Chapter 1176 - The Gotō Islands

None of the Chinese aboard took his claim to be a descendant of General Taira seriously. Chinese were neither particularly familiar with Japanese history nor unfamiliar with this sort of attaching oneself to prestigious ancestors—so they listened with polite indifference. The Japanese sailors, however, who took great interest in family names and bloodline descent, found the tale quite fascinating.

As Fukue Island gradually rose from the sea ahead, Ping Qiusheng—who had been standing at the railing attempting to create a "historic moment"—began softly singing a Japanese song:

Tōrimase tōrimase (Pass through, pass through) Yukaba izuko ga hosomichi nareba (If you go, where does the narrow path lead) Tenjin moto e to itaru hosomichi (The narrow path that leads to Tenjin) Go-iken goyōe tōrenu totemo (Without opinion, impossible to pass) Kono ko no tō no oiwai ni (For this child's tenth celebration) Ryō no ofuda o osame ni madzu (First offering the twin charms) Yuki wa yoi nagi kaeri wa kowaki (Going is pleasant breeze, returning is dread) Waga naka kowaki no tōshi kana (My heart fears—can I pass through)

Murakawa and the other naturalized cadres accompanying him to the Gotō Islands listened respectfully to Chief Ping's off-key singing. The Japanese naturalized citizens showed no discomfort, while the Cantonese and Fujianese naturalized citizens all wore strange expressions of patient endurance.

Since this was a commercial collaboration, the accompanying personnel were few. Besides his own personal secretary, two guards borrowed from the Special Reconnaissance Team, and several commercial staff members, there was also an Elder named Qiao Tianzhi.

This Elder Qiao was quite young. In the old timeline, he had been an unsuccessful programmer and successful otaku. Elder Qiao had grown bored with programming and dabbled in hacking. The consequence of being an unsuccessful hacker was having to flee to another timeline to avoid getting his door kicked in. Like all programmer Elders, Qiao had spent his time after D-Day at the Great Library doing archival work. He also wrote program code for the Executive Committee and various departments. The Planning Commission in particular had substantial demand for secondary development of databases.

Elder Qiao had quietly toiled away at the library for three years. During that time, he had purchased a maid, but quickly grew bored with her—she was far too different from his imaginings. Tedious work combined with a disappointing maid had finally caused Qiao Tianzhi's inner universe to explode—he decided he wanted adventure and signed up for Japan operations. Fortunately, he possessed special skill points: English and Japanese. Especially the latter; though Elder Qiao had never taken a single day of formal Japanese classes, years of immersion in otaku culture had somehow enabled him to self-study to the point of watching anime and Japanese dramas without subtitles.

Their equipment consisted only of simple medicines, weapons, and a radio set. Ping Qiusheng himself had medical training and had later worked in construction. Besides Japanese, he also knew some Korean. He certainly possessed the capability to establish an intelligence station in Japan. This voyage presented the perfect opportunity to forge connections with the Zhou family by hitching a ride on their ship.

The Gotō Islands were currently under the rule of Fukue Domain. The domain lord was the Gotō family. The Gotōs had been pirates—or more accurately, naval warriors—in Kyushu for centuries. The Gotō navy had been active in these waters since the Genpei War, a quintessential example of Japanese coastal strongmen. Their presence could also be traced among the "Wakō" pirates that had gradually emerged since the Yuan Dynasty.

The Gotō family had lived this half-pirate, half-fisherman existence for twenty-one generations. The twenty-first head, Gotō Haruaki, had led the Gotō navy in Toyotomi Hideyoshi's Korean campaign. After Hideyoshi's death, he remained neutral in the Battle of Sekigahara. As a result, in the eighth year of Keichō (1603), Gotō Haruaki received a vermillion seal certificate from Tokugawa Ieyasu, officially becoming the first lord of Fukue Domain with a rating of 15,000 koku as an outside daimyō.

Ping Qiusheng recalled that the current lord of Fukue Domain was the second generation, Gotō Moritoshi. This adopted son of the Gotō family had eliminated his rival—the biological son of first-generation lord Haruaki, Ōhama Shusui—in a political struggle eighteen years prior. It had taken Moritoshi two decades to consolidate power and reorganize the domain's retainer band, and he was now reaching the conclusion of that process.

Ping Qiusheng had prepared a fine gift for him: a Lingao-produced decorative steel sword, a pair of oval vanity mirrors, and a glass Buddha statue. For an outside daimyō of merely 15,000 koku, Lord Moritoshi would surely appreciate the weight of such offerings.

Ping Qiusheng set aside his thoughts. The ship had arrived at Fukue Island's pier. After some bustle, they finally went ashore. A young man was already waiting at the dock—an interpreter had been sent ahead on a small fast boat before the main ship departed, and this was him.

"Master Ping, my master has already prepared a palanquin." After the interpreter completed the introductions, a two-person sedan chair emerged from a nearby shed. Actually, it was a Japanese-style kago. Judging by the build and manner of the bearers, they were undoubtedly Japanese. Although one should follow local customs, Ping Qiusheng assessed his own girth and ultimately politely declined the offer, electing to walk instead. First, he had heard the Zhou family's trading post wasn't far; second, this was his first visit to Japan in this timeline, and he wanted to observe the local markets along the way. The interpreter, familiar with Australian temperaments, didn't press—simply followed along.

