activa-t Chapter 26 Yangzhou Salt Feast
Chapter 26 Yangzhou Salt Feast
On the fifth day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the end of the Yin hour (3-5 AM).
Yangzhou was still shrouded in the inky darkness of night, but dozens of dim lanterns had already lit up at the canal wharf. The dim yellow light spread through the cold mist, illuminating the masts of the canal boats densely packed on the river—these boats, which had been neatly moored at the wharf before midnight last night, were now lying crookedly across the waterway, like a pile of blocks that had been carelessly pushed over.
"What's going on?!"
Wang Laoliu, the dock supervisor, rushed out of the duty room, pulling up his trousers and waving his lantern wildly. Several canal workers squatted on the shore, not getting up when they saw him, but just silently smoking their pipes.
"Speak up! Why are all the boats lying here?!" Old Wang kicked the nearest canal worker over.
The canal worker rolled around twice, got up, dusted himself off, and grinned, revealing his yellow teeth: "Commander Wang, the boat is broken."
"Bullshit! Three hundred ships destroyed overnight?!"
"This is really bad," another old canal worker said slowly. "Look, that 'Grand Canal No. 7,' its rudder broke last night. That 'Anqing No. 3,' its mast was broken by the wind. And those other boats..." He pointed to the middle of the river, "their holds are leaking, and they're sinking."
Looking in that direction, Wang Laoliu indeed saw several boats listing, their gunwales almost touching the water. His face turned ashen, and he suddenly grabbed the old canal worker by the collar: "Who did this? Was it the Wang family...?"
Before he could finish speaking, something hard pressed against the back of his head.
Cold, with a round opening.
It's a musket.
"Commander Wang," a hoarse voice came from behind, "it's cold, go back to sleep. You can't handle things here."
Wang Laoliu froze. He had worked at the Caohe River for twenty years and understood the meaning behind those words—trying to manage things you can't control will only lead to disaster.
The muzzle was moved away.
He slowly turned around and saw three men dressed in black short-sleeved shirts, their faces covered with cloth, only their eyes visible. The leader held a black three-barreled gun in his hand, with wisps of smoke rising from the muzzle.
"Go." The masked man said only one word.
Wang Laoliu opened his mouth, but ultimately uttered no word. He turned and staggered into the thick fog. The lantern rolled to the ground, and the candle flame licked the tung oil paper, then hissed and burned into a clump.
The three masked men withdrew their gaze, and the leader whistled.
On the river, hundreds of figures silently emerged from the "broken" cargo boats. They moved with lightning speed; some jumped onto the dock and scattered bundles of leaflets across the streets; others sneaked into shops along the riverbank and pasted yellow notices on the doors; still others slipped into the alleys and knocked on doors one by one.
"The imperial court is going to confiscate the property of all the wealthy households in Yangzhou to fund the army!"
"Salt tax increased by 30%, grain transport tax doubled!"
"The Emperor has decreed that not a single grain of rice will be left in Yangzhou!"
The shouts echoed through the early morning mist, like a plague.
At the beginning of the Mao hour (5-7 AM), at the Salt Administration Office.
Li Ce didn't sleep all night.
The candles in the signing room burned out and were replaced three times. On the table were the Yangzhou Prefecture Annals, the Salt Law Annals, the records of the Grand Canal transport over the years, and the secret report that Chen Zizhuang had sent the night before.
The door was gently pushed open, and Chen Zizhuang came in carrying a bowl of hot porridge: "Your Majesty, please have some breakfast."
Li Ce rubbed his temples, took the bowl of porridge but didn't eat, only asking, "What's the situation outside?"
"Three hundred cargo ships on the canal have 'sunk themselves,' and shops in the eight major markets have collectively closed down." Chen Zizhuang's voice was calm. "There are also rumors that His Majesty intends to confiscate the property of all wealthy households in Yangzhou and increase taxes by 30%."
