Time ticked by, second by second, and the sun shifted westward bit by bit. In the blink of an eye, it was afternoon.
The pirate fleet had only a few rowers at the oars, relying mostly on the river’s sluggish current, so their pace was glacial—practically crawling along.
Xu Hai stood on the deck like a longing wife gazing at the horizon, his eyes straining toward the rear. But it was too calm—no dust, no smoke, not a whisper of movement. Slowly, his hopes faded.
With a sigh, he muttered, “Looks like the Ming aren’t coming.”
He felt a pang of regret. The crushing defeat at Suzhou had left a knot of frustration in his chest, and he’d desperately wanted to claw back a win from that damned Zhu Ping’an.
But the heavens weren’t on his side. That cunning, cautious Zhu was too shrewd to chase them out of the city.
*Maybe he’s hoping we’ll get far enough away, safe and sound, so he can lead a token pursuit—just for show.*
If so, the ambushers would give him a nasty surprise.
Still, it was time to head back to the Tuolin lair. If word of the Suzhou loss reached there before he did, some restless fools might stir trouble. After a quiet discussion with Chen Dong and Ma Ye, reaching a consensus, Xu Hai waved his hand and barked an order to his men:
“Pass the word—pick up the pace and head back to Tuolin. Once we’re there, we’ll feast on meat, guzzle wine, rest up a few days, then hit a new target. We’ll wash away the shame of this Suzhou defeat with more blood and treasure!”
With the trio’s command, more pirates joined the rowing, and the fleet’s speed noticeably increased.
The pirate flagship sat at the center of the flotilla, directing the rest. Inside the cabin, Xu Hai, Chen Dong, and Ma Ye sat around a low table laden with a big basin of cooked bone-in meat and a jar of wine. Each had a pirate woman attending them.
As pirate chiefs, their comforts far outstripped those of the grunts sweating at the oars.
The three women serving them varied in age. One, in her thirties or forties, tended to Ma Ye. The other two, both in their late teens, served Chen Dong and Xu Hai.
These women were once the wife and daughters of Hōjō Dōsan. After his death, just like his underlings, his family had been divvied up—or rather, “taken care of”—by Xu Hai, Chen Dong, and Ma Ye.
The older one was Hōjō Dōsan’s wife, now waiting on Ma Ye. One of the younger ones, a concubine, served Chen Dong, while the other, Hōjō Dōsan’s daughter, attended Xu Hai.
Since Hōjō Dōsan’s demise, his wife and daughters had been well “cared for”—kept busy day and night.
“Xu, don’t take it to heart. Victory and defeat are just part of war. This loss in Suzhou will cool the boys’ heads a bit—keep them from getting too full of themselves. Next time we face the Ming, they’ll be warier,” Chen Dong said, gnawing on a meaty bone, sipping wine, and consoling a glum Xu Hai between bites.
“Right. There’s an old saying: ‘As long as the green hills stand, there’s no shortage of firewood.’ We’ve still got plenty of strength. We’ll come back and settle the score with Suzhou—make them pay back every bit, plus interest,” Ma Ye added, chomping on meat. As Hōjō Dōsan’s wife bent to pour wine, he slipped a hand into her open collar, groping roughly.
*That short-lived Hōjō Dōsan had some luck with women—his wife and daughters are real lookers. Heard he used to bathe with them too… Seems the Japanese have this custom of parents bathing with kids—fathers with daughters, mothers with sons. No shame, no morals!*
Ma Ye had been “tending” to Hōjō Dōsan’s wife for nights on end—she was something else, and he couldn’t get enough. If Xu Hai and Chen Dong weren’t here, he’d have pinned her to the table right then and there.
*She’s this good—wonder how her concubine and daughter stack up. Probably even better.*
*Gotta talk to Old Chen and Old Xu about swapping sometime,* Ma Ye thought as he comforted Xu Hai. *Right now, it’s one at a time, but caring for all three of Hōjō Dōsan’s women at once? That’d be unreal.*
“Well said, Chen and Ma. We’ll chalk this up against Suzhou and that Zhu for now—payback’s coming, doubled,” Xu Hai said, nodding vigorously, his spirits lifting under their encouragement.
A single failure might’ve dented his rising momentum, but he had more resources now than ever. With careful planning, he was sure he could soar again.
He wasn’t some pond fish—he’d rise to the skies, sooner or later.
*Zhu Ping’an, just you wait. We’ll settle this score.*
Xu Hai seethed inwardly, tearing into his meat with ferocity, stripping it clean and even cracking the bones to suck out the marrow—as if it were Zhu Ping’an he was devouring.
In no time, the three had demolished half the basin of meat and drained the wine jar.
“Get more wine,” Xu Hai ordered, wiping the foam from his lips. Unsatisfied, he smacked Hōjō Dōsan’s daughter, Hōjō Anzu, on the rear.
“Hai,” Hōjō Anzu replied numbly, hands clasped at her waist, bowing slightly before turning to fetch wine from the cabin’s corner.
Xu Hai had been “caring” for her the past few nights. She wasn’t exactly lively, but she was obedient—a few slaps, and she’d do anything he said, call out whatever he wanted, pose however he liked. It kept him reasonably pleased.
As Hōjō Anzu bent to grab the wine, the flagship jolted to a sudden stop. She tumbled forward, the jar slipping from her hands and shattering on the floor.
“Shimatta, shimatta…” she stammered, scrambling up and bowing repeatedly in apology. Her mother and the concubine joined in, echoing her “shimatta.”
It wasn’t just her wine jar—the meat basin on the table nearly slid off too, saved only by Chen Dong’s quick grab.
“Damn it! Why’d the ship stop?! What’s that idiot Yamamoto doing?! Does he want to die?!” Ma Ye roared toward the cabin door. The basin hadn’t fallen, but the broth had sloshed out, soaking his thighs since he sat facing it.
The soup wasn’t hot, but the greasy mess was infuriating enough to set him off first.
