Classical oared warships of pre-modern Chinese navies

Artistic impression of the epic spectacle of Battle of Red Cliff, erroneously depicting the iconic junk rig, which probably hadn't been invented during Three Kingdoms period.

For the most part, the appearance and designs of Chinese oared warships is still a matter of debate and conjecture, as to date no Chinese oared warship of any kind has been found. Information about Chinese oared warships has to be gleaned from studying written records, crude woodblock prints of military treatises, as well as shipwrecks of civilian vessels and ocean-going junks. Still, there is still much unknown about Chinese oared warships, and hopefully future archaeological finds can shed more light on this subject.

Common types of Chinese oared warships

The list of warships below is mainly taken from Tang period military treatise Tai Bai Yin Jing (《太白陰經》), as well as Song period military treatise Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》) that referenced the former. Although some warships included in the list like Lou Chuan and Meng Chong have remained a staple of pre-modern Chinese navies for centuries, the list probably only reflects the inventory of eighth century Chinese navy but not any other periods. In fact, there are perhaps dozens if not more Chinese oared warships found in written records that did not conform to any of the listed classes.

Lou Chuan (樓船, lit. 'Tower ship')

Illustration of a Lou Chuan, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

Lou Chuan was the greatest of the mainline combat vessels, often serving as the flagship or centrepiece of ancient Chinese navies. A formidable warship both at range and up close, Lou Chuan was installed with crenellated bulwark as well as a three-storey (or more) tall, felt/rawhide-covered wooden superstructure, complete with battlements and assorted arrow loops and spear-holes. Thanks to its enormous size, it was capable of mounting shipborne artillery and other heavier equipment, including traction trebuchets, furnaces of molten iron, heavy rocks and naphtha flamethrowers.

For all its impressive power, Lou Chuan was not without drawbacks, as the warship's enormous size and high centre of gravity made it particularly difficult to handle during rough weather and high winds.

Meng Chong (蒙衝)

Illustration of a Meng Chong, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

Meng Chong was an interesting warship that seems to went through numerous iterations over the ages, resulting in a number of wildly different warships all sharing the same name. First mentioned in Eastern Han period dictionary Shi Ming (《釋名》), Meng Chong in its earliest iteration was simply described as a ship with long and slender hull specialised in launching assault or perhaps ram enemy vessel, without any reference to size. Nevertheless, it can be ascertained that at least by late Eastern Han period, Meng Chong had grown into enormous juggernaut capable of carrying hundreds of combatants, to the point that its name effectively became a metonymy for big and formidable warship.

During Three Kingdoms period, Meng Chong superseded Lou Chuan of the Han Dynasty to become one of the mainline combat vessels of Eastern Wu navy alongside the then newly introduced Dou Jian, possibly due to Eastern Wu's prior bad experience with Lou Chuan capsizing during storm. Though still fairly large, Eastern Wu's Meng Chong appeared to be more sensibly sized and retained respectable speed, as several Meng Chong were converted to fire ships during the famous Battle of Red Cliffs.

Nevertheless, a new Meng Chong came into prominence during Eastern Jin period. Rather than a metonymy, the new Meng Chong was a distinct class of warship, small and agile and came with a fully enclosed hull covered in felt and rawhide. Though well-protected and equipped with numerous arrow-loops and spear-holes, this Meng Chong was probably too small to be of any real use during a serious boarding action (a Tang period example only had a crew of thirty-two oarsmen and twenty-five marines), and thus it was not considered a mainline combat vessel. On the flip side, the small warship was well-suited for launching unconventional attacks, either swarming enemy vessels and harassing them with arrows, or ramming and delivering incendiary weapons at point-blank range. To this end, it was often equipped with disproportionately heavy or devastating weapons, such as heavy multiprod siege crossbows or molten iron.

Curiously, both types of Meng Chong appeared to coexist for a long time, at least until the small Meng Chong was eventually phased out (although its role was later taken up by other types of warships).

Dou Jian (鬥艦, lit. 'Fighting ship')

Illustration of a Dou Jian, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

Dou Jian, less commonly known as Zhan Jian (戰艦, lit. 'Battle ship'), was a mainline combat vessel first introduced during Three Kingdoms period. A fairly large warship (although generally smaller than Lou Chuan), Dou Jian was also installed with crenellated bulwark, although it only had a elevated fighting platform called Lou Peng (樓棚, lit. 'Shed', although hoarding is a more apt translation) in place of the fortified superstructure of Lou Chuan.

Based on written descriptions, the fighting platform of Dou Jian appeared somewhat similar to balai platform commonly found on later period Nusantaran warships such as Ghali, in that they were both fully open structures with a flat roof serving as fighting platform. Nevertheless, whereas balai left all soldiers on the platform completely exposed to facilitate boarding action, Lou Peng's roof was well-protected by a battlement, making it more useful as a missile platform.

