A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

The day after Shang Wanqing returned to Quanzhou, she dragged the shipwrights out of bed.

"Three ships are not enough."

She slapped the sketch of the ship used for burning grain onto the workshop table, poking her finger at the markings on the drawing.

"This experience has proven that shallow draft, wide rudder, and forward-leaning masts allow pirate ships to catch up and even ram them. But what can three ships do? They're not even enough to block one breach."

The shipwrights looked at each other in bewilderment.

The elderly craftsman, surnamed Chen, who was leading the group, rubbed his hands together and spoke cautiously:

"Madam Shang, it's not that we don't want to do it, it's that we lack the materials. The timber, nails, tung oil, canvas, and labor costs for building a new ship will be at least three thousand taels of silver. If you want to build twenty..."

He didn't go on.

Shang Wanqing finished calculating for him.

Sixty thousand taels.

She had been staying in Quanzhou for almost a month, and had long since spent all the silver notes she had with her.

The Jinyige branch has also run out of money.

This amount of money was beyond her means.

But she didn't want the money; there were only three fast boats that could operate along the southeast coast.

Three boats can burn down a granary once, but not a second time.

Ke Zhenchuan's departure doesn't mean he won't come back.

If he returns next time and only three ships come to greet him, then the war will have been fought in vain.

Shang Wanqing did not hesitate and wrote a letter that very night.

The letter was very short, skipping even the formalities.

"Your Majesty, the fleet needs a major overhaul, at least twenty ships. The cost of building one new ship is enough to support a hundred soldiers ashore. Will you grant the grant?"

After she finished writing it and read it over, she felt that her words were a bit harsh.

I thought about it, but didn't change it.

Wei Zhao wasn't the kind of person who needed her to speak in roundabout ways.

Going around in circles with him would just be a waste of time.

The letter was sent out overnight.

She thought it would take at least four or five days to get a reply.

As a result, the post horse arrived early on the third day.

Wei Zhao's reply was even shorter than what she wrote.

"Here you go. But I have a condition—once the new ships are built, protect the coastal trade routes. The commercial taxes from the three southeastern prefectures can support your fleet."

Shang Wanqing read the letter twice and then suddenly laughed.

This emperor.

They never haggle when it comes to paying, but they make sure every single tael of silver is handed over.

He wasn't giving alms; he was investing.

The new ships weren't just built for fighting; they also had to protect trade routes.

Once trade routes are established, taxes will follow.

With the taxes collected, the fleet had a long-term source of income.

She did some mental calculations.

The maritime trade routes in the three southeastern prefectures were cut off for almost half a year, and salt, tea, silk, and porcelain were all switched to land routes, increasing costs several times over.

If the coastal trade routes could be reopened, the commercial tax revenue from just one port in Guangming Prefecture would be enough to support forty ships a year.

With a brain like Wei Zhao's, it's a pity he didn't become emperor.

Shang Wanqing tucked the letter into her bosom and turned to walk into the workshop.

A dozen or so shipwrights were squatting on the ground eating flatbread when they saw her come in; they almost dropped their flatbreads.

"The money has arrived."

Shang Wanqing stopped in front of them, her voice not loud, but everyone could hear her clearly:

"His Majesty has allocated funds for twenty ships. Construction will begin today. Anyone who dares to cut corners will have their hands ripped off by me personally."

Old Chen swallowed the piece of bread in his mouth, his eyes lighting up: "Madam Shang, are you serious?"

"When have I ever lied?"

The workshop suddenly became lively.

Some people went to count the timber, some went to check the nail inventory, and some started laying out blueprints on the ground.

Shang Wanqing ignored them; something else was on her mind.

Twenty ships are enough to protect the coastal trade routes, but the coastal waters are not the end.

Ke Zhenchuan ran south, and she knew nothing about the waterways on the other side of the South China Sea.

If we want to pursue our goals to the south of the Qiongzhou Strait, or even further, simply having experience near the sea is not enough.

She needs a nautical chart for the open ocean.

This idea had been swirling in her mind for days.

After returning from the night she burned the grain ships, she kept thinking about why the pirate ships could travel so far.

Where do they get their supplies?

What ports are there along the way?

When will the wind change direction?

These things can't be calculated by sitting in a workshop. Someone has to actually travel those waterways.

Who has ever sailed the oceans?

The workshop suddenly fell silent.

Shang Wanqing swept around.

The dozen or so shipwrights either bowed their heads or shook their heads.

Many venture into coastal waters, but few dare to venture into the open ocean.

She put it another way.

"So, before the first ship sets sail, whoever draws me a nautical chart for the open ocean will be rewarded with one hundred taels of silver."

One hundred taels.

The numbers caused an uproar in the workshop.

A shipwright earns less than three taels a month, but one hundred taels is enough to feed a family for three years.

But still, no one said a word.

Shang Wanqing waited a few moments, just as she was about to raise the stakes again, when a hand in the corner raised up first.

"I traveled with the Southeast Asian caravans when I was young."

The speaker was a thin old man surnamed Sun, over sixty years old, who had lost several teeth and spoke with a lisp.

Sitting next to him was another old craftsman of similar age, surnamed Zhou, whose hands were covered in calluses and whose fingernails were stained with tung oil that could not be washed off.

Old Zhou also raised his hand. "I walked by too, with him."

Shang Wanqing walked over and squatted down in front of them.

"Ocean-going? How far have you gone?"

Old Sun rubbed his hands together: "The furthest I've ever been is Luzon. I was only in my early twenties then, following a wealthy merchant surnamed Lin. The round trip took more than half a year, stopping at four or five ports for supplies along the way."

Shang Wanqing's eyes lit up immediately.

Luzon.

She knew that place.

I once read a record in an old book in Mojiabao that said there was a large island in the far south that produced spices, hardwoods, and copper mines. The sea route was treacherous, but the profits were extremely high.

During the heyday of the previous dynasty, merchant fleets regularly traveled back and forth, but later, when the country fell into chaos, the sea routes were cut off.

If we could figure out this path again...

She quickly went through it in her mind.

Wei Zhao tasked her with protecting the coastal trade routes, but while the coastal trade taxes were stable, the volume was ultimately limited.

The real money is in the oceans. Spices, hardwoods, copper ore—bringing any one of these back brings in huge profits.

More importantly, Ke Zhenchuan fled south.

If he establishes a foothold in the islands of the South China Sea, he will eventually block long-distance shipping routes.

At that point, it won't be a question of whether Xinwu goes or not; if he doesn't go, he'll be strangled.

Shang Wanqing turned around and took out a blank piece of parchment, which she then laid out on the largest table in the workshop.

"Draw it."

She pushed the brush and ink towards the two old men.

"Draw a map showing how to get to Luzon, what ports are along the way, what season the winds are most favorable, which sections have reefs, and which sections have fresh water. Those who draw well will each receive an extra hundred taels."

Two hundred taels. Old Man Sun nearly dropped the pen in his hand.

Old Zhou was more composed than him; he first picked up a pen and tested the ink on the edge of the parchment.

"Madam Shang, we followed the old path back then, more than thirty years ago. We can't guarantee whether the port is still there or whether the waterway has changed."

No need to guarantee anything.

Shang Wanqing stared at him: "Draw as much as you remember, and I'll fill in the rest. The roads thirty years ago weren't much different from now; ocean currents and monsoons don't change direction just because dynasties have changed."

After hearing this, Old Zhou paused for a moment, then nodded.

This woman speaks bluntly, but her reasoning is sound.

Things at sea really don't follow people.

The wind is still the same wind, and the waves are still the same waves.