, then still shook his head: "This battle must prioritize stability. Do not underestimate Lu Xiangsheng. Send more troops."

"Yes." The staff officers all clasped their hands in salute.

With the strategy settled, Lin Qian did not meddle in tactical matters. He was about to rise and leave, instructing Geng Wu: "Have the English and Spanish representatives come to the Java Hall for detailed talks."

Lin Qian was walking toward the door when Xu Fengjie called him back.

"Your Majesty, how should Lu Xiangsheng be dealt with?"

Lin Qian had emphasized Lu Xiangsheng's prowess time and again, clearly holding the man in high regard — hence Xu Fengjie's question.

Lin Qian stopped in his tracks and said: "If the opportunity arises, it would be best to persuade him to abandon the darkness for the light. If that cannot be done, there is no need to force it."

Lin Qian left the General Staff Headquarters, boarded his carriage, and hurried toward the newly opened Java Hall.

Upon arrival, Lin Qian stepped down to find Viktor and Diego waiting before the hall's entrance. The surrounding streets were thronged with people, and the two men were craning their necks toward the museum, plainly curious.

Upon seeing Lin Qian, Viktor bowed in salute, while Diego performed a perfunctory bow with visible displeasure.

After all, they had originally agreed to meet at Nan'ao Island, only to have the venue changed at the last minute to Guangzhou — an extra full day and night of travel for nothing, with their eyes blindfolded the entire way. No one would be in a good mood after that.

The English East India Company was weak, dependent on Great Xia for survival in Annam, so Viktor dared not act presumptuously.

Diego, backed by the mighty Spanish Empire, naturally had little to fear.

Moreover, the Spaniards were still smarting from their defeat at the Battle of Malacca. When the Treaty of Manila reached home, it enraged the royal court — had the European war not been so consuming, the Invincible Armada would likely have sailed over long ago.

Against this backdrop, the Manila Governor-General's office and Great Xia were neither friends nor foes, their relations delicate.

Lin Qian clasped his hands in greeting to the two men, then made a gesture of invitation, asking them to tour the Java Hall.

The venue was not yet finished and had not opened to the public, so the hall was quite empty, though the exhibits were largely already in place.

Upon entering, the most conspicuous items on display were two banners, stretched open by cords — both scorched black and tattered, in sorry shape. But as the English and Spanish envoys looked closer, they suddenly froze, faces turning pale, rooted to the spot.

Those were the Dutch VOC tricolor and the sword-and-crescent banner of the Mataram Sultanate.

The islands of the South Seas are separated by vast oceans, and news travels slowly. The English and Spanish had only known that Great Xia was attacking Batavia — they never imagined it was already over. Not only had Batavia fallen, but Mataram had been defeated as well?

Viktor stared at the sword-and-crescent banner. Its embroidery was woven entirely from crimson-gold silk thread, its four borders worked with fine golden vine patterns, its lower hem hung with white ox-tail tassels, and it was enormous in size. He knew the banner's owner must have held no small authority — at minimum a great patih or a grand general.

Diego was even more shaken. Spain and Holland had been locked in struggle across the South Seas for decades, with Manila perpetually harassed by Dutch fleets — the Governor-General's office's greatest thorn in the side.

And now that greatest thorn had been so casually removed by Great Xia?

Diego looked at the banner, then at Lin Qian, the arrogance in his eyes gradually fading.

Lin Qian then led the two men on a brief tour of the venue. Inside were the cross from atop the Batavia Governor-General's residence, bills of exchange from the Bank of Amsterdam, plate armor from Batavia's garrison, and the throne of Sultan Agung — further substantiating Great Xia's military achievements.

The two men followed behind, not a single word of commentary the entire way.

Their pickiness and condescension were shattered piece by piece by the trophies on display. With each step their feet grew heavier, their throats tighter, even their breathing unconsciously shallower. Finally, Lin Qian led them to a stop before the spice display case, where several small burlap sacks lay open on the counter, containing cloves, pepper, nutmeg, and the like. Both envoys wore excited expressions.

To them, seeing spices was like seeing gold. When the Dutch were in control, they could hardly get their hands on any — surely now they could claim a share? After letting the two men admire the spices for some time, Lin Qian said slowly: "The Spice Islands have, since ancient times, been China's inherent territory. I advise you both to recognize the facts."

Viktor was taken aback. He wanted to argue but found nothing to say — when the Dutch were here, the English could barely smuggle spices; now with the even stronger Great Xia in charge, competing for them would be even more hopeless.

The English East India Company was already profiting handsomely from arms trafficking between the Nguyen Lords and the Trinh Lords, and from transshipping Great Xia's porcelain and raw silk — even the Crown's customs revenue had risen accordingly.

