diymy Chapter 8 Maritime Surprise - New
Chapter 8 Maritime Surprise - New
It was the 13th day of the 10th month of the 15th year of Chongzhen's reign, at the end of the midnight hour.
The waves in the Bohai Bay are bigger than they were three days ago.
The "Dengwei No. 1" tossed and turned in the trough of the waves. With each rise of the hull, the keel groaned under the strain, as if it were about to fall apart at any moment. The seawater turned inky black, and moonlight occasionally peeked through the clouds, shining on the churning white foam, only to vanish in a flash.
In the hold, sixteen-year-old sailor A Mao huddled in a corner, clutching a crookedly embroidered amulet tightly in his left hand.
The red cloth was washed until it was almost white, and the two characters "Peace" were embroidered crookedly with yellow thread. The third character "Return" was only half-embroidered, and the stitches were messy—it was embroidered by his sister Chunni, who stayed up for three nights before her wedding.
On her wedding day, she handed it to him and said, "Mao, work for the Zheng family on their ships. I don't ask you to get rich, I just ask for this."
Amao pressed the amulet to his chest and whispered in a voice only he could hear, "Sister, if I don't make it back... tell Mother that I didn't bring shame to the Zheng family."
A thunderous roar erupted from the deck overhead: "Port! Three sand barges are coming! Archers!"
Then came the creaking of the taut bowstring, the whistling of the arrow leaving the bow, and a short, drawn-out scream from afar.
Amao shuddered. He had only been in the business for half a year, and this was his first time on the northern route, his first time encountering a real naval battle.
Three days ago, in that encounter, the "Dengyun No. 3" sank before his eyes.
The ship was struck by the fire-attacked ship, and flames instantly engulfed half of the hull. More than thirty familiar faces—Old Wang who taught him to tie knots, Da Chen who always stole his dry rations, and Xiao Shandong who was missing a front tooth when he smiled—disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving only broken planks and blood foam floating on the sea.
"Scared?" a hoarse voice came from the side.
It's Uncle Chung.
The helmsman, in his fifties, had a limp in his left leg, a result of a musket shot he took during a naval battle with the Dutch years ago. The bullet was lodged in his bone and hadn't been completely removed, so he could only work in the hold, managing supplies. He pulled out a tin flask, took a swig, and handed it to Ah Mao: "Have a sip, calm down."
Amao shook his head, his hands trembling violently.
"It's normal to be scared." Uncle Zhong put away his wine jug, leaned against the cabin wall, and his wooden legs made a slight clattering sound as the cabin rocked. "This is the first time I've seen blood, and my crotch is all wet. But as scared as I am, I still have to get the work done."
He pointed to the wooden barrels piled up in the cabin: "Do you know what's in here?"
"Grain...grain."
"It's fate," Uncle Zhong said, his voice echoing between the cabin walls. "More than a million mouths in Beijing are waiting for this food to survive. The people on this ship are also on fate. Our lives for their lives—do you think it's a worthwhile trade?"
Amao was stunned.
Another loud crash came from overhead, and the ship tilted violently! The wooden barrels rolled over and smashed against the bulkhead, and grains of wheat leaked out from the gaps, scattering all over the floor, golden and gleaming warmly in the dim oil lamp.
Uncle Zhong got up and limped to help himself to the bucket.
Looking at the wheat grains, A Mao suddenly thought of his nephew back home who was always hungry, and of his sister's red eyes when she gave him the lucky charm. He got up and followed her to help him up.
On the deck, Zheng Zhibao's shoulder wound reopened.
Three days ago, during the skirmish, a rocket grazed his left shoulder, burning off a layer of flesh. The medic had barely finished bandaging him when he ripped off the bandage, saying it was "in the way." Now, with the wound soaked in seawater, the pain was excruciating, and the blood mixed with the seawater had stained half of his sleeve a dark red.
But he didn't leave the cabin.
Standing right next to the helm, with a monocular telescope pressed against his right eye, he stared intently at the moving dark shape to the southeast.
