bullyxtreme Chapter 35: Maritime Alliance
Chapter 35: Maritime Alliance
On the fifth day of the first month of the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, in Nanjing.
The side hall of the Yilun Hall in the Imperial College was as cold as an ice cellar. The charcoal brazier had long since gone out, and there was a hole in the window paper, through which the north wind blew in, making the pages of the book "The Great Learning" on the desk rustle.
Zheng Sen put down his pen and breathed on it to warm his hands. The ink had frozen, so he added a few drops of hot water to the inkstone and slowly ground it.
Faint sounds of the city's southern market drifted in from outside the window—"New Year cake! Freshly steamed New Year cake!" "Kitchen stove candy! Kitchen stove candy for the Kitchen God Festival!"—that was the Nanjing people preparing to welcome the God of Wealth on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year.
However, most of the students in the Imperial Academy had already taken leave to return to their hometowns, leaving only those who lived far away or came from poor families to guard the empty dormitories.
Zheng Sen could go back. At this moment, in the Zheng family mansion in Anhai, it should be the time for his mother, Tian Chuanshi, to burn incense and pay respects to their ancestors.
Although my father, Zheng Zhilong, was in Xiamen, the New Year's gifts arrived half a month early—ten camphor wood chests filled with silks, satins, and overseas treasures, along with a letter containing only eight characters: "Focus on your studies and don't concern yourself with outside affairs."
But he couldn't rest easy.
The battle report from Tongguan, the reorganization of the Beijing garrison, the new policies in Henan... these messages were like needles, pricking his heart every day.
He recalled seeing refugees fleeing from the north at the Quanzhou docks three months earlier, ragged and emaciated. He also remembered his father's fleet with its forest of masts, and the breech-loading cannons, Japanese swords, and spices from Southeast Asia on those ships.
The Ming Dynasty is sick. It is sick in the parched land of the north, sick in the frozen fingers of the soldiers on the nine borders, and sick in the seemingly prosperous but actually numb blood vessels of the south.
"Brother Zheng!"
A call interrupted his thoughts. Zheng Sen looked up and saw Zhang Huangyan walking through the snow, wearing a worn gray squirrel cloak, the hem of the cloak covered in mud.
"Brother Xuanzhe?" Zheng Sen stood up. "What brings you here?"
Zhang Huangyan is 23 years old and a native of Yin County, Zhejiang Province. He passed the provincial examination last autumn and now holds a minor official position in the Ministry of Revenue.
He entered the Imperial Academy six months earlier than Zheng Sen, and the two became acquainted because they lived in the same dormitory. This talented scholar from Zhejiang did not discuss the eight-legged essay, but preferred to talk about maritime affairs, commerce, and politics, which often gave Zheng Sen fresh insights.
"Come on, I'll take you to see some excitement." Zhang Huangyan pulled him along.
"Where to?"
"The Council of Commerce – today’s agenda is to debate 'opening up the seas' versus 'banning the seas'."
Zheng Sen's eyes lit up.
Half an hour later, in the newly opened council hall on the west side of the Nanjing Ministry of Revenue.
There were more than thirty people crammed into the hall. On the left sat seven or eight people dressed as merchants, some wearing satin jackets like those of Anhui merchants, some wearing silk shirts like those of Zhejiang merchants, and some wearing short clothes like those of Fujian merchants.
On the right are five or six officials wearing blue or green robes; in the middle are two military officers in naval uniforms, with seahorses embroidered on their rank badges.
Seated in the main seat was Jiang Dejing, the Vice Minister of Revenue. He struck a bronze chime, and the hall fell silent.
"Today we'll discuss the third point: In addition to Guangzhou, Xiamen, and Ningbo, should Songjiang and Dengzhou be added as new ports of entry?" Jiang Dejing got straight to the point. "Please feel free to speak your minds."
A Huizhou merchant immediately stood up: "Sir, Songjiang must not be opened to the sea! Songjiang is a major cotton-producing area. If the sea is opened, foreign cloth will flood in, how will the local weavers survive?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than a Zhejiang merchant retorted, "Manager Li, you're mistaken! Foreign cloth is expensive and exclusively for wealthy households; it doesn't compete with Songjiang's native cloth in the market. On the contrary, with the opening of the sea, Songjiang cotton yarn can be directly sold to Luzon and Siam, increasing profits by more than 30%!"
"How much cotton yarn does Luzon need? And the seas are treacherous..."
"Dangerous? My Ningbo fleet made 36 trips to Japan last year, how many ships sank?"
