Chapter 968: Sails Hoisted High Across the Vast Ocean, Wild Geese

This grand deception of feigning a princely fiefdom was not complicated at all.

When Zhu Yilou went to his fief, Zhu Yijun gave him no great mission—simply put, as long as Zhu Yilou reached Jinshan Kingdom, even if he regretted it before arriving, refused to disembark, and returned to Great Ming, it would be entirely sufficient.

The main point was to display posture; whether he personally went or not was even unimportant—Jinshan Kingdom wanted this royal banner, and Great Ming wanted expansion.

As soon as the royal banner of the Lu Prince was planted in Jinshan City, all objectives would be achieved; previously, Empress Dowager Li had blocked it, so Zhu Yijun and Zhu Yilou had planned this grand deception of feigning a princely fiefdom.

Zhu Yilou stayed drunk and idle in the Lu Prince’s mansion, a substitute was sent to Jinshan Kingdom, the substitute fell gravely ill from water and soil incompatibility and returned to court, the Lu Prince wept and complained that Jinshan Kingdom was a barren, savage land of poverty and hardship, and the emperor built a grand residence for Zhu Yilou in the Ten Princes’ City.

It was merely borrowing the name of the Lu Prince, just like the obscure tales circulating on the grasslands—truth or falsehood didn’t matter; what mattered was legitimacy and righteousness.

Telling stories was a way to unite people’s hearts; just as no one knew exactly how much gold lay in the Tonghe Palace treasury, as long as it achieved the goal of uniting consensus on opening the seas, Zhu Yijun had no objection to this grand deception.

With the Lu Prince’s royal banner planted on the far shore of the Pacific, state affairs would not be delayed, and Zhu Yilou could continue enjoying life in Great Ming.

This grand deception was the emperor’s idea.

In terms of cunning schemes, ten Zhu Yilous together couldn’t match the emperor!

When this idea was proposed, Zhu Yilou was left speechless—just who was the true rogue of the world?

Zhu Yijun had even found a substitute: Luo Sigong. But Zhu Yilou insisted on going himself—he wanted freedom, not to be treated like a pig.

So Zhu Yijun told Zhu Yilou to prioritize survival; Zhu Yilou readily agreed, but he still wanted to strive hard, otherwise it would be as if he’d never lived at all.

“Also, after setting sail, trust no one,” Zhu Yijun whispered. “Tang Sanzang’s father, Chen Guangrui, was replaced—though this is fiction, you must still be cautious.”

A person is the sum of all social relations; to replace an official on his way to a post was nearly impossible, at least in Great Ming.

Take Sun Qifeng, County Magistrate of Rongcheng County, as an example: from the day he passed the imperial examination, all sorts of people—scholars, merchants, monks, bandits—swarmed around him, mostly those introducing debtors.

Becoming a creditor to a Jinshi was immensely profitable, and Jinshi needed silver to bribe connections, so they often cooperated tacitly.

Sun Qifeng waited seven full years in the capital before being assigned as County Magistrate of Rongcheng; he made over forty trips to the Ministry of Personnel alone before finally securing the post. Life in the capital was hard, and with bribes to secure his position, he owed the bank over seven thousand taels.

When Sun Qifeng departed for his post, he brought two private secretaries, six escort officers, six family members—wife, concubines—and eight servants, plus four bank clerks who were also his accountants and continued lending him money.

Taking up a post was only the beginning of borrowing large sums; banks’ main business began after officials assumed their posts.

After arriving, Sun Qifeng had to visit the Prefect, the Prefect’s private secretary, and under the Prefect’s introduction, the Viceroy, Provincial Governor, Provincial Administration Commissioner, Left and Right Assistant Commissioners, Provincial Surveillance Commissioner, and Censorial Inspectors—all of whom were Jinshi graduates, deeply versed in classics.

Casual introductions inevitably turned to teacher-student lineages and scholarly knowledge; quoting a few lines could instantly expose a fraud.

To replace someone required extreme care—any slip would reveal the truth.

Even if all that was handled, Sun Qifeng still had his personal seal mark—a unique signature known only to himself. Before departure, he had registered this mark at the Ministry of Personnel; after arrival, all official documents required verification of the mark; any discrepancy triggered strict investigation.

Killing a court official was among the gravest crimes; as long as the realm remained orderly, replacement was nearly impossible.

