Chapter 509: Life at Sea

The twenty-seventh year of Hongwu, March eighteenth.

East Sea.

On the second day after the fleet left the Yangtze River estuary, the outline of land vanished from the horizon.

Zhu Xiongying stood on the bow of the Longxing, gazing at the boundless sea ahead.

The water's color shifted from muddy yellow to light blue, then from light blue to deep blue.

The sea wind was far stronger than the river breeze, rattling the flags and making it impossible to keep one's eyes open.

The hull pitched violently, forcing him to clutch the rail to keep his balance.

It was his first voyage into the open sea.

He had previously gone with his father to Tianjin and Dengzhou, but those were all near‑shore trips that took a day by boat, and he never felt the need to disembark because of the sway.

This time was different; they were heading for Africa, thousands of miles away.

"Brother, aren't you feeling dizzy?" Zhu Gaoxu squeezed out of the cabin, his face pale and his lips lacking color.

The fifteen‑year‑old boy, dressed in a half‑worn sturdy uniform, leaned on the cabin wall, shuffled step by step to the rail, and dry‑vomited twice while perched on it, spitting nothing out—his stomach had already emptied.

"Not dizzy..." Zhu Xiongying glanced at him.

"Why aren't you dizzy? My father said people raised by the sea don't get seasick, and you were also raised by the sea—why aren't you?" Zhu Gaoxu asked weakly.

"I lived in Tianjin for two years..."

Zhu Gaoxu dry‑vomited again and fell silent.

Li Jinglong stepped out of the cabin, holding a Water Bag, and handed it to Zhu Gaoxu.

He wore a brocade robe, a Long Sword at his waist, and walked with steady, resonant steps; despite the ship's violent sway, his footing remained firm.

"Drink some water, but not too much; too much will make you vomit even worse."

Zhu Gaoxu took the Water Bag, gulped a mouthful, and leaned on the rail again.

Li Jinglong walked to Zhu Xiongying's side, stared at the sea ahead, was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "Prince, how vast do you think this ocean truly is?"

"I don't know," Zhu Xiongying shook his head.

"The books say the sea has no bounds; I didn't believe it before, but now I do."

Neither of them spoke again.

Zhu Shangbing came from the stern, chewing on a piece of Dry Rations.

The sixteen‑year‑old boy was tall with a broad back and sturdy waist, looking like Zhu Shuang but far more composed; he stood on the ship with steady, resonant footing, unaffected by the ship's sway while eating.

"Brother, how much longer until we arrive?" he asked.

"Plenty of time! We've only just left the East Sea; there's still the South Sea, then the Indian Ocean—at least another month or so to go."

Zhu Shangbing nodded and kept chewing his Dry Rations.

Zhu Gaochi emerged from the cabin, white and plump, clad in a moon‑white long robe, holding an Account Book, reading it as he walked; despite the ship's violent sway, he moved steadily as if his feet were rooted.

Zhu Gaoxu, perched on the rail, watched him approach and couldn't help asking, "Gaochi, why aren't you dizzy?"

"Why would I be dizzy?" Zhu Gaochi lifted his head, a blank expression on his face.

"With the ship swaying like this, don't you feel nauseous?"

"I don't."

Zhu Gaoxu buried his face in his arm again and said nothing more.

Zhu Gaochi walked to Zhu Xiongying's side and handed over the Account Book.

"Brother, the Grain and Fodder have been tallied; it's enough for a large army for three months, and the fresh water is sufficient. At the current consumption rate, we can make it to Africa."

Zhu Xiongying took the Account Book and flipped through it.

The numbers were clear: each item's quantity, storage location, and projected consumption rate were listed plainly, with neat handwriting and orderly structure.

"Gaochi, thank you for your effort," he returned the Account Book.

Zhu Gaochi shook his head, tucked the Account Book away, and pulled a nautical chart from his sleeve, unfolding it.