"The ship sank...the market closed..." Li Ce stirred the porridge with a porcelain spoon, the aroma of rice mingling with the refreshing scent of lotus seeds. "Wang Zhaolin is telling me that the lifeblood of Yangzhou is in his hands. If I insist on drawing blood, he'll let this body die first."
"Yes." Chen Zizhuang paused. "There's one more thing. This morning, the east gate opened a crack, and seventeen riders slipped out, heading in three directions: six to Yizheng, five to Zhenjiang, and six... headed for Jiujiang."
"Jiujiang." Li Ce put down his spoon. "Zuo Liangyu."
He got up and walked to the wall, where a huge "Map of the Grand Canal in Jiangnan" hung. His finger slid from Yangzhou to Jiujiang, then from Jiujiang to Nanjing, finally stopping at the confluence of the Yangtze River and the Grand Canal.
"Chen Qing," he suddenly asked, "if you were Wang Zhaolin, what would you do next after cutting off grain transport and boycotting markets?"
Chen Zizhuang pondered, "If it were me... I would try to prevent the imperial decrees from leaving Yangzhou. Ideally, I would cut off all communication between the north and south."
"That's right." Li Ce nodded. "So when he sent people to Jiujiang, it wasn't to ask for help, but to force Zuo Liangyu to take action. As long as Zuo Liangyu's troops approach Nanjing, the court's focus in Jiangnan will be diverted, and he can slowly close the gap in Yangzhou."
He turned around, a cold glint in his eyes:
"Then I'll let him see who really calls the shots at this gate."
At Chen Shi (7-9 AM), the eight major markets of Yangzhou.
The rice market, which should have been bustling with activity by this time of day, was now eerily silent. More than thirty rice shops had all boarded up their doors, leaving only a crack for their employees to peek out from behind. A few vegetable vendors carrying loads on their shoulders were scattered on the street, but seeing this scene, they shrank into corners and dared not call out.
A troop of newly recruited soldiers ran into the market town and lined up in an open space. The leading centurion unfurled a yellow flag, planted it on a flagpole, and proclaimed loudly:
"By order of Imperial Envoy Chen! From this day forward, 'stable rice sales points' shall be established at the eight major markets! White rice shall be sold at 1.2 liang per shi, brown rice at 8 qian per shi, and wheat at 7 qian per shi! Each person shall be limited to purchasing 3 sheng per day, and shall register with their household registration card!"
The sound echoed in the empty city square.
No one answered.
The rice merchants hiding behind the door exchanged glances; some shook their heads, others sneered. One tael and two mace? That was the price of rice in Yangzhou three years ago! Now the unofficial market price has reached two taels and five mace. Is the Emperor trying to rob us outright?
"Furthermore!" The centurion unfurled another notice, "All merchants who are the first to open their markets and offer fair prices will be pardoned for tax evasion committed before the fourteenth year of the Chongzhen reign! They will be bestowed with a plaque inscribed 'Loyalty, Righteousness, Integrity, and Honesty,' and their children will have priority admission to the prefectural school and the Imperial Academy!"
A whisper came from behind the door.
"Really?"
"You're just kidding..."
"But that was the Emperor's decree..."
As they were discussing this, the sound of wheels suddenly came from the street corner. Two mule carts slowly entered the market, their backs piled high with bulging sacks. The driver was an old man in his fifties, who seemed a little unsteady on his feet when he jumped off the carts.
"Sir," the old man bowed to the centurion, "I am from 'Zhao's Grain Shop' outside the South Gate. The shop is small, and we don't have much grain in stock, only two hundred shi of white rice and three hundred shi of unpolished wheat. I heard that the Emperor wants to lower the price... I am willing to take it all out and sell it at the official price."
Baihu was taken aback: "Old man, have you thought this through?"
"I've thought it through." The old man grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. "My son is a soldier in Tongguan. He wrote last month saying that he only gets two meals of thin porridge a day. If the Emperor can't procure enough food, my son... my son will have to fight the rebels on an empty stomach."
He turned around and, with trembling hands, untied the burlap sack. The white grains of rice shimmered in the morning light.
