Chapter 278: Longyan Battle Record (I)

The Transmigrators were dead certain about the Portuguese reaction — they would never compromise.

No one would agree to such a "nation-humiliating, sovereignty-forfeiting" troop-stationing condition. Even our Qing Dynasty only knelt helplessly after its face was thoroughly swollen in the Opium War — and the Portuguese haven't had their face slapped yet.

One thing both negotiating sides now knew perfectly well was that the Transmigrators wanted to stir up trouble, and they disdained hiding it — their malice was laid bare on the table.

As for why the Transmigrators were so blunt, no words were wasted.

Unlike the dog-like Dutch, the British, and the Spanish, the Portuguese occupied Macau, the sole Ming-goods base in East Asia. They were the only colonizers who could enter Guangzhou City to purchase commodities, albeit with time restrictions.

Under these circumstances, the Portuguese only needed to ship Cantonese goods along the sea routes to Europe every year — they didn't have to think too much.

And this was precisely what the Transmigrators faulted them for: the Portuguese couldn't supply the industrial raw materials Dayuan needed. The trade system centered on Macau was, in fact, in covert competition with Dayuan.

The Portuguese could provide neither the grain nor the various populations the Transmigrators needed, and Macau's very existence made the Transmigrators' plan to consolidate the foreign trade landscape of Fujian and Guangdong run into a nail household.

This non-complementary trade structure was the fundamental reason a certain rogue power had set its sights on the Portuguese. Wild dogs like the Dutch could adjust their import and export goods at any time — the Portuguese could not. Even if they took the time to adjust, by the time it took effect, the Transmigrators, already entering the Pearl River Estuary, would no longer tolerate them.

In short, the Transmigration Nation welcomed everyone to do business in East Asia. But there was a prerequisite: everyone had to trade on the owner's territory and pay taxes to the owner. Lawless places like Macau, which refused to submit to royal rule, had to be uprooted completely.

With Alonso's hasty departure, from this moment on, with the 23°N latitude as the dividing line, the fog of war against the Portuguese had been lifted. The Transmigration Nation officially entered a state of "standoff" with the Macau side — all Portuguese-flagged vessels attempting to sail north would be seized.

And this deliberately provoked Cold War state between the two sides would continue until the day the King's Army came ashore.

Following the Jiulong River upstream from Xiamen Port, less than 20 kilometers away lay the Zhangzhou Plain.

From Zhangzhou, continuing deeper along the upper reaches of the Jiulong River, after traveling 200 li by water, one reached Longyan County.

Nestled amidst encircling mountains, Longyan County had a long history — records of habitation date back to the Jin Dynasty, historically called Kucao Town. Though always remote, every dynasty saw outstanding figures emerge from here; it could be considered an ancient cultural city of a thousand years.

Backed by mountains and facing water, with a jade belt wrapped around its waist, Longyan County, surrounded on three sides by the Longjin River, was scenic, tranquil, and serene.

October 1, 1628, noon. Beside Longjin Pier outside the south gate of Longyan County stood a Zhiguzheng Pavilion, and at this moment, a group of people in official robes were seated within the pavilion.

The man seated in the seat of honor was around thirty years old, dark-skinned, short in stature, with a full forehead, a large head and wide mouth, and spirited eyes. Seeing his blue robe with a Seventh-Rank rivergrass patch, this was naturally the Magistrate of Longyan, Yu Yinggui.

Yu Yinggui, courtesy name Erji, a native of Duchang, Jiangxi, was a jinshi of the Wanli jiwei year (1619).

Comrade Erji left a fine name in history: since assuming office in Longyan, he not only "rooted out corruption and abuses," keeping governance pure and peaceful, but also raised funds from many sources to repair Longjin Bridge. In famine years, he even "took the liberty of opening the granaries, providing relief that saved countless lives."

Later, when Yu Yinggui was promoted to Censor, "the county established a living shrine" for him — in ancient times, this was the highest form of remembrance a local official could receive.

