Chapter 1265 - Curtain Fall
And so the plan proceeded, regardless of consequence. Had they been Chinese, they probably would not have attempted something so reckless and uncertain—but the desperate gambling spirit of Tō Tarō's band rivaled that of the Imperial elites from the other timeline.
Once again, TĹŤ TarĹŤ slipped into Camp Alpha alongside Ning Liujin, using the cover of helping deliver supplies. He found Fusong as intended.
"...We plan to rescue the Young Master tonight. Please prepare yourself," he whispered in Japanese. To steady the boy's nerves, he added, "We have made thorough preparations and will bring you off this island even at the cost of our lives."
A look of calm resolve, incongruous with his age, settled over Fusong's face. "Do it."
That night, the moon hung dim and the stars were sparse, but the wind and waves remained subdued. On a small hill near Guningtou Beach—the point on the island closest to the mainland—Xu Ke crouched inside a camouflaged observation post, scanning the shoreline through binoculars.
According to his estimate, after Tō Tarō's group used the "plum for a peach" strategy to extract Zheng Sen from Camp Alpha, they would come here to make their crossing. Whether attempting the strait by small boat or by swimming, they would need to take the shortest route. Guningtou lay closest to the mainland—the probability of them entering the water here was extremely high.
Clicking sounds came through his walkie-talkie: the signal from the SRT members tailing the fugitives. The escapees were heading toward Guningtou, exactly as predicted.
Xu Ke immediately raised his infrared binoculars and swept the beach. Sure enough—seven or eight figures were sprinting across the sand under cover of darkness. One of them appeared to be carrying something on his back. He adjusted the focus and saw clearly: a child.
They really came. He nodded to himself.
Though he had not merely turned a blind eye to this operation but had actively given it a push, the boldness and daring of this group were genuinely admirable. The final crossing was on them. If fortune abandoned them and they all drowned in the strait, they had only themselves to blame.
Unaware that they were being observed, TĹŤ TarĹŤ's group arrived at the beach. They retrieved the bamboo tubes and ropes hidden among the reefs earlier and clumsily lashed them to their bodies. TĹŤ TarĹŤ tied the tubes around Fusong and whispered, "Young Master, don't be afraid. We will push you across."
"I'm not afraid. I can swim."
"Good. Let's go." TĹŤ TarĹŤ beckoned to Honda. "Honda, you have the best swimming skills. You take the Young Master."
"Yes. I will protect him with my life."
"Listen, all of you—we must deliver the Young Master to the mainland even if we die trying! If Honda can't hold on, the rest of you take turns!"
"Osu!"
"Keep it down, idiots!"
TĹŤ TarĹŤ turned and noticed Ning Liujin had not tied on any bamboo tubes. "You too. You're coming with us."
Ning Liujin's face went ashen. "I... I can't swim..."
With a soft sound, TĹŤ TarĹŤ drew his wakizashi and drove it home. Ning Liujin collapsed onto the sand without even time to scream.
The group stepped into the water and began swimming toward the opposite shore. Days earlier, TĹŤ TarĹŤ had already sent someone ahead to secretly escape back to the mainland. At this moment, that man lit three torches on the far side. Swimmers in the strait could gauge any deviation in their heading as long as they kept the three lights before them.
Xu Ke watched them bobbing in the waves, gradually receding into the darkness. He lowered his binoculars. "Tell the SRT to fire. Give them a proper send-off."
Only Ning Liujin's corpse remained on the beach. Soldiers closed his eyes—still wide with agony—and his mouth, which gaped as if straining to voice an unwilling cry.
"A pity. The lad had promise. With some training, he might have made a seed for intelligence work." Xu Ke watched the soldiers carry the body away and allowed himself a moment of regret. "List him in the Intelligence Bureau's External Collaborator Martyr Scroll, and find a sunny spot in the cemetery to bury him."
Zheng Sen's escape caused barely a ripple. The news of his father's confirmed death, however, proved far more disruptive. Zhang Tumu and Xu Ke had conducted a painstaking fingerprint comparison, matching dozens of prints lifted from locations Zheng Zhilong frequented and objects he commonly used. They identified a set of prints that appeared consistently across all sites. Comparing this set against those taken from the headless corpse yielded a definitive match.
Next, several of Zheng Zhilong's concubines and personal page boys were brought from the prisoner camp to identify physical characteristics of the corpse. The confirmation was complete: this was Zheng Zhilong.
The news was transmitted back to Lingao. The Senate ordered an eleven-gun salute from every fort in Lingao, Kaohsiung, and Hong Kong. The Propaganda Department subsequently issued a "Rebel Zheng Beheaded" extra edition. This special was distributed not only within Senate-ruled territories but also as leaflets across the coastal regions of Guangdong and Fujian through the Foreign Intelligence Bureau's covert channels.