Viktor knew well that excessive greed would only invite Great Xia's retaliation and ultimately destroy the Company, so he buried his desire deep in his eyes.

But Diego protested: "The Spice Islands were originally barbaric virgin land. Your nation's successive dynasties have always stopped at the mainland, never establishing any government on those islands. On what grounds do you claim this is Great Xia territory?

By legal principle, the Portuguese arrived there over a hundred years ago, and the Spanish Kingdom inherited their rights — that is the legitimate governing compact recognized by all nations and sanctioned by the Pope."

Since Lin Qian dared make such a claim, he had naturally already prepared his legal basis. At this he smiled calmly and said: "The Spice Islands were recorded in the Yuan dynasty by Wang Tayouan in his Brief Account of Island Barbarians, where they are called 'Wenlaogu.'

In the Ming dynasty's General Survey of the Eastern and Western Oceans, they are called 'Meiluoju,' with detailed accounts of their customs, products, and sailing routes.

During the Yongle era, when Zheng He voyaged to the Western Seas, all the southern island states sent tribute by his ships and received imperial investiture, becoming vassals of our China. The reach of our civilizing influence has extended there for no short time — how can they not be our Chinese territory?

Moreover, the so-called treaty of your nation was merely a private agreement among Western barbarian states — never consulting the local chieftains, nor reporting to the Chinese suzerain. Are you not embarrassed to cite it?

I advise Your Excellency that in the South Seas, it is best to follow our Chinese customs — when in Rome, do as the Romans do!"

Diego was left speechless, choked off.

Viktor could only sigh helplessly at the spices.

Lin Qian had Geng Wu bring over a table and chairs and brew sweet red milk tea, inviting the two envoys to sit. Then he said: "The question of sovereignty is not negotiable — but distribution rights are."

"Cough, cough, cough!" Viktor was drinking his sweet tea when he heard this. Too excited, the tea went down his windpipe and he coughed without stopping.

Diego seized the chance to cut in: "On behalf of the Manila Governor-General's office, I wish to purchase the distribution rights from Great Xia — three hundred thousand pesos a year, how about it?" Viktor kept wiping his mouth with a handkerchief: "The English East India Company is willing to pay the same price."

Diego gritted his teeth: "Four hundred thousand! Four hundred thousand pesos for exclusive distribution rights!"

Viktor glared at him: "Don't forget, in the South Seas we are allies who fought the Dutch together."

Diego sipped his tea: "Sorry, ally, but this is business."

Lin Qian raised one finger and wagged it: "You've misunderstood. What distribution rights mean is that Great Xia merchant ships will transport the spices to Hoi An and Manila, settle at an agreed unit price, and then your side sells them in Europe."

"Based on the recommendations given by my trade advisor—"

As Lin Qian spoke, he reached out a hand, and Geng Wu handed over an official document containing the reference prices set by He Sai.

"Cloves at five qian of silver per catty, nutmeg at two taels of silver per catty, mace at three taels five qian of silver per catty... all settled in Great Xia yuan silver."

These prices were essentially the black-market retail rates for spices when the Dutch controlled the Spice Islands, far higher than the theoretical procurement prices there—this would allow Great Xia to profit an additional one million seven hundred thousand taels of silver annually.

Nor would it leave distributors without money to make—their profit margins were basically controlled at the same level as those for raw silk and porcelain.

With every price Lin Qian read out, the faces of both the English and Spanish parties darkened another shade.

Diego immediately protested: "This price is completely unacceptable—it strips away nearly all profit margin, this is outright robbery!" Victor made no statement, which counted as tacitly endorsing Diego's words.

Lin Qian closed the document, returned it to Geng Wu, then said unhurriedly: "Do the two of you know how many people we have in the Central Plains? Over forty million households!" The two envoys exchanged a glance, not understanding what he meant.

"In other words, we have a vast domestic market—the Spice Islands' entire output can be fully absorbed by Great Xia. Compared to selling to Europe, our profit margins are actually higher selling domestically."

Diego gave a contemptuous smile and was just about to speak.

But was cut off by Lin Qian: "You might be thinking that Great Xia has no tradition of using spices."

Diego, his thoughts laid bare in a single phrase, felt a flicker of alarm and stared at Lin Qian as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Habits can be cultivated. We have several thousand years of food culture—we can turn even offal into delicacies, and you think we can't learn to use spices? How nutmeg is used in Europe—such a simple usage, do you think we wouldn't know it?"

Diego, defeated, shut his mouth.

