The eastern horizon began to pale.
Inside Jiahe Garrison, not a soul had slept through the night — yet every man was sharp-eyed and full of vigor.
The command tents had been set up temporarily on the plateau of the high cliff beside Phoenix Tail Gorge, from which the entire length of the strait could be observed below.
Phoenix Tail Gorge had earned its name for good reason: the outer entrance was broad and open, and as one moved deeper it gradually narrowed. At sunrise, the morning glow reflected off the waves in shimmering splendor, and standing on the cliff to observe it, the view resembled a peacock’s tail fanned open in full display.
The sea wind rushing into the gorge even sounded something like the cry of a phoenix.
But today, the clouds hung low and the mist lay thick. The morning sun was obscured, and the gorge’s scene of shimmering splendor could not be seen.
The local people had a saying: “A one-foot wave enters through Phoenix Tail, a nine-foot wave comes out through Phoenix Tail.” Though somewhat of an exaggeration, it was not without truth — the outer entrance was wide, making it easy for waves to enter but difficult to exit; as the two shores narrowed, the waves built higher and higher. Before each wave could recede, the next was already arriving, layer upon layer compounding upon each other, amplifying the force of the tide.
The great tide had not yet arrived, and yet just from the sound of the spray crashing against the cliff-face, one could already sense the gorge’s formidable power.
The old strategists remained closely attentive to the movements of the sky. One kept watch by the wind-direction bronze crow, observing the wind, while at intervals tossing objects to measure how far they landed. Another stood at the water’s edge, using a long ruler to measure the rise and fall of the tide.
The ship captains moved separately, personally inspecting the soldiers and crew, and rallying their spirit. Mingling with the sound of wind and waves from the barracks, the crisp sound of bowls being smashed and wine being flung could occasionally be heard.
All of them were fully prepared and on high alert.
Only inside the command tent — its sturdy walls blocking out the howling sea wind, a pocket of calm amidst the clamor — Pei Shaohuai sat cross-legged on the floor before a low table, his expression serene and unhurried, every indication of a man with leisure to spare, tending a small flame to brew tea.
On the tea table was a set of Dehua white porcelain made in the Fujian style — a small teapot and tea cups, their glaze white as snow and fine as jade, light and elegant in form. Entirely unadorned, and yet possessing a singular charm — the color pure and beautiful, the clarity exquisite, reminiscent of early spring’s fair face, or the blue clarity after rain has passed.
Yan Chengzhao paced back and forth. Seeing Pei Shaohuai in this light and carefree state, he also sat down, one leg bent and propped up, his embroidered scabbard resting against his knee.
Pei Shaohuai poured him a cup of tea.
The clear white of the Dehua porcelain set off the iron-grey and russet tones of the Wuyi rock oolong to perfection.
Yan Chengzhao, whose mind was in no state for the pleasures of tea, looked at Pei Shaohuai’s unpracticed brewing technique and asked, “Since when did Pei Zhizhou take an interest in brewing and tasting tea?”
“Not so much an interest in brewing tea,” Pei Shaohuai replied, “as in Da Qing’s ceramics and porcelain.”
Ever since seeing the Houroku, he felt the need to cleanse his eyes with something finer.
He added, “Dehua’s porcelain, Wuyi’s tea — the longer one spends in the Fujian region, the more apparent it becomes that this land is richly blessed with both talent and natural treasure.”
A quality that was written into the very bones of the place.
“Yan is a man of plain tastes. At this moment, the only thing that interests him is Phoenix Tail Gorge.”
Pei Shaohuai smiled and said, “The great tide is still some time away. There is no rushing it.”
From outside the tent, a soldier came to report: “Commander, it appears there are two merchant vessels returning from the outer sea, sailing toward Shuang’an Bay.”
“Merchant vessels?”
A look of puzzlement crossed both men’s faces.
They stepped out of the command tent. The sea was still a grey, indistinct expanse. Thick, heavy dark clouds obscured the sun, and though the hour was approaching mid-morning, the sea mist had yet to lift — it hung like a thin gauze veil over everything.
Pei Shaohuai looked through the brass spyglass and indeed saw two worn Fujian-style vessels making their slow approach, the crew members on deck all dressed in Da Qing attire.
“Prefect, should we send ships out to drive them away, to avoid disrupting our plans?” one ship captain asked.
It was not unheard of for some merchant ships, bound for the Eastern Seas on trading voyages, to be delayed and only find a window to ride the wind home by the tenth month.
But Pei Shaohuai did not believe the timing was this coincidental. “Do not alert them. Keep a close watch.”