The crowd gradually gathered.
An elderly woman asked cautiously, "Is it really one tael and two mace?"
"It's true!" The old man grabbed a handful of rice, letting the grains slip through his fingers. "The neighbors are all watching! If I, Zhao Laosi, charge even a penny more, may I be struck by lightning!"
silence.
Then, the first voice rang out: "I...I'll buy three liters!"
He was a gaunt man who pulled a tattered cloth bag from his pocket and counted out thirty-six coins. His hands trembled violently, and the coins clattered into the wooden container.
Baihu took a deep breath and shouted, "Open the scales—!"
The new soldiers quickly set up a wooden platform and laid out scales, measures, and sacks. Zhao Laosi climbed onto the grain cart and scooped rice, one measure at a time. The rustling sound of white rice being poured into cloth sacks was particularly clear in the quiet marketplace.
The gap behind the door panel has been quietly widened.
At 9:00 AM, the main headquarters of the shipping guild was established.
This house is located by the canal in the west of the city. It has three courtyards, and the two stone drums in front of the gate have been worn smooth by countless hands. At this time of day, it would usually be crowded with canal workers waiting for their jobs, boat owners paying their fees, and merchants pleading for favors. But today, the gate is tightly closed, and a large brass lock hangs on the door knocker.
In the shadows at the alley entrance, Chen Zizhuang changed into a blue cloth robe and wore a cotton hat that covered his ears, looking like an ordinary accountant. Behind him followed four Imperial Guards disguised as shop assistants, their waists bulging with purses.
"Sir," a member of the Imperial Guard whispered, "both the front and back doors are locked, but there's a dog hole in the west wall, and someone went in and out last night."
Chen Zizhuang nodded, walked to a tea stall diagonally opposite the headquarters, sat down, and ordered a bowl of barley tea. The stall owner was a lame old man who muttered as he boiled water, "You've come at a bad time, sir. The Canal Gang isn't doing anything today."
"Oh?" Chen Zizhuang blew on the tea froth. "Why?"
The old man looked around and lowered his voice: "I heard... the gang leader fell seriously ill last night, and the deputy gang leader took the brothers to the outskirts of the city to 'rest quietly'."
"How long should you rest?"
"Who knows?" The old man scoffed. "But if you need to transport goods urgently, you can go to 'Shunfeng Shipping Company.' The price... is 30% higher than usual."
Just then, footsteps came from deep within the alley.
Three burly men strode over. The leader, with a face full of scars and a spiky hat tucked into his waistband, was none other than Li Biao, the deputy leader of the Canal Gang, nicknamed "River Dragon." He walked to the main gate, fumbled for the key to unlock it, and as he pushed the door open, he suddenly turned around, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over the tea stall.
Chen Zizhuang lowered his head and drank his tea.
Li Biao stared for a couple of moments, then slipped inside. The wooden door slammed shut.
"That's Li Biao," the Imperial Guard whispered under the table. "A ship sank at the dock last night, and some brothers saw him on the shore."
Chen Zizhuang put down his teacup, took out a piece of paper from his sleeve, and pushed it to the Imperial Guard: "Arrest people according to the list."
The paper contained seventeen names, followed by their addresses, positions, and crimes. The last name was: Li Biao, deputy leader of the Grand Canal Gang, who accepted 18,000 taels of silver from the Wang family between the thirteenth and fifteenth years of the Chongzhen reign (1644-1645), condoned the smuggling of salt and grain transport, and last night ordered the sinking of ships to obstruct the transport of grain.
"Now?" the Imperial Guard asked.
"Now." Chen Zizhuang stood up, tossed down two coins for tea, "Remember, arrest them in the street, the bigger the commotion, the better."
At the same time, at the Guanyin Temple in the south of the city.
The temple was small, with two courtyards, and it enshrined Guanyin and Ksitigarbha. The abbess was an elderly nun in her sixties, whose Dharma name was Jing'an. At that moment, she was kneeling in front of the Guanyin statue, chanting sutras, her hands moving the prayer beads rapidly.