Interestingly, most illustrations of Dou Jian in Chinese military treatises depict the ship with a fully enclosed, one-storey tower with battlemented roof. While It is likely that some Dou Jian were indeed built as "one-storey Lou Chuan", another plausible explanation is that the base level of Lou Peng was only enclosed with large shields or free-standing wooden panels similar to Chinese-style hoarding.

Zou Ge (走舸, lit. 'Walking ship')

Illustration of a Zou Ge, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

Zou Ge was the smallest of the mainline combat vessels of ancient Chinese navies. Like its larger cousins, Zou Ge was also installed with crenellated bulwark to protect its passengers, but did not have any superstructure built on its main deck. Zou Ge was specifically designed for speed and maneuverability, and was generally assigned more oarsmen than marines, although these tend to be veterans and elites. Small enough to be towed into battle behind a larger ship, Zou Ge served a role akin to cavalry or elite reserve force in a land army, either launching decisive flanking attack after a battle was already joined (i.e. when two lines of warships clashed and engaged in boarding action), or reinforcing weak points in the battleline.

Hai Hu (海鶻, lit. 'Sea hawk or sea grebe')

Illustration of a Hai Hu, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

A relatively late addition first introduced during Tang period, Hai Hu was a mainline combat ship designed for rough water conditions that might give troubles to other warships. It had a specifically adapted hull with narrow bow and low sheer forward and wide stern with high sheer aft, as well as equipped with a pair of Fu Bang (浮板, lit. 'Floating plank'), or leeboards. These features suggest that Hai Hu was designed with heavy emphasis of stability in mind.

Like all combat vessels, Hai Hu was also installed with crenellated bulwark, although its was made of thick cowhide instead of wood. The ship was otherwise outfitted as a Dou Jian (see above).

You Ting (遊艇, lit. 'Wandering boat')

Illustration of a You Ting, from 'Gu Jin Tu Shu Ji Cheng (《古今圖書集成》)'.

You Ting was a small, fast boat used by ancient Chinese navies for scouting and relaying command between larger ships. As scouting vessel, You Ting lacked a crenellated bulwark, and was only minimally armed.

Curiously, some illustrations depict the boat being propelled by ordinary oars (pictured above), while others show the boat propelled by yuloh.

Distinguishing features of Chinese oared warship

Even though Chinese oared warships varied greatly in size, shape, and role, there were many elements generally shared across most Chinese oared warships. These distinguishing features not only set them apart from other oared warships, but also reflect the long naval and shipbuilding traditions, unique military history and approaches to warfare, as well as technological sophistication of ancient China.

Junk hull

Though larger and far more sophisticated, the hull of Chinese oared warship probably grew out of ancient sampan (舢舨), and still had much in common with its smaller cousin such as the stereotypical "three board" (i.e. a flat bottom, port and starboard) hull layout, flat bow and transom, as well as prominent "stern horns" to name but a few. Primarily designed for riverine warfare, particularly on Yangtze River, Chinese oared warships were generally keelless, although some later period oared warships designed to operate in the sea had a keel. Virtually all Chinese warships were fully decked.

Close-up photo of Han Dynasty shipwreck "Silk Road No. 1", showing its mortise and tenon planking.

Chinese shipwrights favoured a sturdy locked mortise-and-tenon planking technique, of which wooden planks were joined together with mortise and tenon, then locked in place by bamboo or wooden dowels, which were replaced by iron nails, staples and bolts during later period. Chinese shipwrights also developed multi-layered planking in the Song Dynasty, which improved ship durability immensely. Archaeological finds reveal that Yuan river junks could have up to two layers of bottom planking, whereas Song and Yuan period ocean-going junks manufactured in Fujian also had additional layers of hull planking, with one notable find having as many as six layers of hull planking.

Chinese ships were originally built shell-first, although shipwrights were quick to figure out a unique frame-first shipbuilding method called Chuan Ke Fa (船殼法, lit. 'Ship-shell method/hull method') after the invention of watertight bulkhead, as it was much easier to lay down watertight bulkheads first and then install planking around them, than vice versa.

The incredible robustness of junk hull, combined with watertight bulkhead technology (see below), permitted Chinese shipwrights to construct warships of incredible size. In fact, it was not unusual for large warships to carry a crew of nearly a thousand.