And indeed — after circling outside Shuang’an Bay, the two merchant ships turned their sails northward, and along the way lowered a small boat, whose occupants rowed with fast oars eastward and vanished into the thick sea mist.
The Japanese pirates were cunning. The merchant ships were nothing but a front; their true purpose had been to scout for intelligence.
After the false merchant ships departed, the sea remained quiet and undisturbed for the next several hours, with no further vessels in sight. It was not until after midday, when the thick mist had fully dispersed, that the wind and waves outside Phoenix Tail Gorge gradually intensified. Far off in the distance, a “white line” surged steadily from east to west, advancing at an even pace, sweeping forward without obstruction — the leading crest of the incoming tide had arrived.
But the crest was not high — barely half a zhang — and before it could rush into Phoenix Tail Gorge, it had already subsided and receded.
An old strategist came to report, “Commander, Prefect — in less than half an hour, the great tide will arrive.”
The Japanese pirate fleet would ride the tide as it came.
Confirming that every warship had been concealed and positioned at its assigned station, Pei Shaohuai stood at the cliff’s edge, lifted his gaze to the vast distance, and spoke, “When a gentleman goes on campaign, none can know the hour of his return — yet now the hour has come, and what a fine and stirring sight it is! This vast and magnificent sea before us is Da Qing’s. Whoever dares to come sailing in warships, comes as an enemy of Da Qing, and they shall not be allowed to leave with even a single plank.”
The words had barely left his lips when, before any tide was seen, the sound of the tide was heard — a rolling, rumbling sound, like the muffled thunder before a downpour, gradually transforming into the dense hammering of drums on all sides.
Then, on the horizon, sails appeared. More than ten Japanese pirate Sekibune, arrayed in a wedge formation, came slicing through the wind and waves at fierce speed, needing no help from their oars. As they drew close to Shuang’an Bay, they separated into three divisions — left, right, and center.
This was the Japanese pirates’ vanguard. Using the nimble speed of the Sekibune to drive through in a breakthrough formation.
Dispersing and reassembling in turn, though moving across the sea, they were as nimble as though maneuvering on land.
It was evident how disciplined and vigilant the Japanese pirates were — even without encountering any defensive forces, they had already deployed into a tight battle formation.
Only once the “wedge formation” had entered within the bay did the main fleet follow in its wake. The Atakebune of approximately seven to eight hundred liao carried the largest sails, the most conspicuous of all vessels, with all three sails fully raised and driving at full speed. On either side, Sekibune and Kobaya fanned out and trailed along, flanking the flagship like two wings.
It was as though a great bird had spread its wings wide in flight. The Japanese called this formation the “Crane Wing Formation” — when the two wings folded inward, it formed a pincer of surrounding and attacking force.
On the Atakebune’s bow, war drums thundered. A commander danced with a gold fan in hand — using drums and fan together as signals to direct the vessels on both “wings.” The light reflected off the gold fan was dazzling. Even standing atop the cliff, Pei Shaohuai could catch intermittent flashes of its brilliance.
Pei Shaohuai smiled inwardly. These Japanese pirates were rather arrogant — deploying the encircling battle formation even before they had fully entered the bay. Now it was they who were fish in a barrel.
One of the old strategists looked through his brass spyglass with great care, scrutinizing the approaching vessels at length. Then he noticed something and came forward to report, “Prefect, the hulls of the Japanese ships are black — as though something has been painted on them.”
Pei Shaohuai leaned down to look through the spyglass himself, and after a moment straightened up with a verdict: “The hulls have been coated with sea mud.” Fresh mud at that.
Sea mud was wet and damp, and could prevent fire.
The Japanese pirates knew the power of Da Qing’s firearms and had taken preemptive measures against incendiary attack, to prevent the wooden vessels from catching fire and being destroyed with all hands.
Their preparations were thorough.
Pei Shaohuai added, “It makes no difference. We proceed according to plan.” Today’s battle would make use of firearms, but would not rely primarily on them.
Yan Chengzhao lit the fuse of a signal rocket and fired it straight up from the cliff-face. With a sharp whistle and a crack, the piercing report rang out across the sky — audible throughout the entire bay.
Upon receiving the order, they moved.
Warships that had been concealed among the small islands within the bay drove their oars into the water and moved swiftly to occupy the several strait mouth positions agreed upon in advance. As the wind swept in, the yellow battle flags blazed like silk brocade. Their sudden appearance was like a warm summer breeze scattering a flock of white egrets from the reeds.