The entrance to the cellar in the rear hall was hidden under the stone slab beneath the Guanyin statue. Last night at midnight, the Wang family's trusted steward came down with men and carried away twelve chests. Jing'an dared not ask what was inside the chests, but she heard the dull thud when the chests hit the ground—a sound she recognized, it was silver.
Footsteps came from outside the hall.
Jing'an trembled, nearly dropping the prayer beads. She forced herself to remain calm and continued chanting: "Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when practicing the profound Prajnaparamita, perceived that the five aggregates are all empty..."
"Master."
The voice was very soft; it was a female voice.
Jing'an turned around and saw two women standing at the palace gate. The one in front wore an indigo coarse cotton skirt, her face covered in ash, and looked ordinary at first glance, but those eyes... Jing'an had seen many noblewomen in Yangzhou, but she had never seen eyes like those—calm, gentle, yet like a deep pool, unfathomable.
"You two are..." Jing'an stood up and put her palms together.
"Let's offer incense." The woman came in, took three incense sticks from the bamboo basket, lit them by the ever-burning lamp, and placed them in the incense burner. Her movements were skillful and natural, but Jing'an noticed that when she placed the incense, her fingertips pressed three times on a certain spot in the incense burner.
That's a code.
Only a few core members of the Wang family know how to open the stone slab beneath Guanyin's seat: press the left ear of the incense burner three times, the right ear twice, and then turn the lotus seat in the center.
Jing'an's expression changed.
"Master, there's no need to panic." The woman turned around, her voice still soft. "I've been asked to come and collect some things. I'll leave as soon as I'm done, and I won't cause any trouble for Bao'an."
"You flatter me, benefactor. This nunnery is very poor; we have nothing here..."
"Yes," the woman interrupted her, taking something from her bosom and displaying it in her palm.
It is a mutton-fat jade pendant, carved with ruyi cloud patterns. On the back of the pendant, there is a small "Zhou" character engraved.
Jing'an's pupils constricted sharply—she had seen this jade pendant before! Three years ago, when Wang Zhaolin's second wife, Madam Wang, entered the household, she wore this very jade pendant! It was a family heirloom from Madam Wang's maternal family, the Zhou family of Shaoxing!
"Madam Wang, she..." Jing'an's voice trembled.
"She's fine." The woman put away the jade pendant. "Master, time is of the essence."
Jing'an closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She knew that from the moment this woman stepped into the nunnery, Guanyin Nunnery had been drawn into the conflict. If the Wang family won, she would die for not reporting it. If the Wang family lost, she would also die for aiding and abetting evil.
The only way out is to choose one side and gamble to the end.
She walked to the Guanyin statue and followed the instructions. The stone slab slid open silently, revealing the downward stone steps, and a damp, gloomy atmosphere wafted out.
"There are three levels below," Jing'an whispered. "The second level is for storing silver, and the third level... I've only been down there once. It's full of account books and chests. The key is with Steward Wang; I don't have it."
The woman nodded and said to the maid behind her, "Yunniang, you stay in the hall with the abbess. I'll go down and take a look."
"Your Highness!" Yunniang said urgently, "Let me go down, it's dangerous down there—"
"It's alright." The woman took the lantern from her hand. "If I don't come up in half an hour, go to the salt administration office immediately to report this."
After saying that, she lifted her skirt and walked down the stone steps one by one.
The stone steps were steep, spiraling downwards. The lantern's glow flickered on the bluestone wall, reflecting the seeping moss. The woman silently counted: seventeen, eighteen, nineteen... until thirty-three, at the end.
Suddenly, everything became clear.
It was a huge stone chamber, about ten zhang long and wide, and nearly two zhang high. The walls were made of tightly fitted blue bricks, and thick cypress beams supported the ceiling. And on the ground—
It's silver.