Shipbuilding and caulking material

Thanks to the vast geographical reach of China, Chinese ships were built from a huge variety of woods—a fact used by archaeologists to distinguish Chinese shipwrecks from shipwrecks of foreign visitors (Korean ships, for example, were nearly exclusively built from red pine). Most shipbuilding manerials were locally sourced, although foreign imports played a supplementary but increasingly important role since Yuan period. Common Chinese shipbuilding materials included Chinese fir, Chinese red pine, mulberry, champor, sandalwood, zelkova, Chinese elm, Chinese jujube, Chinese bean tree, Japanese pagoda tree, champor, lychee, castanopsis, Erythrophleum fordii, nanmu and many more, although Chinese fir remained the most dominant shipbuilding wood. Generally, load-bearing parts and equipment that must be subjected to constant wear and tear, such as anchor and rudder, were made of more durable woods like elm and Japanese emperor oak, as well as imported wood such as teak, sal wood and Ceylon ironwood.

Chinese shipwrights also developed a unique and highly effective caulking material dubbed "Chu-nam putty". It was a mixture of oakum or bamboo fibres, limestone or shell lime, as well as tung oil.

Watertight bulkhead

A Chinese junk ship under construction, with very visible watertight bulkheads. Photo credit © Huang Liang, 2007.

Watertight bulkhead technology was a significant Chinese invention that greatly enhanced the survivability of Chinese ships. Bulkheads not only provided lateral structural strength to the hull, but also partitioned the hull into multiple watertight compartments, thus preventing a breach to one section of the hull from causing flooding to the entire ship.

So far the earliest archaeological find of watertight bulkhead dates to Tang period, although written records suggest that the technology may have existed as early as fifth century AD. The earliest ship that may have been equipped with watertight bulkhead was a type of four-storey Lou Chuan called Ba Cao Jian (八槽艦, lit. 'Eight trough warship') built by Eastern Jin rebel Lu Xun (盧循). The warship was probably so named from the close resemblance of its compartmentalised hull to a feeding trough.

Sternpost-mounted "true" rudder

Illustration of a Lou Chuan with its rudder highlighted. From 'Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》)'.

Rudder was another important Chinese invention that greatly simplified the steering of the ship, and offered far better control, responsiveness, efficiency and stability than steering oar. Early adoption of true rudder gave Chinese warships unprecedented maneuverability, and allowed Chinese shipwrights to construct huge, heavily built vessels without sacrificing steerability.

Mast tabernacle

Most oared vessels were equipped with supplementary sails for long distance travel, and Chinese oared ships were no exception. For fighting vessels, sails, masts and rigging had to be stripped away and left ashore when a battle was imminent to minimise their interference with ship-to-ship combat. Unfortunately, this posed a problem when no friendly port to safe keep the rigging was available, to say nothing about the hurdles of dismantling and storing large amount of masts and rigging. Many an oared warship had to make do with furled sail but upright mast in battle due to lack of friendly port or time.

Illustration of a Lou Chuan with its laid down mast highlighted. From 'Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》)'.

During Song period, Chinese shipwrights invented mast tabernacle that allowed a mast to be laid down and secured horizontally when not in use. Primarily designed to protect the mast during extreme weather (such as violent winds breaking the mast), the innovative design also allowed Chinese ships to sail under bridge and warships to sprang into combat-ready state in a much shorter time.

Chinese shipwrights taught mast tabernacle technology to their Korean counterparts in the eleventh century. Hence, similar mast design can be seen on later period Joseon warships such as Panokseon and Turtle Ship.

Yuloh sculling oar

The Yuloh, known as Lu (櫓) or Yao Lu (搖櫓) in Chinese language, is a type of large, slightly bend oar originated in China. Designed to be used with a rowing method misnomed stern sculling (even though yuloh can be mounted on any part of a ship, including its bow), of which the oar blade never leaves the water, a Yuloh is significantly more ergonomically- and energy-efficient than an ordinary oar, allowing even a single oarsman to propel a heavy ship at considerable speed without quickly tiring himself out. On the flip side, Yuloh lacks the sheer output of an oar's rowing strokes, so it cannot match the high acceleration and top speed of an oar, especially on light, speedy vessel.

Illustration of a Lou Chuan with its yuloh highlighted. Note the oarsmen facing forward. From 'Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》)'. 

The adoption of yuloh can inform us about some of the design considerations of ancient Chinese oared warships, as well as their tactics. For instance, Chinese oared warships were almost certainly more heavily built and robust, but slower than equivalent-sized oared warships of other cultures such as Mediterranean galley, due to the use of yuloh. Moreover, even the mightiest Chinese oared warship only had a single bank of oars, due to the fact that oarsmen took up a lot of vertical space (as yuloh is usually sculled standing up) which prevented them from being arranged into multiple levels/banks. Fortunately, the freed space in turn allowed Chinese warships to carry a larger contingent of dedicated combatants or more siege engines. Last but not least, since yuloh mounted on Chinese warships jutted downwards rather than fanning out like oars on galleys, this allowed Chinese warships to navigate narrower channels and form into denser formations.

