Chapter 90: The Ghost

When Lin Qian had first assigned positions, he made Lei Sanxiang the boatswain.

It was a borrowed word—Ming sea vessels had no such post originally—and it sounded awkward on the tongue, so as the crew bandied it about, it gradually became "shao chang."

Likewise, Chen Jiao's first mate and Scholar Zhou's accountant had both been given Ming-dynasty versions of their titles, called "duo zhang" and "zhi ku" respectively.

Lin Qian felt the crew's way of saying things suited the Eastern temperament better, so he switched to the new terms.

That crewman must have stepped out.

Lin Qian sat down at the round table to eat breakfast.

This morning's breakfast was thick rice porridge, pickled radish, steamed fish, and one egg.

By Lin Qian's rule, every crew member ate the same breakfast—not just enough to fill the belly, but good food besides; the mess standard was set quite high.

After all, food was the guarantee of fighting strength—you could stint on anything but your stomach.

When Lin Qian had gone to Shen'ao Harbor, he had seen the rations of the guard station officers and men: basically every meal was coarse rice gruel with saltwater pickles. The soldiers could never eat their fill, and every face had that sallow, underfed look.

With such rations, the fact that the men hadn't fled the island already counted as Huang Hetai being skilled at leading troops.

Of course, the high mess standard had its drawback too—the cost was simply too great.

Aboard the Santa Ana, the crew had now been expanded to four hundred men, consuming one hundred eighty dan of rice and flour per month, six thousand jin of assorted meats, and no small expense besides for salt, sauce, vinegar, vegetables, oil, liquor, and other sundries.

All told, the ship's monthly food bill alone came to nearly six hundred taels of silver.

And this was in the relatively prosperous south; along the Nine Borders, Ming generals who kept household retainers and private soldiers paid even more for food.

But set the food bill against the cost of galleon repairs, dry dock construction, and purchasing gunpowder and cannon, and it was a drop in the bucket.

And if one counted the future costs of training talent, developing metallurgy, building shipyards, and constructing sailing warships, the food bill was almost negligible.

In naval matters, every single item was a monster that swallowed gold.

Later ages often spoke of "a century to build a navy," meaning that a navy, unlike an army, could not be built in one stroke—the whole nation had to tighten its belt and accumulate steadily for a hundred years before a fleet could be formed.

But for Lin Qian—

A hundred years was too long; he would seize every day.

After breakfast, Lin Qian returned to his desk and set about drawing the second revision plans for the Santa Ana.

For this revision, he intended to split the cargo hold in two: the upper level would become a new powder deck, while the lower level would remain a cargo hold.

It was an extremely intricate and delicate task, requiring a vast amount of calculation and simulation.

He had to consider hull strength, ballast and weight distribution, and also balance speed and maneuverability.

It rather felt like writing an eight-legged essay—holding a grand ceremony inside a snail shell.

If the design went wrong—

Either you got a Vasa—sinking on her maiden voyage.

Or you got a Santísima Trinidad—a sitting duck on the open sea.

So Lin Qian drew the plans very slowly. Of course, even if he finished them now, there was still no dry dock available to berth a galleon for the work.

For the moment, the priority was to scoop up some silver first, then build the dry dock, and only then could they overhaul the captured ships and refit the galleon.

Lin Qian had just put down two strokes when a crewman knocked and came in.

"Captain, Navigator Bai told me to give you this."

Lin Qian took it—it was Xie Er's newly drawn map of the Lin estate, not much different from the previous version; it should be close to the true layout now.

Lin Qian set the drawing on the table: "Keep drawing."

"Aye." The crewman accepted the order and withdrew.

By supper time, five more sheets had piled up on Lin Qian's table, each slightly different from the last.

But Lin Qian had seen too many design drawings; he could tell which errors were slips of the pen and which were deliberate tampering.

After a day and a night of torment, no trace of intentional falsification could be found in Xie Er's maps anymore.

Working from Xie Er's map, Lin Qian redrew a clean copy himself with ruler and pen—not only clearer and more intuitive to read, but also fixing several of Xie Er's mistakes along the way.

Just then another crewman knocked and entered: "Captain, supper is ready."