Attempting to substitute the Lu Prince’s fiefdom was even more troublesome.

He brought three thousand troops, and he had two sets of seal marks—one for routine documents, one for emergency alerts. Even if Zhu Yilou were stripped of power in Jinshan Kingdom, this second set of seals could inform the emperor that his younger brother was being mistreated.

“Live well,” Zhu Yijun repeated solemnly. These were words he could not put in an imperial decree—he needed Zhu Yilou to take risks, yet feared for his life. This was the complex, contradictory emotion Zhu Yijun felt at that moment.

“Don’t worry, Brother—I’m strong!” Zhu Yilou looked forward to his future life; in their final private farewell, Zhu Yilou called him “Brother” again, after so long.

The Lu Prince’s princely fief ceremony officially began. The Emperor of Great Ming convened a grand court assembly in the Huangji Hall; officials of fifth rank and above entered the hall, while those below stood on the Danbi Plaza. Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen both arrived at the Huangji Hall to see off the Lu Prince.

Minister of Rites Shen Li and Minister of War Ceng Shengwu carried the imperial decree to the Lu Prince’s mansion.

At the Lu Prince’s mansion, Shen Li twice requested the Lu Prince to depart for his fief; only then did Zhu Yilou stride out with regal bearing, wearing the nine-chapter ceremonial robe and the four-clawed golden dragon crown, stepping slowly onto the carriage drawn by nine white horses. The carriage differed slightly from the Emperor’s jade chariot but was equally splendid.

“Set out!” Xu Jue flicked his fly whisk and shouted in a shrill voice.

The Directorate of Palace Affairs led a group of eunuchs who lifted a chair—the Lu Prince’s throne; the Bureau of Astronomy timed the auspicious moment; as soon as it arrived, soldiers beat drums and blew horns; the Bureau of Imperial Treasures set up the treasure altar with the Lu Prince’s seal, crown, and sash; the Temple of Ritual began playing the Zhonghe Shao music, its grand melody echoing across heaven and earth.

At the head of the procession was a south-pointing chariot, followed by a distance-measuring drum cart, then ceremonial horses—tall steeds from the Imperial Stable, their necks adorned with crimson tassels, saddles and stirrups of gilded bronze—nine white horses altogether, exuding great majesty.

The procession stretched six li, its thunderous momentum heading toward the Chengtian Gate.

The Lu Prince disembarked before the Chengtian Gate and, under Xu Jue’s lead, crossed the Outer Golden Water Bridge, passed through the Wumen gate tunnel, crossed the Inner Golden Water Bridge, and arrived before the Huangji Gate, ascending the steps. The three-tiered moon terrace before the Huangji Gate was not very high.

The Lu Prince stood before the Huangji Gate, gazing for a long while: inside, banners fluttered; Great Ming’s civil and military officials stood in orderly rows on either side; the dragon banners and standards snapped loudly in the spring wind; the Embroidered Uniform Guard, clad in gleaming armor, gripped ceremonial blades, imposing and stern.

As Zhu Yilou stepped across the threshold of the Huangji Gate, drums pounded, horns echoed, the Temple of Ritual orchestra played again, and Xu Jue led Zhu Yilou across the long Danbi Plaza to stand below the moon terrace.

“Summon the Lu Prince into the hall,” came the imperial voice from within the Huangji Hall.

Zhu Yilou ascended the steps into the Huangji Hall, bowed five times and kowtowed thrice, and cried out: “Your humble brother Zhu Yilou pays homage to Your Majesty. May Your Majesty live ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years!”

“Your humble brother is older and no longer fit to remain in the capital. I humbly beg Your Majesty’s decree to send me to my fief in Jinshan.”

Feng Bao flicked his fly whisk and shouted: “His Majesty’s decree:”

“When kin fail to cherish one another, the people grow resentful; when rulers lack virtue, customs grow corrupt. The means of moral guidance must originate from above. The Empress Dowager has conveyed her imperial edict to me: she cannot bear to see her own son journey to the farthest edge of the earth. The Lu Prince shall remain in the capital, to demonstrate familial affection.”

