Chapter Seventy-Nine Military Mail

East of the Tsushima Strait, a howling north wind whipped up towering waves. The waves rose and fell with a deafening roar, displaying the power of nature with unrestrained force. Dark clouds blanketed the sky, obscuring the sun, and a chill filled the air. Even the tenacious petrels had vanished, their whereabouts unknown.

A tall sailing ship emerged from the waves, sailing steadily eastward, its hull rocking and swaying, cutting large white sprays of water.

"Officer, can you please double-check our latitude... Where are we?... Is this direction even right?" A bald, burly man yelled at the bow of the ship.

"How am I supposed to determine the latitude with this kind of air? Are you the captain or am I? I'm just telling you my judgment; which direction to sail is your business." A muffled voice came from the bow, making the bald man even more annoyed.

On the bow, where the mooring sail is attached, hangs a half-grown figure, struggling to maintain a single-handed grip on the mooring line, striking a majestic lookout pose. His Highness the Crown Prince had told them about this pose, which was called… “Battle of the Angry Seas.”

"You bastard, I shouldn't have listened to you. We should have stopped at the previous anchorage to take shelter from the storm... Who cares about Fusang Rao Junyou?" The bald captain glared at the man who had been calling him "uncle" so obsequiously just a few months ago, and complained bitterly.

The officer on duty nimbly leaped onto the deck, gliding across the swaying surface as if it were flat ground, and strode over to the captain. He was only up to the bald man's nose. He looked up and said, "Your Highness, one must keep one's word, especially towards one's subordinates. Although they are Japanese, they are currently fighting for Your Highness, so they are one of our own. Since we accepted their military mail, we must deliver it on time."

"Your Shen family are the prince's retainers. If you don't call him 'Young Master' and follow them, what are you calling 'Your Highness'? If your father finds out, he'll beat you into a coward..." The bald captain said contemptuously to the duty officer who was trying to act like an adult.

"I...I am a free man..." the star officer, Shen Fu, weakly protested. The term "free man" was frequently used by the elves, and it was said to have originated from the Crown Prince himself. Shen Fu brought up the elves, and even the bald man had to give him some leeway; anyone on a ship had to admire the elves' seafaring skills.

"Bullshit! Do you want to be like those destitute people? We are all members of the Qin family, and even in death, we will be Qin family ghosts..." But this time, Qiao Hu did not compromise at all. In his mind, becoming a retainer meant having a secure job; the master would take care of him for life.

“Uncle Tiger… I’m not not a member of the Qin family… I just… I’m an adult now… I’m a star officer… I can have my own ideas, please respect me, Captain Qiao.” Shen Fu argued stubbornly, his neck stiff.

"Land...I see land..." the lookout at the top of the mast shouted, eliciting cheers from the sailors. This also forced the stalemate between the uncle and nephew to separate.

"Hehe... When we get to Hirado, I'll find you two Japanese women. I want to see if you've really grown up..." The bald captain leaned down and approached the officer on duty, speaking in a lewd manner.

Shen Fu's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a chill run down his spine. It was not for any other reason than that most Japanese women, especially Japanese geishas, ​​were...very distinctive.

On the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, Haruka Jiro's wife, Junko, arrived early in Hirado's Karajincho with their daughter. Haruka Jiro had been gone for three months, and according to the Daikaku-rai law, today was payday.

Outside the Dai-Yuan Hall in Tangrencho, a dozen or so tables were set up in a row, with a shrewd-looking clerk standing next to each table. They were usually responsible for contacting merchants around Hirado who traded goods from Otsuka, but today they had all been summoned back to act as translators.

A dozen or so high-ranking military officers emerged from the guild hall, each carrying a stack of rosters. They sat down behind the table, signaling that the translator could begin.

The translator immediately began to direct the crowd waiting outside to line up according to the brigade or unit where their family members belonged, and to hand over the number plates that the official had issued.

“Takemasa Inoue of the Third Company of the Seventeenth Brigade… three rolls of Matsue cloth.”

"The Third Brigade, Fifth Squadron, Yamashita Taro... Three rolls of Matsue cloth."

The high-ranking samurai found the corresponding column in the roster according to the name of the mercenary on the license plate, wrote out a slip of paper, and the waiter who had been waiting behind took the slip of paper, shouted out, and handed the corresponding goods to the Japanese who had been waiting for a long time.

"Thank you so much..." The Japanese, beaming with joy, bowed and thanked the high-ranking samurai as they received their salaries. The high-ranking samurai simply waved his hand, indicating that they should not block the way for the people behind them.

"The squad leader of the first brigade, the second company, Haruhisa Jiro... Why isn't this person listed?" A high-ranking samurai looked at the number plate in his hand, and it didn't seem fake no matter how he looked at it. He looked at the roster again, but it still didn't match.

"Could he have died in battle? Old Wu, check the list of the dead and see if there's anyone named Haruhisa Jiro?" the young samurai shouted behind him, then looked at him with pity.

Junko, seeing the translator and the official muttering to themselves, had a bad feeling. Mustering her courage, she asked the translator, "Excuse me... what happened?"

The translator glanced at Junko's protruding belly and said with difficulty, "Haru...maybe...is dead."

Zhizi's mind went blank, and she slumped to the cold ground. Her daughter, Yazi, was still very weak and tried her best to support her mother, preventing her pregnant belly from touching the ground. The child cried helplessly.

Everyone around her stopped smiling. It was unimaginable how difficult life would be for a woman who had lost her husband. They all clutched their Songjiang cloth tightly… these were things their families had risked their lives for.

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