Chapter 26: The Dragon Spews Water

Iron-Blooded Ming Dynasty The Lonely Swordsman 3971 words 2026-04-13 03:57:22

All of Wang Pu’s retainers were men from Datong. On land, these fellows were as fierce as tigers, but once at sea, they became feeble as sickly cats. Barely two hours after setting out, their faces had turned pale, and they vomited uncontrollably. Thankfully, the Korean sailors on board were as docile as lambs, preventing any serious trouble from arising.

It wasn’t until two days later that the retainers gradually adjusted to the rocking of the ship, and things began to improve. As the distance to Ming territory shortened, the retainers grew increasingly jubilant. Wang Pu, however, dared not relax his guard even a little, well aware that success often breeds danger. To guard against any mishap, he imprisoned Huang Taiji, Dai Shan, Bumbutai, and Hailanzhu separately in four small cabins in the hold of his flagship, assigning men to watch them day and night without respite.

Yet trouble still found them.

That afternoon, with the sea calm and tranquil, Wang Pu was dozing on the deck when his trusted retainer Wang Xiaoqi came running, breathless, to report, “General, one of the Jianzhou women refuses to eat.”

Wang Pu frowned. “Which woman?”

“The one named Bu… something,” replied Xiaoqi.

“You mean Bumbutai?”

“That’s right, her. It’s been three days. She hasn’t eaten a single bite since we set sail.”

“Is that so?” Wang Pu said. “Let’s see for ourselves.”

Xiaoqi led Wang Pu down into the hold and opened the cabin door where Bumbutai was held. The cabin was dim, lit only by a faint oil lamp. Bumbutai, her hands and feet bound, curled helplessly in a corner. Before her sat a bowl of rice, long cold and untouched.

“Help her up,” Wang Pu ordered.

Two retainers stepped forward, lifting Bumbutai into a sitting position.

“Why won’t you eat?” Wang Pu asked.

Bumbutai turned her head away in silence. Though born Mongol, she had married into Jianzhou at twelve, and was well-versed in Manchu, Mongolian, and Han Chinese, steeped in the cultures of all three.

“Are you trying to starve yourself to death?” Wang Pu pressed.

Still, Bumbutai said nothing.

“I see.” Wang Pu nodded, then dismissed Xiaoqi and the two retainers. “You three, leave us.”

After they exited and closed the door behind them, Wang Pu stepped forward and crouched before Bumbutai, gently lifting her chin. Instinctively, she turned away, refusing to meet his gaze. Wang Pu smiled coolly. “Are you truly not going to eat?”

She remained silent.

“Very well.”

Without warning, Wang Pu seized her collar and tore it apart with a single forceful motion, the sound of ripping fabric echoing through the cabin. Her robe split open, revealing a pink undergarment. Bumbutai shrieked and hastily covered her chest, panic in her voice. “You… what are you doing?”

“I have no intention of harming you,” Wang Pu replied with a smile. “All I want is for you to eat. If you behave and eat properly, nothing will happen. But if you insist on refusing… I’ll strip you naked and tie you to the deck for my men to see. If you still won’t eat, then I’ll let them, one by one…”

“No, please don’t!” Bumbutai screamed, shaking her head violently. “You’re not a man, you’re a monster, a beast!”

“A beast? Yes, I am a beast,” Wang Pu said coldly. “But you Mongols were far worse. Three centuries ago, when you ruled the Central Plains, how many Han women did you violate? And the Jurchens—what became of the two million Han in Liaodong? How many are left now?”

Tears streaming down her face, Bumbutai asked, “So you intend to repay the humiliation suffered by Han people upon the descendants of Mongols and the wives and daughters of the Jurchen, is that it?”

“Think of it as you will,” Wang Pu answered icily. “Now, I’ll ask you again: will you eat?”

Sobbing softly, Bumbutai replied, “I will.”

“That’s better.” Wang Pu once more lifted her chin, smiling. “Now that you’re in my hands, abandon all thoughts of suicide. Even if you kill yourself, I’ll strip you and bind you to the deck for my soldiers to have their way with you. If you don’t want that, then obey. Defiance will cost you dearly. Do you understand?”

Her shoulders trembling, Bumbutai wept silently.

Wang Pu straightened up and called loudly, “Someone, feed her.”

No sooner had he dealt with Bumbutai than Scarface hurried down to the hold, exclaiming, “General, there’s a small boat on the sea—its passengers are signaling for help!”

“A small boat, signaling for rescue?” Wang Pu’s voice was grave. “Let’s see.”

He followed Scarface up to the deck. Sure enough, a small boat was approaching from the south, bearing two men. As the distance closed, Wang Pu saw they were Western missionaries.

“They look like two foreigners!” Scarface shouted.

By the seventeenth century, Western missionaries crossing the seas to the East were a common sight. Scarface, though he had never seen one, had heard descriptions of their appearance. The little boat soon reached their side, its passengers gesturing for the sailors to lower a ladder.

Scarface asked, “General, should we help them?”