Zhu Yilou saw Empress Dowager Li and bowed again: “Your humble brother wishes to remain by Mother’s side—this is the deepest bond of flesh and blood. Yet, Your Imperial Brother once said: ‘A true man born between heaven and earth must harbor lofty aspirations; how can he remain forever trapped in a cage?’ Mother herself taught me: ‘The sons of the Zhu family must prioritize the state and care for the people.’”

“I now seek to depart overseas for the sake of the realm, for the sun and moon, for the rivers and mountains, for the great cause of opening the seas. I humbly beg Mother and Your Imperial Brother to permit me to go to Jinshan Kingdom.”

Empress Dowager Li, seated behind the Emperor, finally sighed and said: “Go.”

“His Majesty’s decree,” Feng Bao flicked his fly whisk again. “Brothers’ kinship must not be severed by distance; familial bonds, strengthened by affection, draw close; if neglected, they grow distant and turn to betrayal. Is not this distance and closeness akin to the bowstring? I know that those above set the example for those below.”

“Brothers’ kinship must not be severed by distance” is a line from the Book of Songs, meaning that even when grown, brothers should not drift apart.

Zhu Yijun again detained Zhu Yilou in Great Ming, refusing his fief overseas.

“Your humble brother could never forget the warmth of kinship,” Zhu Yilou bowed again. “Your Imperial Brother guards the realm from the Nine Heavens, like the sun and moon traversing the sky; I wish to guard the sea frontier for ten thousand li, like rivers flowing across the earth. The young eagle spreads its wings—not out of disdain for the old nest, but to reach the nine heavens!”

“Your humble brother Zhu Yilou humbly begs Your Imperial Brother to permit me to take my fief.”

“Lu Prince,” Zhu Yijun took a deep breath. “Your journey spans twenty thousand li of water—be certain to safeguard your safety.”

Feng Bao stepped forward two paces; two young eunuchs unfurled the imperial decree. Feng Bao flicked his fly whisk again and intoned in a high, rhythmic tone: “By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees:”

“I have heard that no kinship surpasses that of blood; I have also heard that the duty to state and family weighs heavier than princely fiefdom. In our youth, burdened by hardship, you and I were raised under our mother’s tender care, nurtured by ancestral grace, sharing the same cradle, studying together as children.”

“Yet, our ancestors’ founding was arduous; maintaining peace of the realm is no easy task. Now I, by Heaven’s mandate, sit upon the Nine Heavens to rule all nations; you, endowed with the spirit of rivers and mountains, possess talent and aspire to distant horizons.”

“Jinshan lies at the key to the Eastern Sea, commanding the waves of ten thousand li. Its territory hangs beyond the sea, over thirty thousand li distant—truly the farthest edge of the world, a new frontier of the imperial domain.”

“Mountains and passes stretch far, mist and waves stretch boundless; this departure—sails hoisted high across the vast ocean, wild geese’s flight cannot carry messages to the deep palace.”

“Each time I think of this, my heart is torn, my inner being seared. Yet for the sake of the realm, for the people, for the eternal stability of the imperial throne, though I am loath to let you go, I must swallow my tears and grant this favor—may you understand my earnest heart, and remember the heavy trust of the state.”

“May you revere Heaven, honor your ancestors, govern diligently, love your people. Cross the ocean’s waves, and guard your health.”

“May you make Jinshan your base, project Great Ming’s might across the seas; may you use the trade alliance as a chain, gather the world’s wealth for China. When your deeds are accomplished, your name shall be inscribed in history—I shall leave my seat vacant, awaiting you to speak of family in the palace.”

“As your departure draws near, I bestow upon you treasures from the imperial treasury, texts on agriculture and industry, skilled artisans, and select troops to bolster your journey—use them wisely.”

“According to the established precedents of past dynasties, I bestow virtue and grace, proclaiming this decree to all under heaven, that all may hear.”

“This is my decree.”

“Sails hoisted high across the vast ocean, wild geese’s flight cannot carry messages to the deep palace”—these two lines were composed by Zhu Yijun after much deliberation, without a full poem, merely a farewell gift to Zhu Yilou.

“Your humble brother will forever remember Your Imperial Brother’s teachings, and bow again to Your boundless grace,” Zhu Yilou bowed once more, received the imperial decree with bowed head, rose, cast one final glance at his mother and brother, and turned to leave the Huangji Hall.

Zhu Yijun rose to descend the steps and see him off.

