While Zhu Ping’an was in the hidden ravine within the dense forest, Xu Hai and the other Japanese pirates were drifting downstream eastward along the river.
“Order the ships to slow down even more,” Xu Hai commanded, standing at the bow and peering back. Still no sign of the Ming army, and the ambush positions behind remained silent. Unwilling to give up, he issued the order again.
Following Xu Hai’s directive, the pirate fleet reduced its pace once more, crawling along the river at a snail’s speed.
They drifted like this for about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, yet the rear remained eerily quiet—no movement at all.
“I thought this Zhu fellow was a man of courage and cunning. Even if he didn’t lead the chase himself, I figured he’d at least send someone after us. Seems I misjudged him—he’s just a coward hiding in the city,” Chen Dong said, shaking his head with a disappointed sigh.
“Zhu’s got brains, I’ll give him that,” Ma Ye interjected, standing beside Chen Dong and Xu Hai, his resentment toward Zhu Ping’an palpable. “This whole plan fell apart because of him. But courage? I haven’t seen it. He’s just a scholar—sure, he might know military tactics, but he’s still a frail bookworm. How could he be brave? Him not chasing us fits his weak scholar nature perfectly. If he faced me one-on-one, I’d chop off his head in three moves!”
“It’s within my expectations,” Xu Hai said with a long sigh, his voice tinged with disappointment. “Zhu’s already racked up plenty of merit this time—there’s no need for him to risk chasing us. For him, a win out here would just be icing on the cake, but a loss would tarnish all he’s achieved. If I were him, I’d make the same call. It’s just a shame—I wanted to give him a parting shot.”
“Xu, don’t worry. There’s always another day to pay him back,” Chen Dong said, clapping Xu Hai on the shoulder.
“Yeah, we’ll make him pay sooner or later!” Ma Ye chimed in.
“Indeed, Chen and Ma are right. Today’s grudge will be repaid tenfold in the future!” Xu Hai nodded firmly.
“What about the men in ambush? Should we call them back?” Chen Dong asked. The elite pirates had been lying in wait for nearly two hours, and it seemed the Ming army lacked the guts to pursue. Was it time to pull them out?
At Chen Dong’s question, Xu Hai waved his hand without a second thought, dismissing the idea.
“No rush. Let them keep waiting. Maybe Zhu’s planning to wait until we’re far off, thinking it’s safe, then send troops out for a token chase—just a military parade to claim credit for ‘driving us off.’ Haven’t the Ming done that plenty of times before?”
“If Zhu’s got that in mind, heh, it’ll be the perfect chance to spring a surprise on him…” Xu Hai said with a smirk.
He genuinely hoped Zhu Ping’an harbored such a plan—it’d give him the chance to exact revenge.
As long as there was even a sliver of hope, he wouldn’t let it slip away.
That’s why he’d shot down Chen Dong’s suggestion so decisively.
“Pass the order: the elites in ambush are to stay put until sundown. If the Ming still haven’t shown by then, they can withdraw. During that time, they’re to lie low like the dead—no noise, no movement. If anyone gives us away and spooks the Ming, don’t blame me for being ruthless!”
To keep the ambushing pirates disciplined, Xu Hai sent a messenger with strict orders.
His timing was spot-on. By the time the messenger raced to the ambush site, the pirates there had grown lax, far from their initial vigilance.
Their chosen spot was a prime ambush location along the riverside road—a hill covered in dense forest with no side paths. Anyone chasing them toward Taicang would have to pass through this stretch.
The messenger had nearly reached the site before the sentries even noticed him—a clear sign of their slackness.
He recalled his first trip to relay orders earlier that day. Back then, the elites had just settled in, and the sentries spotted him from two li away.
Now, he was practically on top of them before they reacted. If that wasn’t negligence, what was?
Inside the ambush zone, the scene was even worse. Only a handful of pirates remained alert; the rest were a disgrace. Some whispered among themselves, swapping tales of abducting women and cutting down the weak, grinning ear to ear at the highlights. Others sipped wine over peanuts, half-drunk already. A few sprawled in the grass, snoring loudly.
“Yoshi! Is the boss calling us back to the ships? It’s freezing out here—two hours of waiting, and the boys are stiff as boards…” one pirate muttered.
“Idiot Matsui, of course he is! We’ve been sucking down cold wind for two hours. If the Ming were coming, they’d be here by now. They’re not—they’ve got no guts. Waiting longer’s pointless,” another replied.
The ambushing pirates buzzed with chatter as they saw the sentry lead the messenger in.
It was the dead of winter, and hiding out here with the piercing wind was torture compared to the cozy ship cabins.
“Baka! You call yourselves elites? Look at this mess! Is this an ambush?! Who told you to drink? The stench of wine carries half a li downwind—you’re begging to be found!”
“The boss orders you to keep waiting—stay in position until sunset. If the Ming don’t show by then, you can pull back. The leaders will leave ten ships for you at Taicang. Until then, you’re to lie still like corpses. If anyone exposes us and scares off the Ming, the boss will have your head for the banner!”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you—the leaders couldn’t take Suzhou, and they’re itching to vent. Cross them now, and you’re dead men walking. I guarantee it! If any of you want to test that, better leave your last words.”
The messenger pulled out the big guns, wielding Xu Hai’s name like a tiger’s pelt to whip the pirates into shape before delivering the orders.
Though the ambushing pirates weren’t entirely convinced, they knew the messenger was right—failing to take Suzhou had left the leaders in a foul mood. They didn’t dare push their luck.
One by one, they snapped to attention—no more chatting, no more napping, and definitely no more drinking.
