Ming East India Company

In the autumn of the thirty-first year of the Wanli reign, before the trees on the outskirts of Manila had turned yellow, the stench of blood had already overwhelmed the vegetation in the mountains and fields.

The fire that spread from the Eighth District burned for three days and three nights before it was finally extinguished. The settlement, which once carried the livelihoods and hopes of 30,000 Chinese, is now reduced to ruins, charred wooden beams, and countless unburied corpses.

Spanish soldiers and native mercenaries repeatedly looted the ruins, taking all the remaining valuables. Any elderly or weak Chinese people found hiding there were killed on the spot. The entire Eighth Company had been turned into a desolate graveyard.

This catastrophe, triggered by suspicion and escalated by massacre, did not end with the fall of the Eighth Company.

Inside the Governor's Palace in Intramuros, Manila, Pedro de Acuña stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the group of colonial officials behind him. His grey-blue eyes were fixed on the direction of the northern Dalun Mountains outside the window. No one in the entire council chamber dared to make a sound or disturb him; even their breathing was unconsciously kept to a minimum.

On the table lay a newly delivered battle report, the handwriting sharp as needles, piercing Acunia's eyes:

The rebel leader Lynn led his remaining forces of about 12,000 men, broke through the blockade, and retreated into the deep forests of the Dalun Mountains. They are currently entrenched in a strategic location in the mountains, putting up a stubborn resistance.

"A last-ditch resistance?"

Acunia finally spoke slowly, her voice low and hoarse, filled with barely suppressed anger. She turned around abruptly, grabbed the battle report from the table, and slammed it to the ground.

His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were filled with blood vessels.

"A motley crew of peasants armed with bamboo spears managed to break through the encirclement and suppression by my artillery and regular army."

They actually managed to escape into the mountains with tens of thousands of people? Tell me, is this what you call a complete victory, a thorough eradication?

Standing in the hall was Thomas de Acuña, the commander of the operation and the governor's nephew, along with a group of officers who had participated in the battle. All of them were pale-faced, bowed their heads, and dared not offer any explanation.

In this operation to suppress the Eighth Company, they mobilized all of Manila's regular garrison, local mercenaries, and Japanese mercenaries, totaling more than 5,000 men, equipped with dozens of artillery pieces and nearly a thousand matchlock guns.

Dealing with a group of Chinese civilians who had no experience in conventional warfare should have been a swift and easy victory.

But they never expected that those seemingly docile and weak Chinese would unleash such a strong will to survive in such dire straits. They also never expected that Lynn would be able to stabilize the troops and organize a breakout amidst the chaos of a complete collapse, tearing a gap in their encirclement and blockade and leading a large number of remnants into the treacherous Dalun Mountains.

Thomas stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and spoke with a voice filled with guilt and fear:

"Governor, it was my responsibility. When we were surrounding them, I was afraid the rain would wet our arquebuses, so I let Lynn lead the remaining troops to escape into the deep mountains."

I request permission to immediately lead the army to pursue and annihilate them completely. I want to wash away the shame I have brought upon the Acunia family with my military exploits.

"Completely eliminate?"

Acuña interrupted him, her tone full of sarcasm.

"You can't even execute a tiger tied to a chopping board, so how can you expect to catch it when it runs into the wilderness?"

He strode to the map, ripped off the velvet covering it, and the terrain of Manila and the surrounding mountains and rivers was clearly visible.

He pointed sharply to the north side of the map with his cane, his tone icy and chilling as he issued the order, word by word:

"Lynn led tens of thousands of people into the mountains, effectively imprisoning this scourge in a natural cage."

They're in the mountains, without supplies, food, or weapons. If we go into the mountains to pursue them, we'll only give them an opportunity to obtain supplies.

Acunia whirled around, the rage in her eyes gradually fading, replaced by a chilling ruthlessness and calculating intent.

"Issue the Governor's Office's order immediately."

First, the entire army shall immediately set out to occupy all exits and passes of the Dalun Mountains, construct fortifications, set up sentry posts, and conduct 24-hour continuous patrols to blockade the area. Anyone seen or disturbed in the mountains shall be killed without exception; not even a bird shall be allowed to fly out of the mountains, and not a single person shall be allowed to escape.