Crenellated bulwark

Illustration of a Lou Chuan with its crenellated bulwark highlighted. From 'Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》)'.

Unlike warships of other cultures which were only equipped with railings, simple, uncrenellated bulwarks, or shield lists, Chinese shipwrights routinely installed crenellated bulwarks to the sides of their warships, making this often overlooked and underappreciated feature truly unique to Chinese oared warships.

While the purpose of the battlement is obvious enough, the reason why Chinese shipwrights specifically went out of their way to install crenellation on bulwarks can only be speculated. The simplest reason is that this was due to Chinese naval doctrine placing heavier emphasis on missiles, although there might be another explanation, namely protection of oarsmen. To elaborate, since oarsmen sculled yuloh standing up making them easy targets for enemy missiles, Chinese warships required higher-than-usual bulwarks to protect oarsmen from danger. However, this would result in bulwarks of excessive height that obstruct the view, so it was necessary for crenels to be cut into the bulwarks to allow marines to fight behind them effectively.

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Shipborne close quarters weapons of pre-modern Chinese navies

19th century oil painting of a Qing-era war junk. Image Credit: National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London.

When people think of pre-modern naval warfare in China and to a lesser extend East Asia, most think of imposing tower ships raining arrows and stones against the opposing fleet, or masses of fire ships turning the sea into a raging inferno à la Battle of Red Cliff.

But there were more to Chinese naval warfare than just missiles and fire. Though often overlooked and understudied, naval battle at close quarters such as boarding action remained an important, even predominant, facet of Chinese naval warfare. In this article, I will introduce some of the tools and weapons used by Chinese navies for close quarters engagement.

Gou Ju (鉤拒, lit. 'Hook-resist')

Since naval boarding was the oldest and predominant form of military tactic in the age of pre-modern naval warfare, it is unsurprising that the earliest naval weapons ever devised were tools to facilitate boarding. Gou Ju, also known as Gou Qiang (鉤強), was a tool, or possibly a set of tools, developed during China's Warring States period and attributed to legendary Chinese carpenter and inventor Lu Ban (魯班). Although the exact design of Gou Ju is now lost, its purposes couldn't be more straightforward: to hook and pull over an enemy ship for boarding, and to fend and push away enemy ship to prevent boarding. As such, it most likely took the form of grappling hook and wooden push pole, or a combination thereof, i.e. something akin to a boat hook. Gou Ju was one of the principal naval weapons of State of Chu (楚國), which used the boarding tool to great effect against the navy of the rival State of Wu (吳國). In fact, military training for Gou Ju became a cultural pastime for the people of Chu state and remained observed long after the demise of the state, eventually evolved into tug of war sport in China.

Ming period boarding tool Liao Gou (撩鈎) essentially fulfilled the same function as ancient Gou Ju.

Gou Ju became overshadowed by other, more advanced naval weapons as Chinese naval warfare became increasingly sophisticated, and largely disappeared from written records after the end of Warring States period. However, such useful tool(s) most definitely continued to see use, either in altered forms or under other names, for as long as naval boarding remained a viable tactic.

Zhuang Liang (撞樑, lit. 'Ramming beam') or Zhuang Gan (撞竿, lit. 'Ramming pole')

A curious and very obscure naval weapon, Zhuang Liang was essentially a wooden beam, longer than the ship's breadth, that was sodded with iron on both ends and built directly into the ship's hull, presumably by replacing one of the planks of its watertight bulkhead. The reinforced ends of Zhuang Liang jutted out from both sides of the hull and functioned as naval rams for the ship, although they were designed for lateral ramming rather than the more familiar head-on ramming. In fact, it may be the only weapon in the world purpose-built for such tactic, as side-mounted rams would seriously interfere with the rowing of oared vessels such as Mediterranean galleys, but won't present a problem for Chinese ships propelled by banks of yuloh (搖橹), as unlike normal oar, the blade of a yuloh is submerged at all time during sculling.

Zhuang Liang was one of the notable armaments of the powerful Wu Wei Chuan (烏尾船) fleet employed by notorious pirate lord Zeng Yi Ben (曾一本), which allowed him to pulverize Ming navy's Fu Chuan (福船) with ease. Fortunately, Ming navy was able to counter his formidable fleet by equipping the same weapon on its own purpose-built ironclad warships.

Naval ramming

Unlike their counterparts in the Mediterranean Sea, for the most part Chinese navies of the antiquities never seem to develop a specialised naval ram, and instead favoured fortified superstructures on warship to better capitalise on their advanced missile weaponry as well as to deter boarders. The formidable yet ponderous Lou Chuan (樓船) and its many derivatives, packed to the brim with commanding firepower yet ill-suited for ramming, thus remained a staple of Chinese navies for thousands of years.