Behind Zhu Yijun stood the two Empress Dowagers; ministers followed closely. The Emperor and Empress Dowagers escorted the Lu Prince to the outer Chengtian Gate, where the Bureau of Imperial Treasures set up the treasure altar. The Lu Prince stood before the Golden Water Bridge, bowed five times before the altar, and bade farewell to his mother and brother.

“Your humble brother departs on a long journey; I bow once more to Mother and Brother,” the Lu Prince kowtowed deeply, then rose.

“Go,” Zhu Yijun said. A thousand words in his heart had shrunk to two.

Zhu Yilou boarded the carriage, turned his head for one last look—this was a parting of life and death; they would never meet again. He felt boundless sorrow, but the deed was done; there was no turning back.

“Son, I sewed you a coat. Wear it when it turns cold,” Empress Dowager Li stepped forward and handed the quilted robe to Zhu Yilou as he boarded.

She had meant to give it to him when they met that morning, but forgot; she had meant to present it in the hall, but forgot again. Only now, as Zhu Yilou truly departed, did she remember the coat she had sewn and rushed to give it to him.

“I know, Mother. I’m going,” Zhu Yilou trembled as he took the robe, did not linger, and stepped inside the carriage.

He feared that if he spoke another word, he would not be able to leave.

At this point, the Emperor and Empress Dowagers ceased their farewell. Officials followed the carriage toward the Altar of Heaven, where sacrifices were made to Heaven, then to the Western Hills mausoleum to honor ancestors. After the suburban rites, the Lu Prince’s carriage halted at the Chaoyang Gate and headed south along the imperial road.

Zhu Yijun stood atop the Zhengya Bell and Drum Tower, in the howling wind—the highest point in the capital, from which he could see the Lu Prince’s carriage, like a coiling dragon, winding through the city.

“Father, if you are so reluctant, why can’t Uncle stay?” Zhu Changzhi stood beside the Emperor, watching his father stare at the Lu Prince’s carriage, and asked softly.

Zhu Yijun stroked Zhu Changzhi’s head and smiled, shaking his head: “He must go.”

Father and son fell silent, silently seeing off Zhu Yilou.

Zhu Yilou sat aboard the Shengping No. 9 locomotive, watching the scenery recede outside the window, hugging the cotton robe his mother had stitched stitch by stitch, his heart filled with complex emotion.

A mother’s needle and thread, a wanderer’s garment;

Stitched tightly before departure, fearing his long delay in returning;

The world’s wanderers still return home—but Zhu Yilou’s journey meant he would never see them again.

He knew well his mother’s anguish—she was heartbroken—but he still had to leave. He was her son, yet the countless people striving to open the seas were also her children.

Raised since childhood with his Imperial Brother, though born noble, he still saw himself as a man, thinking as a man—not as some transcendent being above ordinary mortals.

The great cause of opening the seas could not fail; the Global Trade Alliance touched the ancestral foundation; Jinshan’s gold was the only solution to the silver crisis.

The train stopped in Jinan for one day; Zhu Yilou then boarded a ship and sailed south along the Grand Canal, stopping two more days in Songjiang Prefecture. Ten days after leaving the capital, the Lu Prince arrived at the New Harbor of Songjiang, gazing at ten fast-sailing ships moored side by side.

Zhu Yilou had accompanied the Emperor to naval reviews many times and seen fast-sailing ships before, but each time he saw a thirty-three-zhang-long vessel, he was still awed that such a colossal thing was man-made.

Ten such ships moored side by side looked even more majestic.

On the fifteenth day of the second month of the nineteenth year, the Lu Prince’s procession set sail: ten fast-sailing ships, twenty five-masted ocean-going vessels, fifty three-masted junks, nearly a hundred two-masted ships—all hoisted their sails.

Just leaving the harbor took a full day; the sails obscured the entire sea, blotting out sun and sky.

Zhu Yijun had assigned three thousand troops to the Lu Prince, but the entire expedition numbered some twenty-three thousand: mostly laborers bound for Jinshan to mine gold, pioneers recruited by Jinshan Kingdom from the heartland of Great Ming, and this year’s East Trade convoy.

Jinshan Kingdom’s recruitment conditions were simple: upon arrival, you could ride a horse and claim land within an hour—whatever you circled was yours.

