After the Pei family came to view the courtyard and expressed their satisfaction as well, both families readily signed the deed with the agent and purchased the two adjacent three-courtyard residences.
In the days that followed, Yang Shiyue and the Countess of Zhao crossed paths more and more often in the business of settling into their respective residences and arranging the furnishings, and the two grew increasingly familiar with each other.
Pei Shaohuai rolled up his sleeves, took up his brush with a flourish, and wrote out the characters “Pei Residence” and “Yan Residence” in strokes of bold, vigorous calligraphy. He sent Steward Zhang to the carpenter’s workshop to have them carved into plaques, which were then hung above the main gates of both residences.
The many large and small items brought by ship from the capital were at last able to “see the light of day” once more, set in their proper places, giving the small courtyard something of the look and feel of the Jingchuan Earl’s Residence.
The ones most delighted by all of this were, of course, the little children. No longer separated between Tong’an City and Jiahe Island, they could share everything good to eat and good to play with together.
One day, when Pei Shaohuai returned home after finishing his duties at the office, he found Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng standing beneath the front courtyard wall, holding small stones and drawing something on it.
He walked closer and saw that they had scratched several arched lines on the wall, somewhat uneven and crooked, slightly taller than both of the little children.
“Zhengguan, Yunci — let Father see, what are you drawing?” Pei Shaohuai crouched down to ask.
Splotches of wall dust had settled on their noses and cheeks, a little messy yet charmingly childlike. Pei Shaohuai wiped their faces with the lining of his sleeve.
Xiao Nan spoke first: “Father, my sister and I are drawing a ‘door.'”
Only then did Pei Shaohuai realize that the rough, simple lines formed the shape of an arched gateway.
Xiao Feng explained, “This way, Yi’er can come straight over.” Without having to walk the long way around.
The next day, Pei Shaohuai found Yan Chengzhao and brought up the matter. The two men were instantly of one mind and opened a small gate in the front courtyard for the three children, making it easy for them to go back and forth to play.
In truth, the decision to live side by side was not made purely for the sake of the small children — it was also a matter of safety for the “inner courtyard.”
As Pei Shaohuai’s actions grew more far-reaching, they had slowly begun to encroach upon the interests of others, and it was necessary to guard against attacks from hidden quarters that might harm his family. With men from the Southern Bureau of the Imperial Guard watching over both residences, Pei Shaohuai could go about his duties outside with a greater measure of peace of mind.
……
Along the riverbanks of the eighth month, wind and waves lay calm; ships’ sails drifted lightly over the rippling water’s wake.
In the capital, autumn was the sparse and withering of paulownia leaves falling from bare branches. But in the Fujian region, autumn meant trees of unceasing emerald, fishing boats at night laden with a river of starlight. Summer and autumn blurred together so completely that they were difficult to tell apart until the tail end of the season.
Pei Shaohuai had been posted to his position for several months now. Tong’an City had grown accustomed to him, and he had gradually grown accustomed to Tong’an City.
Whenever he went out on official business, local residents often attempted to greet the prefect in the official spoken language, while Pei Shaohuai in turn tried to respond in the Fujian dialect. The result was that neither could understand the other, and they were left with nothing to do but smile and nod in greeting.
From the eighth month onward, Pei Shaohuai noticed that the number of unfamiliar faces in Tong’an City had gradually increased, and he could not help but grow watchful.
He summoned Bao Bantou and asked, “Bao Bantou, have the large inns in the city been full every day lately?”
Bao Bantou had already witnessed several displays of the prefect’s abilities, and dared not conceal anything. He answered honestly, “Commercial vessels from the capital travel south on the north wind in the twelfth month, and so from the eighth month through the eleventh, merchants will bring their goods to Tong’an City in an unbroken stream to trade with the local clans. This continues without pause.”
And so Tong’an City had filled with many unfamiliar faces — perhaps itinerant merchants, perhaps escorts and hired guards.
This was entirely normal.
