novelSusiti Chapter 74 The End
Chapter 74 The End
Chapter 74 The End
Honolulu, midnight.
The harbor was silent, save for the sound of the waves. The lighthouse beams swept across the sea, occasionally illuminating the moored ships.
A group of twenty people approached the harbor under cover of night. They gazed at two ships not far away and began to discuss their plans.
"Mr. Wells said we should burn these two Chinese ships," a hoarse voice asked. "How?"
Another voice chimed in, "How about using a burning raft? All you need to do is calculate the wind and current direction, find the right moment to light the raft. Once it drifts to those two boats, the mission will be complete."
The man retorted, "Rogers, you make it sound so easy. Let's not even talk about who among us knows how to calculate wind speed and current direction. Just consider this: where will the raft come from? Are we going to cut it down and build it on the spot? By the time we finish building the raft, it will be dawn."
The one named Rogers was silent for two seconds, then said with a hint of annoyance, "Miller, what do you suggest we do?"
'
The man named Miller said, "Just bring the hemp fibers and wood chips soaked in tar and resin onto the ship, and then set the ship's canvas on fire on the deck."
"Two 400-ton merchant ships together can accommodate 20 or 30 sailors, which is more than enough. If we send one person from each ship, we can evacuate calmly even if we are discovered."
Upon hearing this, everyone nodded in agreement.
The twenty dark figures said no more and crept towards the location of the two ships.
However, just as they were about to get close to the ship, they suddenly tripped.
A rope suddenly sprang up from the ground, stretching into a straight line. The people at the front lost their balance at the same time, screaming and falling forward.
The kerosene bottle shattered, spilling kerosene all over the ground, and a strong smell filled the air.
"Damn it!"
"What happened?"
Before they could react, dozens of Chinese men surrounded them from all directions in the darkness, pointing their revolvers at them.
Hongwu stepped out from the crowd and glanced at them.
By the dim starlight, he could easily see the terror on their faces.
"I've been waiting for you all night, and you've finally arrived." He grinned. "So, who sent you?"
The twenty-odd white men exchanged glances, and some of them, taking advantage of the darkness, slowly reached for their waists.
boom!
A gunshot rang out, and the man fell to the ground, a bloody hole exploding in his head.
Smoke billowed from the revolver in the hand of a Chinese man.
"They're courting death. Fine, I know even if you don't tell me."
Hongwu turned and left, saying softly, "Just kill them all. Keep the bodies, don't throw them into the sea. Maybe there will be a good show to watch tomorrow."
Gunfire erupted.
Thirty seconds later, none of the attacking white men survived.
Meanwhile, at the port hotel.
This is a two-story wooden building, not far from the dock, so business is booming.
The hotel owner sat behind the counter by the door, glancing outside every now and then.
Not long after, footsteps sounded outside the door. Five burly white men carrying kerosene lamps pushed open the door and entered, nodding to the boss.
"Second floor, the innermost room, here's the key."
The hotel owner lowered his voice and placed a key on the counter: "I suggest one of you go to the back of the building. The rooms where those Qing insects are staying have windows; be careful they don't jump out and escape."
The burly white man at the head of the group had a scarred face. He picked up the keys and nodded.
One of the men beside him received an order and went outside to the back of the house.
Behind the hotel was a stable with several horses pulling carts tethered there. The smell of manure mixed with the smell of hay was so strong it hurt your eyes.
The white man covered his nose, found a spot that wasn't so smelly, leaned against a wooden pillar of the stable, and stared at the half-open window at the far end of the second floor.
The window was completely dark, and there was not a sound.
He didn't notice that a Chinese figure was disappearing into the darkness not far behind him.
Inside the hotel, four white men went up to the second floor.
The wooden staircase creaked slightly beneath their feet as they slowed their pace and approached the door at the end of the corridor.
Scarface walked at the front, a revolver already in his hand and a hunting knife tucked into his waistband.
As he reached the door, he gestured to the others.
The three men stood on either side of the wall, raised their guns, and aimed them at the door.
Scarface took a deep breath and gently inserted the key into the lock.
Click.
The lock is open.
He suddenly pushed the door open, and all four of them rushed inside at the same time!
