The Zhejiang army didn’t carry many cannonballs. The first wave of solid shot prioritized striking the front, middle, and rear ships of the Japanese pirate fleet, breaking their formation at the head, waist, and tail. This left the pirate ships further immobilized, turning them into sitting ducks.
The subsequent cannonballs were modified slightly—stripped of gunpowder and filled with kerosene instead, then fired freely at the enemy vessels.
Kerosene shells didn’t pack much explosive punch, but once the oil spilled out, its flammability was unmatched. A single spark could ignite a raging fire. Essentially, any pirate ship hit by a kerosene shell was as good as done for.
Though the spilled kerosene didn’t always catch a spark immediately, it was only a matter of time. The Zhejiang troops onshore didn’t let a single ship off the hook, launching rocket after rocket to tag each one.
As soon as a spark landed on the kerosene, the flames erupted into an uncontrollable inferno—impossible to extinguish.
Trapped in the river by fire rafts and an iron-chain fire barrier, the pirate ships were packed close together. When bombarded by cannonballs and arrow showers, the crews panicked, dodging for their lives. With no one steering or too few hands on deck, many ships collided.
Normally, this wouldn’t matter much, but with fire breaking out, it was a disaster.
Once one ship caught fire, any vessel it had crashed into couldn’t escape the blaze. Good brothers, burning together—reduced to ashes as a team.
Soon, the pirate fleet in the river was engulfed in roaring flames, reminiscent of the Battle of Red Cliff.
The weather played along perfectly, as the wind picked up.
Whether it blew from the northeast, northwest, southeast, or swirled chaotically, it was all tailwind for the firestorm.
Even the pirate flagship was ablaze. At first, Xu Hai managed to direct his men to fight the flames, but his ship was too conspicuous—tall, grand, and ornate—making it a prime target for the Zhejiang army. Multiple kerosene shells struck it, and a relentless barrage of rockets followed. In the end, Xu Hai was powerless to stop it.
“Damn it, damn it! Zhu Ping’an, Zhu Ping’an, I’ll fight you to the death! Abandon ship! Abandon ship now! Get to shore! Slaughter these cowardly fire-setting beasts—tear them to pieces!”
Xu Hai stood on the flame-engulfed flagship, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, pointing furiously at the riverbank as he roared his orders.
He couldn’t bear it!
He truly couldn’t bear to lose the fleet he’d painstakingly built! When he gave the order to abandon ship, it felt like a demon’s hand was crushing his heart into pulp!
Every one of those pirate ships was a piece of his soul. Not only were they costly—the smallest, a thirty-man vessel, was worth five hundred taels of silver, while the larger ones easily hit thousands—but gathering them had been no easy feat. Few had come with ships when they joined him; most he’d acquired through cunning, coercion, and outright theft, offending many and paying a steep price along the way!
To rebuild from scratch? Forget the silver and labor costs—time alone was something he couldn’t afford! Even a basic pirate ship took at least six months to construct. Better ones? The keel alone could take years to shape!
Pirates and their ships were inseparable. Without ships, they were like wolves with broken legs and missing teeth!
Without ships, how could they roam the seas, strike along the vast coastline, toy with the Ming army during encirclements, or escape dire straits? How could they—
The ships were their truest brothers! Their best weapons! Their greatest hope!
Now, his life’s work, his hope, had been reduced to ashes in the river by Zhu Ping’an’s few fires. How could he not hate him?
He wanted to rip Zhu Ping’an apart and devour him alive!
“Quick, abandon ship and escape! Charge the shore and slaughter those sneaking Ming soldiers—make them pay with their lives!”
“There aren’t many of them—a thousand at most! We outnumber them dozens to one! Rush them, wipe out these卑鄙小人 (despicable cowards)!”
“Setting fires and ambushing—shameless and vile! Kill them all!”
At Xu Hai’s command, the pirate leaders echoed his orders, directing their men to abandon ship and storm the shore.
Truth be told, Xu Hai didn’t even need to order it—abandoning ship was their only way out. Even before his command, some pirates had already jumped ship to save themselves!
The first ships to catch fire were now fully engulfed, a sea of flames. Those who didn’t escape faced becoming barbecue. Pirates unwilling to roast leapt into the churning river like dumplings—plop, plop, plop.
The moment they hit the water, they felt a bone-piercing chill!
It was midwinter—how could the river not be freezing? The icy water swallowed them instantly. Some, unprepared for the cold shock, cramped up uncontrollably, their limbs seizing in agony. Unable to swim, they were dragged under by the frigid current, drowning as water flooded their mouths and noses, feeding the fish below.
Of course, only a minority cramped up. Most didn’t, though they still shivered violently, teeth chattering, bodies trembling as they fought the cold to swim.
But not all pirates could swim. While the majority could, some couldn’t.
Those who couldn’t swim didn’t cramp, but in the raging river, after a few desperate flails, the icy water poured into their mouths and noses. Struggling and despairing, they sank to the riverbed.
Naturally, the nonswimmers weren’t content to drown quietly. They grabbed at anything—floating wood, broken planks, or their swimming comrades—clinging for dear life.
“Damn your ancestors! Let go of me! You’re hugging me so tight—how am I supposed to swim?!”
“Idiot, let me go! Don’t drag me down! Die already—die quietly!”
“Don’t beg me! If I drag you along, you’ll get me killed too! I’ve got years of good living left!”
Brothers in arms turned on each other in the face of death. One clung desperately, the other fought to break free. When escape failed, some resorted to ruthless kicks—kicks to kill.
Thus, many swimmers were dragged under by nonswimmers, sinking together to feed the fish.
Of course, even the swimmers who avoided such entanglements weren’t guaranteed survival.
Many hadn’t swum far before the sky full of arrows struck, sending them screaming into the depths.
Some unlucky souls, frantically swimming, were crushed beneath collapsing, burning ships.
There were plenty of such unfortunate pirates.
And even if they dodged nonswimming comrades, arrow barrages, and falling wreckage, the freezing river posed another threat: hypothermia. In such cold, shock and death loomed large.
It’s said sixty percent of Titanic victims died of hypothermia—Jack from the movie met that fate. The modern Gansu Marathon tragedy, where 21 perished, was also due to hypothermia.
So, for the pirates abandoning ship into the river, it was a perilous path stalked by death at every turn.
In the churning waters, countless pirate corpses bobbed up and down, their numbers growing by the moment.