Pei Shaohuai understood, and after a moment’s thought, instructed, “Go and ask around at the various inns — compared to previous years, by how much have the number of travelers taking lodgings in the eighth month increased this year?”
Whether it was Dehua’s porcelain, Wuyi’s tea leaves, Shunchang’s paper, or items such as malt sugar and iron pots — all were commodities in high demand overseas. They all had to be transported first from the interior by road and river to the coastal ports before they could be shipped outward by any means available.
Pei Shaohuai wanted to know whether, after Shuang’an Bay’s “opening to fishing,” more merchants had been drawn to bring their goods to Tong’an City. He also wanted to know how far word of the “opening” had traveled.
Half a day later, Bao Bantou hurried back, sweating, and came to report at once: “In reply to Your Excellency: in previous years, the various inns commonly had rooms to spare in the eighth month. This year, every one of them is fully booked. This subordinate also inquired among the households in the city, and quite a few families have rented out their courtyards to merchants.”
Evidently, far more people had come than in years past.
The more merchants there were, the more vibrant the commerce of Tong’an City.
Pei Shaohuai thought quietly to himself that it seemed the merchants of the Fujian region had far sharper ears for news than he had imagined.
“Send someone to quietly look into how business is at the inns around Zhangzhou’s Yuegang as well.”
“This subordinate obeys.”
In truth, Pei Shaohuai had already more or less guessed the outcome.
Shuang’an Bay had “taken away” Yuegang’s “business.” When year’s end arrived, trouble would naturally follow. It was within his expectations, but he would need to make preparations early all the same.
……
……
As the tenth month drew closer and closer, Pei Shaohuai’s focus remained fixed on resisting the Japanese pirates, and he visited Jiahe Garrison even more frequently than he visited the Shuang’an Prefectural Office.
Bao Bantou often had to cross the water to Jiahe Island before he could find the prefect.
Every morning, as soon as Pei Shaohuai heard the sounds of movement from the Yan Residence’s stable, he would pick up his official cap and head out the door, arriving in time to catch Yan Chengzhao’s carriage just as it was preparing to depart.
“Commander Yan, wait — give me a lift.” It was always the same line, every single day.
And invariably he had to tack on one more sentence at the end: “Better to save where one can.” If one carriage would suffice, there was no need to take two.
Yan Chengzhao’s face was cold. “Whether Pei Zhizhou rides his horse or not, it still eats hay while it stands in the stable.”
“The less it walks, the less it eats… the less it eats.”
“……” There was nothing to say to that.
The two rode the carriage to the ferry crossing, then boarded a boat to cross the water to Jiahe Garrison — a journey that took about half an hour in total.
No matter how much banter they exchanged along the way, the moment they entered the military barracks and turned to discussing anti-piracy strategy, both men’s expressions became entirely serious.
Yan Chengzhao excelled at commanding, training, and deploying troops. In little more than a month, the sailors sent by the Qi, Bao, and Chen clans had already taken on a considerably more disciplined bearing — they could pass for half a soldier.
Trained with measured discipline, neither too little nor too much.
Pei Shaohuai had also begun to put his own strengths to work, making preparations for the naval battle ahead —
First: the maritime defense map.
Inside the barracks, a worn and tattered maritime defense map hung on the wall, covered in deletions and revisions, altered over and over, with many small islands added in. Pei Shaohuai took it down, rolled it up, and said, “If we wish to defeat the Japanese pirates at sea, the first step is to draw a more detailed and accurate maritime defense map. If we do not even have a clear picture of the waters, how can we respond to the ever-changing conditions of the sea?”
It was simply indefensible that they held stewardship over such an expansive stretch of sea and yet had no detailed charts of it.
And so, more than ten vessels were dispatched. Half sailed from west to east, the other half from north to south, dividing the waters into segments one li at a time. Sailing north-to-south and east-to-west in a crisscrossing grid, they charted every rocky outcrop, hidden reef, sandbar, and small island they encountered along the way, recording each in precise detail on the maps.