The crewman set the meal on the round table and prepared to leave.

"Wait." Lin Qian stopped him.

"Captain." The crewman stood at attention.

"Notify all the officers aboard: after supper, a meeting in the officers' mess. Bring along that man drawing maps in the cargo hold too."

After supper.

The officers' mess.

Steaming cups of Longjing tea had already been set out on the table.

Chen Jiao, Scholar Zhou, Lei Sanxiang, Bai Qing, Bailangzai, and Zheng Zhilong sat on either side of the table.

Xie Er crouched in a corner of the mess, already worn to a state of dazed distraction.

Lin Qian entered, and everyone rose to greet him.

Lin Qian had them sit, spread his own drawing across the table, and cut straight to the point with no preamble at all.

"The Lin estate in Huangyan County, Taizhou Prefecture, covers more than twenty mu, close to the Yongning River, reachable by water. Based on the number of boats, the silver in the estate comes to around fifty thousand taels, hidden in various places."

Then Lin Qian dipped a bamboo pen in cinnabar and dabbed lightly at several spots on the drawing: "It should be in these positions."

Fifty thousand taels was only Lin Qian's lowest estimate based on the number of private boats the Lin estate kept; the actual figure ought to be far higher.

Xie Er found it utterly baffling—he himself didn't know how much silver the estate held, so how could this bandit chieftain?

And he had the gall to mark circles on the map, as if he were some fortune-telling immortal?

Curiosity stirred, Xie Er edged toward the table, took one look, and froze, thinking: "This isn't the map I drew."

He studied it closely, and cold sweat broke out all over his body—the drawing was not only neater and more intuitive, with straighter lines, but actually closer to reality, with more detailed annotations, as if the man who drew it had truly been there himself.

In that day and night, he had drawn who knew how many versions of the Lin estate's terrain map; he knew it by heart by now.

One glance was enough to see that the map on the table had been altered in several places—the orientations of doors and windows, the positions of wells, and even the routes of several roads had all been changed.

The most critical thing was that the changes were all correct, exactly matching what he remembered.

What was even more terrifying was…

Everything Lin Qian had circled in red ink was precisely the mansion's most vital and critical points.

Beneath the sleeping platform in the main hall, beneath the stove, the wooden pillars of the main hall, the floor tiles of the study, the rockery in the garden…

By comparison, the accounting room hadn't even been circled.

These were the spots where wealthy households commonly hid their silver—something Lin Qian knew well.

Xie Er felt cold sweat soaking through his entire body. He stole a sidelong glance at Lin Qian, thinking to himself: "Is this really a man? Could he be an evil ghost in disguise, come to claim lives?

Heavens above! Whatever wicked deeds Master Lin did, they have nothing to do with me…

Well, there's some connection, but not much. I'm just a servant in this household—my words carry no weight. If the master wants to do something, I can't talk him out of it either.

Every wrong has its doer, every debt its debtor. If Heaven wants to punish someone, it should punish Master Lin. Don't make things hard for a mere servant like me…"

After Lin Qian finished circling, everyone raised their heads to look at him.

Chen Jiao seemed somewhat worried: "Helmsman, after all, we're on shore. Are you sure about this?"

Lin Qian said: "No rush. Let Bailangzai first tell us about the security situation."

Bailangzai continued: "The mansion has twenty guards, fifty sturdy servants, and over two hundred clan militiamen outside the estate.

The guards are trained like soldiers—strong and fit, very loyal. They have no armor, no crossbows or firearms…"

Xie Er slowly came back to his senses. These were all things Bailangzai had extracted from him during the daytime interrogation—words he himself had spoken, nothing out of line.

Looking at it this way, this cold-faced sea bandit wasn't some ghost after all.

At this moment, Lin Qian spoke up: "Let me add one point. The lack of crossbows is only what Xie Er said. These are all prohibited items, normally kept deep within the mansion and never shown to anyone. Once we attack, who knows—they might bring them out and use them. We need to prepare countermeasures in advance."

Hearing these words, Xie Er felt cold sweat streaming out uncontrollably again.

(End of Chapter)

Yahei

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