Wang Pu judged the missionaries posed no threat and nodded. “Lower the ladder. Bring them aboard.”

Scarface obeyed, dropping the ladder with two retainers. The two Westerners, overjoyed, each took a suitcase and climbed up. Once aboard, they launched into a flurry of unintelligible speech, leaving Scarface utterly baffled.

To Wang Pu’s surprise, he recognized their language as English, and stepped forward to address them in kind, “Are you from England?”

Though in his previous life Wang Pu had only graduated from a third-rate university, his English was quite fluent.

“Oh, thank God, you speak English!” one of the missionaries exclaimed with delight. The bearded man stepped forward eagerly, grasping Wang Pu’s hands. “General, my name is John, and this is my attendant Philip. We were captured by pirates and only escaped yesterday. We drifted for a day and a night before, by great fortune, encountering your fleet here.”

“Indeed, you are fortunate,” Wang Pu replied with a shrug. “You are safe now.”

John opened his suitcase and solemnly presented Wang Pu with a firearm. “General, to thank you for saving our lives, I wish to offer you this latest model of musket.”

Wang Pu’s eyes lit up. It was a short-barreled flintlock pistol, exquisitely made and much lighter than the heavy matchlocks the Ming army used in abundance. The flintlock’s immunity to foul weather was a marked advantage over the unreliable matchlock.

“My sincere thanks,” Wang Pu said, accepting the weapon. “This is a most precious gift.”

Turning to Scarface, Wang Pu instructed, “Take them below to rest. Give them something to eat, and assign a few men to watch them—don’t let them wander.”

“Yes, General,” Scarface replied, gesturing for the two foreigners to follow.

Wang Pu exchanged a few more words with the missionaries in English. Pleased, they followed Scarface away. Wang Pu turned the pistol over in his hands like a rare treasure; although Ming firearms were quite advanced, they still lagged behind the West. In those days, Europe was gripped by ceaseless wars, and every lord sought to improve his armaments, while Ming China, long at peace, not only neglected military innovation but actively sought to cripple itself, letting even its once-mighty navy vanish from the seas.

As Wang Pu examined the pistol, Zhen Youcai suddenly pointed north with a trembling hand. “General, look! A dragon… a dragon spewing water!”

Wang Pu heard the quiver in Zhen’s voice and felt a chill. Turning, he saw that the northern sky had grown black with thunderclouds, rolling toward them at a terrifying speed. Most astonishing of all, a column of water twisted between sea and sky, spinning and surging ever closer.

The Korean sailors on deck fell into a panic, their faces stricken with terror. They dropped to their knees, kowtowing and praying to the heavens, and even many Ming soldiers followed suit, prostrating themselves in fear. To people of this era, such unnatural phenomena lay utterly beyond comprehension.

But Wang Pu knew it was no dragon, but a tornado.

He knew, too, that a tornado was more fearsome than any dragon. It could tear ancient trees up by the roots, splinter the strongest houses into fragments, and whip up waves capable of capsizing ships weighing thousands of tons—a true scourge of mankind.

Within moments, the sea was whipped into a frenzy, sails bulging on the masts as the ship raced south. The tornado, spinning furiously, bore down upon them at speed, the sea churning as if brought to a boil. The ship rocked violently, threatening to capsize at any moment.

The last ship in the line was soon overtaken by the whirling column. Like the scythe of death, it sliced through the vessel, shattering it in an instant. Over two hundred Ming soldiers, a hundred Korean sailors, and all the supplies aboard were swept into the sky.

Another ship, too, was toppled by the storm and swallowed by the waves, its crew and cargo lost to the depths.

“Oh no!” Wang Pu instinctively staggered back two steps, then shouted hysterically, “Quick! Below deck, now!”

The Ming soldiers hesitated only a moment before scrambling below. But the Korean sailors paid no heed, still kneeling and kowtowing on deck. Wang Pu snatched Zhen Youcai and dove into the cabin at top speed, unable to spare a thought for the Koreans.

A shriek, like the tearing of the heavens, filled the air as the tornado swept across the deck. The kneeling sailors were snatched up like leaves, spinning and tumbling, their cries fading into the distance. Everything on the deck was swept into the air, whirling in the storm.

A terrible crash sounded overhead. Through a porthole, Wang Pu saw the main mast—thick as a man’s embrace—snapped clean in two, the broken section spiraling up into the black clouds, sails and all. Yet, as if by miracle, the battered ship steadied and survived.

Moments later, the clouds parted and sunlight returned, the sea once again calm as glass. The nightmare seemed to vanish like a dream at waking—except it was no dream. Of their three great ships, only one remained, and with it, over five hundred elite men had vanished into the storm.

The only solace was that Wang Pu’s flagship, the largest of the three, had survived, along with all the loot seized in Korea and Shengjing, and prisoners like Huang Taiji and Dai Shan. But of the thousand retainers who had followed Wang Pu across the border, fewer than three hundred remained.

PS: A new week begins—readers, please support with your recommendations. My deepest thanks.