"Since Your Excellency took office, Longyan County has enjoyed good governance and harmony, with all trades flourishing. Unexpectedly, government troops have now also arrived to assist in bandit suppression — truly a cause for celebration! Your Excellency governs with such skill, such skill..."

The flatterer was named Dong Daxing. This man sat at the lower end of the pavilion, in his forties, with unremarkable features, large jowls, and squinting eyes. Wearing a blue silk Ming Dynasty Silver Ingot-pattern long robe and adorned with gold and jade from head to toe, he perfectly embodied the image of a successful merchant of this era.

"A mere two hundred men — what use are they? Hmph, they can't even stay in tents. Truly lords from the prefectural seat. Look at their airs — they probably can't endure the slightest hardship."

As soon as Dong Daxing finished speaking, a middle-aged man beside the County Magistrate, wearing a military officer's uniform and with gaunt cheeks, indignantly picked up the thread.

Who was this unrestrained man? Seeing the Fifth-Rank bear patch on his chest, one knew — it was the Chief Battalion Commander of Longyan Fortress, Li Xie.

In the Late Ming, civil officials were esteemed and military men cheap, so a Fifth-Rank military officer sitting beside a Seventh-Rank County Magistrate was not at all incongruous — especially since this magistrate was a genuine 985 jinshi, not one of those padded out by provincial graduates or Imperial Academy students.

The atmosphere instantly cooled after Li Qianhu finished voicing his opinion. As for why the Qianhu spoke with such disdain, that went back to half a month ago.

Half a month ago, the official circles of Longyan County suddenly received several official dispatches. The first to bear the brunt was County Magistrate Yu Yinggui.

The dispatch came from his immediate superior, the Prefectural Governor of Zhangzhou, Shi Bangyao, stating that Longyan County should prepare fully — the prefectural seat would soon send a unit of troops here to suppress bandits.

At the same time, a dispatch from the Tingzhang Military Defense Circuit also arrived. Additionally, a military order from Li Qianhu's direct superior, the Zhangzhou Garrison Commander Shi Liangjue, was likewise delivered into his hands.

After the mid-Ming period, the local garrison Guard Post system originally established by Zhu Yuanzhang had gradually degenerated into semi-serf feudal landlord groups. From a military perspective, the Guard Post Soldiers, long reduced to the private slaves of their generals, were already utterly useless.

The primary military force supporting the Ming Empire's campaigns in all directions had slowly shifted from the conscription-based Guard Post to the mercenary-based "Battalion Troops" system.

Battalion Troops were controlled through a hierarchy of Regional Commander, Vice General, Assistant Regional Commander, and Mobile Corps Commander — unrelated to the semi-militia model of Qianhu and Hundred-Household Officers in the Guard Post. The relationship between the two was somewhat akin to the later distinction between the Agricultural Construction Corps and field armies.

All of Cao Chuan's subordinates, for instance, were now theoretically Battalion Troops of the Great Ming — it was just that their military pay and weapons were all personally covered by Cao Chuan.

Since Battalion Troops were all mercenaries, their soldiers were relatively elite, personally free, and were truly troops who soldiered for their pay. Of course, combat effectiveness was directly proportional to wages — the high cost of Battalion Troops was entirely borne by the government. These soldiers were definitely not responsible for farming.

For a remote county town nestled in a mountain col like Longyan, there naturally wouldn't normally be Battalion Troops stationed there. So routine bandit suppression and thief-catching were mainly accomplished through a joint defense system composed of Guard Post troops and the common people.

By all reason, Zhangzhou Prefecture sending troops to Longyan County to catch thieves and suppress bandits should have been a godsend — something you'd beg for and not get — for the counties of the Late Ming, where public order was deteriorating daily.

Yet this affair was steeped in oddity. Only 200 soldiers came, and they were all lordlings — before the men even arrived, all sorts of demands arrived first.

