Chapter 17: The Massive Secret
The extent of this woman’s boldness made Lin Qian secretly click his tongue in amazement.
Lin Qian stepped over two pieces of clothes, placed the box properly, sat down at the desk, and filled in yesterday’s and today’s sea logs.
Catherine followed into the cabin, curiously watching what Lin Qian was doing.
Lin Qian didn’t even lift his head and said coldly: “Put away your clothes; there’s no place on the ship to hang them out to dry.”
Catherine didn’t dare to retort, secretly made a disgusted expression, put away her own clothes, then looked around and asked: “Where should I put them?”
“I’ll arrange a cabin for you; until then, just hold them in your hands.”
Catherine held the two wet clothes and stood behind Lin Qian, mouthing curses at him.
Seeing no reaction from Lin Qian, Catherine tiptoed and peered over his shoulder to see what he was writing.
“48th Year of Wanli, 25th day of the third month… AD 1620 May 6, clear weather…”
This string of text mixed Chinese, English, and Spanish, lunar and solar calendars; Catherine couldn’t understand it at all.
Fortunately, she recognized Arabic numerals and could see it was a string of dates; May 6 was yesterday, so she guessed Lin Qian was writing the sea log.
Catherine continued looking down and saw Lin Qian had detailed yesterday’s wind direction, course, and other information, and also described what he saw and heard in the typhoon.
However, it was still mixed Chinese, English, and Spanish; Catherine only recognized the occasional Spanish words among them.
She gave up only after her neck hurt from looking.
“Didn’t understand anything?” Lin Qian’s indifferent voice came.
“Did you grow eyes on the back of your head?” Catherine widened her eyes and asked in surprise.
Lin Qian chuckled lightly and didn’t answer.
Catherine cursed inwardly: “Damn pirate.”
After a while, a ship worker pushed the door open and came in.
“Helmsman, lunch is ready.” He placed the rice bowl on the round table.
“What about mine?” Catherine asked.
Lin Qian pointed at Catherine: “Get her a bowl too.”
In a short while, the ship worker placed another bowl of rice porridge on the table.
Lin Qian put down the pen, walked to the table, picked up the bowl, blew on the steam, and without using bowl and chopsticks, ate half in a few mouthfuls. This rice porridge had plenty of conch meat and shrimp meat, and the taste was quite fresh.
Catherine stirred the porridge with a spoon, frowned and said: “It smells so fishy… Can this really be eaten?”
“If that undercooked rice in Spanish seafood stew can be eaten, then this can too.”
Catherine was so angry her head spun, took a deep breath to suppress the urge to retort, then, unable to bear the hunger, scooped a bit with the spoon and cautiously put it in her mouth.
Then her eyes lit up, she ate several big mouthfuls, remembered her manners and ate small bites slowly, glanced at Lin Qian, saw he had finished eating and sat back at the desk without looking at her at all, and only then relaxed.
Moments later, a ship worker came in to clear the bowl and chopsticks.
Lin Qian asked: “Has a cabin been cleared out?”
“Two cargo holds took on water; all empty cabins are filled with goods, no vacant cabins for now.”
Lin Qian had a headache and turned back to glance at Catherine; now this woman had nowhere to be placed on the ship.
He couldn’t keep tying her to the mast; the tropical sun was hot and harsh, tied for a day could tan the oil right out of a person, and without timely hydration, two days could bake a person to death.
“Forget it, bring a piece of canvas.” Lin Qian said.
In moments, the ship worker brought a piece of canvas; Lin Qian tied it to two beams, fashioning it into a hammock, then said to Catherine: “You’ll sleep here at night.”
“I protest; you promised me a cabin.” Catherine said discontentedly.
“Hammock or mast, choose yourself.” Lin Qian dropped those words and left the cabin.
From the deck came Lin Qian’s voice ordering to hoist sail and set off; soon the ship slowly moved forward.
“Damn pirate.” Catherine cursed fiercely.
She walked to Lin Qian’s bed and kicked the bedding twice hard to vent her anger.
At this time, she suddenly remembered the instrument she had seen that morning; now was a good chance to sneak a peek, so she hurried to the box but saw a lock had been added on top.
Facing such a thick lock, she was helpless and stamped her foot in anger.
She went to Lin Qian’s desk again and flipped through the sea log.
The first page read: “48th Year of Wanli, 15th day of the second month, thunderstorm… West of Dongfan Island, 23 degrees north latitude… Northeast wind 20 knots, course due south, speed 4 knots, sailed 4 hours then anchored, depth 53 meters, waves about 0.6 meters…”
Catherine could barely understand the gist through the Spanish and Arabic numerals.
She flipped to the next page, “48th Year of Wanli, 16th day of the second month…” This page used less Spanish and was completely incomprehensible.
After flipping a few more pages like this, suddenly Catherine’s eyes lit up, and she couldn’t help exclaiming: “Wow.”
Before her appeared a bamboo brush line drawing depicting the scene at Manila Port.
In the drawing, the sky was clear blue, waters calm, Manila Port floating between sea and sky, countless sailboats lined along the coastline, masts interlaced, all in perfect order.
Balien Market’s houses were arranged in neat rows extending outward, and farther away, one could see the Royal City’s towering European-style walls and the church’s bell tower.
Though only a few sparse strokes, it was painted vividly lifelike.
Catherine held the drawing and looked at it for a long time, suddenly thinking of how she had been captured onto this pirate ship, not knowing when she could return to Manila; her heart ached, tears flowed, she wished she could tear the drawing to shreds, but fearing Lin Qian would discover and punish her, she forcibly suppressed her anger and flipped past it.
The next page was also a drawing, of a Manila Galleon, in a different style from the previous one; this drawing was extremely precise and realistic, almost depicting every single ship’s cable and rope, with the artistry accordingly a bit weaker.
Catherine was very familiar with Manila Galleons and had little interest in this drawing, flipping past it hurriedly.
The following pages were Lin Qian’s observations in Manila, recording many local products and prices; Catherine couldn’t understand much and skipped them all.
Then a new drawing appeared, a charcoal quick sketch depicting a person riding a white horse, face unclear, sea wind rolling up the person’s wave-like long hair, clothes billowing loudly in the wind.
Catherine stared dazedly at the drawing for a long time. Was this a drawing of her?
Though it didn’t depict her face, the long hair and clothing were exactly her appearance, and the demeanor of riding the horse was just like hers.
“Damn bastard…” Catherine cursed with a complex expression.
Reluctantly, she flipped past the drawing of herself and continued looking at the later content, hoping to find clues to escape from the scattered phrases.
Tired of looking, she simply took the sea log to the hammock to lie down and read.
Halfway there, she turned back to look toward Lin Qian’s bed.
This bed was obviously larger and more comfortable; why should she squeeze into the hammock?
With that thought, Catherine unceremoniously lay directly on Lin Qian’s bed.
The later pages of the sea log were mostly various data, making Catherine drowsy; only the occasional illustrations could perk up her spirits.
Flipping more pages, on the latest log page amid dense simplified Chinese, the words “Lin Feng” stood out glaringly, next to it “1574” and a question mark.
Catherine, living in Manila, naturally knew the local history and what had happened in 1574: that was the day the Great Ming pirate “Lin Feng” attacked Manila.
Though Catherine didn’t recognize Chinese, she knew two syllables corresponded to two Chinese characters and roughly guessed that “Lin Feng” was that pirate’s name.
Her pupils contracted, her heart pounding wildly, as if she had glimpsed a corner of a huge secret.