Twenty sand barges formed a pincer movement, flanking the main vessel. The lead ship flew a black flag embroidered with a ferocious coiled dragon—the Hunhai Dragon, the most powerful pirate force in the Bohai Bay, commanding seventeen ships and eight hundred desperados. Rumored to be backed by merchants from Jiangnan, they specialized in robbing merchant ships heading north, but never dared to touch government vessels.
This time, they made a move.
"General!" the lieutenant shouted hoarsely, his voice broken by the wind, "They've set up a boarding formation! They want to get close and engage in hand-to-hand combat!"
Zheng Zhibao put down his binoculars and grinned. His face stung from the pain of his smile, but he kept smiling.
"Hand-to-hand combat?" He wiped the blood and foam from his face, the salty smell of seawater mixed with the rusty smell of blood. "When I was hand-to-hand combating the Dutch in Liaoluo Bay, these bastards were still in their mothers' wombs."
He turned and roared at the messenger, "Order all ships! Fold down half their sails and slow down! Let them within fifty zhang!"
The lieutenant's face changed: "General! They're too close! Their boats are small and agile; once they get close..."
"I want them to stick to me."
Zheng Zhibao pulled out an oil paper package from his pocket and unfolded it—inside was a hastily drawn nautical chart with a winding route drawn on it in vermilion ink, and a line of small writing next to it:
"If you encounter the enemy, lure them to Black Rock Reef, where you can annihilate them completely."
The handwriting is that of the emperor.
Zheng Zhibao only understood this line of text three days ago.
Black Rock Reef is a reef area with complex water conditions, making it difficult for large ships to enter and prone to grounding small vessels. However, the grain convoy had a deep draft and its route had been scouted in advance. The pirate ships, with their shallow draft, dared to pursue them…
"Tell the gunners," Zheng Zhibao said, shoving the nautical chart back into the water. His voice was still clear in the wind and waves. "Wait for my signal. Once the signal is given, all cannons, fire at the three lead ships. Don't shoot the hulls, shoot the masts and sails."
The order was passed down.
The sixty grain ships began to slow down, their sails half-furled, moving clumsily across the sea like a group of wounded giants.
Sure enough, the sand barge fleet to the southeast accelerated. Twenty fast boats, like sharks smelling blood, charged straight at them, their bows cleaving through the waves and splashing white spray.
The distance is getting closer and closer.
Eighty zhang, seventy zhang, sixty zhang...
Zheng Zhibao could now clearly see the bald, burly man standing on the bow of the lead ship. His face was full of scars, he had one eye, and his bare upper body was tattooed with a dark blue-green dragon—it was the Mixed Sea Dragon himself.
Fifty-five zhang.
Hun Hailong raised his knife.
Fifty feet.
Zheng Zhibao swung the red flag in his hand sharply: "Attack!"
The six breech-loading cannons on the port side of the "Dengwei No. 1" opened fire simultaneously.
It wasn't a solid shot, but a specially made chain shot—two iron balls connected by an iron chain, spinning as they flew out of the muzzle, opening in the air like the Grim Reaper's scythe.
The first chain shot swept across the mast of the ship carrying the Sea Dragon.
The mainmast, as thick as a bowl, snapped with a "crack," and the sails collapsed with a roar, burying seven or eight pirates on the deck beneath. The ship instantly lost power and spun sideways on the sea.
Then came the second and the third.
After three rounds of cannon fire, the three lead sand barges were reduced to wrecked logs lying on the sea. Sails collapsed, masts broke, and the pirates scrambled across the tilting decks like ants on a hot plate.
The following boats couldn't stop in time and collided with the stranded boat, causing chaos.
"Turn!" Zheng Zhibao roared, his voice piercing. "Full sail! Enter the Black Rock Reef Channel!"
The grain convoy accelerated suddenly, taking advantage of the wind, and rushed towards the narrow waterway full of reefs.
Hun Hailong crawled out from under the collapsed sail, his single eye bloodshot.
He realized—the other party was deliberately leading him into a deadly situation.