The two sides argued heatedly, their faces flushed. Some officials frowned, while others took notes, but the two naval officers remained silent.
Zheng Sen sat in the back corner, listening intently. He had never imagined that whether or not the sea was opened would involve so many things: the livelihoods of weavers, the profits of trade routes, the escort of the navy, and... the imperial court's tax revenue.
The debate lasted for an hour. Jiang Dejing listened the whole time, occasionally asking a few questions about the details.
Finally, he turned to the two naval officers: "Commander Chen and Commander Lin, as commanders of the navy, do you think the navy can adequately protect the newly opened ports?"
The older guerrilla commander, Chen, stood up and clasped his hands in a fist salute: "Your Excellency, if we only open the Songjiang River, we can manage to maintain our existing warships to the best of our ability."
However, if we open up Dengzhou—Dengzhou faces Liaodong directly, and it is only two hundred li of sea distance from Dongjiang Town.
Although the Jurchens lack large ships, they possess small boats capable of attacking merchant vessels. To ensure the safety of the Dengzhou shipping route, at least twenty more large ships and two thousand sailors are needed.
A collective gasp filled the hall. Twenty Fujianese ships—that's 100,000 taels of silver.
Jiang Dejing nodded without saying a word. He scanned the room, his gaze suddenly landing on Zheng Sen in the corner.
"Is that Zheng Sen, Zheng Xian's nephew?"
Zheng Sen was taken aback, then quickly stood up and bowed: "Student Zheng Sen greets Lord Jiang."
"Your father, Governor Zheng's, memorial arrived yesterday," Jiang Dejing said with a smile. "He agrees with the court's proposal to open the seas and has even recommended you for the 'Maritime Apprenticeship'—Nephew Zheng, would you like to hear about today's debate?"
All eyes turned to him. Zheng Sen's palms were sweating, but he straightened his back: "The student is willing to listen."
"Alright." Jiang Dejing gestured for him to sit down. "That's all for today. Your opinions will be reported to Minister Ni by this ministry, and then forwarded to the Emperor for a decision."
The crowd dispersed. Zhang Huangyan pulled Zheng Sen out through a side door, and the two strolled slowly along the Qinhuai River. The painted boats on the river were decorated with lanterns and colorful streamers, and the songs of singing girls drifted on the water.
"Have you figured it out yet?" Zhang Huangyan asked.
Zheng Sen pondered: "Opening up the seas is not as simple as just opening or not opening them. There are those who benefit and those who lose; there are those who want to open them and those who want to close them. The imperial court must weigh the pros and cons."
"Not only that." Zhang Huangyan stopped and took out a manuscript wrapped in sheepskin from his bosom, solemnly handing it to Zheng Sen. "His Majesty instructed me to give this to you."
Zheng Sen took it. The sheepskin cover was blank. Opening the first page, there was a neat title in regular script: "On Sea Power." There were also annotations in vermilion ink in strong handwriting—"This can be verified in Southeast Asia" and "The story of Zheng He should serve as a mirror."
His hand trembled: "This is...!"
"It was annotated by His Majesty himself," Zhang Huangyan said in a low voice. "His Majesty said that the future of the Ming Dynasty lies in the sea, and the future of the sea lies in you young people."
Zheng Sen held the rolled-up manuscript as if it were a ball of fire.
That night, he rented a small painted boat on the Qinhuai River, lit an oil lamp, and read page by page.
When he read the line, "A nation without naval power is like a person without blood; though its body may be large, it will eventually wither and die," he clenched his fist.
When I read the passage, "Whoever controls the sea controls trade; whoever controls trade controls the world's wealth, and ultimately controls the world itself," the teacup slipped from my hand and shattered on the deck.
He abruptly pushed open the ship's window. A cold wind rushed in, making the pages of the book rustle.
On the river, merchant ships laden with goods glided slowly by, their prow lanterns forming a winding ribbon of light in the night. In the distance, the crackling and popping of firecrackers celebrating the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, welcoming the God of Wealth, filled the air with a lively and festive atmosphere.
But to his ears, the sound gradually changed—it became the roar of naval cannons, the sound of ships cutting through the waves, and the fluttering of his father's fleet's "Eighteen Zhi" flag in the wind.
"The struggle between nations is actually on the surface of the waves..." he murmured to himself.
For the past twenty years, my father has been fighting tooth and nail for shipping routes, docks, and "water tax." But this book, *The Influence of Sea Power on Sea Power*, discusses something much bigger and more far-reaching than these.
It is blood. It is life.
On the seventh day of the first lunar month, at the Zheng family's private residence, "Haitian Pavilion," on Gulangyu Island, Xiamen.