"In any case, England and Spain will henceforth be the only two distributors of spices. If you think the profits are too low, just set the prices higher."

Having said this, Lin Qian drank his tea in silence, leaving the two to think.

His words were half true and half false, but regardless, Great Xia had no ability to sail to Europe on its own.

Past Malacca, across the Indian Ocean, around the Cape of Good Hope, then north along Africa's west coast—this sounded simple, just drawing a line on a map. But in reality, the entire journey was nearly fifty thousand li, absurdly far, and Great Xia had not a single port for resupply along the way—instead, Dutch territory was everywhere. For Great Xia to reach Europe on its own strength, without four to five years of charting the route, it would be impossible.

After charting the route, they would still need to build ports along the way, establish supply points, and deploy naval escorts along the route—forging a stable shipping lane would take at least seven to eight years, perhaps even over a decade.

As for going east, crossing the Pacific and Atlantic to reach Europe—that was even more difficult than climbing to heaven. It couldn't even be called trade, nor exploration; it was simply suicide.

The shortcoming of Great Xia's maritime capability was precisely why Lin Qian had to find distributors.

Moreover, splitting the spice trade with England and Spain could, to a certain extent, disperse the Dutch's enmity.

Finally, and most importantly, Lin Qian wanted to exchange the spice distribution rights for one precious thing—the shipping routes.

"If the two of you are willing to cooperate, I have one more request: every year, from Hoi An to London, and from Manila to Acapulco, one Great Xia vessel must sail in accompaniment."

"What?" At this, even Victor, who had been enduring patiently all along, could no longer sit still.

In the Age of Sail, shipping routes were priceless treasures—the highest state secrets of any nation. How could they be casually revealed?

Lin Qian hadn't directly demanded the routes, but if Great Xia merchant ships made the round trip on those routes with the two nations' fleets a few times, they would quickly master them. "Impossible!" Diego rose directly, making as if to leave.

Lin Qian called him back: "Great Xia doesn't lack a few taels of silver, but your country—from the nobility in the palaces above to the merchants in the markets below—can you endure a cutoff of spices?" Diego gave a cold snort and strode away.

Lin Qian inwardly lamented the pity of it, but the Spanish envoy's reaction was within expectations—the west coast of the Americas was, to the Spanish, an untouchable scale, a forbidden preserve. Sharing it with Great Xia was like proposing to share one's wife with Great Xia.

It was only because sending a Great Xia fleet across the Pacific was too difficult that Lin Qian had even asked—it had been a probe from the start, and failure was no loss.

As long as the strategic partner Lin Qian had chosen—the English—agreed, that was enough.

Victor hesitated repeatedly, then finally gritted his teeth and said: "Only one voyage! It must use East India Company vessels flying the English flag. Upon reaching Europe, all personnel aboard must identify themselves as hired sailors under an English captain, and must return simultaneously with the returning fleet!"

Compared to the Spanish, the English were more strapped for money, and the Cape of Good Hope route was essentially a semi-public secret in Europe—which was why Victor agreed so readily.

Lin Qian smiled: "Deal! When do we set sail?"

Victor thought for a moment and said: "November. Any later and we'd miss the monsoon—we'd have to wait until next year."

In reality, once the northeast monsoon stabilized in October, they could set sail.

But Victor knew that Xia and Ming were locked in a great battle in eastern Zhejiang—he wanted to delay until the war had reached its conclusion before departing.

After all, bringing Great Xia merchant ships back was enormously risky, and the spice trade could last decades, even a century. The English East India Company hoped to cooperate with a stable, enduring regime, and had to do everything possible to minimize risk.

And the fact that they couldn't sail after November wasn't a matter of the Northern Hemisphere's monsoons—that was the route secret Victor wouldn't easily divulge. Lin Qian agreed readily: "It's settled then."

Ten days later, Lei Sanxiang led one battalion aboard ships at Guangzhou heading north, while at the same time the Seventh Division's First Infantry Brigade at the front received orders from the General Staff to fall back and take up defensive positions around Wenzhou Prefecture.

When the landing fleet arrived at Wenzhou, they would board together.

The two forces combined into a raiding force of over eleven thousand men, heading straight for the open sea to the northeast.

On the fifth day of the ninth month, the fleet passed through the open sea east of the Zhoushan Islands, then drove due west into the Yangtze River.

The raiding fleet had nearly a hundred transport ships alone—thirty whale ships, fifteen shark ships, and over fifty Fujian junks requisitioned from civilians. Add to that the escorting ships-of-the-line and sea-wolf ships, the eagle ships and falcon ships on reconnaissance, and the sand ships and bird ships for communication.