The sea appeared to still have many gaps and openings — yet at every one of those gaps, either shallow sandbars lurked beneath the surface, or jagged, solid reefs lay in wait.
Not only did the Jiahe Garrison soldiers hear the signal rocket — so did the Japanese pirates, who now knew they had sailed into an ambush.
The Japanese pirates’ war drums grew all the more thunderous and unrelenting. The Sekibune on both flanks extended their oars and began to scatter and disperse in multiple directions. But by this time the great tide had already arrived, driving wave after wave incessantly from east to west. The Sekibune, being thinly built and light, were easily swept along by the surge of the waves. The Japanese pirates furled their sails and rowed with all their strength, yet could not escape the driving force of the tide.
Scattering proved far more difficult than usual.
What the Japanese pirates had not expected was that Da Qing’s warships did not appear ahead of them — instead they came around from both sides, which meant the Japanese fleet had no opportunity even to attempt a direct collision.
Moreover, Jiahe Garrison’s warships had keels. Their hulls were sturdy and solid, drawing deeply in the water.
The Japanese vessels drifted onward with wind and tide. The Jiahe Garrison warships moved more slowly, and in doing so gradually came around behind the Japanese fleet — the tide of battle shifted in an instant, with Jiahe Garrison now holding the upwind and upcurrent position.
The Japanese pirates were no pushovers either. Seeing their retreat cut off, they tried to use the Sekibune’s nimbleness to row close to the Jiahe Garrison warships, attempting to draw the two hulls alongside each other for boarding combat and a contest of close-quarters blades.
It was what they excelled at.
Pei Shaohuai saw through the Japanese pirates’ intention and said, “Fire Dragons Out of the Water, combined with cannon fire — drive them into Gourd Bay.”
A single “Fire Dragon Out of the Water” could fly three li, giving it a long attack range well suited for “putting on a show of force” at distance, keeping the Japanese ships from daring to approach recklessly.
With the Japanese ships herded into Gourd Bay, the net would then tighten, and the Japanese pirates would have only Phoenix Tail Gorge left as an escape route.
Phoenix Tail Gorge’s outer entrance was broad and gave no outward sign of danger. Only once a ship had entered the interior would it realize it had fallen into a trap.
Yan Chengzhao fired a signal rocket to relay the command.
In an instant, numerous ships lit their Fire Dragons Out of the Water in unison. The sound of whistles filled the air — on the grey, overcast sea in the middle of the day, streaks of fire could be seen flaring up across the water.
Then the short cannons mounted on the ship decks were brought up and fired, their thunderous booming rolling out in succession to drive back the enemy.
The range was too great and the aim too imprecise. This volley of cannon fire did not sink a single Japanese vessel, but it accomplished its purpose — boarding combat was avoided, and the Japanese fleet was driven into Gourd Bay.
The Japanese vessels then “naturally” fled their way into Phoenix Tail Gorge.
Pei Shaohuai heard a great roaring surge from the distance — like ten thousand horses in full gallop, like drums pounding from all four directions at once. A wide, thick “white line” came rushing in from the east — it was a tidal bore two or three zhang tall.
He modestly turned to Yan Chengzhao and said, “My part is finished. It is time to watch the tide in peace. From here on, everything rests with Commander Yan.”
Yan Chengzhao cupped his hands in acknowledgment.
Pei Shaohuai clasped his hands behind his back and stood upon the cliff-face rock, watching with leisure as the once-in-twenty-years great tide rolled in to crash and surge back and forth through Phoenix Tail Gorge.
At some unknown point in time, word had spread — no one knew how — and taking advantage of the right moment, a crowd of ordinary townspeople had gathered at the rear end of the cliff above Phoenix Tail Gorge and were eagerly watching, waiting for the sight they had come to see.
In the past, when Japanese pirates came raiding, these very people would have been fleeing and hiding wherever they could. Now they had come to watch Jiahe Garrison destroy the pirates within Phoenix Tail Gorge.
At first they were cautious and careful, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But gradually, the townspeople let their guard fall away. Several people simply dragged over large stones and sat down on the cliff’s edge, watching from high above with great interest.
Inside Phoenix Tail Gorge, as the waves grew higher and the vessels were swept faster and faster, the Japanese pirates looked at the two shores closing in on either side and began to sense that something was gravely wrong.
They struggled to row back out, but it was already too late — Jiahe Garrison warships stood guard at the gorge’s outer mouth, and a great wall of waves was now bearing down from behind.
Vessels like clouds and waves afloat as a wild goose’s feather — wooden ships were still far too small and frail before a great tide and towering waves.