The hall was filled with tangerines and daffodils, and the eight-immortal table was set with sacrificial animals. But Zheng Zhilong did not go to the ancestral hall. He sat in the armchair in the flower hall, dressed in a casual silk robe, twirling two iron gallbladders in his hands.
The steward cautiously entered: "Master, the seventh day is the 'Human Day' festival, and the clan elders are all waiting in the ancestral hall..."
"Let them wait." Zheng Zhi didn't even raise his head. "We have distinguished guests today, more important than our ancestors."
No sooner had he finished speaking than footsteps sounded outside the door. Zou Weilian, the Deputy Military Commissioner of Fujian, entered in wearing an official robe, followed by four attendants carrying two red lacquered wooden chests.
"Governor Zheng," Zou Weilian said, bowing. "I, Zou, have come on the Emperor's orders."
Zheng Zhilong then stood up and returned a half-bow: "Lord Zou, please sit down."
The two sat down as host and guest, respectively. Zou Weilian didn't beat around the bush and directly took out a copy of the imperial edict and a document stamped with the seal of the Ministry of War from his sleeve.
"His Majesty has decreed that Zheng Zhilong be appointed as Vice Commander-in-Chief, with the additional title of Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, and be granted the hereditary authority to guard the Fujian coast, overseeing all coastal defense affairs in Zhangzhou, Quanzhou, Taiwan, and Penghu. The existing fleet will be reorganized into the 'Jinghai Fleet,' with the imperial court subsidizing 30% of its provisions and pay. He will also be granted special permission to operate the three official shipyards in Xiamen, Quanzhou, and Fuzhou."
Zheng Zhilong listened quietly, his face expressionless.
Zou Weilian continued, "His Majesty also issued an imperial edict: 'If Minister Zheng agrees, I grant your Zheng family's naval flag the design of a black background with a golden sun amidst waves—this design is only permitted for naval forces during the Hongwu reign, and I hereby bestow it upon you to demonstrate the legitimacy of the maritime order.'"
Zheng Zhilong's fingers paused. Tie Dan stopped.
The flag features a black background with a gold sun and waves. That was the flag given by Emperor Hongwu to his expeditionary naval fleet, signifying "The Ming Dynasty is like the sun, conquering the waves." Two hundred years have passed, and this flag design has never been bestowed again.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Furthermore," Zou Weilian opened the document, "Zheng family merchant ships enjoy the most favorable treatment: 20% off customs duties, and can call upon garrison ships along the route for escort in case of pirates."
However—all "water tax" must be changed to "customs duty," collected uniformly by the newly established Maritime Trade Office, with 30% retained locally and 70% turned over to the national treasury.
The hall fell silent.
Zheng Zhilong slowly turned the iron gallbladder, once, once.
He was doing the accounting.
The "water tax" was a rule he had established over twenty years: for every merchant ship passing through the Fujian Sea, 10% of the cargo value would be levied. This amounted to at least a million taels a year. Now, it was to be changed to customs duties, at 80% of that, and 70% would still have to be turned over to the national treasury…
"Governor Zheng," Zou Weilian lowered his voice, "His Majesty also asked me to convey a message: 'I know it's not easy for you. But you should also know it's not easy for me.'"
"The Ming Dynasty's seas cannot forever be dominated by only the Zheng family. I will grant you official status, transforming you from a pirate into a regional governor, from a private army into an official force. You will not lose out in this deal."
Zheng Zhilong smiled.
His smile sounded a little forced.
"Please have a seat, Lord Zou." He rose and went into the inner room.
Inside the room, cousin Zheng Zhihu and strategist Lin Wuxuan had been waiting for quite some time.
"Big brother, how is it?" Zheng Zhihu asked anxiously.
Zheng Zhilong stated his conditions. Lin Wuxuan pondered for a moment and said, "The imperial court is exchanging a title for real power—giving you the status of a first-rank official in exchange for our 'exclusive right' over the southeastern seas becoming a 'delegated right.' From now on, the 'water tribute' we collect will have to be renamed 'customs duty' and turned over to the national treasury."
"So, shall we do it or not?" Zheng Zhihu glared. "We'd lose hundreds of thousands of taels a year!"
Zheng Zhilong didn't answer. He walked to the window and opened it.
Hai Tian Ge (Sea Pavilion) stands at the highest point of Gulangyu Island, with the sea right outside its windows. In winter, the sea is iron gray, with surging waves. On the sea, the "Eighteen Zhi" flag of the Zheng family fleet flutters wildly in the wind, and the warships are a dark mass, their masts like a forest.
