xymnovel Chapter 27 The Silver Mountain in the Cellar - Thunderclap
Chapter 27 The Silver Mountain in the Cellar - Thunderclap
On the sixth day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the third quarter of the Yin hour.
A thin layer of ice had formed on the stone steps of the Guanyin Temple's underground palace. The torchlight flickered on the blue brick walls, casting dozens of elongated shadows.
— Soldiers of the new army, in pairs, were carrying camphor wood boxes covered with iron sheets out from the depths of the underground palace.
The box was heavy, the carrying pole creaked under its weight, and footsteps left wet marks on the stone steps.
Chen Zizhuang stood at the entrance to the underground palace, the hem of his scarlet official robe stained with mud. In his hands he held a newly opened account book, its pages brittle and yellowed, but the ink still fresh.
"On the seventh day of the ninth month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, we received goods from the Korean merchant group led by Li Yuan: thirty pearls, two hundred catties of ginseng, and fifty sable furs, valued at eighteen thousand taels of silver. They will travel via the 'Gui-zi Waterway,' docking at Liugong Island to change ships. We have already made arrangements with Zhao, the naval guerrilla commander of Dengzhou..."
He turned the page, his pupils contracting slightly.
"On the same day, Tuobohui, the Jiala Ezhen of the Zhenglan Banner of the Later Jin Dynasty, was given 3,000 catties of pig iron, 500 catties of saltpeter, and 200 catties of sulfur. The goods were to be delivered via the 'Renzi Waterway' to Gaizhouwei, and the person in charge was Fan Yongdou."
Fan Yongdou.
Chen Zizhuang was familiar with this name. In the eleventh year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, the case of the eight prominent Shanxi merchants colluding with the enemy came to light. Fan Yongdou was on the run, and the imperial court offered a reward of five thousand taels of silver for his capture. Unexpectedly, this man had been hiding in Yangzhou, doing business with the Wang family for six years.
"Sir," a Jinyiwei centurion hurried over, his voice extremely low, "the third floor inventory is complete. Cash... 1.2 million taels. There are also 3,000 taels of gold ingots and eleven boxes of jewelry and jade."
Chen Zizhuang closed the ledger: "Where are the grain deeds?"
"We found twenty-seven deeds, all of them deposit deeds for official granaries in Huguang and Jiangxi. The largest one..." The centurion swallowed hard, "The Bing-class granary in Wuchang Prefecture holds 270,000 shi of grain."
270,000 shi (a unit of dry measure).
Chen Zizhuang closed his eyes. He recalled how, before the capital, the emperor had argued with the cabinet ministers of the Ministry of Revenue until late at night over 100,000 shi of military provisions for Xuanfu. Here, a salt merchant could easily hoard enough grain to feed an army of 100,000 for half a year.
"Pack them up and seal them." His voice was hoarse. "All account books, letters, and secret maps, pack them separately. I will personally escort them."
"Yes."
Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the underground palace. A newly recruited army captain rushed in, kneeling on one knee: "Lord Chen! Something's happened at the Wang residence!"
At the same time, in the main hall of the Wang residence.
Wang Zhaolin sat in the rosewood armchair, holding a cup of tea. The tea was pre-Qingming Longjing, the water was Tiger Spring water, but he couldn't taste it. It was past dawn, and outside the window it was still pitch black, with only the distant sound of the night watchman's clapper echoing.
"At the fourth watch of the night—the weather is freezing cold—"
Three people were kneeling below the hall.
Steward Wang Fu trembled violently: "Master...at the saltworks, only...only 1,200 people arrived. Instructor Zhao said the rest were either detained by the government, or...they took the resettlement funds and ran away..."
Second Manager Huang Si, forehead pounding the ground: "More than half of the shops in the eight major markets have reopened. Our men went to smash a few, but the government troops arrived too quickly, and seventeen of our brothers were killed..."
Mr. Wu, the accountant, was deathly pale: "Jiujiang... Jiujiang has replied. Zuo Liangyu said that we must start an uprising first, so that he can march east under the pretext of 'suppressing the rebellion.' Otherwise... otherwise it would be treason."
Wang Zhaolin listened quietly.
After listening, he took a sip of tea and gently set the teacup down. The porcelain clinked against the rosewood tabletop, producing a crisp "ding."
"In other words," he said slowly, "the canal transport has been cut off, the market has been lost, the salt workers have scattered, and Zuo Liangyu is also watching and waiting."
The three men lay prostrate on the ground, not daring to speak.
Wang Zhaolin laughed. The laughter was soft, echoing in the empty hall like the cry of an owl.
"Great... wonderful." He stood up and walked to the painting "Sunrise over Mount Tai" in the hall—a gift from the prefect of Yangzhou during the Jiajing era, symbolizing the Wang family's stability like Mount Tai and the rising sun. He reached out and stroked the ink marks on the mountains in the painting.
Then he pulled hard!
The scroll tore, and the silk fell to the ground.
"One hundred and eighty years," he said, his voice suddenly rising as he turned his back to the three men, "the Wang family rose from salt porters in Huizhou to become the top salt merchants of Lianghuai! What did they rely on?! Caution? Obedience? Resignation to fate?!"