Despite having been employed only sporadically in previous dynasties, naval ramming suddenly gained popularity in the Ming era, when the tactic came to be known as Chong Li (衝犁, lit. 'Charge and plough') or simply Li (犁, lit. 'Ploughing'). Curiously, this only happened after older oar-powered ships were largely phased out by sailing junks, and ramming was largely abandoned by navies elsewhere. The reason for this change is unknown, although it may be related to the primary naval threat faced by Ming Dynasty at the time: the Wokou (倭寇) or Japanese pirates. To elaborate, Japanese ships were considered rather shoddily built by Chinese standard and could be easily destroyed in a collision, which probably enabled ramming to become a viable tactic. This is indirectly supported by the fact that Ming military thinkers never seem to bother with ramming prevention/defence or military formations designed around ramming tactic, as the underlying assumption seem to be that ramming was one-sided, and Ming ships were largely safe from retaliation.

Still more questions remain. For example, how was ramming conducted with typically flat-prowed sailing junks without a ram? How did Chinese ship captains avoid the common pitfalls associated with ramming, such as getting stuck in the hull of the ramming target? Fortunately, a late Ming period military treatise, Bing Lu (《兵錄》), sheds some light on these questions, and the solution was surprisingly simple and ingenious: anchor.

A large Ryukyu Kingdom wooden anchor displayed in Okinawa Prefectural Museum & Art Museum.

It turns out instead of designing a purpose-built ram, Chinese sailors simply used secured anchors as rams instead. Traditional Chinese anchors, of both arrow-shaped wooden and four-clawed iron varieties, could weigh anywhere from 400 kg to 800 kg (for comparison, the Athlit bronze ram, the largest naval ram ever discovered, weighs 465 kg) and equipped with long arms to prevent overpenetration, which made for an ideal ramming weapon. In addition, anchor had the added benefits of being readily available on practically every ship, and could be easily cut loose if it somehow got stuck.

Old photo of a Chinese junk with its anchor fixed to the prow.

Using an anchor as a ram was only possible with a Chinese junk, thanks to its flat prow that allowed an anchor to be directly fixed to the front. Ships with curved/pointed prows, or those with long bowsprits, generally required a cathead to secure the anchor to the side, rendering them unable to use it for ramming. Moreover, many war junks like Fu Chuan typically had multiple anchors, which made their ramming all the more devastating (not to mention an entire row of anchors was visually strikingly reminiscence of a plough).

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Unique Chinese weapon — Pai Gan (拍竿)

MINOR UPDATE JUNE 10, 2025

Scale model of a Sui Dynasty capital warship equipped with six V-shape Pai Gan. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Pai Gan (拍竿, lit. 'Swatting pole') was an ancient Chinese naval weapon fitted to various warships to pulverise enemy ship at close range. Said to be able to outright sink a ship in one tremendous downward smash, it was in many ways an omni-directional alternative to naval ram. 

Pai Gan was first recorded in use during an uprising against Western Jin Dynasty led by Du Tao (杜弢) in 311 A.D. and quickly grew in popularity in the subsequent dynasties. Before long, this potent weapon had become one of the most common naval weapons in China, so much so specialised warships designed to use Pai Gan as their primary armament became a staple in various Chinese navies and were given descriptive names such as Pai Jian (拍艦, lit.'Swatting ship') and Jin Chi Jian (金翅艦, lit. 'Golden wings ship', likely named after raised Pai Gan mounted at the port and starboard of said ship). Pai Gan gradually fell out of popularity after Song period due to the advent of firearms, although it continued to see limited use during Ming period.

Theoretical operation

Illustration of a Lou Chuan (樓舡), or tower ship, from 'Wu Jing Zong Yao (《武經總要》)'. Historians are yet undecided about whether the crane-like device mounted on the top of the ship is an indigenous form of counterweight trebuchet or a Pai Gan.

Although the exact nature of this weapon is unclear, written records describe Pai Gan as being similar to a ship's mast, as well as compare it to a Jie Gao (桔槔), a.k.a. shadoof. In fact, the weapon was simply called Jie Gao initially before acquiring a more specific name to distinguish it from the irrigation tool. Pai Gan had a short range, and was seemingly a one-off weapon or at least took a very long time before it could be used again. This led to the development of countermeasure tactics such as sending out small boats to bait enemy ships into activating their Pai Gan prematurely.

There are ongoing debates on the exact workings of Pai Gan. Some see Pai Gan as nothing more than a ship-mounted traction trebuchet, while others imagine Pai Gan as a boulder tied to a crane arm, intended to be used as a giant striking hammer. Currently, the striking hammer interpretation seem to be the dominant view, with researchers proposing several candidate designs for Pai Gan, although each comes with their own pros and cons. The first candidate, a "T-shape" Pai Gan, most closely resembles a Jie Gao/shadoof, but has abysmal reach and is mechanically inefficient, not to mention its hammer has a high chance of smashing into the ship it is mounted on. On the other hand, the second candidate, a "V-shape" Pai Gan, operates on a similar principle as Greek Sambuca and Roman Corvus which is far more mechanically sound, although this design certainly does not evoke the image of a Jie Gan/shadoof.