The standard official silver ingots, each weighing fifty taels, were stacked neatly, row upon row, pile upon pile, stretching from the ground all the way to near the roof. The light from the lanterns shone on them, reflecting a dazzling white light, making the entire stone chamber seem like a legendary silver cave.
The woman, carrying a lantern, slowly walked through the passage between the silver walls. The cold aura of the silver ingots wafted towards her, carrying the smell of rust and dust. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the surface of the ingot—smooth, hard, like the bones of a dead man.
She recalled the data Chen Zizhuang had reported last night: the Yangzhou treasury currently held 87,000 taels of official silver. And what she saw before her eyes was far more than a million.
"The soldiers in the north are guarding the Great Wall on empty stomachs," she murmured to herself, her voice echoing in the silver cave, "while the people of Henan and Shaanxi are exchanging children to eat. And here you are, piling up silver like mountains."
She walked to the end of the stone chamber, where there was an iron-clad wooden door with a large brass padlock. The lock was new, and the keyhole showed signs of recent use.
The woman pulled a copper hairpin from her hair—this was prepared by Yunniang; the hairpin's head had been modified to open ordinary locks. She inserted the tip of the hairpin into the keyhole and listened intently.
Click. Click. Click.
The lock is open.
Pushing open the door, one enters another, slightly smaller stone chamber. Here, there are no silver ingots, only hundreds of camphor wood chests, neatly stacked. The woman pries open the nearest chest; inside are neatly arranged account books. She randomly flips to one; the ink is still clear.
"In April of the thirteenth year of the Chongzhen reign, five thousand taels of silver were given to Han Zanzhou, the eunuch garrison commander of Nanjing, as a token of respect."
"In August of the fourteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, the Grand Canal Transport Commissioner Li was given a tax of eight thousand taels of silver in exchange for the canal transport fee."
"In the first month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, 50,000 taels of silver were given to Mr. Cheng, the chief strategist of Zuo Liangyu's army, as a condition to 'delay the troops in Jiujiang'..."
Page after page, year after year.
The woman closed the ledger and opened a small box beside it. Inside were not ledgers, but letters. The top letter was signed "Li Biao of the Canal Transport Guild" and contained a brief message: "Before the fifteenth of the twelfth lunar month, three hundred grain transport boats can be dispatched and are ready to be used. The price is three thousand taels of silver, half to be paid in advance."
Further down, there are letters to salt officials in various places, to officials of the Ministry of Revenue, and even a few... These are trade records with the Later Jin caravan, written in both Manchu and Chinese, dating back to the sixth year of the Tianqi reign.
The woman carefully folded the letters and tucked them into her bosom. Then, she pulled out a special booklet from the bottom of the chest—a parchment cover bound with gold thread. Opening it, she found not words, but symbols and simple diagrams.
She took a moment to recognize it and gasped.
This is a map of the secret routes used for smuggling salt! It marks seventeen secret waterways starting from Yangzhou, passing through the Grand Canal, the Yangtze River, and the coast, extending north to Liaodong and Korea, and south to Southeast Asia! Each waterway is marked with checkpoints, bribe recipients, and secret codes!
This is the true lifeline of the Wang family.
The woman carefully put the secret passage map away from her body and locked the box again. She stepped back to the door, took one last look at the stone chamber filled with sin, blew out the lantern, and turned to leave.
Halfway up the stone steps, a commotion suddenly arose above.
"Search! Search thoroughly!"
It was a man's voice, rough and irritable.
Immediately following was Yunniang's rebuke: "How dare you! This is a sacred Buddhist site. Who are you to trespass?!"
"A sacred Buddhist sanctuary?" the man sneered. "I think it's a den of iniquity! Someone reported that this nunnery is harboring a wanted criminal! Get out of here—"
The footsteps were chaotic, indicating there was more than one person.
The woman stopped at the corner of the stone steps, holding her breath. She recognized the voice; it was Zhao San, the head of the guards at the Wang residence. This man was originally a deserter from the border army, ruthless and vicious, who handled Wang Zhaolin's shady dealings.
