Ming East India Company

Acuña turned to look at Juan de la Izla, the colony's vice-governor, who was also the Spanish army commander and fortress commander of Manila.

He considered it for a moment and asked in return:

"Are you worried about those people in the Eighth Company District?"

"Yes, Your Excellency, if these Sanlai (the Spanish term for ordinary people in the Ming Dynasty) collude with Ming officials and launch an attack on us from land, then our powerful navy will probably be rendered useless."

Acuña's heart pounded again. At this time, the Spanish did not know much about the Ming army, so if the Ming army successfully bypassed the blockade and landed, they were not confident of victory.

Acunia clenched her fists, a fierce glint in her eyes:

"From this moment forward, seal off the Eighth Company settlement area, thoroughly investigate all correspondence and artifacts exchanged between Sang Lai and the Ming Dynasty, and strictly prohibit them from gathering or possessing weapons without authorization. If any unusual behavior is detected, immediately dispatch troops to eliminate them! Better to kill the innocent than let the guilty go free; we must not give them the opportunity to collude with the Ming Dynasty and coordinate attacks from within!"

After Acuña issued the order, the Spanish army throughout Manila immediately sprang into action.

In just half a day, the once peaceful streets of Manila were instantly shrouded in a chilling atmosphere.

Dressed in scarlet uniforms, fully armed Spanish soldiers, carrying matchlock guns and sharp Spanish longswords, marched menacingly towards the various entrances and exits of the Eighth Company District.

The alleyways, wooden doors, and riverside passages that were originally open to Chinese merchants, craftsmen, and fishermen were instantly blocked by thick logs and heavy stone blocks.

The soldiers formed a strict defensive line, their dark gun barrels pointed directly at the area. Any Chinese who tried to approach the entrance or exit would be sternly rebuked and driven back. If they hesitated even slightly, they would be slammed down with their rifle butts without mercy.

Meanwhile, dozens of Spanish officials, accompanied by native soldiers, broke into Chinese shops, workshops, and residences one by one.

Under the guise of "inspecting contraband," these officials ransacked the place, confiscating any ironware, knives, or timber of any significant size they found. Anyone who resisted was immediately pinned to the ground, shackled, and dragged to the colonial prison.

In an instant, the once bustling and lively Eighth District was completely transformed into a besieged island.

In the past, this was the liveliest place in Manila, filled with the shouts of vendors in Hokkien accents, the hammering of blacksmiths, the clatter of abacuses in silk shops, and the haggling of rice merchants, day and night.

Chinese people do business, work, and settle down here, supporting the commercial lifeline of Manila with their diligence and intelligence.

But at this moment, all the shops were closed, with heavy wooden boards firmly nailing the doors and windows shut. The streets and alleys were deserted, with no pedestrians to be seen, only the howling sea wind rustling through the air.

Every household kept their doors tightly shut, hiding inside and holding their breath, listening to the soldiers' shouts and the cries of their compatriots outside. Everyone was shrouded in fear and despair, living in constant anxiety.

Most of them were people who came from the coastal areas of Fujian and traveled across the ocean, leaving their homes and families behind, just to make a living in a foreign land.

They were usually cautious and subservient to the Spanish colonists, paying far more taxes than the locals and never causing trouble. But now, just because two Ming Dynasty officials came to investigate Jinshan, an unexpected disaster has befallen them without warning.

At this moment, in an ordinary wooden house in the Eighth District, a middle-aged man nearing forty sat in the main hall of his house. There were no lights on inside, only the faint daylight coming in from the window, which reflected on his tense and solemn face.

Lynn, a native of Quanzhou, Fujian, went south to Luzon with a merchant ship when he was young and worked hard in Manila for more than 20 years.

He was generous and righteous, calm and decisive in handling affairs. He could speak fluent Spanish and negotiate with the colonial authorities. He was also considerate of his compatriots and often stood up for the oppressed Chinese. He was highly respected among the Chinese in the Eighth Company. Even the Spanish authorities treated him with deference.

The trusted servant rushed in from outside, his expression flustered and his voice trembling, and whispered his report to the leader:

"Uncle En, something terrible has happened! The Western barbarians have blocked all the roads; not even a fly can get out!"

They were still searching house to house, confiscating any ironware they found, and arresting anyone who showed the slightest disobedience. Three uncles had already been beaten and dragged away from the street corner!

Immediately afterwards, several Chinese business owners who were on good terms with Enrique quietly sneaked into the mansion through a side door. They were all pale-faced and trembling; upon entering, they knelt down, their voices choked with sobs.

"My benefactor, what should we do?! The Western barbarians are trying to wipe us out! We haven't stolen or robbed; we've been law-abiding citizens. Why are they treating us like this?! If this continues, we'll all die at their hands!"

Most of the Chinese merchants who came to Balian were from the lowest rungs of society in their hometowns. They were bullied and oppressed by officials and landlords on a daily basis, and had long since developed the ability to read people's expressions.

Anyone with a modicum of sense knows what's going to happen by the Spanish team's actions.

Looking at his terrified and helpless compatriots and listening to the increasingly loud commotion outside, Lin En slowly stood up and raised his hand to signal everyone to be quiet.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a calming power. The previously chaotic hall instantly quieted down, and everyone's eyes fell on him.

"Uncles and brothers, rise."

Lynn's voice was calm and powerful, without the slightest hint of panic.

"At this point, crying, pleading, and panicking are of no use whatsoever. The Western barbarians' sealing off of the city, their search and arrests, and their confiscation of our belongings are not because we have committed any crime."

From the very beginning, they were wary of our large and wealthy Chinese population, and of our allegiance to the Ming Dynasty. What happened today was nothing more than premeditated.

He walked slowly to the window, opened it a crack, and looked out at the blocked streets. A hint of pity flashed in his eyes, which then turned into a resolute, cold light.

"We left our homes and came to this foreign land, enduring hardship and toil, paying taxes and tributes, just to survive. But now, the Westerners are not giving us a way to live. To sit and wait for death is death; to surrender is death; to let them slaughter us is still death."

As soon as the words were spoken, everyone in the hall shuddered, and the panic in their eyes was gradually replaced by a hint of resentment born of despair.

Lynn turned around, her gaze sweeping over everyone present, her tone resolute, leaving no room for negotiation:

"Since we're going to die anyway, we can't just throw our lives away! We Chinese have been working hard in Luzon for over 20 years, we're not lambs to be slaughtered!"

From this day forward, we must gather everything we can find, organize ourselves, and defend the Eighth Company, defend our home, and defend the lives of our compatriots!