Zhu Yilou boarded the ship and began vomiting. He was a man born to nobility, with no experience living on sea vessels; the hardships of sailing could not be described in mere words. He ate poorly, slept poorly, was constantly dazed, and fell ill within two days.

He had already endured a long journey from the capital to Songjiang, exhausted by carriage and boat, and had only rested two days before setting sail again—of course he fell ill.

Before the fleet reached the Liusu Harbor in Ryukyu, Zhu Yilou recovered. He was young and strong, quickly adapted to life aboard, ate and vomited, ate again, and gradually grew accustomed—he could even sleep soundly on his hammock.

Once accustomed, Zhu Yilou grew curious about the sea. Though the fast-sailing ships carried the Shengping No. 9 steam engine, it had never been activated on this leg—their main power remained sails. According to the physicists of the Ge Wu Academy, the Shengping No. 9 still inefficiently used coal and required further improvement.

“Your Highness, are you feeling better?” Chief Secretary Meng Jinquan hurried forward as he saw the Lu Prince on deck.

Zhu Yilou, full of enthusiasm, said: “Much better. What are you doing?”

“Fishing,” Meng Jinquan replied quickly, watching the crew bustling about.

“Do you fish with bed-crossbows?” Zhu Yiliu asked in astonishment, pointing at several bed-crossbows.

Who ever fishes with a bed-crossbow firing a three-blade arrow?!

The three-blade arrow is as thick as a spear, with a sturdy wooden shaft and iron fletching arranged in a triangular pattern resembling three sharp blades—hence its name.

“Your Highness, there are sharks in the sea.” (Since the Yuan Dynasty, “shark” no longer broadly refers to large sea fish but specifically to large sharks.) Meng Jinquan struggled to describe it, explaining why they used bed-crossbows.

But Zhu Yiliu had never seen a shark; no matter how much he explained, it meant nothing.

Soon, the Prince of Lu saw the shark—and his temple veins throbbed, for he saw a man fighting a shark in the water!

A coastal inspector named Shuifly was fishing in the sea when a barbed arrow struck a yellowfin tuna. The tuna thrashed violently in the water, bleeding heavily. The blood attracted two sharks, each over ten feet long. Their fins glided across the surface; the dense rows of teeth made Zhu Yiliu break into a cold sweat.

Yet the coastal inspector remained calm. He drew a dagger and fought the two sharks in the water, slashing each once, then climbed aboard safely, dragging the yellowfin with him. As soon as he stepped onto the deck, the waiting bed-crossbows fired, piercing the sharks’ bodies. The sea turned crimson.

A man fighting sharks in the water, emerging unscathed, keeping his catch, and delivering each shark a fatal cut—the coastal inspector’s ferocity made Zhu Yiliu’s eyelids twitch.

The gap between men is truly immense.

“Your Highness, our coastal inspectors don’t often fight sharks in the water,” one inspector hurriedly explained, seeing how startled the prince was. “It’s not daily. Such scenes occur perhaps once every few years.”

“So you can win?” Zhu Yiliu asked, dazed.

The coastal inspector hesitated, then replied with a simple, earnest smile: "If you can't win, you die. In these waters from Songjiang to the Ryukyu Islands, sharks no longer dare attack people. These two? They must have swum over from the Great Eastern Ocean—they don't know the rules."

Sharks are highly intelligent creatures, intensely curious. After repeatedly suffering at human hands, those off Songjiang’s coast no longer dare attack people.

Humans are simply too fierce.

“Let me try,” Zhu Yiliu said, walking toward the ship’s edge. He intended to fish—not to fight sharks in the sea. He could swim, but his water skills were poor; he simply wanted to try sea fishing.

“Your Highness, a gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall,” Chancellor Meng Jinquan hurriedly blocked him. Before the Prince of Lu reached Jinshan City, nothing could go wrong—especially now that he had just recovered. A little sea air and breeze were enough; there was no need to lean so close to the water.

Zhu Yiliu took two steps, then stopped. “Then I won’t fish.”

As he walked two steps, he realized: he was already at sea. From now on, he must protect his own safety. In those two steps, he finally understood why his elder brother had been so cautious—even moving into Tonghemen Palace.

Life and death were not his own. He bore the Emperor’s mandate and his brother’s expectations.