In total, over four hundred vessels of all sizes.

Gazing out, the entire sea surface was covered with sails, layer upon layer like clouds pressing down; masts were dense as a forest. The whole fleet stretched over ten li, its head and tail invisible, as if it would swallow the sky and blot out the sun.

Per Lin Qian's instructions, Great Xia had committed its full strength to this battle—every transport ship was deployed, and a large number of civilian vessels had been requisitioned as well.

The mouth of the Yangtze was densely populated and the main channel narrow—for such a colossal fleet to sail into the Yangtze undetected was impossible. Forty li from the Yangtze's mouth, on a stretch of sea, an old man and a youth were fishing.

The youth caught sight of the vast expanse of sails appearing at the horizon and was so startled he forgot to haul in his fishing net.

"Grandfather, wok—wokou! The wokou are coming!" The youth hurriedly shouted toward the cabin.

The old man emerged from the cabin, glanced at the scattered fishing net, and first cursed: "You little monkey, can't even remember to haul in the net!"

"Grandfather, forget the net—hurry back to report to the authorities!"

The old man smacked his grandson on the head: "You little fool, dumb as they come—do wokou have a fleet like this? That's the Great Xia army! When they fought Yuan Chonghuan a few years back, the Great Xia army came through once!"

The youth rubbed his head and said aggrievedly: "But the yamen said—"

The old man roared: "Never mind what they say! I didn't see anything! Hurry and haul in the net—if it drifts off and tangles in the Great Xia fleet's rudder blades, the offense would be grave indeed."

"Oh." The youth stepped forward to help, and grandfather and grandson hauled the net aboard together. This cast had caught over twenty catties of fat fish, mostly yellow croaker mixed with a few silvery pomfrets—a decent haul.

But the old man paid it no mind, steering the boat southward to give way to the Great Xia fleet.

As he sailed, the old man threatened: "Once we're ashore, if you dare utter a single word, I'll break your dog legs!"

"Oh." The youth drooped his head and agreed pitifully.

The Great Xia fleet swaggered past Chongming Island, then successively past Changshu, Jiangyin, and other places.

Fishermen and farmers along the way all pretended to be deaf and mute, tacitly saying not a single word. It was the guard station soldiers who spotted something amiss and reported it up the chain. After all, this was not the first time they had come to the Yangtze; the Great Xia fleet sailed with great speed, reaching Changzhou that very night, and arriving at Nanjing before dusk the next day. By then, the alarm signals from the various guard stations had only just reached Hangzhou and Nanjing.

Three years had passed since Lin Qian last bombarded Nanjing with cannons, yet the city's defenses had not only failed to improve—they had grown even more hollow.

Because military pay and provisions were insufficient, the court had cut back considerably on the troop establishment in Nanjing.

Of the remaining soldiers fit for battle, Lu Xiangsheng had transferred away the greater part, so that Nanjing city was now little more than an empty shell. In theory, the Capital Camps, the Xiaoling Guard, and the garrison at the Grand Drill Ground totaled twenty-five thousand men; in reality, only three thousand were fit to fight.

No one could have imagined that while the front lines in eastern Zhejiang were locked in tense confrontation, the Great Xia could split off forces for a surprise attack on Nanjing.

At this point, the ministers of the Six Ministries in Nanjing could do nothing but send urgent pleas for aid to the capital, Hangzhou, and the surrounding guard stations. Fortunately, they had the experience of the last time the Great Xia pressed close and besieged without attacking; the officials and gentry within Nanjing were confident that this time the Great Xia was merely putting on a show of force. Beneath the night sky, music from silk and bamboo instruments played on ceaselessly along the Qinhuai River, and the songs of courtesans never stopped.

At the mao hour the next morning, the Great Xia army formally landed at Xinjiangkou.

This location lay due west of Nanjing city, on the eastern bank of the Yangtze, close by Jiangdong Gate. The shoreline was broad and gently sloping, and the river ran deep enough even to accommodate whaling ships at berth, so the Great Xia army came ashore with great speed.

On the city wall, the bleary-eyed defenders were utterly dumbfounded. Only when the Great Xia army nearly burst through Jiangdong Gate into the city did they finally confirm that the Great Xia was not bluffing, and hastily reported to those within.

In the Chengshan Earl's mansion, Wang Yunzhong, past sixty years of age, was snoring soundly in sleep.

The steward suddenly burst frantically into the room: "Master, Master, wake up quickly!"

"Ah!" The two maidservants tasked with warming his feet were startled awake and shrieked.

Wang Yunzhong slowly sat up, rubbing his temples, and said with annoyance: "What's all the noise? No manners!"