"Master," Zhao San's voice drew closer, "this stone slab beneath Guanyin's seat...it looks like it's been moved?"
Abbess Jing'an said in a trembling voice, "Benefactor...benefactor is mistaken. It's just that the ground is damp, and the gaps between the bricks are a bit too wide..."
"Is that so?" Zhao San grinned maliciously. "Then I'll 'fix' it for you!"
A muffled thud, like someone being kicked to the ground. Then came the creaking sound of the stone slab being pried open.
The woman gripped the copper hairpin in her hand tightly—its tip was sharpened to a point that could be used as a short blade. She slowly took two steps back, disappearing into the shadows below the stone steps.
The stone slab was pried open.
The lantern light streamed down from above, illuminating the upper half of the stone steps. Zhao San poked his head down, looking around: "Damn it, there really is a cellar! Brothers, let's go down and take a look—"
Before he could finish speaking...
A dark figure shot out from the shadows below!
Zhao San felt a chill in his throat, as if something had pierced it. He tried to scream, but no sound came out; only blood and foam gushed from the corner of his mouth. His eyes widened as he saw a face covered by a veil and a pair of terrifyingly calm eyes.
The shadowy figure withdrew the copper hairpin, and Zhao San's body fell heavily, rolling down the stone steps with a dull thud.
"Third Master? Third Master?!" the person above exclaimed.
The woman flicked the blood from the hairpin and quickly climbed the stone steps. The instant she emerged from the ground, she saw the scene inside the hall: Yunniang was protecting Jing'an, a short knife in her hand, its tip dripping blood—two guards lay on the ground. Three more guards stood at the hall's entrance, watching the cellar entrance with suspicion and uncertainty.
It's now!
The woman leaped forward, her copper hairpin aimed straight for the throat of the nearest man! The man hurriedly raised his knife to block, but was a moment too slow—the hairpin pierced his palm, and with its momentum, it plunged into his carotid artery!
Blood gushed out like a fountain.
The remaining two reacted, roaring and lunging forward. Yunniang attacked from the side, her short knife slicing through one man's ribs, the bone exposed. The woman seized the opportunity, crouching low, and thrust her copper hairpin diagonally into the last man's thigh. The man screamed and fell to his knees, his throat slit by Yunniang.
The hall returned to silence.
The only lingering smell was the stench of blood, mixed with the scent of incense, strange and pungent.
Master Jing'an slumped to the ground, her face ashen, her lips trembling as she murmured, "Amitabha... Amitabha..."
The woman pulled off her veil, revealing herself to be Empress Zhou. A few drops of blood were splattered on her face, but her expression remained calm. She said to Yunniang, "Drag her away and clean her up. Abbess—"
She turned to Jing'an, her voice softening: "You've never seen us before, and no one has ever been to the cellar. Understand?"
Jing'an Machinery nodded.
"These corpses," the Empress pointed to the ground, "if the Wang family comes to ask, you should say... it was an internal strife within the canal gang that led them to mistakenly enter the Bao Nunnery, where they were moved by the nun's Buddhist teachings and left on their own."
Jing'an looked bewildered: "But...but do they believe me?"
"They have to believe it." The Empress took out the secret passage map from her bosom and waved it in front of her eyes. "Because Wang Zhaolin will soon have no time to care about the lives of these guards."
She walked to the statue of Guanyin, put her palms together, bowed, and whispered:
"Bodhisattva, please forgive me. Today's killing is for the sake of saving many more lives."
After saying that, she and Yunniang quickly cleaned up the traces and quietly left through the back door.
The alley outside the temple remained quiet, with only the faint clamor of the distant Caohe Wharf echoing in the distance. The Empress glanced back at the green-tiled eaves of the Guanyin Temple and said to Yunniang:
"Go to the Salt Administration Office and give Chen Zizhuang the map of the secret passage and those letters. Tell him it's time to close the net."
"And you, Your Highness?"
"I'm going to see someone." The Empress looked towards the east of the city. "The third young master of the Wang family should leave the city now, 'seriously ill'."
At noon, in front of the main gate of the Grand Canal Gang.
Li Biao, the "River Dragon," was kicked out of the game.
He was drinking tea in the main room, planning to sink a few more grain ships that night. Suddenly, the door was kicked open, and twenty Imperial Guards filed in, pinning him to the ground without a word and binding him tightly with iron chains.
"You...you dare arrest me?!" Li Biao struggled and roared, "I'm the deputy leader of the Grand Canal Gang! Without me, the Yangzhou Grand Canal transport would be completely paralyzed!"
The leading Jinyiwei centurion squatted down and patted his face: "Vice Chief Li, the Grand Canal Transport Association is paralyzed without you, that's why we arrested you."
He stood up and addressed the onlookers loudly:
"Li Biao, the deputy leader of the Grand Canal Gang, accepted 18,000 taels of silver from salt merchant Wang Zhaolin between the thirteenth and fifteenth years of the Chongzhen reign (1644-1645), and condoned the transshipment of smuggled salt, causing the imperial salt tax to lose more than 100,000 taels annually! Last night, he even ordered the sinking of 300 ships to block the Grand Canal transport, a crime tantamount to treason!"
He unfurled a proclamation bearing the imperial seal:
"By order of Imperial Envoy Chen: Effective immediately, the Salt Administration will temporarily take over the management of the grain transport! All boat owners and laborers who wish to continue transporting grain must register at the dock immediately. Their wages will be increased by 30%, and compensation for injuries or deaths will be doubled! Those who resist will be treated as accomplices of Li Biao!"
The crowd erupted in uproar.
Wages increased by 30%! Compensation doubled!
The canal workers, who had been crouching in the corner, stood up, their eyes darting around. Someone whispered, "Really a 30% increase?"
"The notice bears the imperial seal; how could it be fake?"
"Then...then I'll go register!"
"I'm going too!"
The crowd surged towards the dock. Li Biao was dragged across the long street, watching helplessly as his long-established canal gang crumbled. He screamed hoarsely, "Master Wang won't let you get away with this! Master Wang—"
The sound stopped abruptly.
The Imperial Guard stuffed a rag into his mouth.
At 1-3 PM, the Salt Administration Office's signing and signing room.
Chen Zizhuang was writing furiously at his desk when hurried footsteps sounded outside the door. Yunniang slipped in and placed a map of the secret passage and several letters on the table: "Lord Chen, Her Majesty asked me to give these to you."
Chen Zizhuang unfolded it and his expression changed drastically.
He immediately stood up: "Men! Deploy two hundred new soldiers to surround the underground palace of Guanyin Temple! Seize all the account books, letters, and secret maps and transport them back!"
"yes!"
He then looked at Yunniang: "Where is Your Highness now?"
"He went to see the third young master of the Wang family," Yunniang whispered. "The Empress said that Wang Zhaolin can fall, but the Wang family's salt business network cannot be disrupted. That third young master might just be a pawn."
Chen Zizhuang pondered for a moment, then nodded: "I understand. Go back and protect the Empress; I'll take care of things here."
After Yunniang left, Chen Zizhuang sat down again, looking at the secret passage map on the table. His finger lightly traced the waterway from Korea to Dengzhou to Yangzhou, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
"Wang Zhaolin..." he murmured, "You have colluded with foreign powers and smuggled contraband; the evidence is complete. This time, no one can save you."
He picked up his pen and began drafting a memorial of impeachment. He had only written a few lines when an urgent report came from outside:
"Sir! An urgent message from 800 li north!"
The messenger, covered in frost, rushed in and presented a letter tube with three feathers inserted. Chen Zizhuang checked the sealing wax, unscrewed it, and pulled out the letter.
He glanced at it only once, then suddenly stood up, causing the chair to tip over with a loud crash.