He recalled twenty years ago when he was just a lowly leader under Yan Siqi, robbing merchant ships in Penghu in a dilapidated boat. He recalled ten years ago, the bloody battle with the Dutch in Liaoluo Bay, the cannon fire turning the sea red. He recalled five years ago, when he finally became the undisputed ruler of this southeastern sea.
Ultimately, he was still a "pirate." The imperial court granted him amnesty and made him a guerrilla general, but the civil officials still secretly called him "Zheng the Sparse-Headed."
Now, the emperor wants to grant him the rank of first-grade official, the title of Hongwu Emperor, and the honor of "hereditary governor of Fujian".
"Fine." Zheng Zhilong turned around, a ruthless glint in his eyes. "But tell Zou Weilian: I want an imperial edict that clearly states, 'The Zheng family's descendants will inherit the position of Admiral of the Fujian Navy, and this position will not be revoked except in cases of treason.' Also, I want a ten-year exclusive right to operate the shipyards in Xiamen, Quanzhou, and Fuzhou."
Lin Wuxuan nodded: "Anything else?"
Zheng Zhilong looked north, towards Nanjing: "After the battle at Tongguan is over... we'll see how things go."
He returned to the flower hall and bowed to Zou Weilian, saying, "Please report to Your Majesty: Your subject Zheng Zhilong receives the decree."
The tenth day of the first lunar month, at the former site of Huaiyuan Post Station in Guangzhou.
The black lacquered gate had been freshly painted with tung oil, and a brand-new plaque hung above the lintel: "Guangzhou Maritime Trade Office". There were still firecracker debris scattered on the ground in front of the government office—firecrackers set off on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year to welcome the God of Wealth, on the eighth day to worship the stars, and on the ninth day to celebrate the Jade Emperor's birthday.
The first Director, Chen Bangyan, stood at the entrance of the yamen, wearing the official robes of a sixth-rank official with egrets. He was over fifty years old and had worked as a clerk at the Quanzhou Customs for twenty years. Because of his fluency in foreign languages and familiarity with maritime trade, he was recommended to this position by Li Jizhen.
"Sir, the monument has been erected." The clerk reported.
Chen Bangyan walked to the open space in front of the yamen. There stood a granite stele as tall as a person, inscribed with the "Ten Articles of the Maritime Trade Tariff". The words were carved by the best stonemason in Guangzhou, deeply chiseled into the stone and coated with cinnabar.
He read through them one by one:
"1. Ticket fee: fifty taels per ship, including berth and fresh water supply. Tickets are renewed annually."
"Second, water tax: The ship's cost is calculated based on 'length × width × depth'. For example, a ship that is 10 zhang long, 2 zhang wide, and 1 zhang deep will pay 80 taels of silver."
"Third, land tax: goods are divided into three grades - silk and porcelain are taxed at 20%, spices and medicinal materials at 10%, and grain and timber at 10%."
"IV. Fees: Two-tenths of the value of goods are charged, clearly recorded as 'fire loss and depreciation silver'. A receipt will be issued as proof of payment. Merchants may refuse to pay without a receipt."
……
"10. Anyone who reports a clerk for extortion shall be fined ten times the amount of silver and rewarded with a reward after the report is verified. The clerk shall be dismissed from his post and exiled to the army."
After reading it, Chen Bangyan said to his deputy, "Make one hundred copies of this inscription and post them all over the Thirteen Factories of Guangzhou, all the wharves, and the customs offices. Then have an interpreter translate it into French, Siamese, and Japanese for foreign merchants to see."
The deputy hesitated: "Sir, this 'tenfold reward for reporting extortion'... won't it anger the clerks...?"
"Huh?" Chen Bangyan laughed. "Once this 'Tariff Regulations' is engraved on a monument and erected, every day will feel like New Year's Day—I'll feel at ease. As for those who still want to skim some profit..."
He patted the stone tablet: "Let them come and challenge this stone."
Not far away, several former officials of the Guangdong Provincial Administration Commission stood with ashen faces. One of them muttered a curse: "A permit costs fifty taels, water transport fees are based on boat expenses, and land transport fees are divided into three grades... These regulations are so strict. How are we supposed to collect these 'ice tributes' and 'charcoal tributes' in the future?"
Another sighed, "Take it? Didn't you see Article Ten? A tenfold reward for reporting, or dismissal and exile! This old man Chen is determined to cut off our source of income!"