Second, seal off all villages, markets, and water sources at the foot of the mountain, and strictly prohibit any civilians or merchants from selling or transporting goods into the mountains. Anyone who dares to secretly communicate with the Chinese in the mountains, whether Spanish or native, will be hanged for treason.

Third, they searched for and destroyed all edible wild fruits and tubers around the mountains and forests, and burned the trees and grasses on the mountain edges to cut off all their sources of sustenance. At the same time, they blocked the downstream outlets of all the mountain streams and springs, dumped excrement into them, and polluted the shallow waters so that they could not find clean drinking water sources.

I will turn Lynn and his Ming Dynasty parasites into lonely ghosts in the mountains, with no water to drink and no food to eat.

Acuña leaned on his cane, a cruel smile playing on his lips, his tone brimming with an air of absolute certainty:

"Three months, at most three months, I want there not be a single living Chinese left in the Dalun Mountains. I want them to know that betraying Spain and resisting my rule will only lead to death, and their final resting place will be this desolate, uninhabited mountain forest."

A month later, deep in the Dalun Mountains, the area was already a desperate situation, barely clinging to life.

Lynn led more than 12,000 Chinese who had broken out of the Eighth Company and hid in a valley deep in the mountains. The valley was surrounded by mountains on three sides, with only a narrow mountain path in and out. It was a strategically important and easily defensible place, providing temporary refuge from the Spanish search and making it a natural hiding place.

But beneath this brief period of safety lies a survival crisis powerful enough to crush everyone.

During the breakout, everyone was fleeing in panic, with no time to carry sufficient supplies. Each person had only a pitiful amount of dry rations and water, and most people even carried only their personal clothing, without a single bite to eat.

Throughout the valley, people were sobbing softly. They had lost their homes and loved ones, their bodies covered in wounds and their clothes tattered. They huddled in makeshift thatched huts, their faces pale and thin, their eyes vacant, filled only with endless despair and fear.

Lynn sat on a boulder in the middle of the valley. His cloth robe was tattered from blood, dust, and tree branches. His face was covered with scratches and soot, his eyes were bloodshot, and his chin was covered with stubble. In just a few days, this once calm, capable, and spirited Chinese leader seemed to have aged ten years.

He was surrounded by several close confidants, each with a solemn expression, holding a list of supplies in their hands, which were trembling slightly.

"My benefactor, everything has been counted."

The confidant's voice was hoarse and dry, filled with barely concealed despair:

"All our food, including brown rice, dry food, and tubers, adds up to less than 300 shi (a unit of dry measure). There are more than 12,000 mouths to feed in the mountains. Even if we eat frugally and each person only drinks thin porridge every day, it will only last for 15 days. After 15 days, we will be completely out of food."

"Where's the water source?"

Lynn spoke slowly, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper was being rubbed. He looked up at his confidant, his eyes filled with the last glimmer of hope.

"There is a mountain spring in the valley, which will be enough for us to drink for now."

The confidant answered with a bitter face.

"But the Spanish down the mountain have blocked all the downstream streams and thrown filth into the shallow waters, so the surrounding streams are undrinkable."

We only have this one mountain spring. If the Spanish discover it, or if they cut it off or pollute it, we won't even have drinking water left.

"What about the medicine, cloth, and salt? Is there anything left?"

"There's almost no medicine; we didn't bring any when we broke through. Now the wounded brothers can only use herbal medicine to treat their wounds, and many of them have developed inflammation and fevers and won't last more than a few days."

They only had less than two bags of salt, and even if they used them sparingly, it wouldn't last more than a month. They hadn't brought any cloth at all, and the temperature in the mountains plummeted at night, causing many of the elderly and children to fall ill from the cold. Now, the only option was for the able-bodied men to stay outside in the cold, while the elderly and weak huddled in the middle, relying on their body heat to keep warm.

If this continues, we'll collapse on our own even before the Spanish invade.

One piece of bad news after another struck Lynn's heart like a heavy hammer.

He knew all along that escaping into the mountains was only a temporary escape from the massacre; the real predicament was just beginning.

But he never expected that Acuña would be so ruthless, choosing not to launch a direct assault into the mountains, but instead using the most cruel and unsolvable method to lock down the mountains, cut off their food and water, and trap them all there to die.

The Spanish blockade was more terrifying than swords, guns, and cannons. Without supplies, without outside help, and with no way out, they were like wild beasts locked in a cage, slowly consuming their lives until they were all wiped out.

