Chapter 43: The Curtain Falls

And so, this desperate plan was put into motion. Had it been Chinese, they probably would not have attempted something so reckless and uncertain. But the desperate, gambling spirit of Tōtarō and his men was no less than that of their Imperial counterparts in another timeline.

Tōtarō once again followed Ning Liujin, under the pretext of helping with a delivery, and slipped into the “A” section, where he successfully met with Fukumatsu.

“…We plan to rescue you this way, Young Master, tonight. Please be prepared,” Tōtarō whispered in Japanese. To quell any fear, he added, “We have made complete preparations and will risk our lives to get you off this island.”

“Go and do it,” Fukumatsu said, his face showing a calm and resolute expression that belied his age.

That night, the moon and stars were dim, but the wind and waves were not high. On a small hill near Guningtou beach, the closest point to the mainland, Xu Ke was in a camouflaged observation post, monitoring the beach with his binoculars.

He estimated that after Tōtarō’s group had switched Zheng Sen out of the “A” section, they would come here to attempt a crossing. To cross the strait at night, whether by small boat or by swimming, they would have to take the shortest route. Guningtou was the closest point to the mainland, so it was highly likely they would enter the water here.

His walkie-talkie crackled. It was the signal from the special reconnaissance team tailing the escapees: they were heading towards Guningtou, as predicted.

Xu Ke immediately raised his infrared binoculars and scanned the beach. Sure enough, seven or eight figures were running along the sand under the cover of darkness. One of them seemed to be carrying something on his back.

He quickly adjusted the focus and saw that it was a child.

“They’re here!” Xu Ke nodded to himself.

Although he had not only turned a blind eye to this operation but had also given it a push, he had to admire the audacity and daring of this group. This final crossing was up to them now. If their luck ran out and they all drowned in the strait, it would be no one’s fault but their own.

Tōtarō and his men, unaware that they were being watched, reached the beach and retrieved the bamboo tubes and ropes they had hidden among the rocks, hastily tying them to their bodies. Tōtarō tied the bamboo tubes to Fukumatsu and whispered, “Young Master, do not be afraid. We will push you across.”

“I am not afraid. I can swim.”

“Good, let’s go,” Tōtarō said, then called over Honda. “Honda, you are the best swimmer. You will lead the young master.”

“Yes, I will protect the young master with my life.”

“Listen up, everyone! We will risk our lives to get the young master back to the mainland! If Honda can’t hold on, you will take turns!”

“Hai!”

“Damn it, keep it down!”

Tōtarō turned and saw that Ning Liujin had not yet tied on his bamboo tubes. “You, tie these on and come with us,” he said.

Ning Liujin’s face turned pale. “I… I can’t swim…”

Tōtarō drew his wakizashi with a flash and stabbed. Ning Liujin didn’t even have time to cry out before he collapsed onto the sand.

The group then entered the water and began to swim towards the opposite shore. A few days earlier, Tōtarō had sent a man to secretly escape back to the mainland. Now, this man had lit three bonfires on the other side. As long as the swimmers kept the three sources of light in front of them, they could accurately judge if they were straying from their course.

Xu Ke watched them bobbing in the waves, gradually moving further away. He lowered his binoculars. “Have the special reconnaissance team open fire. Give them a farewell.”

Only Ning Liujin’s body was left on the beach. The soldiers closed his eyes, which were wide with pain. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to let out a final, unwilling cry.

“A pity. The boy was quite capable. With some training, he might have been a good intelligence agent,” Xu Ke said with some regret as he watched the soldiers carry away Ning Liujin’s body. “Add him to the list of martyred intelligence bureau collaborators. Find a sunny spot in the cemetery and bury him there.”

Zheng Sen’s escape did not cause much of a stir. It was the news of his father’s confirmed death that caused a greater shock. Zhang Tumu and Xu Ke had compared dozens of fingerprints taken from various locations and finally confirmed that one set of prints appeared in all the places Zheng Zhilong frequented and on the items he commonly used. It should be his own. They then compared this set of prints with the prints from the headless body and confirmed that they were a basic match.

Several of Zheng Zhilong’s concubines, personal servants, and other close associates were brought from the POW camp to identify the physical characteristics of the headless body. In the end, it was confirmed that this was indeed Zheng Zhilong.

This news was then transmitted back to Lingao. The Senate ordered an eleven-gun salute from all the forts in Lingao, Kaohsiung, and Hong Kong. The Propaganda Department then issued an extra edition of the newspaper with the headline: “The Rebel Zheng Has Lost His Head.” This extra was not only distributed in the areas under the Senate’s rule but was also spread as leaflets along the coasts of Guangdong and Fujian provinces through the channels of the Foreign Intelligence Bureau.

