Chapter 111: A Lamb Delivered to the Tiger's Jaws

The fleet led by Dog Eye sailed south to latitude 23 degrees north, then turned their sails eastward. Not long after, the coast of Tainan came into view.

By early afternoon, the fleet had reached the open sea off Dayuan. Unlike other days, an extra Western-style soft-sail ship was anchored there now — it hadn't entered the port, just sat in the outer waters. Wang Bo, captain of Dog Eye, picked up his phone, whose signal had grown stronger, and made a call. He quickly figured out the situation, then ordered everyone to stay alert. The fleet rounded the outside of the Western ship and slowly entered the harbor.

Standing in the machine gun nest mounted atop Dog Eye's sterncastle, Wang Bo — tall, lean, and gaunt-faced, a crossing-over man from a fisheries administration background — studied the scene carefully through his binoculars.

What slowly appeared in the lens was a three-masted yacht ship — what the Dutch called a "speedboat." It was about 25 meters long, with a displacement likely around 250 tons, a good two sizes larger than the Chengfeng that the Navy had captured. The deck was now packed with sailors of every hair color, though red-haired Low Country types still dominated, making up roughly half.

The muzzles of four copper cannons poked their heads out from the gunports. Through Wang Bo's 8x Zeiss scope, he could clearly make out two 12-pounders and two 8-pounders.

Staring at the red, white, and blue VOC (abbreviated name for the Dutch East India Company) flag hanging from the mast, Wang Bo wore a cold sneer. Once the two sides had slowly brushed past each other at a distance of three hundred meters, Wang Bo turned and went into the cabin.

Dayuan Port was a scene of chaos. The Sand Ship fleet entered the harbor and began unloading people and cargo. Yang Er crawled out of the lower hold and squeezed into the crowd on deck, craning his neck to look in every direction. He saw the vast blue-green stretches of Xiehu, saw patches of yellow sandbars drawing near from afar, saw the brown city walls looming right beside the docks — and then, atop the corner bastion of those walls, he saw Wei Abbot...

Whether it was back when he wore a monk's robe baring his chest and belly, wine gourd in hand, or now in a mysterious-color vest, mysterious-color trousers, and jungle battle boots, Wei Abbot was always the most eye-catching person, no matter where he stood.

At 1.93 meters tall, with a buzz cut, a face full of brutal flesh, a thick stubby neck that looked like extra steel bars had been welded on, powerful pectorals carving deep contours into his vest, and massive upper-arm muscles bulging — the saying "his arms are thicker than his thighs" was no joke when it came to Wei Yuan.

Standing on the "Observation Deck" at the southeast corner of Shang Hall, towering above everyone else, Wei Yuan was pointing out the landscape with Han Bo and the others. Yang Er, who had just climbed onto the deck, recognized him in the first moment. Yang Er immediately covered the birthmark on his face, bent his knees, shrank his neck, and vanished into the crowd.

Yang Er seeing Wei Yuan was like a mouse seeing a cat.

Back when he was at Moyun Temple, Yang Er had been terrified to death of Wei Abbot. By all rights, Yang Er should have been grateful to the abbot: food and drink were no worry, the tasks assigned were easy, and every time they met the abbot praised him for being clever. Yet Yang Er the thief, who had endured hardship from childhood and knew the dangers of the Edo deep in his bones, instinctively felt that being favored by the abbot was no good path.

At first, Yang Er thought his own chrysanthemum was going to get ravaged — that's what all the bald donkeys in Hangzhou City did to novice monks. Later he realized it wasn't that. The way Wei Abbot looked at Yang Er was more like an old craftsman eyeing a fine piece of material. More than once, the abbot had said to Yang Er: "Look at that cleverness of yours — once we get to the place and give you some training, you'll be a real asset."