But he had no choice.
With three main ships destroyed, only seventeen remain. If he can't secure this shipment of grain today, his reputation as a maritime merchant in the Bohai Bay will be ruined. Not only will he lose Shen Maocai's 30,000 taels of silver, but who among the Jiangnan merchants will ever seek his services again?
"Chase them!" he roared, his voice like a wild beast's howl echoing through the wind and waves. "Get close! Board them! Capture one, and the reward is a thousand taels of silver!"
The pirate ship broke free from the chaos and recklessly chased after the pirates into the waterway.
The Black Rock Reef Channel is less than 100 zhang wide.
On either side were black reefs, like the fangs of a giant beast, protruding from the sea surface, gleaming coldly in the moonlight. The water was extremely deep, but the undercurrents were turbulent, and countless whirlpools lurked beneath the surface.
The grain convoy proceeded cautiously along the discovered route, lined up in a single file. The hulls of the ships frequently scraped against hidden reefs, producing a sickening screeching sound that made the helmsmen sweat.
The pirate ship was small and had a shallow draft, so it could chase faster.
The most recent ship already had "Dengyun No. 7" affixed to its stern. A grappling hook was thrown up and attached to the gunwale. The pirates, with knives in their teeth and ropes in hand, climbed aboard.
The captain of the "Dengyun No. 7" was an old sea dog from Fujian named Chen. His face was wrinkled so deeply it looked like it had been carved by a knife, and half of his left ear was missing—it had been cut off when he fought against the Japanese pirates in his early years.
He saw the pirates climbing up, but instead of calling for help, he laughed.
He took out a tinderbox from his pocket, blew on it, and lit an oil-soaked hemp rope at his feet.
The hemp rope hissed and caught fire, the flames leaping up rapidly and quickly shooting towards the aft cabin through the gaps in the deck.
What's piled up there isn't grain.
There were twenty barrels of gunpowder.
"Brothers!" Captain Chen turned around and shouted to the thirty-odd sailors on board, his voice unusually calm in the sea breeze, "His Majesty said, as long as the food is there, we are there."
He paused, looking at those familiar faces—there were old buddies who had been with him for over a decade, young men who had just boarded the ship last year, and husbands and sons with wives, children, and elderly parents waiting for them at home.
"The food is here today, but the people are gone—"
He grinned, revealing teeth blackened by smoke:
"In my next life, I'll still take you guys on a boat trip!"
None of the sailors ran away.
They drew their knives and stood behind the captain. Some people's hands were trembling, some people's legs were shaking, but no one retreated.
The first pirate had just climbed onto the ship's side when he saw more than thirty pairs of blood-red eyes.
Then he saw the burning hemp rope and the gunpowder barrels faintly visible in the rear cabin.
"Fire—" he shouted only one word.
boom--!!!
The "Dengyun No. 7" exploded.
Flames shot skyward, instantly illuminating the entire waterway! Splinters of wood, human bodies, and burning canvas scattered like fireworks, and the shockwave capsized the two closest pirate ships!
Even ships further away were shaken and tossed about, their hulls hitting hidden reefs with a cracking sound as wood snapped!
Hun Hailong stood at the bow of the ship, looking at the sea of fire, and fear appeared in his one eye for the first time.
This is not a grain transport ship.
This is... a suicide ship.
A ship that trades life for time.
"Back off!" he screamed hoarsely, his voice trembling. "Get out of the waterways! Back off now!"
But it's too late.
The grain convoy had all sailed into the depths of the waterway. The waterway exit had only one narrow channel, allowing only two ships to pass at a time.
The pirate ship tried to turn around, but the ships behind it kept rushing forward, colliding with each other and creating chaos.
Zheng Zhibao stood at the stern of the "Dengwei No. 1," looking at the flames behind him and the pirate ships struggling in the fire, his face expressionless.
The firelight illuminated half of his face, while the other half remained hidden in darkness, like a cold, hard stone sculpture.
He recalled the emperor's last words before he left the capital:
"General Zheng, if things cannot be accomplished, we should sink our supplies, not provide them to the enemy."