The chart had been drawn a few years earlier by the Brocade Guard, who sent scouts to Africa; though rough, its overall outlines were accurate.

The African continent resembled a huge exclamation mark: the Sahara Desert to the north, tropical rainforest to the south, the Atlantic Ocean to the west, and the Indian Ocean to the east.

"In North Africa, the Marin Dynasty controls a vast region from Tunisia to Fez; its army claims a hundred thousand troops, with many cavalry.

Their shipbuilding technology ranks among the best in the Mediterranean."

Zhu Shangbing leaned in to examine the chart, frowned, and said, "One hundred thousand, that's considerable."

"They claim a hundred thousand, but the actual fighting strength is estimated at fifty to sixty thousand."

Zhu Gaochi pointed to several cities on the map and said, "Their capital is in Fez, one of North Africa's largest cities. Along the coast are several key ports—Ceuta, Danjir, Algiers—each garrisoned with heavy troops."

Zhu Xiongying stared at the chart, silent for a moment.

"Where shall we strike first?" Zhu Shangbing asked.

Zhu Xiongying's finger traced a line on the map, landing on Ceuta.

"Ceuta is the Marin Dynasty's most important North African port and the gateway from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. Capturing Ceuta gives us a foothold; then we move eastward, taking Danjir, Algiers, and finally Fez."

Zhu Shangbing nodded.

The sea wind grew stronger, and the hull swayed ever more violently.

Zhu Gaoxu again dry‑vomited while perched on the rail; Zhu Jixi emerged from the cabin, his complexion also poor, but he restrained himself and did not vomit.

Zhu Qiongjiong had not come out at all.

Zhu Xiongying glanced toward the cabin and said to the Imperial Troops beside him, "Go check on Qiongjiong; make sure nothing happens to him."

The Imperial Troops responded with a nod and slipped into the cabin.

After a moment, they emerged, their faces looking somewhat odd.

"Prince, Prince Qiongjiong is in the cabin practicing weightlifting."

"Weight training?" Zhu Xiongying was startled.

"Yes, lifting iron blocks, saying the ship's sway isn't strong enough, so add some weight and sway it."

Zhu Xiongying shook his head and laughed.

Zhu Qiong Jiong is that kind of person; he can't stay idle on land, and he can't stay idle at sea either.

Others vomit from seasickness until the world goes dark, but he finds the ship's sway not fierce enough.

The days at sea are long and monotonous.

Every day the scenery is the same: sky meets sea, sea meets sky, occasionally a few seabirds fly by, occasionally a few fish leap out of the water.

The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, day after day, in endless cycles.

Zhu Xiongying stands at the bow each day, studying the map, researching Africa's terrain and enemy situation.

He brought a packed box of books: military strategies, historical records, and a few notes on Africa obtained from European merchants, the handwriting scrawled, the content fragmented, yet occasionally useful information can be found.

Zhu Gao Chi tallies accounts in the cabin each day—Grain and Fodder, fresh water, ammunition, medicines—each item must be precise to the unit digit.

He oversees logistics for a hundred thousand troops, a responsibility heavier than anyone's, yet he never panics; each day he eats when he should, drinks when he should, settles accounts when he should, and no matter how fierce the ship's sway, not a single bead on his abacus is misplaced.

Zhu Qiong Jiong practices martial arts in the cabin daily, lifting iron blocks, doing push‑ups, training sword technique, steady as a thunderclap.

He has no trouble adapting to life at sea; let the ship sway, and when it's time to train, he trains.

Occasionally he steps onto the deck for fresh air, leans on the rail to watch the sea for a while, then darts back inside.

Zhu Shang Bing practices swordsmanship on the deck each day.

He grew up with Zhu Shuang in Australia, sun‑tanned dark, a sixteen‑year‑old boy with a tiger's back and bear's waist; wielding a Long Sword, he danced with fierce vigor, drawing soldiers to gather and cheer.