A few days later, on the morning of October 10th, engineers simultaneously set fire to all the villages, towns, and forts in Anping, Big and Little Kinmen, Xiamen, and Gulangyu, detonating the large quantities of gunpowder placed inside the buildings. The large amounts of captured Zheng army gunpowder were of poor quality and unsafe to transport, so they were used on the spot to demolish the sturdier buildings.

The explosions of tens of thousands of jin of gunpowder echoed one after another. Black smoke, mixed with fierce flames, shot into the sky. All along the coast of Zhangzhou Bay, villages, towns, and forts were burning.

The engineers assembled at their various rally points and then, under the escort of the marines, marched in formation through the now-burning streets to the sound of drums. They boarded the large landing craft waiting in the bay in batches. Amidst the rolling black smoke, the last ships of the First Fleet to leave Zhangzhou Bay weighed anchor and departed from the now-ruined bay.

And so, the curtain fell on Operation Overlord.

Zhangzhou Bay, once bustling with ships, its forests of masts and crowds of merchants, was now left in a deathly silence. The public and private property on the coastal islands and in Anping had been completely looted, and the entire population had been taken away. According to Xu Ke’s estimate, even if the Zheng family had sufficient funds, it would take them at least a year and a half to regroup here, which was more than enough time for the Senate’s trade war to take effect.

Ming Qiu stood on the bridge, looking at the scene of rolling black smoke, his feelings very complex. As a naval officer whose entire career had been spent in peacetime, he had, by a twist of fate, come to this new timeline and, in his twilight years, commanded a joint land-sea campaign that could be called a “total victory.” He had already secured a place in the naval history of this new world.

But the “Senate and People’s” navy he commanded had committed what could only be described as a “three alls policy” (kill all, burn all, loot all) in Zhangzhou Bay. Although the Fubo Army did not engage in massacres or indiscriminate killings, the large-scale destruction of buildings, both military and civilian, and the abduction of the population still weighed on his conscience. Especially the sight of tens of thousands of people, old and young, carrying their meager belongings, forced onto boats at bayonet point, leaving their homes behind forever. In the process, many had surely died in the streets, their families torn apart…

The morning sun cast its rays on the deck. The rising sun of the new empire had appeared on the horizon, but he would not live to see this regime at its zenith. He did not know if this was fortunate or unfortunate.

“I am old… I have lived too long in an era of peace and prosperity…” he thought, his hand on the railing, watching the warship’s bow cut through the waves, pushed by the roaring steam engines.

The first golden rays of the morning sun passed through the open window and the gauze curtains, shining directly onto the floor of the room. They crept slowly and steadily forward until they reached the end of the room and climbed up the vermilion-lacquered, elaborately carved nanmu canopy bed, making the intricate carvings on the bed frame shine. On the desk in the room, a mechanical clock ticked and tocked.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding—

The hands of the clock pointed to exactly 6:30. The sudden sound shattered the tranquility of the room. The alarm clock on the chicken-wing wood desk rang its bell, the whole clock shaking from side to side, announcing the arrival of a new day. Until a hand appeared, grasped the restless alarm clock, and with a gentle press, the room instantly returned to silence.

Chuqing rewound the alarm clock and gently placed it back in its original position. She turned, walked past the desk, took the clothes from the rack, and went to the bed. She lifted the bed curtain, stepped onto the canopy bed, placed the clean clothes on the stool at the head of the bed, lifted the curtain at the front of the bed, and said to the person inside, “Master, your clothes.”

Wu Nanhai stretched. He had actually woken up before the alarm went off. In this 17th-century Lingao, with no internet and almost no nightlife, waking up on time in the morning was much easier than in the original timeline.

Sufficient sleep and a regular lifestyle left him full of energy when he woke up in the morning. With Chuqing’s help, Wu Nanhai dressed leisurely. Unlike other Transmigrators who continued to wear clothes from the original timeline, he preferred the long robes characteristic of the Ming dynasty. Of course, the robes had been improved in collaboration with several female Transmigrators and the cooperative’s tailors. The style was closer to the long gowns of the Republican era and basically fell into the category of “Hanfu” from the other timeline. But compared to modern clothing, it was still slightly complicated and required help to put on properly.

This was Wu Nanhai’s home.

Although the General Office had built apartments specifically for Transmigrators in Bairen City, and Wu Nanhai could have gotten one through the lottery system, he was unwilling to leave his comfortable home on the farm. Besides, being on the farm made it convenient to work at any time. So, he submitted a report to the General Office, requesting to build a dormitory area for the Agriculture Committee on the Nanhai Farm and giving up his apartment in Bairen New City.

This was a very legitimate request, motivated by his dedication to his work, so Xiao Zhishan naturally couldn’t object. He canceled the lottery eligibility for Wu Nanhai and a group of other Transmigrators who wished to live on the farm and instead approved the construction of a Transmigrator dormitory area on the Nanhai Farm.