Personally, I lean heavily towards the view that Pai Gan was simply a trebuchet, as there is at least one record mentioning Pai Gan being used to attack shore fortifications.I believe that with some tweaks to the "T-shape" Pai Gan—namely mounting the arm on a much shorter pole and having it face inwards, as well as arranging it so that the arm must be manually pulled rather than simply released—it can easily be turned into a functioning stone-thrower while still matching the available written descriptions. Better yet, my proposed Pai Gan does not preclude the striking-hammer interpretation and will in fact resolve all the issues present in both the "T-shape" and "V-shape" versions while being more stable and powerful than either.

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Movie review: Noryang: Deadly Sea

The sequel to The Admiral: Roaring Currents and Hansan: Rising Dragon, and the epic finale of Yi Sun-sin trilogy, is finally released digitally! Being the Imjin War enthusiast that I am, of course I wouldn't pass up the chance to review what director Kim Han-min has in store for his audience!

A bit of running joke: Hey, it's commander Yi Ung-ryong (이운룡 or 李雲龍) again! Reprised by the same actor! For reasons unknown he is always the first Joseon commander I recognise.

Noryang: Deadly Sea revolves around the titular Battle of Noryang, the last major battle of Imjin War and the climax of the entire war. This makes it a much easier battle to adapt into a good story/movie, which allows the movie to be largely (albeit not completely) free of the numerous narrative problems that plagued Hansan: Rising Dragon. This is not to say Noryang: Deadly Sea is superior to its prequel, however. In many ways, it is worse.

(Major spoilers ahead, be warned!)

Production issues

The perk of Hanzi writing system: Korean and Chinese communicating by writing is both historically accurate and a great chance to have narrator and actors speak Korean without looking out of place. Unfortunately, the director insisted on using cringe Chinese even when Chinese characters are not verbally communicating. 

Production issues are the least of the movie's many problems, so I am going to mention them first. My first complaint about Noryang: Deadly Sea is that the Chinese language in this movie is atrociously cringe to a native speaker, to the point that I must pause the movie to clear my head every time anyone speaks any Chinese. To be fair, this isn't really a production issue per se (all actors are Korean so it's understandable that they can't speak Chinese), although the production team really should consider hiring some Chinese actors or just dub over the Chinese part.

Yi Sun-sin vomiting blood.

Personal gripe with the language aside, there are definitely some pacing issues with the movie. This is particularly egregious during a scene where the titular character, Yi Sun-shin (이순신 or 李舜臣) suddenly sees hallucination of his deceased son, calls out the names of his comrades one by one as if bidding farewell to them, and vomits blood out of nowhere—BEFORE he was fatally shot by a Japanese gunner. I have a sneaking suspicion that executive meddling forced the director to pad out the length of his movie to the detriment of storytelling. In any case, pacing issues will likely be fixed if the director later releases a Redux/director's cut version of the movie like he did for Hansan: Rising Dragon.

Ming soldiers beating Japanese captives to a pulp.

Thirdly, remember that I said I enjoyed the build-up portion of Hansan: Rising Dragons for all the wrong reasons? Well, the build-up portion of Noryang: Deadly Sea is largely free of the narrative issues of its prequel, but this ironically means that it now bores me to death, as I no longer have any reason, not even wrong one, to enjoy this convoluted mess. I am not even sure if the flashback and minor plot of Yi Sun-sin's dead son is really necessary when the central theme of the story isn't that of personal vendetta, but "to end the war on our terms we must pursue the enemy to the very edge of the (Japanese) archipelago.". Speaking of which, I am well aware this that this is a nationalistic movie and all, but surely such vindictive message can't be the right moral to convey to the audience?

Sea of inferno: Battle of Noryang on the silver screen

Joseon fleet splitting the Japanese fleet in two. Depiction of pre-modern naval battle of such scale, in complete darkness no less, is probably an industry's first.

Historical accounts of Battle of Noryang are rather light on finer details, which give plenty of room for creative liberty. For example, there's nothing in the historical records that describes the Koreans deploying hwacha during this battle, or the Japanese using captured cannons to sink turtle ships, but there's nothing to suggest they DIDN'T either. Thus, free from historical restrictions such as Yi Sun-sin's famous Hak Ik-jin (鶴翼陣), the director was able to let his imagination run wild, and I commend him for delivering such blood-pumping battle sequences. Moreover, barring a few exceptions all characters acted in a mostly logical and coherent manner, and the battle tactics and counter-tactics sensible and convincing, both of which make for an enjoyable watching experience. Regrettably, later portion of the naval action was overshadowed by overly drawn-out, soap opera-esque montages of Yi Sun-sin's final moments and death, although this doesn't detract from the fact that it was great while it lasted.