Meng Jinquan had served as Prince of Lu’s chancellor for seven years. The prince was stubborn, hard to persuade. Meng had even prepared to invoke an imperial edict—but the Prince of Lu had figured it out himself.

“What did your elder brother write in the edict?” Zhu Yiliu asked curiously.

Meng Jinquan whispered: “At need, escort the prince back to Great Ming.”

Zhu Yiliu froze, then burst into laughter—genuinely, joyfully.

The fleet departed from Shuri City and sailed northward, riding the ocean current toward Jinshan Kingdom.

The ocean current—a magical maritime highway. Without it, the thirty-thousand-li voyage would take half a year; with it, only two months.

The discovery and use of ocean currents greatly increased maritime speed.

“What’s that?” Zhu Yiliu, now fully adapted to life at sea, spotted a strange vessel as they prepared to depart. Onboard lay a colossal fish—over fifteen zhang long. Its size made it impossible to miss.

“A whaling ship from Nagasaki, owned by the Jiaozhou Oceanic Trading Company. Those two whales are bound for Songjiang,” the coastal inspector answered.

The inspector’s expression was odd. “Whales aren’t fish. According to the chief physician of the Dissection Institute, whales resemble humans more than fish—even if they look like fish.”

The Dissection Institute dissected everything—whales, dolphins included. Whales resemble humans more than fish.

The Institute discovered that cetaceans breathe with lungs, not gills; they give live birth, not eggs. These traits prove whales are not fish.

Cetaceans are smarter than sharks.

Zhu Yiliu watched the two whaling ships pass by, more convinced than ever: reading ten thousand scrolls is not as valuable as traveling ten thousand li. This fiefdom assignment had truly opened his eyes.

Zhu Yiliu whispered: “Are there sea monsters in the ocean?”

Sea monsters were taboo at sea—even for a prince like Zhu Yiliu, one spoke softly, lest the monsters hear.

“No. None have ever been found,” the coastal inspector shook his head. “Apart from self-induced fear, no sea monster has ever been confirmed.”

As Great Ming’s ships multiplied, such tales faded. The sea held no monsters; even the largest whale was no match for humans. The coastal inspector paid close attention but found no actual evidence.

Zhu Yiliu felt disappointed. In the capital, he’d read countless strange tales in tabloids and storybooks—sea monsters with immense power. On the sea, he feared them… yet hoped they existed.

Sadly, the coastal inspector Shuifly’s answer crushed him.

According to the inspector, the real enemies at sea were storms, reefs, plague, mutiny, and loneliness. As Great Ming’s understanding of astronomy and hydrology improved, the dangers of storms, reefs, and plague diminished.

“And what’s that?” Zhu Yiliu pointed to tiny yellow dots far on the horizon.

“Your Highness, those are drift ducks. Every month, tens of thousands of wooden drift ducks are released to measure current speed by their recovered tags. This has been done for twelve years—to study current direction and velocity,” the coastal inspector replied after careful observation.

Drift ducks were released and retrieved monthly, to verify the timing of current cycles. Most vanished without trace, but a few returned. With enough data, measurements grew precise.

“Fascinating. Truly fascinating,” Zhu Yiliu ordered one retrieved, examined it, then tossed it back into the sea to drift on.

Going to sea opened Zhu Yiliu’s eyes. The world was so much more interesting than the four walls of a prince’s palace.

Half a month into the voyage, Zhu Yiliu lost all interest in the sea. Endless water stretched in every direction, sky and sea indistinguishable. He curled up in his hammock, doing nothing. Each day, he marked a line, hoping to reach Jinshan City sooner.

“Your Highness, a storm is coming,” Chancellor Meng Jinquan entered the prince’s cabin, hanging hooks on the hammock to prevent it from swinging wildly.

“Is it dangerous?” Zhu Yiliu climbed out, his face grim.

“A bit,” Meng Jinquan answered vaguely.

Zhu Yiliu stepped out of the cabin, stunned. Dark cumulonimbus clouds loomed on the horizon, lightning flashing within. The clouds pressed down on the sea, hurling waves taller than city walls. Born and raised in the capital, Zhu Yiliu had never seen waves so high.

“Can we hold?” Zhu Yiliu swallowed, his lips trembling.

Meng Jinquan replied with absolute certainty: “Yes. Five-masted ocean-going ships can withstand this. The captain says it’s nothing.”