Just then, a group of foreign merchants approached. Leading them was Almeida, a Portuguese businessman who had lived in Guangzhou for thirty years and spoke fluent Cantonese. Wearing reading glasses, he approached the monument and examined each character carefully.
After observing for a while, he turned to his companions and said, "Although each ship has to pay an extra fifty taels for the 'pilot ticket,' from now on we won't have to send 'tea money' to the patrol office, 'sea patrol fees' to the navy, or 'local fees' to the county government... I've calculated it, and we've saved thirty percent."
A young Dutch businessman frowned: "But this 'two-hundredths-of-a-hundred's-worth of firewood surcharge is unprecedented."
“There were no clear accounts before,” Almeida shook his head. “But when have you ever shipped goods and the bribe money was less than five percent of the value of the goods? Now there are clear prices, no more and no less.” He reached out and touched the deep inscriptions on the stele, muttering, “These words are carved in stone… This time, the emperor of the Ming Dynasty seems to be serious.”
On the twelfth day of the first lunar month, at Xiaguan Wharf in Nanjing.
Five Fujian-style ships lined up on the river, their mainmasts flying brand-new "Sea Explorer Captain" flags. That was a temporary title specially approved by Li Ce, allowing Zheng Sen to use the water post stations along the way when he went north to Tianjin.
Zheng Sen stood on the deck of the lead ship, already dressed in naval uniform—not an official's uniform, but the Zheng family fleet's everyday uniform sent by his father, with black arrow sleeves and a leather armor over them.
Behind him, two hundred sailors were conducting final checks, loading cotton-padded clothes, gunpowder, and fresh water onto each ship.
Zhang Huangyan rushed to the dock and handed over a wooden box: "His Majesty asked you to take this."
Zheng Sen opened it. Inside the box was a scroll of maps; unfolding it, he saw that it was a new supplement to the "Map of the World".
On the map, every reef, every ocean current, and every monsoon direction, from the Yangtze River estuary to the Bohai Bay, is clearly marked in tiny characters. Along the Liaodong coast, the words "This sea area has abundant floating ice in winter and spring; sailors should exercise caution" are specifically marked in red.
"This is..." Zheng Sen looked up.
"His Majesty ordered Johann Adam Schall von Bell and Song Yingxing, along with personnel from the Imperial Academy of Natural History, to spend three months compiling historical nautical charts, old naval archives, and oral accounts from veteran sailors, and then redrawing them," Zhang Huangyan said in a low voice. "The Beiyang Hydrographic Chart is particularly detailed."
Zheng Sen's hands trembled slightly. He carefully rolled up the drawing and put it away close to his body.
"Brother Xuanzhe," he suddenly asked, "tell me, why does His Majesty trust me so much?"
Zhang Huangyan was silent for a moment: "Because His Majesty knows that at sea, we cannot rely solely on the older generation to risk their lives to plunder, nor can we rely solely on civil officials to talk the talk."
"We need someone who understands the sea, knows the country, and has a loyal heart." He patted Zheng Sen on the shoulder: "Your father received the imperial decree in Xiamen to earn a reputation for the Zheng family. You are exploring the sea routes to secure a future for the Ming Dynasty. This burden... is not light."
Zheng Sen looked out over the river. The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the river flowed eastward. Five Fujian-style ships appeared and disappeared in the mist, like five giant beasts about to break through the lock.
"Weigh anchor—" he turned around and gave the order in a loud voice.
The mooring lines were pulled up, the anchor was raised, and the sails were slowly hoisted. A strong north wind filled the sails, and the fleet slowly turned around, heading towards the mouth of the Yangtze River.
Zheng Sen stood at the stern of the boat, gazing at the receding city of Nanjing. The city gates, Zhongshan Mountain, the Qinhuai River... all slowly disappeared into the morning mist.
The second-in-command approached: "Young Master, are we really going to venture into the Beiyang Fleet in the first month of the lunar calendar? There's an ice storm at sea this time of year..."
"It is precisely because of the danger that someone needs to scout ahead." Zheng Sen placed his hand on his waist knife, his gaze fixed on the leaden-gray sea and sky to the north. "Father gave the Zheng family twenty years of foundation. Now... it's time for us to earn our own future."
The ship left the mouth of Wusong and entered the sea.
The vast East China Sea surged with waves. Five Fujian-style ships, like five leaves, bobbed and swayed in the giant waves. But the "Exploring Captain" flag on the bow of the ships always fluttered in the wind.
The flag has a black background with a golden sun and wave pattern.
That was a naval banner that the Ming Dynasty had not bestowed upon it for two hundred years.
Now, it rises again on the bow of a nineteen-year-old boy's boat.