Nevertheless, despite the enjoyable battle scenes, there are indeed some exceptions, or one might say plot holes, that detract from the overall story. Chief among them are the war fleet of Konishi Yukinaga (小西行長), Chen Lin acting out of character, and the battle that ends at dawn. They will be elaborated below:

Konishi Yukinaga's pristine war fleet

Konishi Yukinaga's fleet.

The story begins with Konishi Yukinaga holed up inside Suncheon Castle due to a joint Ming-Joseon naval blockade, with supply running so low his soldiers were on the verge of resorting to cannibalism. If that is the case, then where did he find/hide such a massive fleet of warships? And why didn't Yi Sun-sin do something about these ships before they become a problem, i.e. destroy them during the blockade?

Chen Lin acting out of character

Chen Lin ordering Ming navy to attack.

In this film, Ming admiral Chen Lin is portrayed as a calculating coward that took bribes and spent the better part of the film trying to distance himself from Yi Sun-sin's war to avoid more bloodshed. Yet during a crucial moment he suddenly ordered Ming navy to press the attack seriously, only to end up with his own flagship boarded by the Japanese. This abrupt change of mind is entirely out of character for Chen Lin's risk-averse portrayal up until that point, and it appears that the director forcibly handed him an idiot ball for no reason other than to set up a "Yi Sun-sin heroically save the Ming admiral from danger" moment.

The battle that ends at dawn

Yi Sun-sin's plan to annihilate Shimazu Yoshihiro's fleet before dawn.

Having the epic struggle to be over by daybreak gives a nice touch of symbolism, signifying the nightmare that terrorised Korea for the past seven years is finally over, and new hope arise. Historically, the turning point of  Battle of Noryang also happened around dawn (although the battle itself continued well into the morning), so that checks out. So why is this a problem?

Shimazu Yoshihiro's subordinate urges him to retreat because "time is running out".

Konishi Yukinaga sounds the retreat, leaving Shimazu Yoshihiro out to dry.

Well, the time when the battle ended isn't a problem. It's only when Yi Sun-sin explicitly set a time limit that he must defeat the Japanese before dawn, Shimazu Yoshihiro became increasingly agitated as daybreak drew near, and Konishi Yukinaga acted as if he was too late after arriving at the scene by dawn, that it become problematic. Why? Because while the battle happens to be over by dawn, there isn't any particular reason that it couldn't, or shouldn't, go on for longer. In essence, by racing against this arbitrary time limit, the characters both good and bad are making decisions based on out-of-story knowledge they couldn't possibly know.

As to why serious plot holes like this can crop up in an otherwise fairly coherent story, this brings me to my next point...

Stolen shine: a sad attempt at ego-boosting

Yi Sun-sin beating the war drum.

At its core, Noryang: Deadly Sea is a nationalistic flick under the guise of historical movie. Attempts to shape the titular hero Yi Sun-sin into a saint among men, and to a lesser extend make the Koreans look good and heroic while everyone else either bad or helpless, permeate throughout the story, dialogues, and character portrayals, some overt, other indirect and subtle. Naturally, in such work historical realities are more of a hindrance than a boon. They are inconvenient truth that must be distorted to serve the narrative, not the other way around.

Shimazu Yoshihiro reading the secret letter sent to him by Konishi Yukinaga.

To illustrate, in a secret letter Konishi Yukinaga warned Shimazu Yoshihiro that Yi Sun-sin might counter-invade Japan after the war. This obviously untrue statement may appear to be just another off-handed chest thumping to make Yi Sun-sin look good and Joseon Kingdom appear more powerful than it really was (which is usually par of the course for a nationalistic movie but relatively harmless, although not in this case), however it actually underpins much of the history distortions that shape the movie's story, and the plot holes that come with such alterations. 

You see, in the historical version of Battle of Noryang, Konishi Yukinaga simply packed up and slipped away from Suncheon Castle while the battle raged on. However, in order to glorify Yi Sun-sin, the director made him a dangerous commander that the Japanese simply could not ignore (even after they lost the war), necessitating the antagonists to hatch a nefarious plot to defeat him, which in turn necessitating Konishi Yukinaga to conjure a war fleet out of thin air to threaten Yi Sun-sin with. Thus, a plot hole came into being. 

It also necessitates Yi Sun-sin using decoys to delay Konishi Yukinaga, rather than...you know, smash his idle fleet before he had a chance to use it.