The steward shouted: "The city, the whole city is in chaos! Master, the Xia army is about to attack the city!"

"What?" Wang Yunzhong was greatly startled, his grizzled beard trembling incessantly. "Wh-wh... what do you mean? I didn't hear any cannon fire."

"It's an assault! The Xia army has come ashore—a vast, pitch-black mass of them. People say there are fully a hundred thousand or more!"

"Truly?" Wang Yunzhong scrambled out of bed in a panic. Last night, troubled by worry, he had drunk several extra cups of wine, and his hangover had not yet faded. He was dizzy and lightheaded, his breath reeking of alcohol.

The steward said, his voice choked with tears: "It's true, Master. The streets are already in complete chaos—everyone is scrambling to flee the city! Jubao Gate, Tongji Gate, and Zhengyang Gate in the south are all blocked solid by carts and carriages leaving the city, jammed for over ten li..."

Wang Yunzhong said: "Quick! Gather up all the gold, silver, and valuables. We must be out of the city before noon!"

"Master, the young miss went out this morning, saying she was going to the temple to burn incense and pray for blessings."

Wang Yunzhong's head buzzed, and he roared: "Find her, find her!"

"Yes!" The steward acknowledged, then rushed out the door.

Immediately after, another servant came charging in. The two bed-warming maidservants, who wore not a stitch of clothing, let out another shriek at the sight.

Wang Yunzhong snapped angrily: "Silence!"

The servant said in a fluster: "Minister Fu requests that you come to the city wall to repel the enemy!"

Wang Yunzhong was the Garrison Commander of Nanjing, in overall charge of city defense—there truly was no one else who could take his place. He cursed under his breath and had the servant help him change into simpler attire. As he was leaving the mansion gate, he instructed the steward: "Keep the carts and horses ready at all times. No one is permitted to leave the front courtyard, understand?"

"Rest assured, Master!"

Having given his orders, Wang Yunzhong hurried toward the city wall. Along the way, order in the streets and alleys had completely collapsed. Ruffians and thugs were looting amid the chaos, shops and homes had been stripped bare, and villains were publicly assaulting women in broad daylight. The sound of wailing filled every street and lane.

The banks of the Qinhuai River, which last night had been resplendent with finery, had sunk into the mud and filth in a single night.

Wang Yunzhong had personal guards protecting him, and the mob scattered at the sight. Wang Yunzhong paid them no mind and made his way all the way up to the city wall.

The Minister of War, the Duke of Wei, and the Nanjing eunuch in charge of defense had all already ascended the city wall. Wang Yunzhong was about to exchange greetings with them when his peripheral vision caught the scene outside the city, and he froze on the spot.

Outside the city, from Jiangdong Gate to Xunxiang Gate, upon the open fields and polder farmland, over ten thousand Great Xia troops had already formed their battle lines.

Crow-black military uniforms spread across the field ridges, looking like an ink cloud pressing down upon the earth. Bronze cannons gleamed with cold, piercing light under the morning sun.

Several hundred dark-red banners stood in dense array; when the wind passed, the banner cloths unfurled and snapped loudly. The formation was orderly and disciplined, with not a sound of human clamor. When the ranks moved, their footsteps fell in perfect unison like giant hammers pounding the earth. A grim, murderous aura pressed against one's face even from several hundred zhang away.

Wang Yunzhong was so frightened he stood frozen, then blurted out: "Your Grace the Duke, how long can we hold out?"

The Duke of Wei gave him a deep look, and only then did Wang Yunzhong realize that this was not a question for him—the Nanjing Garrison Commander—to ask.

He then added: "Lu Xiangsheng neglected his duties and allowed the rebel troops to advance unopposed, alarming the secondary capital. I shall certainly submit a memorial demanding his execution!"

On the other side, in Hangzhou city, Lu Xiangsheng received the news and let out a long sigh toward the heavens.

His younger brother Lu Xiangjin said: "Brother, why do you sigh so? Nanjing's defenses are sturdy. Even if they are manned only by old and weak troops, holding for a month or two should pose no problem. The enemy has split their forces north and south; we can concentrate ours into a single column, strike south first and north later, and crush the Xia army one by one. Would that not be ideal?"

Lu Xiangsheng looked at his younger brother, a seemingly boundless desolation in his eyes. He murmured: "If the Xia army had landed at Songjiang or Ningbo, I would still have countermeasures to play. I never imagined they would come directly knocking at the gates of Nanjing...

I only lament that there is no way to turn the tide. The time for us brothers to die for the state is at hand... and the day of the Great Ming's collapse... is not far off either."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen