Chapter 1282 Warring States in Zhangzhou Bay
The Jinjiang County School, normally a place of contemplative quiet, had been transformed by the influx of hundreds of Zheng clan refugees. Adult voices mingled with children's cries and laughter. Blue smoke from cooking fires rose sporadically from the halls.
The relatives of the Zheng clan, the shopkeepers, and the surviving generals who had escaped with Zheng Zhiguan had been sheltering here since they fled into Jinjiang County seat. The Zheng Group wielded considerable influence in Jinjiang and Nan'an counties; many members owned local properties. Those with wealth and connections quickly departed to stay with relatives or retire to their own manors, and the crowd in the county school gradually thinned. But the poor relations of collateral branches, the families of mid-to-lower-level personnel, and the scattered servants, clerks, and personal soldiers who had fled Anping City to seek their fortunes—these had nowhere else to go. They waited here, bitter and anxious, for the day they might return to Anping.
In the main hall of the rear courtyard, more than a hundred people had gathered—spilling into the side rooms and the courtyard beyond. Among them were dark-skinned African soldiers and quite a few Japanese samurai carrying their long tachi.
After escaping Kinmen Island with Zheng Sen, Tong Tailang and his men had not dared to linger on the shore. As a foreigner unfamiliar with coastal geography, Tong Tailang had led Zheng Sen toward Jinjiang County seat—a route he knew well from previous visits.
Along the way, Tong Tailang took in stragglers wherever he found them, and by the time they reached Jinjiang, many Zheng clan members fleeing Jinmen, Xiamen, and Anping had already congregated in the county seat.
Yet Zheng Zhiguan—the highest-ranking Zheng in the city—showed no interest whatsoever in the heir to the family. He had not even come for a formal visit, merely sending servants to deliver some money, rice, and clothing before falling silent.
Apart from Zheng Zhiguan, the broader Zheng Group seemed to have forgotten them entirely. No one came to inquire after Tong Tailang's party. Such indifference stunned him: the family head was dead, and the young master left behind was the natural heir. Why did no one come to rally around him?
Initially, Tong Tailang assumed others simply didn't know Zheng Sen had escaped. He dispatched men in every direction to locate surviving members of the Eighteen芝—especially the "Ichimon-shu," the Zheng clan's closer relatives. So far, not a single one had appeared.
The stragglers gathered in the county school all regarded the young master as their lifeline. They were lower-class men with meager savings. If the Zheng family collapsed entirely, they would become unemployed vagrants. Naturally, they hoped the young master could inherit the headship—at the very least, they might then claim the bond of "having shared weal and woe."
Though Tong Tailang understood little of the Zheng Group's internal power struggles, he recognized that with the commander-in-chief Zheng Zhilong gone, reuniting the family members would prove extraordinarily difficult.
From a formal standpoint, there was nothing amiss with Zheng Sen—Zheng Zhilong's eldest son—inheriting his father's position. But Zheng Sen was only seven. Anyone with sense knew he could not possibly steer the Zheng family through this crisis.
If Zheng Sen were to take his seat, a powerful assistant would be required to stabilize the situation.
This should have been a prime opportunity to "control the emperor and command the vassals." History—both Chinese and Japanese—overflowed with examples of powerful ministers assisting young masters, then usurping power for themselves. Zheng Sen ought to have been a much-coveted prize. Yet no one seemed interested.
Even Zheng Zhilong's own brothers showed no inclination to assist their nephew. Only Zheng Zhifeng had sent money and rice, with a message explaining that Anping, Jinmen, and Xiamen all lay in ruins—impossible to settle for the time being—so they would simply have to remain at the county school for now. After that, nothing. Tong Tailang, as a foreigner, was helpless in the face of such indifference.
In recent days, only Matos—himself a survivor of disaster—had arrived with the remnants of the Black Guard, some dozens of men. But this man of substantial Portuguese blood could offer no useful suggestions.
The only person Tong Tailang found capable of discussion was Qian Taichong.
Qian Taichong had been an ordinary clerk-advisor under one of the Eighteen芝—a certain Zheng Zhipeng. Rumor had it he hailed originally from Guangdong and had come here seeking employment on someone's recommendation. Now that his master had died in battle, he was simply another unemployed drifter.
Tong Tailang found the scholar mysterious. Despite his scholarly bearing, Qian Taichong possessed dark skin, a sturdy build, and callused hands and feet—the marks of a man from hard-working origins. Once, Tong Tailang had glimpsed him fetching water for a bath and noticed numerous scars across his body, as though he had seen battle.
Yet Qian Taichong almost never spoke of his past. He often sat alone, lost in thought. It was only a few days ago, when Tong Tailang sought to hire a messenger as a lobbyist to Zheng Zhifeng, that their interactions began.
Tong Tailang believed Zheng Zhifeng—as Zheng Sen's uncle and one of the Zheng family's most powerful figures—was the ideal candidate to step forward and assist the young master. He had been eager to persuade him. But as a Japanese warrior, serving as a lobbyist proved impossible. So he had turned his eyes toward this taciturn scholar.
Qian Taichong had accepted the travel expenses and departed without a word. He returned days later—bearing a few hundred taels of silver but otherwise empty-handed.