Likewise, that Chen Lin was the supreme commander that led the allied navy to victory during Battle of Noryang, and Ming navy actually did most of the legworks during the battle, are all inconvenient historical facts to the director's story that must be written off/away. There's a reason why Battle of Noryang played out so differently from Yi Sun-sin's other naval victories, for instance the unusually heavy use of incendiary weapons, little aversion to boarding combat, and the main artillery being Chinese Hu Dun Pao (虎蹲砲) rather than the usual Joseon Chongtong (총통 or 銃筒). But nope, can't have that, Yi Sun-sin must hoard all the spotlights! So Chen Lin is portrayed as a coward that tried to avoid battle at all cost, while Chinese Huo Qiu (火毬) and Pen Tong (噴筒) are being replaced by unimaginative oil pots hand-thrown by Joseon troops then ignited with fire arrows. 

Had Chen Lin not been portrayed as a coward, the scene where his ship was boarded by the Japanese and he was saved by Yi Sun-sin would've flowed far more naturally. Unfortunately, the director wanted to have his cake and eat it too, so he forced Chen Lin to abruptly change from a coward to a Leeroy Jenkins in the span of like two scenes, so that Yi Sun-sin can look good by heroically saving his inept Chinese ally from danger, plot hole be damned. Historically, it was Yi Sun-sin's ship that got surrounded by the Japanese first, then Chen Lin charged in to save Yi Sun-sin, only to cause the Japanese to switch target and surround him instead. The freed Yi Sun-sin then returned to help Chen Lin, and the two fought side by side until dawn. Alas, such moving tale of fire-forged camaraderie, butchered into a plot hole-ridden ego boosting.

And what about the dawn?

The breaking of the dawn.

By itself, various characters in the movie subconsciously racing against an arbitrary time limit is a relatively minor problem, more of a director oversight or dialogue slip than a story-ruining plot hole. However, the fact that such oversight can exist in the first place shows that the director probably did his historical homework—but chose to discard historical events that inconvenience his narrative anyway. Why? Because one notable event did take place at dawn—Deng Zilong (鄧子龍) came in gun blazing and saved the day!

Deng Zilong, an old soldier by the time of his death (he used to be a commander but was demoted to the rank of common soldier before entering Korea), was the last of the major characters to join the fray, but the first to set fire to Japanese warships. His success prompted Chen Lin and other Ming ships to follow suit with their own incendiary weapons, and this was what caused the Japanese to finally break ranks and flee. Unfortunately, his ship was hit by friendly fire during pursuit, and the ensuing chaos allowed Japanese troops to board the vessel and kill nearly all hands aboard. Due to Deng Zilong's low rank (at the time) and relative obscurity, the Japanese didn't realise they had killed someone of significance until centuries later, so no one at the time claimed credit for his death. 

Deceased son ex machina

Drum-inflicted PTSD.

Bah, can't have that either. There's no way the director will allow another heroic sacrifice to detract from Yi Sun-sin's own, so nothing in particular happened at dawn in the film (despite everyone keeping track of the time limit). Well, nothing except Yi Sun-sin suddenly saw a vision of his deceased son who prompted him to start beating the war drum, and this inspired the good guys to fight harder while inflicting a psychological meltdown on the villain Shimazu Yoshihiro so horrid he ran to cower in his room and literally start vomiting (no really).

Deng Zilong getting his head sliced off by Shimazu Yoshihiro.

As for Deng Zilong, he was reduced by director to what can be described as "Yi Sun-sin's believer", an inferior who was "redeemed" and was so devout to the hero that he put him above all others and strove to emulate him, going so far as to confronting his own superior and attacking without order. Too bad the hero's imitator is not the hero himself, so Deng Zilong died an unceremonious death without accomplishing anything.

Chen Chan died a speed bump to Shimzau Yoshihiro's villainy.

Shen Li getting shanked by Japanese troops.

Moreover, as if Deng Zilong's death still wasn't enough to rub it in, the director then decided to kill off minor Ming commander Chen Chan (陳蠶) to re-emphasise Chinese incompetence, and make another minor Ming commander Shen Li (沈理) undergo some kind of foxhole conversion (except he didn't convert to Christianity but to Yi Sun-sin), and found redemption in valiant death—better to die fighting like a Korean than live like a coward! Never mind that both of them survived the war, and Chen Chan even stayed in Korea for two more years (he returned to China in 1600). Because why let history get in the way of the stirring tall tale of our lord and saviour Yi Sun-sin?

I know, Noryang: Deadly Sea is a nationalistic movie, so some measures of embellishment and glorifications of the titular hero are inevitable. But doing it in such blatantly denigrating manner, even to allies, it just seems so uncouth...tactless and petty.

Further reading

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