The letter was sent by Li Ruolian from Beijing, and the handwriting was messy:
"...The rebel leader Li Zicheng captured Nanyang in late October, and General Mengruhu fought valiantly and died for his country. His army of 300,000 is advancing north, with one elite force already approaching Tongguan! General Zhou Yuji has written a blood-stained letter pleading for reinforcements, stating that Tongguan's food supplies are running low and they can only hold out for another ten days at most! The Emperor has decided to lead the main force of the New Army northward overnight to reinforce the city, ordering you to quickly settle matters in Yangzhou, and bring the elite troops and the first batch of supplies to Nanjing within eleven days to join forces in the face of this national crisis! Remember, hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"
Chen Zizhuang's knuckles turned white as he gripped the letter.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his eyes were filled with resolute clarity.
"Issue the order," his voice hoarse, "that all the counted silver, except for one million taels to be kept in the Yangzhou treasury for the aftermath of the salt administration, be loaded onto carts and transported! Half a million taels shall be sent directly to the Ministry of Revenue in Beijing by a reliable general, and the rest shall accompany me north!"
"Sir, that Wang Zhaolin..."
"Arrest them." Chen Zizhuang said decisively. "Before dusk today, all sixteen ringleaders will be imprisoned. Anyone who resists will be killed without exception."
He walked to the window and pushed it open. A cold wind rushed in, making the papers on the desk rustle.
Outside the window, Yangzhou still languished in the shadow of the salt merchants. Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, the flames of war at Tongguan had already painted half the sky crimson.
"Wang Zhaolin," Chen Zizhuang whispered to the void, "your time has come."
At dusk, at the villa by the Slender West Lake.
Wang Zhaolin stood by the window of the waterside pavilion, gazing at the last rays of the setting sun on the lake. The butler knelt trembling behind him, reporting the day's bad news:
"Li Biao, the leader of the grain transport gang, has been arrested... Most of our boats have been taken over by the government..."
"At the eight major markets, twenty-seven shops have reopened, selling grain at official prices..."
"Also... the Third Young Master suddenly fell seriously ill this morning and was sent by Madam Wang to 'rest quietly' outside the city. He has not returned yet..."
Wang Zhaolin remained silent.
After a long while, he slowly turned around, a smile on his face: "Good, good methods. Cut off my canal transport, sow discord among the merchants, and even took my son away."
He walked to the desk, picked up the brush, and wrote a single character on the rice paper:
kill.
The ink is dripping, penetrating the paper.
"Give the order," his voice was eerily calm, "that all salt workers, servants, and guards assemble at the saltworks tonight at midnight. Bring your muskets, swords, spears, and crossbows."
"Master..." the butler trembled, "Are you really... really going to take action?"
"If we don't act, we're just waiting to die." Wang Zhaolin raised his eyes, which were bloodshot. "The Emperor wants more than just money; he wants our lives. Since we're going to die anyway, we might as well fight to the death."
He paused, then added:
"Tell the brothers that everyone who participates in the battle tonight will receive one hundred taels of silver as a resettlement allowance. After the battle is over, the profits from the Yangzhou salt trade will be divided equally among everyone."
The butler swallowed hard and bowed his head, saying, "Yes."
After he left, Wang Zhaolin sat alone in the darkness. Outside the window, the last rays of dawn disappeared, and the city lights of Yangzhou began to illuminate the night.
The distant sound of a night watchman could be faintly heard:
"Dry weather—be careful with fire—"
Wang Zhaolin laughed, his laughter as mournful as a night owl's.
"Fireworks..." he murmured, "Tonight, what Yangzhou will burn is not candles."
He rose and took a dagger from a hidden compartment. The scabbard was made of sharkskin, and the handle was inlaid with rubies. He drew it; the blade was as clear as autumn water, its cold light gleaming.
This was passed down to him by his father. Every generation of the Wang family head has used this dagger to deal with "trouble".
"Father," he whispered, pointing at the dagger, "tonight, your son will deal with the biggest trouble yet."
He tucked the dagger into his pocket and blew out the candle.
The waterside pavilion was plunged into complete darkness.