Without the ability to make skillful use of the wind and waves, there was only being destroyed by them.
What filled the Japanese pirates with the deepest despair was what they found at the narrowest point at the end of the long, tapering gorge: several decommissioned warships, lashed together with iron chains, forming a solid and unyielding blockade.
A Sekibune charging into that would be smashed to splinters.
The Sekibune pulled back behind the Atakebune. The flagship’s sails were raised once more as they attempted to use this — their sturdiest and largest vessel — to break through the barrier in a single charge.
With the towering waves in the distance now visible, surging ever closer and about to pour into Phoenix Tail Gorge, Yan Chengzhao led his archers to take position on the upwind cliff above and gave the order, “Ignite — release!”
Their aim was not the vessel itself, but the great sails of the Atakebune.
The arrows, carrying fire, flew with the wind and streaked straight toward the sails. It was a pity it was daytime, or the arcs of firelight would surely have been a river of fireflies.
The Atakebune lost its sails and with them its wind power, and its speed dropped sharply.
With a thunderous boom, the Atakebune and the decommissioned warships crashed into each other, a tangled collision of wreckage. At precisely that moment, the great tide surged into Phoenix Tail Gorge. Under the force of the surge, the Japanese pirates’ smaller vessels were like fallen leaves in a stream. Once the way ahead was blocked, they plowed into each other one after another, one ship piling upon the next.
The only difference was that fallen leaves tended to be wide and round, whereas Sekibune were long and narrow, with sharp underwater rams fitted at the bow.
They were effectively stabbing one another.
Dozens of Japanese vessels jammed together in a mass, blocking the tide’s advance. The tide crashed into them as though hitting a massive boulder — with a great crashing roar, the tidal crest shot up into a pillar of water that pierced the sky, ten times louder than an Underwater Dragon King Cannon blast.
Fine water droplets rained down like a shower, leaving a cool and damp sensation on the faces of those gathered on the cliff above.
Pei Shaohuai turned to Yan Chengzhao and said by way of introduction, “A tidal bore crashing up to the sky like a towering mountain of rushing water — Commander Yan, this is called the ‘heaven-piercing tide.'”
The undertow of the spent wave continued to press forward, but at the innermost end of Phoenix Tail Gorge there was a bend in the cliff, and with nowhere further to go, the wave’s force — not yet exhausted — folded back and reformed, driving from west to east once more as a new surge.
Pei Shaohuai introduced this as well, “The wave doubling back on itself — Commander Yan, this is called the ‘returning tide.'”
The returning tide ran west to east; simultaneously, the second great wave came surging in from the open sea. The two waves converged at the point where the Japanese wreckage had piled up. The crest, five or six zhang high, raised the broken vessels into the air and then slammed them back down — and when the spray cleared, half of the Sekibune had vanished entirely without a trace.
“The first wave not yet spent and the second already arriving — Commander Yan, this is called——”
Before Pei Shaohuai could finish his introduction, Yan Chengzhao cut in. Looking at the shards of wooden planking drifting in all directions across the strait below, he said, “This is called the King of Hell Tide.”
Pei Shaohuai said appreciatively, “Who would have thought Commander Yan is a man of culture.”
“You are too kind. An undeserved compliment.”
Wave after wave kept coming. On the cliff above, the townspeople watched with jubilant excitement, cheering and calling out to one another.
Knowing perfectly well they could not throw anything that far, many of them still bent down to pick up rocks and hurled them with all their strength toward whatever Japanese vessels still remained.
As the battle drew near its close, a lieutenant who had been commanding the cannon battery on shore came running over in a great flurry, paid his respects, and reported, “Commander, the cannon battery is fully prepared, and the crouching-tiger cannons have been aimed and set.”
He glanced at the broken vessels and scattered wooden planking inside the strait, then at the waves still rolling in from the open sea beyond. His own words seemed to lose their footing as he spoke. His voice dropped noticeably: “Commander, Prefect — do we still proceed to load and fire…”
It seemed there was no longer any real need.
A waste of gunpowder.
Yan Chengzhao looked to Pei Shaohuai for his view on the matter.
Pei Shaohuai asked, “Is there a shortage of gunpowder in Jiahe Garrison?”
“Not at the moment,” Yan Chengzhao replied.
Pei Shaohuai smiled and said, “Then fire a few rounds and let them boom — let everyone enjoy the sound of it together.”
The cannon battery had trained together for this for so long, had worked so hard to get their aim right. Now that the moment had finally come, how could they be left out of it — unable to take the field and display Da Qing’s cannon fire in all its splendor?