Once all the vessels returned with their collected data, the findings were compiled and merged into a single comprehensive chart.
Only then could the waters outside Shuang’an Prefecture be said to be thoroughly known.
Second: observing the wind, waves, and weather at sea.
An accurate maritime defense map was only the foundation for strategic planning. To achieve victory while also reducing casualties, it was further necessary to make skillful use of the wind, waves, rain, and fog — to seize the initiative before the enemy. This was where those gifted individuals with the ability to “observe the heavens and predict the winds and weather at sea” came in.
Yan Chengzhao had gathered quite a number of such remarkable individuals from the coastal regions. After a series of practical tests and a process of elimination, eight remained, each one possessed of genuine ability. Yan Chengzhao appointed them as “strategists” or “advisors,” to silence any loose tongues.
These eight men were white-haired and thickly bearded, each past sixty years of age, and all of them literate men of learning.
Pei Shaohuai further divided their responsibilities in detail, assigning them separately to observe wind direction, clouds and rainfall, sea fog, and underwater currents — not only determining the direction of the wind and the flow of the currents, but also estimating the speed of the wind and the knots of the undercurrents.
After months of repeated observation, recording, and calculation, the abilities of these eight men had grown considerably. Their predictions were now accurate seven or eight times out of ten, and for a smaller area of sea, the accuracy rate could be even higher.
With these eight men, they would be able to see through the Japanese pirates’ trick of using the winds and waves of the sea to disorient and bewilder their enemies, and would no longer fear being misled by such tactics.
Third: unified signaling and command.
The Japanese pirates used a gold fan as an instrument — dancing at the bow of the ship to command their subordinates’ movements — not merely for show, but because a gold fan easily caught and reflected light, visible even at great distances through sea fog.
At sea, individual vessels scattered in every direction. If each ship acted on its own judgment without coordination, the fleet would be nothing more than loose sand — lacking cohesion and unified force.
Pei Shaohuai said, “When Commander Yan was serving in the Southern Bureau of the Imperial Guard, he must have developed a unified signal system. With that experience behind you, perhaps Commander Yan might design a system for us?”
Yan Chengzhao understood the importance of a unified command system. He paced in thought, then replied, “The commanding officer uses signal rockets to issue orders. Between individual squadrons, when the distance is relatively close, flags may be used as signals — how would that suit?”
“That would work perfectly,” Pei Shaohuai said. “It only needs to be drilled until it is second nature.”
Fourth: the deployment of firearms.
The reason Pei Shaohuai had such great confidence in defeating the Japanese pirates was precisely this: Da Qing’s firearms were far superior to those of the Japanese pirates.
Larger ships, superior firearms — as long as they were properly deployed, what reason was there for defeat?
Jiahe Garrison had several crouching-tiger cannons. These cannons were cast from heavy iron, weighing nearly two hundred catties. Loaded with eight liang of gunpowder, each could fire more than thirty lead shot — their power was considerable. But great power came with a drawback: the recoil was immense, requiring steel spikes to fix them to the ground. Most of the time they could only fire in a fixed direction, making precise aiming difficult. They were far better suited for artillery bombardment from the shore.
The military artisans of the Musketeers Division had also rushed to produce a good number of “Fire Dragons Out of the Water” — in naval combat, these could be ignited at a height of three or four feet above the water’s surface, streaking like fire dragons emerging from the sea, propelled by gunpowder to fly two or three li, and when the tube charge was spent, fire arrows erupted from the interior, burning men and ships alike.
There were also a number of “Underwater Dragon King Cannon” — commonly known by a more earthy name. These used cattle bladders as their casing, which kept water from seeping in; they floated beneath the surface on wooden boards and could drift with the current of the sea. Once the fuse inside the gut-string tube burned down, the fire reached the charge, and the cannon erupted from underwater to blast and shatter enemy ships.
These were the firearms Pei Shaohuai regarded with the most confidence. Combined with the preceding three elements, they could be used to devastating effect.