In the darkness, they saw a raised human figure on the bed, and Scarface and the other three pulled the trigger without hesitation.
boom!boom!boom!boom!
The gunshots were deafening, and smoke instantly filled the air.
A white man, panting heavily, asked, "Is he dead?"
Someone stepped forward and suddenly pulled back the blanket.
Then he froze.
There was no one under the blanket, only a pillow with several bullet holes in it.
"There's no one in bed!"
Scarface was stunned for a moment, then his expression changed drastically.
"Oh no, retreat now!"
Before he could finish speaking, a series of rapid footsteps suddenly came from the corridor behind him.
They looked back and saw seven or eight Chinese men flanking them from the stairwell, pointing revolvers at them.
The person at the very front was none other than Yongle.
With a faint smile, he slowly said in English, "Good evening, gentlemen. Were you looking for us?"
Scarface's face turned deathly pale. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out.
Behind the hotel.
The white man guarding the back door heard the gunshots from upstairs and was looking up when he suddenly felt a chill on his neck.
An arm wrapped around his neck from behind, while the other hand held a knife with its blade pressed against his throat.
The cold metallic touch froze him, and he dared not move.
"Don't move," a voice whispered in his ear.
He obediently stayed still.
Then the knife was pulled back and slit his throat.
The next day, in the morning.
The reception room at the Honolulu Royal Palace.
Kamehameha IV sat in that oak chair, his face terribly grim.
There were three groups of people standing in front of him.
On the left are Yongle and two Chinese assassins. Yongle is still wearing that suit, his expression calm, as if nothing has happened.
On the right is an elderly man in his sixties, wearing a double-breasted black tuxedo, with gray hair, a hooked nose, and thin lips. He is Thomas Wells, the largest plantation owner in Honolulu and a leader of the American diaspora.
A little further away stood an Englishman and a Frenchman.
Between the three groups of people and Kamehameha IV were twenty-five white corpses.
King Kamehameha IV slowly spoke: "Mr. Wells, Mr. Yongle, can either of you explain to me what exactly happened last night?"
Wells, dressed in a double-breasted long dress, stepped forward and said angrily, "Your Majesty, the matter is obvious."
Twenty-five law-abiding American citizens were brutally murdered by these Chinese. Such an act completely disregards Hawaiian law.
I demand that you arrest them and hang them in the harbor as an example to others.
He paused, then said in a deep voice, "Otherwise, I will have to report this to Washington."
Your Majesty should be aware that U.S. Pacific Fleet warships patrol near Hawaii from time to time. I cannot guarantee how they would react if they knew that American citizens were being massacred here.
Kamehameha IV's expression darkened further.
This is a blatant threat.
"Mr. Yongle, do you have anything to say?"
Yongle stepped forward, neither humble nor arrogant: "Your Majesty, last night these people tried to burn my ships and kill me at the inn."
"My men spotted them and tried to stop them before they could act. But they were all armed, and in self-defense, we had no choice but to kill them."
Wells sneered, "Self-defense? All twenty-five men are dead, and none of you are injured. You call that self-defense?"
Yongle looked at him calmly: "Mr. Wells, are you saying that we should stand there and let them burn the ships and kill people for it to be legal?"
"That's enough!"
Kamehameha IV interrupted them and looked at the old man.
"Mr. Wells, you keep saying those people are law-abiding American citizens."
Then tell me, why did they approach the Chinese ship at night with hemp fibers and sawdust soaked in tar and pine resin? Why did they rush into Mr. Yongle's room with guns?
Wells' expression froze for a moment: "Your Majesty, how would I know that?"
"Yeah?"
Kamehameha IV stared at him, his gaze sharp. "But I've heard that these bodies lying here used to be frequently seen in your sugarcane fields. Some say they were your employees, often doing things for you."
Wells's expression changed slightly.
"Your Majesty, this is a frame-up! Someone is trying to sow discord between us and you!"
"Provoking?" A lazy voice sounded from the side.
Everyone looked in the direction of the voice and saw it was the Englishman.
He was in his forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and an arrogant air. He was leaning against the wall, toying with a pocket watch in his hand.