... This only made Yang Er more terrified: the man was going to force him into the gang, to do the kind of work where you lick blood off a knife! You had to understand, Wei Abbot's body bore not just brutal flesh but also scars. Fighting and killing in the outlaw world was probably the abbot's true trade. Yang Er was just a thief scraping by in Hangzhou City by being too slippery to catch — he didn't have the abbot's guts, nor the abbot's frame, to go risking his life against others.

So from the day he entered Moyun Temple, Yang Er hid from Wei Abbot like a mouse every single day. Fortunately, just a few months later, the abbot vanished in the middle of the night. Yang Er was sent off by the new abbot to make straw sandals, and this actually put his mind at ease.

After setting out on this sea voyage, Yang Er had a vague, uneasy premonition. Sure enough, the moment the ship reached port today, Yang Er spotted the person he least wanted to see. The one saving grace was that the deck was currently packed with people dressed exactly like Yang Er, so as long as he covered the conspicuous birthmark on his face, Wei Abbot definitely wouldn't recognize him.

The people on the ship soon lined up and walked down the gangplank. Head lowered, face covered, Yang Er followed the line to the base of the city wall. The laborer teams, already well-trained by sticks and clubs, neatly formed several horizontal rows and were ordered to sit on the ground and rest.

Sitting beneath the castle, Yang Er actually breathed a sigh of relief: Wei Abbot up on the gun platform overhead couldn't see him down here at the foot of the wall. He leaned his back against the city wall, relaxed, and watched at ease as people dressed just like him unloaded bundle after bundle of cargo from the sand ships. A few other boats ferried back and forth across the large lake before him, shuttling newly arrived passengers to the opposite shore load by load.

The opposite shore was probably where he'd be making straw sandals from now on. Yang Er knew perfectly well in his heart that he wasn't scholar material — sooner or later he'd be sent off to weave straw sandals. He'd never see Brother Jiang again either. The two of them were never on the same road: Brother Jiang had disembarked early, together with those two gentlemen scholars. The First Dharma Transmission Master of Moyun Temple, the Great Monk Pudu, had personally greeted them at the dock. Ah, Brother Jiang was probably gnawing on a pork knuckle right about now — he was the Great Monk's direct disciple, after all...

What Yang Er didn't know was that, just as he was leaning against the wall basking in the sun, a conversation about him was taking place overhead.

"I thought Xia would never approve us recruiting new soldiers in this lifetime. Looks like he took the wrong medicine — how come he agreed today?" Wei Yuan stroked his chin, glancing down at the new laborers below with a hint of disdain.

"Capturing Shang Hall pissed off the Dutch, selling silk to Japan pissed off Lao Zheng," the pale, plump Wang Xiaohui said, looking around aimlessly through his binoculars and curling his lip. "You really think he doesn't know the risks? It's just playing tricks to suppress the military. Tch, too low."

"Alright, alright, a few complaints are fine, but that's enough. A while back we had to concentrate all our manpower on firing up the Kiln District, right? Now we've got surplus hands... We need to keep the big picture in mind..." Han Bo began smoothing things over with a chuckle.

"Stop, stop, old revolutionary!" Wei Yuan couldn't stand hearing that the most. He cut in crisply: "What's the conscription method?"

"Pick whoever you want." Han Bo nodded firmly. "No matter what post they held before, just call out the name and they're ours. First, recruit thirty trainees — this needs to be done carefully. Remember, better to leave a slot empty than fill it with the wrong person."

"Are we training those Navy trainees on their behalf?" Wang Xiaohui turned his head and asked from the side.

"That previous batch, the Navy trains themselves. From now on, any new Navy recruits will all be trained by us, unified."

"Bah! So they still don't trust me, damn it. I can't stand these fake upright types — even before firing a cannon they've got to trim their damn feathers first!" Wang Xiaohui burst out cursing.

Wei Yuan, for his part, didn't have that many complaints. His attention had already shifted to the newcomers waiting for the boats below. "This time, I'm picking the men myself. Good thing the clever ones haven't all been picked off by the Navy yet..." Wei Yuan said with a dark chuckle.