Chapter 69

Li Te skipped the middle description and went straight to the final paragraph:

"…The clash lasted about forty minutes. Dutch troops used Lee‑Enfield rifles and a Maxim machine gun. More than five hundred shell casings were found at the scene. Among the dead were nine women and three children. The youngest victim was the daughter of Chen A Fu, six years old, named Chen Xiaohua, who was hit in the back…"

"Enough."

Li Te slapped the telegram onto the console. The metal surface gave a dull thud, and everyone on the bridge turned their heads.

"Captain?" Lin Hai asked cautiously.

Li Te took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He turned and faced everyone on the bridge.

"Listen up," he said, his voice calm but each word like steel tempered in fire, "you now know why we are here. Nine women, three children, a six‑year‑old girl… the Dutch swept them with machine‑gun fire."

He paused, letting the words sink in:

"The President's order to us is: display authority, and withdraw when the time is right. My interpretation—today we will make the Dutch feel pain to the bone. Let them remember for a hundred years that killing our compatriots will be paid for in blood."

"Yes!" a crisp response rang out across the bridge.

Li Te walked back to the observation window and raised his telescope again. This time he did not look at the harbor but slowly swept along the coastline. What was he searching for?

"Lin Hai."

"Here."

"The mountain on the west side of the harbor—do you see it?" Li Te pointed at a barren rocky hill in the distance. "What is that mountain called? Is anyone living there?"

Lin Hai quickly flipped to the chart attachment: "That is 'Wangfu Cliff,' a name given by the local Chinese. Legend says a fisherman's wife used to wait there daily for her husband to return, and later leapt off the cliff in a tragic act. The hill is all rock, with no vegetation and no residents. Distance to the main harbor channel… about eight kilometers."

"Eight kilometers," Li Te repeated the figure. "Is that within our Main Gun's range?"

Zhao Tieshan answered almost immediately: "Our 381 mm Main Gun has a maximum range of 35,000 meters. Eight kilometers? We could hit it with our eyes closed."

"Good." Li Te set the telescope down. "Then we choose it."

A hush fell over the bridge for a moment. Everyone understood the captain's intent.

"Captain," Xu Wen adjusted his glasses, "are you going to… bombard that mountain?"

"Not bombardment," Li Te corrected him. "It's a gun‑calibration exercise. According to international naval practice, a newly arrived warship has the right to conduct gun calibration in a safe zone to ensure its weapon systems are in optimal condition."

He walked to the communications station and said to the radioman Wang Xiaohua:

"Use the public radio channel, in clear text, to transmit to the Batavia Port Authority. The message is as follows—"

Wang Xiaohua quickly grabbed a pen and notebook.

"To the Batavia Port Authority and the Dutch East Indies colonial administration: The Lanfang Republic Navy warship 'Restoration Ship' will, at exactly 08:00 today, conduct a routine gun‑calibration exercise in the waters north of Wangfu Cliff, outside the harbor. The exercise zone is a circular area with a radius of ten kilometers centered on Wangfu Cliff. All vessels in the harbor are requested to cease departure before 07:30, and ships already at sea should stay clear of the area. The exercise is expected to last thirty minutes. This is an official notice."

Li Te finished and looked at Wang Xiaohua: "Got it?"

"R‑recorded," Wang Xiaohua's hand trembled. "But Captain… sending it in clear text, the whole of Batavia will hear it…"

"Exactly—we want everyone to hear it," Li Te patted his shoulder. "Send it out, and repeat every fifteen minutes until 07:30."

"Yes!"

Seven minutes after the telegram was sent, the Batavia Port Authority's radio room erupted in chaos.

The on‑duty clerk was a young Dutch‑descended employee named Hendrik. Wearing headphones, he was half‑listening to a Singapore commercial station playing jazz when the clear‑text telegram startled him so much he leapt from his chair.

"My God…"

He checked the message three times, then scrambled out of the radio room, barreling toward the port director's office. He didn't knock, just burst in.

Port director Van der Veer was having breakfast—a cup of coffee and two buttered slices of bread. Hendrik's sudden intrusion startled him, splashing coffee onto his crisp white uniform.

"Damn it! Hendrik, you better have a very good reason—"

"Director! Telegram! Clear‑text telegram!" Hendrik slapped the note onto the desk. "A warship called 'Restoration Ship' says it will come here for a gun exercise!"

Van der Veer froze for a moment, snatched the telegram. He read it quickly; his expression shifted from anger to confusion, then to pallor.

"Lanfang Republic? What is that? 'Restoration Ship'? I've never heard of it…"

"But Director, the exercise area they mentioned—" Hendrik pointed outside the window, "Wangfu Cliff is only eight kilometers from the main channel! If they really fire…"

"I know!" Van der Veer cut him off, standing and pacing rapidly in the office. "A gun‑calibration exercise… that's a standard naval pretext. What are they after? A show of force? Provocation?"

He walked to the window and looked out over the sea beyond the harbor. The morning mist was lifting, yet no ship silhouettes were visible.

"Director, should we reply?" Hendrik asked.

"Reply? Reply with what? Say 'welcome to the exercise'?" Van der Veer waved his hand irritably. "Send this telegram to the garrison headquarters, the governor's office, and… never mind, send a copy to every department. Quickly!"

"Yes!"

After Hendrik ran out, Van der Veer sat down again, staring at the telegram. His fingers began tapping the desk unconsciously, faster and faster.

Lanfang Republic.

He seemed to have heard the name before. Ah, a few months earlier, merchant ships from Europe had brought rumors that a Chinese faction had emerged in the Persian Gulf, building warships for Deguo… at the time he had taken it as a joke.

Now the joke has come knocking.

At 07:10, the morning mist over Batavia Harbor had almost cleared.

Dockworkers began their shifts, fishing boats' engines chugged, and merchant sailors scrubbed decks. Everything seemed as usual—except for messengers constantly moving in and out of the port authority building, and military police gradually gathering on the pier.

Chen Jinfu pushed his breakfast cart to an old spot in the southern dock area where Chinese residents lived. The cart held steaming baozi, fried dough sticks, and soy milk, all prepared overnight. Yet his mind was not on the business.

Since last night, a rumor had been spreading among the neighbors: a large ship was coming at sea, a Chinese big ship.

At first no one believed it. A Chinese big ship? What a joke. The Qing navy had been completely wiped out in the Yellow Sea ten years ago—where would such a ship come from?

But in the early hours of today, a few Chinese cleaners at the port authority slipped back a report: the radio room had received a clear‑text telegram about a warship called 'Restoration Ship' arriving, flying a flag never seen before—a Yellow Dragon flag.

Yellow Dragon flag.

Chen Jinfu remembered that flag. His grandfather had said that, in the early years, the Lanfang Republic used this flag. But that was a hundred years ago; Lanfang had long since vanished.