"Mr. Wells, as far as I know, you have been in Honolulu for twenty years and your influence is considerable."
He said slowly, "I've seen several of those dead people. For example, that scarred man lying over there, I remember seeing him at the gate of your manor last year, I think he was your guard captain?"
"And that fat guy in the plaid shirt, I think I've seen him in your sugarcane plantation before, is he your foreman?"
'
Wells's face darkened further.
"Mr. Smith, what do you mean by this?"
Smith shrugged. "Nothing much, just something I said offhand."
The Frenchman also spoke up, saying in French: "Jelesaivusaussi.Danssa"
I've also seen it, in his plantation.
Wells turned sharply to him, his eyes practically spitting fire.
Pierre smiled at him, a smile so elegant it was almost provocative.
Kamehameha IV sat in his chair, watching the groups of people bite each other, feeling a surge of pleasure.
The British wanted to weaken the Americans' power, the French wanted to fish in troubled waters, the Chinese wanted to gain a foothold here, and the Americans wanted to maintain their control.
And he, the King of Hawaii, could take advantage of all of this.
He cleared his throat.
"Alright, stop arguing."
The room fell silent.
Kamehameha IV stood up and walked to Wells.
"Mr. Wells, you said you wanted to report this to Washington and let the US fleet handle it?"
Wells puffed out his chest: "Your Majesty, the US government certainly has the right to intervene when American citizens are treated unfairly in Hawaii."
"Unfair treatment? Let the US fleet handle it?"
King Kamehameha IV laughed. "I intend to write to the British and French governments to inquire what the US government intends to do with Hawaii."
Did they send warships to protect their citizens, or to interfere in Hawaii's internal affairs? Would the two gentlemen like to sign this letter?
Smith's eyes lit up: "I couldn't be happier, Your Majesty."
Our government has always been concerned about peace and stability in the Pacific. If US warships engage in any inappropriate behavior here, we certainly have a responsibility to investigate.
Pierre nodded in agreement: "Biensür, VotreMajesté." (Of course, Your Majesty.)
Wells' face darkened completely. He glared at the two troublemakers, the English and the French, his chest heaving, but he couldn't utter a single word.
There was a few seconds of silence in the room.
Wells took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He knew he had lost this round; Washington wouldn't turn against two major powers for the sake of twenty-five people.
He turned to Kamehameha IV, bowed his head, and barely suppressed his anger.
"Your Majesty, it is my fault for failing to properly manage my men. I am willing to compensate these Chinese people for their losses."
Kamehameha IV looked at Yongle.
Yongle thought for a moment and nodded.
"Five thousand dollars, that'll settle things."
Wells gritted his teeth and agreed. "Five thousand it is, bring it this afternoon."
Yongle smiled slightly: "Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Wells."
Wells snorted coldly and turned to leave.
Pierre watched his retreating figure, smiled, and then turned to Yongle.
"Chinese, that's interesting," he said. "What's your name?"
Yongle looked at him, neither humble nor arrogant: "Yongle."
Pierre raised an eyebrow.
"Yongle?" he whispered in French. "Unnomintéressant." (An interesting name)
The Englishman, Smith, also looked over and asked in French, "Mr. Pierre, is there a problem with this name?"
Pierre turned to him, his tone becoming enthusiastic: "Yongle, that was a great period in the Ming Dynasty."
According to records, 450 years ago, the Yongle Emperor dispatched over a hundred ships, each a hundred meters long, to sail along the coast, reaching as far as the Red Sea.
Smith was stunned: "Four hundred and fifty years ago, hundreds of ships, each a hundred meters long... Pierre, are you talking about a myth?"
"The Royal Navy's Victoria, which is currently under construction, is only 260 feet (79.2 meters) long, and your largest warship, the Brittany, is only 266 feet (81 meters) long. This is already the most powerful and largest sailing battleship."
"If the Chinese had such a powerful navy more than four hundred years ago, they would not have been defeated by our country thirteen years ago, forced to cede Hong Kong and pay silver indemnities, and even lose their tariff sovereignty."
Pierre shrugged. "I don't know. It's what the family's books say. Maybe they're wrong, maybe the ships weren't that big. Who knows?"
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