The prefectural clerks who came with the documents, after making one circuit outside the county seat, not only demanded that the Rear Palace be vacated for these lords, but also explicitly required Magistrate Yu to muster manpower to repair the Rear Palace, to prepare for the lords' arrival.

The Rear Palace was the Mazu Temple. Though dilapidated, it was, after all, the largest building by footprint outside the county seat. With five rows of courtyards front to back, it could accommodate not just 200 men, but 400.

And so the great County Magistrate Yu was put in a bind — he had never seen such domineering guest troops!

Fortunately, since Magistrate Yu was a man who could leave his name in history, he was naturally no fool. So he urgently drafted a letter, and together with a letter from his Adviser, sent them urgently to Zhangzhou Prefecture.

Within two days, his Chang Sui returned from Zhangzhou. After reading the private letter from his Zhangzhou Prefecture colleague and the secret missive sent through the advisers' network, Lord Yu finally learned the background of these lords — they were the retainers of the newly appointed Assistant Regional Commander Cao Chuan, who had recently stolen the limelight in the court gazette.

Very well, since that was the case, Lord Yu decided not to make things difficult. A real-power commanding general with over ten thousand troops under him had kindly sent men to suppress bandits. Though the affair reeked of oddity, as a sesame-seed-sized county magistrate, he could only cooperate.

And so, after a couple of veiled jabs at that country bumpkin Cao for not understanding officialdom's rules, Li Qianhu of Longyan Fortress caught the stray bullet. The County Magistrate not only conscripted a gang of bricklayers to repair the Rear Palace, but also issued a formal order demanding Li Qianhu send his subordinate Military Households to "assist in military camp affairs."

Li Qianhu, who normally kept well water from river water with the local authorities, was now coughing up blood. The Military Households were all his tenant farmers — now he had to send his tenants out to work for others for free, and they had to bring their own rations. Li Qianhu found it hard to part with his wealth!

However, the County Magistrate knew about the dispatch the Zhangzhou Garrison Commander had sent Li Qianhu, demanding that Old Li fully cooperate with the reception work for the guest troops. And this time the dispatch's tone was rather stern — clearly not the kind of errand that could be shirked. This was precisely the basis for the County Magistrate's confidence in demanding Li Qianhu bleed.

The helpless Li Qianhu could only curse as he sent his subordinate Military Households to the Rear Palace to "join the grand undertaking."

So on this noon half a month later, when the official circles of Longyan County, the "country elders," and several "loyal merchants" were seated together in Zhiguzheng Pavilion waiting to "receive the guests," the already deeply unwilling Li Qianhu finally had his chance — he seized the opportunity to fire off a few barbs at these lords he had yet to meet.

After Yu Yinggui, the great Lord Yu, finished listening to that bellyful of grumbling complaints and sarcasm, he smiled faintly, and then in a gentle Jiangxi rustic accent said: "Sir Li, since things have come to this, let us complain no more. They have come, after all, to contribute their strength in pacifying the region — a bit of accommodation is only fitting."

"Ah, Your Excellency, you know me — Mingwu (Li Qianhu's courtesy name) is not one blind to the greater picture. I simply cannot stomach the sight of such squandering of the people's blood and fat..."

County Magistrate Yu, after hearing this, stroked his short beard beneath his chin, then said with a mirthless smile: "Hehehe, Sir Li's heart is tied to his homeland — your concern is noted."

With a few mollifying words from the County Magistrate, the atmosphere, frozen stiff by Li Qianhu's disruptions, instantly warmed again. And the several merchants, led by Dong Daxing, hurriedly resumed their flattery tour.

Just then, a loud-voiced yamen runner standing on a high point of the pier suddenly bellowed: "Boats are coming—!"

The people in the pavilion, hearing this, rose one after another and walked toward the pier. The chapter content is currently being restored; please visit again later. To chat with more like-minded people about Traveling to the Ming Dynasty, follow " " on WeChat or " " to discuss your favorite books with more book friends.