Weddell's fleet did not rush.
It waited.
Four English warships lay anchored quietly in the Pearl River Estuary, their hulls rising and falling with the tide like patient wolves resting before the hunt. Days passed. The humid southern air clung to the masts and rigging. The sailors cleaned cannon barrels, patched sails, joked loudly, drank sparingly, and watched.
They were not here by accident.
The scouting light sailboat Annie had already returned.
For several days it had slipped deep into the Pearl River Estuary, careful and calculating, reaching as far as Toudaotan, barely fifteen miles from Guangzhou itself. Its crew did not merely glance at the shoreline and sail back. They measured depths carefully with weighted lines. They charted currents. They marked hidden shoals. They noted the placement of sandbanks, the width of channels, and the tide patterns at different hours.
They observed fortifications.
They observed troop rotations.
They observed cannon placements.
They observed everything.
When the small vessel returned to Weddell's flagship, its charts were heavy with ink.
And that was when Ming officials finally began to feel something was wrong.
Kai Long had eyes. More importantly, he had experience.
As an official from the Ministry of Rites stationed at the front line of foreign affairs, he had dealt with Westerners before. He knew their smiles were rarely empty. He knew their gifts were never free. He knew their curiosity always had weight behind it.
He reported upward immediately.
"The English fleet harbors sinister motives," he said, bowing before his superior.
His superior waved a hand lazily.
"Sinister motives? There are only four ships."
"But they are surveying the waterways," Kai Long insisted.
"They are foreigners. Foreigners always look around. Let them look."
Kai Long pressed harder. "They have measured depths. They have sent boats repeatedly toward our defensive lines."
His superior sighed as if this were a complaint about the weather.
"They are probably seeking shelter from a typhoon. The Celestial Empire does not tremble because four barbarian ships float nearby. If they wish to anchor, let them anchor. If they wish to look, let them look. What harm can they do?"
That was the problem.
It was precisely because the Celestial Empire believed itself untouchable that it had grown blind.
Kai Long left that audience with a stone in his chest.
He was not a military commander. He had no troops under him. He had no cannons to order. He only had warnings, and warnings were wind when pride sealed the ears.
August arrived heavy and humid.
Then Weddell moved.
The four English warships lifted anchor and sailed toward Humen Fortress.
Humen.
The throat of Guangzhou.
The gate that guarded the Pearl River.
Kai Long received the news and rushed to the walls himself.
From the parapets he saw them clearly. Four ships. Dark hulls. Orderly movement. They did not charge recklessly. They stopped at calculated distance. Then tenders were lowered.
Small boats began moving through the waters near the fortress.
Surveying.
Openly.
Boldly.
This was no longer ambiguous curiosity. This was insult.
Kai Long's face turned pale, then dark.
"This is Humen Fortress," he said through clenched teeth. "The gateway to Guangzhou. And they are mapping our waterways as if we were already conquered."
He spun toward the artillery officer.
"Open fire. Three warning shots. Drive them away."
The artillery officer hesitated. His voice lowered.
"Master Kai… their ships carry cannons on both sides. Four ships together… the number is considerable. If we provoke them…"
Kai Long's eyes sharpened.
"Provoke them? They are already at our doorstep measuring our defenses. If we do nothing, next they will row into our barracks and count our soldiers one by one."
The officer swallowed.
"That… is true."
Kai Long spoke slowly now.
"This is not about whether we can win. This is not some cultivation tale where the weak kneel the moment they see someone stronger and beg to become their dog. We are soldiers of Great Ming. Even if we lose, we do not let them trample our face."
Silence.
Then he gave the order again.
"Three warning shots. Let them know this fortress is not a toy."
The artillery crews moved.
Cannons were angled.
Fuses were lit.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Three shells cut through humid air and fell into the waters far from the English ships, erupting in towering white plumes.
On Weddell's deck, officers paused.
Weddell himself stared, then burst into laughter.
"They fired."
He laughed harder.
"The little dwarves are angry. Excellent. If they want war, we shall give them war."
His hand cut downward.
"Open fire."
The four English ships shifted formation smoothly, spreading out to encircle Humen Fortress in a loose arc.
Then thunder answered thunder.
English cannons roared.
Ming cannons roared back.
Iron balls screamed across the sky, passing one another midair with deadly indifference.
Wood splintered.
Stone shattered.
The English ships took hits. Some rails were smashed. Some rigging torn. A few sailors fell.
But these were ocean veterans. They had fought Spain. They had tasted real war. Casualties did not freeze them.
They reloaded.
They fired again.
And again.
And again.
Soon the difference showed.
Humen Fortress possessed forty four cannons. On paper, formidable.
In reality?
Powder stores were limited.
Matching shot sizes were inconsistent.
Training was uneven.
When English cannonballs began smashing into parapets, blasting stone and dirt into the air, fear crept in.
One shell landed inside the fortress courtyard.
An artilleryman was torn apart.
Another lost an arm.
Smoke thickened.
Noise swallowed commands.
Some gunners ducked behind walls.
Some hesitated too long between shots.
Some stopped entirely.
The rhythm broke.
English broadsides continued with relentless precision.
Soon Humen's return fire thinned.
Then staggered.
Then nearly ceased.
Kai Long crouched behind a low wall, shielded by two subordinates. The fortress shook under bombardment.
A subordinate leaned close and shouted into his ear.
"Master Kai, it's useless. They have too many cannons. We cannot hold."
Kai Long looked around.
Men were no longer firing in coordinated volleys. They were hiding, scrambling, bleeding. The fortress, funded by vast imperial silver, bristling with artillery, stood like a tiger whose claws had never been sharpened.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"What is to be done?"
"Retreat, sir. We must retreat."
He did not argue.
He allowed himself to be pulled away.
One by one, artillerymen abandoned positions.
The gates emptied.
Smoke drifted over silent cannons.
Humen Fortress had fallen.
When Weddell saw Ming troops withdrawing, he raised a hand.
"Cease fire."
The guns quieted.
"Send one hundred sailors ashore. Remove every usable cannon."
English boots stepped onto Ming soil with unhurried confidence.
Inside the shattered fortress, nine cannons lay ruined beneath collapsed stone.
Thirty five remained intact.
They were hauled away.
Carried off like trophies.
Far away at Zhoushan Dinghai Port, a messenger ran as if chased by demons.
He burst onto the dock shouting, "Urgent military intelligence! Where is Instructor Jiang?"
A sailor shook his head.
"Instructor Jiang is in Dengzhou reorganizing the navy. He has not returned."
The messenger nearly collapsed.
"Then who is here? Who can fight?"
A tall youth stepped forward.
"What is the matter?"
Shi Lang.
Beside him stood Zheng Sen.
Both young. Both still students of the maritime academy. Both not yet full commanders, but already tempered by salt wind and ambition.
The messenger seized Shi Lang's sleeve.
"Four English ships bombarded Humen Fortress. They carried away thirty five cannons."
For a moment neither youth spoke.
Then blood rushed to their faces.
"The English attacked Great Ming?"
Shi Lang's jaw tightened.
Zheng Sen's fists clenched.
"Damn them."
They did not hesitate.
"Prepare ships."
"Gather men."
"Let's kill those bastards."
And in that instant, something shifted.
Not just anger.
Resolve.
Because humiliation does something strange.
To the arrogant, it produces denial.
To the complacent, it produces excuses.
But to the young?
It produces fire.
And fire, once lit, rarely dies quietly.