Fukue Island was where the Fukue Domain lord's castle was located, so the population was relatively dense and commerce comparatively prosperous. The roads were level, obviously well-maintained. Along the way stood occasional thatched stalls displaying scattered fish and vegetables—no meat was to be seen. Since the Nanbokuchō period, Japan's upper nobility had ceased eating meat under Buddhist influence, and this practice had gradually spread to become nationwide custom. Though the vendors along the road weren't starving to the point of skin and bones, they were clearly malnourished—dark, gaunt, and thin. Most men stood under 1.6 meters tall; women were even shorter, many barely exceeding 1.4 meters.

Still, since Toyotomi Hideyoshi's time, Japan had enjoyed decades without nationwide warfare. The benefits of social stability were evident—unlike the Great Ming, which displayed decay in every quarter. Though the common people's living standards weren't high, they lacked the terrified, anxious expressions of people fearing for their lives from one day to the next. This observation prompted Ping Qiusheng to sigh—"Better a dog in peaceful times than a human in troubled times." How true indeed.

Behind the stalls stood some larger Japanese-style houses, all single-story, resembling trading posts by their architecture. But they lacked Lingao's bustling energy, or even the typical activity of East Asian ports in this era. About 500 meters ahead, Ping Qiusheng noticed a row of long houses on his right that appeared to contain an additional courtyard within.

"Is this the local magistrate's office?"

"This is where the samurai lords live," the interpreter replied.

"Why does it look uninhabited? Aren't the lords usually present?"

"That's not it. After the lord's castle at Egawa burned down in the nineteenth year of Keichō, Lord Hyōbu built a fortified residence at Ishida and had all the retainers relocate to the new Ishida compound. So naturally no one resides here anymore." The interpreter wasn't surprised by Ping Qiusheng's questions. "My master's trading post is just ahead."

Indeed, less than fifty meters ahead stood a compound. It was quite conspicuous: the traditional Chinese-style architecture clashed with the surrounding buildings—rather jarring to the eye.

The interpreter led their party to the gate. The courtyard door opened and a young servant emerged, speaking in somewhat awkward Nanjing-accented Mandarin: "The master has been waiting for some time. Please allow the gentleman from Australia to rest briefly in the reception hall."

Upon entering the compound, the scene proved quite distinctive. This timeline's Chinese architectural style combined with a Japanese-style garden and plantings created an effect the time-travelers privately admired for its elegance. The reception hall occupied the first courtyard. Though the building was Chinese-style, it followed a Japanese garden layout. Sitting in the inner room, one couldn't see past the front gate thanks to plantings that created a visual barrier. Two Special Recon Team members stood behind him. Ping Qiusheng gathered his thoughts. Servants dutifully served tea. Before long, two young servant-looking men escorted an elderly gentleman out. The old man appeared to be in his sixties, with graying temples. Though his dress and grooming were clearly refined, his manner carried the seasoned air of one who had weathered many storms. This must be Zhou Xingru.

After they were seated—dispensing with excessive formalities—Zhou Xingru listened as the returning interpreter described these Australians. They claimed to be maritime merchants, but their conduct was quite unlike that of maritime merchants. Over the past days, the ship's crew at Jeju Island had witnessed the Australians building cities, paving roads, digging canals, and clearing land. The interpreter had reported all of this to his master. This Master Zhou had seen much of the world and recognized that these maritime merchants harbored no small ambitions—their sheer audacity in directly occupying Jeju Island demonstrated boldness exceeding even the legendary Wang Zhi.

The Yi Dynasty was no formidable power, certainly, but for Australian merchants to make such a decision and execute such an enterprise was beyond ordinary men's capabilities.

With this understanding, Master Zhou naturally spoke with caution, frequently observing reactions, occasionally also inquiring about Australian affairs and Ping Qiusheng's ancestry.

Master Zhou hailed from South Zhili and naturally possessed broader knowledge than Fujian maritime merchants. He understood well that his own foundation was shallow and, as an outsider among maritime merchants, he couldn't withstand the rising Fujian and Guangdong traders. Thus he had early cultivated the shogunate's favor and obtained a vermillion seal certificate, allowing him to appear at any time as a Japanese merchant vessel. This advantage of being able to shift identities was beyond other maritime merchants' reach. This was how he had maintained his share amid the ever-shifting, chaotic tangle of merchant and pirate factions in China's Eastern Sea.

But Zheng Zhilong's gradually emerging intention to monopolize Japan trade was placing immense pressure on Zhou Xingru. His relationship with the shogunate was certainly strong, but Zheng Zhilong's relationship with the shogunate was equally solid. Moreover, Zheng Zhilong's resources—whether in wealth, military power, or number of ships—far exceeded his own.

If Old Zheng was determined to monopolize the trade, there was truly nothing he could do about it.

Now these Australian merchants had suddenly appeared from nowhere and established themselves on Jeju Island with no intention of leaving. Master Zhou understood perfectly well that neither Jeju Island nor the Yi Dynasty of Korea possessed anything worth such investment. These people's grand investment could only be aimed at one prize: the fat bounty of Sino-Japanese trade.

(End of Chapter)