"But I believe in you—you can bring back not a single grain of grain."
Zheng Zhibao didn't say anything at the time, but kowtowed three times.
Now he knows.
Captain Chen and his thirty-odd brothers risked their lives to buy him time and temporary safety in the waterway.
He turned and roared at the helmsman, his voice hoarse:
"Full speed! Out of the reef area!"
At the same time, in Beitangkou, Tianjin.
This isn't a proper pier; it's just a natural little bay. The shore is rocky, and the water isn't deep enough for large ships to dock.
Three days ago, Zhou Yuji led a team to rush to build a simple pier using wood and bamboo, so narrow that only two people could walk side by side. At the end of the pier, several lanterns hung from wooden stakes, swaying in the late autumn night wind, their light dim and yellow.
At the end of the pier, Zhou Yuji stood in the cold wind, wearing a cloak.
He had been standing there for three hours.
I've been waiting since the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), and now it's almost the end of the hour of Zi (11 PM-1 AM). A thin layer of frost has formed on my cloak, and white crystals cling to my stubble.
Behind him stood two thousand garrison soldiers—they were the only ones he had picked out from the pile of rotten tents in Tianjin, and they were all blue with cold, but no one moved or made a sound.
"What time is it?" Zhou Yuji asked, his breath quickly dissipating under the lamplight.
"It's almost midnight," the lieutenant replied, his voice stiff with cold. "According to the schedule, the grain convoy should have arrived by now."
Zhou Yuji remained silent.
He raised his monoculars and looked out at the dark sea. He could see nothing but waves.
But one could hear a faint, muffled rumble coming from afar, which was barely audible from dozens of miles across the sea.
Ke Zhou Yuji's ears are pointed.
He served as a border guard for over a decade, becoming accustomed to the sounds of horses' hooves, bowstrings, and... cannon fire.
"The fighting has started." He lowered his binoculars, his voice low. "Order all artillery to take position. Light all the torches."
The order was given.
On both sides of the pier, thirty-six old-fashioned cannons, salvaged from the Tianjin Armory, were pushed forward, their muzzles aimed at the sea. Torches were lit one by one, and the crackling sound of burning grease illuminated Beitangkou as bright as day.
The firelight illuminated the soldiers' tense faces and the mountains of sacks piled up on the beach—sacks ready to be filled with grain.
Another half hour passed.
The sky was beginning to lighten with the first light of dawn.
Finally, sails appeared on the horizon.
One, two, three... not in a neat formation, some with torn sails, some with broken masts, some with visibly tilted, and some moving at a crawl.
But they are moving forward.
They moved inch by inch toward Beitangkou.
"It's a grain ship!" the lookout shouted hoarsely, "It's flying the flag of the Dengzhou-Laizhou Navy!"
Zhou Yuji took a deep breath; the icy air stung his lungs.
"Small boats, prepare to provide support!" he waved. "Everyone who can move, get moving!"
Dozens of sampans were launched into the water, and the sailors rowed frantically to reach the battered and bruised large ships.
The first one coming up is "Dengwei No. 1".
The bow was dented in a large section, as if struck by a heavy object. There were charred burn marks on the port side, and the deck was covered with congealed blood and broken planks. The sails were torn in several places, flapping loudly in the morning breeze like banners summoning souls.
Zheng Zhibao was helped down the diving board.
The wound on his left shoulder had completely reopened, and his entire sleeve was soaked in blood, which had congealed into a dark red crust. His face was as white as paper, and his lips were chapped, but his back was ramrod straight, and his eyes remained sharp.
"General Zhou." He clasped his hands in a fist salute, his movements somewhat stiff. "By imperial decree, 38,000 shi of grain have been transported and arrived in Tianjin."
Zhou Yuji stepped forward to support him, his hands feeling icy cold: "How are you injured?"
"We won't die." Zheng Zhibao grinned, revealing bloodied teeth. "One ship sank, the 'Dengyun No. 7.' We lost... thirty-seven brothers."
