The next day, as the first rays of dawn broke, the Zhejiang army camp and the pirate camp faced each other across the river, both wreathed in curling smoke from cooking fires.
“One, one, one-two-one, one-two-three-four…”
Zhejiang soldiers were up early, training with gusto—marching in step, jogging, drilling in formation.
In contrast, the pirate camp was lax, with pirates lazily stretching, pointing and jeering at the Zhejiang camp. The pirates split into two groups: Mao Haifeng and Otomo Sadagawa’s defeated troops, eyeing the Zhejiang camp with wariness and fear, and Wang Zhi’s reinforcing pirates, who laughed at the Zhejiang drills as if watching monkeys, dismissing them as no different from the usual weak government troops.
The defeated pirates had warned the reinforcements about the Zhejiang army’s strength, but the newcomers scoffed. You lot, beaten by Zhejiang, are just making excuses for your failure.
In the pirate world, the strong preyed on the weak. The reinforcements mocked the defeated, who in turn were happy to see them fall into the same trap—everyone stumbling at the same starting line, no one laughing at anyone else.
This mix of factors led the reinforcements to underestimate the Zhejiang army, seeing them as slightly tougher garrison soldiers. Garrison troops were weaklings to them; the Zhejiang army was just a beefier weakling, still a dish to be devoured. The only difference? A tougher weakling might be chewier, tastier.
As the Zhejiang army trained, their cooks hauled a steaming cauldron of ginger soup to the riverbank. A group of shackled pirate captives, carrying wood, were herded over. At the river, each captive was forced to drink a bowl of hot ginger soup before being driven into the icy water.
“What are they doing?” the pirates across the river wondered.
“They’re building pontoon bridges,” came the answer soon enough.
“Are they planning to attack our camp?” some pirates worried.
“Attack? Nonsense. Yesterday, General Xue challenged them. They agreed to send 1,000 men after breakfast to fight. They’re building bridges to cross for the battle,” an informed pirate clarified.
Relieved, the others relaxed. It was Xue’s men fighting, not them. They’d get to watch the show.
Word of the Zhejiang army building bridges reached the camp, informing Mao Haifeng, Otomo Sadagawa, and Wang Zhi.
“Hah, they’re scared they’ll lose and can’t retreat, so they’re building bridges for an escape route,” Xue Tao chuckled, unconcerned.
He was pleased, seeing the bridges as a sign of Zhejiang’s lack of confidence, already half-defeated before the fight.
“They’re securing a fallback,” Mao Haifeng remarked casually. “Just a few bridges, let them build. If talks break down and a big battle starts, it saves us the trouble of building them.”
Yesterday, Zhu Ping’an let them build their camp unhindered; now they were just building bridges, no big deal.
But Mao’s view differed from Xue’s. Xue thought the bridges were for retreating after a loss. Mao believed they were a precaution against the pirates breaking the agreement, sending reinforcements to overwhelm them, ensuring an escape route across the river.
“Hm,” Wang Zhi nodded, waving a hand. “Let them build. They dare cross the river to fight, so a retreat route makes sense.”
Thus, the Zhejiang army built their bridges unimpeded.
Some captive pirates tried escaping early on, two bolting toward the pirate camp across the river, shouting, “Help, help!”
But within steps, several musket shots rang out—“bang, bang”—and the escapees were gunned down in the water. Blood bloomed on the surface, like dawn reflecting on the river.
Zhejiang soldiers ordered the captives to drag the bodies to the bank, where two soldiers deftly severed their heads.
After that, no captive dared try escaping. Could they outrun the Zhejiang muskets? Better to live than die.
So, they endured the freezing water, grimacing as they obediently built the bridges.
The river wasn’t wide, and with pre-cut timber, the task wasn’t too hard. By the time the Zhejiang army finished breakfast, the captives had completed six simple pontoon bridges.
Zhejiang soldiers inspected the bridges, confirmed they were usable, and let the shivering captives ashore. Ordered to line up, they drank another bowl of ginger soup before being herded back to the crude shelters they’d built in the camp, where fires and watery rice porridge mixed with wild greens awaited—enough to keep them from freezing or starving.
The captives were valuable labour for dirty, gruelling tasks; the Zhejiang army didn’t want them dying too soon.
Soon, the Zhejiang army finished breakfast, and 1,000 soldiers assembled.
“Young master, stay in camp. Don’t worry, we won’t let you down,” Liu Dadao and Liu Daqiang assured Zhu Ping’an.
“Stay safe and bring all our brothers back unharmed if possible,” Zhu Ping’an instructed.
“Don’t worry, young master. We didn’t bring tiger-crouching cannons, but everyone’s got two loaded muskets. In formation, they won’t get close,” Liu Dadao said confidently.
“If the pirates break the deal and send more than the agreed 1,000, retreat immediately. I’ll have men on the bank to cover you,” Zhu Ping’an added.
“Got it,” Liu Dadao and Liu Daqiang nodded firmly.