A few days later, early on the morning of October 10th, engineers simultaneously set fires across Anping, Greater and Lesser Kinmen, Xiamen, and Gulangyu, detonating vast quantities of explosives that had been placed inside buildings beforehand. The captured Zheng army gunpowder was of low quality and unsafe to transport; they had simply used it on the spot to demolish the sturdier structures.
Explosions from tens of thousands of catties of gunpowder erupted one after another. Black smoke wrapped in raging flame shot into the sky. Burning villages and forts dotted the length of Zhangzhou Bay.
At various assembly points, engineers held roll calls, then marched in formation across streets already beginning to burn, escorted by Marines and guided by the rhythm of drums. They boarded Daihatsu landing craft waiting in the bay batch by batch. The First Fleet—the last to depart Zhangzhou Bay—weighed anchor and set sail through the rolling black smoke, leaving behind a bay reduced nearly to ruins.
Operation Overlord thus came to a close.
Zhangzhou Bay, once bustling with ships, a forest of masts, and a gathering of merchants, was left in dead silence. Public and private property on the coastal islands and within Anping City had been stripped clean; the entire population had been taken. By Xu Ke's estimate, even with sufficient funds, the Zheng family would need at least a year or more to regroup here. That was time enough for the Senate's trade war to exert its full effect.
Ming Qiu stood on the bridge, gazing upon the scene of rolling black smoke with profoundly mixed feelings. As a naval officer who had spent his entire career in peacetime, arriving in this new timeline by accident and commanding such a "complete victory" joint amphibious campaign in his twilight years, he had already inscribed his name into the naval history of this new world.
Yet the deeds performed in Zhangzhou Bay by this Navy of the "Senate and People" under his command could only be described as "Three Alls"—kill all, burn all, loot all. True, the Voight-Kampff Army had not massacred civilians or killed indiscriminately. But such vast destruction of buildings throughout an entire region, military and civilian alike, and the wholesale deportation of the populace—these weighed on his conscience. Especially the sight of thousands of civilians supporting the elderly and carrying the young, clutching their meager possessions, boarding ships at bayonet-point, leaving their homes forever. Throughout the process, inevitably, many perished on the streets. Families were shattered.
The morning sun cast its light across the deck. The rising sun of a new empire had appeared on the horizon—but Ming Qiu knew he would not live to see this regime reach its zenith. Whether that was fortune or misfortune, he could not say.
I am old, he thought. I lived in peace and prosperity for too long. He gripped the railing, watching the warship's prow slice through the sea, driven by the roaring steam engine. Waves churned in its wake.
The first rays of golden morning light crossed the wide-open window, pierced the thin gauze curtains, and fell straight onto the floor, extending slowly and steadily until they reached the far end of the room. They climbed onto the vermilion rosewood Nanjing babu canopy bed, illuminating the intricate floral relief carvings on its frame. The mechanical clock on the desk ticked rhythmically.
Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding—
The clock hands pointed precisely to half past six. The room's stillness shattered as the alarm struck, shaking itself left and right, announcing the arrival of a new day. A hand appeared, grasped the restless clock, and pressed gently. Silence returned.
Chuqing rewound the spring and placed the clock back on the desk. She walked past the chicken-wing wood surface, retrieved clothes from the shelf, approached the bedside, lifted the curtain, stepped onto the canopy bed, and set clean garments on the stool. She parted the inner quilt curtain and said softly, "Husband, your clothes."
Wu Nanhai stretched. He had actually awakened before the alarm rang. In seventeenth-century Lingao—a place without internet and virtually without nightlife—rising on time came far more easily than in the old timeline.
Ample sleep and a regular routine left him brimming with energy each morning. Wu Nanhai dressed calmly while Chuqing attended him. Unlike other Senators who clung to old-timeline clothing habits, he preferred Ming-style long robes. The designs had been refined by several female Senators and tailors from the cooperative, moving closer to the changshan of the Republic of China era—broadly speaking, still within the category of "Hanfu" from another timeline. But compared to modern dress, it remained slightly complex and required assistance to don properly.
This was Wu Nanhai's home. Though the General Office had built apartments specifically for Senators in Bairen City—and Wu Nanhai could have claimed one through the lottery—he preferred not to leave his cozy nest at the farm. Besides, living on-site made it convenient to work at any hour. He had submitted a report to the General Office requesting that an Agricultural Committee dormitory area be established in Nanhai Farm, forfeiting his apartment allocation in Bairen New City.
Xiao Zhishan could hardly oppose such an aboveboard demonstration of dedication. He cancelled Wu Nanhai's lottery eligibility for Bairen New City and approved the construction of an Agricultural Committee Senator Dormitory Area within Nanhai Farm—accommodating Wu Nanhai and a contingent of like-minded Senators who wished to live where they worked.
(End of Chapter)