He paused, then added, "Old Chen led the team. Damn it... he got ahead of me."
Zhou Yuji remained silent.
Then he said, "His Majesty will remember."
Zheng Zhibao nodded and said nothing more. He turned to look at the small boats that were unloading grain.
Bags of brown rice were passed from the large ship to the small boats, and then carried from the small boats onto the pier. The soldiers lined up in two rows, taking turns carrying the rice. Their movements were swift and efficient, but no one spoke; only heavy breathing and the thumping of footsteps on the wooden planks could be heard.
One bag, two bags, ten bags, a hundred bags...
Golden wheat grains flowed in the morning light, like a river of life.
"General Zhou," Zheng Zhibao suddenly spoke, his voice lower, "Hun Hailong is not dead."
Zhou Yuji's eyes sharpened.
"He had seventeen boats, nine of which were lost, and the rest escaped. But he'll remember this grudge." Zheng Zhibao coughed, spitting out bloody foam. "He won't rest until he gets the thirty thousand taels of silver from Shen Maocai."
"Let him remember," Zhou Yuji said. "Once His Majesty has the time, there will be no more pirates in the Bohai Bay."
Just then, a scout came galloping over, his face grim:
"General! A report from the south—more than twenty fast boats are heading towards Beitangkou. Judging from their flags… they are remnants of Hun Hailong's forces!"
Zheng Zhibao's expression changed: "He dares to come again?"
"They're not after the grain ships," the scout panted. "They're after the dock! Their boats are small and the water's shallow; they can practically skim the shore! If they destroy the pier..."
Zhou Yuji turned around and looked at the sea.
In the dawn light, a cluster of dark dots could be seen rapidly approaching. The boats were small, but numerous, like a pack of hyenas drawn by the scent of blood.
He remained silent for three breaths.
Then he took off his cloak and threw it to his lieutenant. He then drew his sword.
The knife was a standard-issue goose-feather knife, but the scabbard was polished to a shine, and the rope wrapped around the handle was soaked with sweat and blood.
"General Zheng, you lead the wounded soldiers and laborers to continue unloading the grain," Zhou Yuji said calmly. "The battle on the shore—"
He turned to face the two thousand garrison soldiers.
These soldiers, who were corrupt and unruly in Tianjin just three days ago, were disciplined by him using military law, won over with their pay, and gathered together with the promise that "following Zhou Yuji will ensure you have food to eat."
Now, their hands, still trembling as they hold the knives and guns, still show fear in their eyes.
But Zhou Yuji's voice was as steady as a mountain:
"—Let's fight on the shore."
He pointed the tip of his knife at the sea:
"Artillery ready! Once they're within range, no need to ask for permission, just bombard them!"
"Archers, get on the pier! Crossbowmen, ambush from the rocks on both sides!"
Tell the mixed-up sea dragon—
Zhou Yuji paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice carrying on the sea breeze:
"The rules on land were set by me."
"He's trying to run wild on my turf..."
"You'll have to ask the knife in my hand if it agrees."
At the beginning of Chen Shi (7-9 AM), on the sea surface at Beitangkou.
Hun Hailong stood at the bow of the boat, his one eye fixed on the firelight on the shore.
He only had eight boats and a little over three hundred men left. But that was enough—as long as he stormed ashore, burned the pier, and destroyed the grain that hadn't been unloaded yet, it would be revenge, and it would also be an explanation to Shen Maocai.
"Speed up!" he roared. "Charge! Launch rockets! Burn!"
Eight fast boats, like arrows released from a bow, hurtled straight towards the shore!
Three hundred steps.
Two hundred steps.
One hundred and fifty steps —
"fire!!"
On the shore, Zhou Yuji's roar exploded!
Thirty-six old-fashioned cannons roared simultaneously! Solid projectiles tore through the air and crashed into the sea!
A jet of water shot skyward, hitting a pirate ship directly in the hull. The planks shattered, and the ship capsized instantly!
"Musketeers!" Zhou Yuji roared again!