"He refuses to send anyone to welcome the young master?!" Tong Tailang's disappointment was palpable.
"He said only that Kinmen Island lies in ruins. Corpses remain unburied. If the young master were to move there, daily life would be severely inconvenient. He asked that the young master rest in Jinjiang a while longer."
"Bastard!" Tong Tailang cursed. "The Master's bones are not yet cold, and they treat the young master like this!"
His fury was justified. Just yesterday, he had sent a messenger to Zheng Zhiguan requesting that one of the Zheng family's manors in Jinjiang County be prepared so Zheng Sen's party could relocate. Housing hundreds of people in the county school was enormously inconvenient.
Zheng Zhiguan, who had already seized control of all Zheng clan properties in Jinjiang County, refused on the grounds that "the Kun bandit threat has not yet been resolved, and residing outside the city would be unsafe."
"It seems we can only approach the Zheng Lian and Zheng Cai brothers..." Tong Tailang had reached his wits' end.
"Isn't that asking a tiger for its skin?" Qian Taichong's voice carried a note of quiet irony.
Tong Tailang started. Until now, this scholar had offered no concrete views. That he was willing to speak at all raised Tong Tailang's spirits. "What is your assessment, Sir?"
"I have no brilliant assessment. But consider: if even the young master's own uncles refuse to step forward, why would outsiders?" Qian Taichong's tone was faintly melancholy. "The Zheng Lian and Zheng Cai brothers were originally an independent force. They later pledged allegiance to the General to borrow his power. Now that the General is dead and they occupy Xiamen Island, they likely intend to go their own way. Why would they want to support the young master?"
Tong Tailang felt his hope crumbling.
"So Xiamen Island has become the domain of the Zheng brothers?"
"In Zhangzhou Bay now, there are the Seven Warring States." Disdain edged Qian Taichong's voice. "Every man calculates for himself. None of it has anything to do with the young master."
While Zheng Sen and his followers sat idle in the Jinjiang County School, the surviving members of the Eighteen芝 had launched a vicious scramble over the corpse of the Zheng Group.
The strongest, Zheng Zhifeng, had seized Kinmen Island. Zheng Zhibao occupied Little Kinmen. Brothers Zheng Lian and Zheng Cai held Xiamen Island. Zheng Zhiguan, though quick to flee Anping, had moved just as swiftly when word came that the Kun bandits had withdrawn: he immediately armed his tenants, combined them with his personal soldiers and household servants, and "recovered" Anping with theatrical fanfare.
The remaining Zheng generals either attached themselves to one of these factions or claimed small islands scattered across Zhangzhou Bay. Those too weak to chart a course clung to the shoreline or hid within the Jiulong and Shijing Rivers, watching and waiting. The once-mighty Zheng Group appeared to be disintegrating.
Though built by Zheng Zhilong's own hands, the Zheng Group had always suffered from weak internal cohesion—held together primarily by his personal prestige. Now that the organization had been devastated and its leader and countless key figures killed in battle, this fundamental weakness stood exposed.
On these seas, where ships and men made a man king, the title of Zheng Zhilong's legitimate son counted for little. Zheng Sen commanded no direct forces. The moment Zheng Zhilong fell, the surviving leadership rapidly divided up the remaining fleets, men, and wealth. Apart from Zheng Zhilong's personal guards—the Black Guard and the Japanese Guard—no one treated the boy seriously.
As for the lower-ranking generals and shopkeepers, they were too weak to do anything but attach themselves to one faction or another. Entrusting their futures to a seven-year-old child was simply out of the question.
"If only I had soldiers." Though Tong Tailang had witnessed only the tail end of the Sengoku era's chaos, he understood the paramount importance of military force. But the Black Guard and Japanese Guard had suffered catastrophic losses in the disaster—killed, captured, or scattered. Nearly all were gone.
"Those who have gathered here," Qian Taichong said suddenly, "are likely all willing to follow the young master."
"How many can that be?" Tong Tailang sighed. "Together with Matos's men, we have fewer than two hundred." A thought struck him, and he looked sharply at Qian Taichong. "You mean..."
"Numbers matter less than courage. Men who dare to fight are worth more than a disorderly mob." A spark of energy flickered in Qian Taichong's eyes. "Besides, we may not need to fight at all."
Though the Zheng Group had effectively splintered, its members remained bound by clan and blood. The current situation would not yet descend into fratricide. But various forms of struggle over leadership were inevitable. At such a moment, the number of personal soldiers was indeed an important factor—but definitively not the decisive one.
Tong Tailang recognized that this scholar had a clear plan in mind—the makings of a true strategist. Lacking anyone who could formulate strategy, he pressed eagerly: "Mr. Qian, please enlighten me!"
Qian Taichong smiled. "General Tong, you are from Japan. Why are you so determined to help the young master ascend? What does the survival of the Zheng family matter to you?"
"This was the General's dying wish." Tong Tailang's voice rang with conviction. "We were forced to leave Japan. For years, we served under the General. He gave us food, shelter, and a comfortable life. Knowing gratitude and seeking to repay it—shouldn't we do so?"
"Well said." Qian Taichong nodded. "Then I shall help you."
(End of this chapter)