Lynn reassured everyone:

"Brothers, don't be afraid. These red-haired devils can't maintain such a tight blockade forever. As long as we hold out for a while and take advantage of their laxity to go down and steal food, we'll find a way to survive."

Lynn gave all the last bit of food he could eat to the weakest old people and children in the valley, and he himself survived on just a few mouthfuls of cold mountain spring water each day.

During the day, he still forced his exhausted body to lead the few remaining able-bodied men to patrol the defense line and survey the mountain paths, trying to find a hidden path overlooked by the Spanish and look for a chance to break through; at night, he would guard the entrance of the valley, wrapped in a tattered thin blanket to resist the biting cold wind, never daring to relax for a moment.

He cannot fall.

He was the backbone of this team of over ten thousand people, their last hope. As long as he stood, this team on the verge of collapse still had a chance to hold on.

But Lynn ultimately couldn't withstand the collapse of morale.

Despair, like a plague, spread wildly through the valley, fueled by hunger.

Those who were first to waver were ordinary people with families to support.

They watched as their loved ones starved and froze to death one by one, and watched as young children were so hungry they didn't even have the strength to cry.

Resistance, perseverance, and breakout—these beliefs, once ignited by Lynn, shattered into nothingness in the face of boundless hunger.

They began to whisper among themselves, their voices barely audible, yet like pebbles thrown into still water, they gradually created ripples.

"We can't hold on any longer... We really can't hold on any longer... If this continues, we'll all starve to death here without the Westerners even lifting a finger..."

"Surrender... surrender down the mountain... perhaps the red-haired man will spare our lives. Even if we have to be slaves like cattle, it's better than starving to death here..."

"Our benefactor kept saying we must hold our ground and break through, but the roads are all blocked, and we don't even have food. How can we break through? How can we hold our ground? We're just waiting to die!"

At first, it was just sporadic whispers, hidden in the thatched hut, not daring to let Lynn hear them.

But as the death toll rose and the torment of hunger intensified, these whispers gradually turned into open discussion, and more and more people began to waver, like a snowball sweeping across most of the group.

More and more people felt that Lynn's insistence on holding on was nothing more than stubbornly leading everyone to their deaths. Surrender, even a humiliating surrender, was the only way to survive.

One late autumn evening, the cold wind was howling, and the setting sun painted the valley a somber, dark red.

Lynn had just returned from exploring the mountain path, exhausted. He was about to lean against the rock wall to catch his breath when a group of people surrounded him.

Leading the group were several shopkeepers who usually ran small shops in the Eighth Company, along with a few strong men who had once been extremely respectful to Lynn and swore to follow him to the death. But now, their faces were numb, their eyes darting around, and their expressions showed dejection and cowardice as they were driven to the brink of despair.

Behind them followed dozens of civilians and able-bodied men, all of them emaciated and with eyes full of exhaustion and despair, who crowded around Lynn, blocking him at the entrance of the valley.

The air froze instantly, and the cold wind howled past, but it couldn't dispel the suffocating atmosphere.

Lynn looked at the crowd before him, a barely perceptible pain flashing in his weary eyes. He spoke slowly, his voice hoarse and dry, each word requiring immense effort:

"Gentlemen, let's talk about it tomorrow. I just returned from scouting the mountain path and need to rest."

"Our benefactor, we can't wait any longer!"

The head shopkeeper, surnamed Zhang, suddenly stepped forward, bowed deeply to Lynn, his voice trembling with tears, yet each word was clear:

"Our benefactor, we beg you, please stop holding out! Stop dragging us down this mountain! We...we want to surrender!"

After he finished speaking, the entire room fell silent, followed by a chorus of agreement.

"Manager Zhang is right! My benefactor, let's surrender!"

"We're starving and can't hold on any longer! If we stay here any longer, our whole family will die!"

"The red-haired devils just want us to surrender, they don't necessarily want to kill us! We'll bow down and submit, serve them like cattle and horses, just to survive!"

"My benefactor, please have pity on us, the old, weak, women, and children! Lead us down the mountain and surrender! We don't want to die in these deep mountains, with no one to even collect our bodies!"

The cacophony of pleas, entreaties, and cries mingled together, like countless sharp blades slowly torturing Lynn's heart.