The musketeers on the pier opened fire in unison! Smoke filled the air, and bullets rained down! Pirates fell one after another, their screams echoing across the sea amidst the gunfire.
"Archers! Fire!"
Archers appeared from behind the reefs on both sides, and arrows flew towards the enemy ship like locusts!
Hun Hailong's eyes turned red.
He knew there were preparations on the shore, but he didn't expect the firepower to be so intense!
"Charge! Charge!" he shouted, brandishing his knife. "Once they're ashore, they're finished!"
Ignoring casualties, the three ships charged straight to within thirty paces of the shore! The pirates jumped into the water, wading through waist-deep water, and charged toward the pier with their swords!
"Spearmen!" Zhou Yuji drew his sword. "Charge!"
Two hundred spearmen surged out from both sides of the pier, their spears like a forest, thrusting straight at the pirates wading through the water!
Blood instantly stained the shallows red.
The pirates, hampered in the water, became easy targets. Spears pierced their bodies, swords severed their necks, and screams and curses mingled together.
As Hun Hailong watched his men fall like wheat being harvested, despair finally appeared in his one eye.
He knew it was over.
It's completely over.
"Withdraw...withdraw!" he shouted hoarsely, turning the boat around.
But it's too late.
Zhou Yuji had already ordered iron chains and sunken ships to be laid at the waterway exit.
The remaining five pirate ships tried to turn around and escape, but they crashed into obstacles one after another, some running aground and others colliding.
"Take them alive!" Zhou Yuji drew his knife, jumped off the pier first, and waded through the water toward the nearest stranded enemy ship.
The soldiers roared and followed.
The battle quickly turned into a one-sided mopping-up operation.
At 9:00 AM, the battle ended.
Of the eight pirate ships, five were captured and three sank. Of the three hundred pirates, over one hundred and seventy were killed, over eighty were wounded, and over forty were captured.
When Hun Hailong was dragged out of the hold of a stranded, wrecked ship, he was covered in blood, his one eye still glaring, but it had lost its spirit.
Zhou Yuji walked up to him, soaking wet, his armor splattered with blood.
"Hun Hailong." He squatted down. "How much did Shen Maocai pay you?"
Hun Hailong spat out a mouthful of bloody foam but remained silent.
Zhou Yuji didn't press the matter. He stood up and said to his deputy, "Tie them up and escort them to the capital along with the prisoners. Hand them over to Li Tongzhi."
"yes!"
Zhou Yuji turned around and looked at the pier.
The grain is still being unloaded.
Bag after bag, from the boat to the shore, they piled up into small mountains.
The morning light grew brighter, shining on the golden wheat grains, on the soldiers' tired yet excited faces, and on the broken ship planks and corpses floating on the sea.
Zheng Zhibao, supported by others, walked over, looked at the grain, and said softly:
"Finally... it's arrived."
Zhou Yuji nodded and patted him on the shoulder: "Thank you for your hard work."
Then he looked up and gazed in the direction of Beijing.
There are still more than a million mouths waiting to be fed there.
An even more dangerous war has only just begun.
At the same time, in the West Warm Pavilion of Qianqing Palace.
Li Ce stood by the window, holding a newly delivered message sent by carrier pigeon.
There were only two lines of text on the paper:
"Grain ships have arrived in Tianjin, carrying 38,000 shi (a unit of dry measure). The remnants of Hun Hailong's forces, who were harassing the area, have been wiped out. Reported by Zhou Yuji."
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he turned to Wang Chengen and said:
"deliver an imperial order."
"The reward for the laborers, sailors, and soldiers transporting grain in Tianjin will be doubled."
"Those who die in battle will receive triple the compensation."
"Zheng Zhibao, Vice Commander-in-Chief of the Jin Dynasty, was bestowed with a bullfighting robe."
"Zhou Yuji..."
He paused:
"Once the grain arrives in the capital, I will personally bestow the reward."
Outside the window, it was already bright daylight.
The autumn sun finally pierced through the clouds and shone on the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City, making them gleam golden.
The color of wheat.