He turned around, his eyes bloodshot, looking like a madman.
"It's about being ruthlesser than others! Faster than the government! Stricter than the law!"
He kicked over the coffee table, shattering cups and saucers all over the floor.
"But what about now?!" he roared. "Now the Emperor is here, with a knife! He doesn't just want money, he wants our very foundation! The means by which our descendants eat!"
He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. After a long while, he suddenly calmed down, straightened his clothes, and said to the butler:
"Go, bring those three boxes out of the ancestral hall."
Wang Fu was taken aback: "Master, that's...?"
"The last capital left by our ancestors." Wang Zhaolin's voice was icy. "During the Hongwu era, our ancestor accompanied Shen Wansan to Southeast Asia and brought back three chests of gold dust from Luzon. He instructed his descendants: 'Unless it is a matter of annihilation of the clan, it must not be used.'"
He paused, then forced a bleak smile:
"Now, the threat of annihilation is imminent."
At the hour of Mao (5-7 AM), at the Salt Administration Office.
Li Ce stood before the map of the two capitals and thirteen provinces of the Ming Dynasty in the signing room, holding a vermilion brush in his hand. On the map, the route from Yangzhou to Tongguan had been drawn in red, like a fresh wound.
Footsteps came from outside the door, very light, but very quick.
Empress Zhou pushed open the door and entered, still wearing the indigo coarse cotton dress, her hair slightly disheveled, and her face revealing unconcealed fatigue. In her hands she held a sheepskin book, the very map of the secret passage retrieved from the underground palace.
"Your Majesty," she placed the catalog on the table, "the entire smuggling network of the Wang family with the Later Jin, Korea, and Japanese pirates is here. Seventeen waterways, forty-nine meeting points, involving one hundred and twenty-seven officials from the navy, grain transport, and customs of six coastal provinces."
Li Ce didn't look at the picture book. He turned around and looked at the bloodstains on the Empress's face—they had dried and formed dark red spots.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
The Empress was taken aback, raised her hand to touch her face, and shook her head: "It's not my blood." She paused, then added in a low voice, "Six guards from the Wang family were killed at the Guanyin Nunnery."
Li Ce remained silent.
He walked to the table, picked up the teapot, poured a cup of warm water, and handed it to her. The Empress took it, her fingertips touching the back of his hand; it was icy cold.
"Yunniang said it herself," Li Ce said, "you did very well."
The Empress took a sip of water and looked up. "Your Majesty, Wang Zhaolin will not sit idly by and wait for his doom. Last night, more than a thousand salt workers gathered at the salt fields, equipped with muskets and crossbows. I am worried..."
Before he could finish speaking, an urgent report came from outside the door:
"Your Majesty! A message from Lord Chen is urgent!"
The Imperial Guards presented an unsealed letter. Li Ce unfolded it; it was Chen Zizhuang's own handwriting, the characters illegible:
"Your subject Zhuang bows: The underground palace has been opened, and we have obtained 1.2 million taels of silver, 270,000 shi of grain deeds, and eleven secret letters of collusion with the enemy. However, there is unusual activity at the Wang residence, and salt workers are gathering, which may lead to a riot. I have already dispatched 800 new troops to surround the residence, but they outnumber us, and a direct attack may harm innocent people. I beg Your Majesty for instructions."
Li Ce handed the letter to the Empress.
The Empress quickly finished reading, her expression grave: "Wang Zhaolin is determined to fight to the death. Your Majesty, there are 200,000 people in Yangzhou. If a war really breaks out..."
"We can't fight." Li Ce said decisively.
He walked to the map and pointed heavily at Yangzhou: "Wang Zhaolin is like a pile of dry tinder, ready to explode at any moment. What I want is not to flatten Yangzhou, but to remove the tinder and let the fire extinguish itself."
"Your Majesty means..."
"What is his greatest reliance?" Li Ce asked himself and answered, "It's not those thousand salt workers, it's the fear of the people of Yangzhou—fear of the imperial court's purge, fear of the collapse of the salt industry, fear of the disruption of the canal transport, fear of having no food to eat."
He turned around, a sharp glint in his eyes:
"Then let him see if the sky will fall in Yangzhou without the Wang family."
At Chen Shi (7-9 AM), the eight major markets of Yangzhou.
At this hour on ordinary days, the market would be bustling with shoppers, hawkers, and patrolling officials. Today, however, it is unusually quiet—soldiers from the New Army have set up checkpoints at the street corners, allowing only exits and not entry. But strangely, no one is stopping them.
Because a wooden platform was erected in the middle of the street.
The platform was three feet high and twenty feet wide, covered with red cloth. Three people stood on the platform: Imperial Envoy Chen Zizhuang, Yangzhou Prefect Liu Lishun, and an unexpected figure—Zhao Laosi, the grain shop owner who was the first to open the market to sell grain.
Thousands of people stood on tiptoe to get a better look.
Chen Zizhuang stepped forward, unfurled a scroll of yellow silk, and read aloud:
"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: The sixteen salt merchants of Yangzhou, including Wang Zhaolin, have been guilty of embezzling salt taxes, colluding with foreign vassals, bribing officials, and obstructing the Grand Canal transport for many years. Their crimes are irrefutable. Their property shall be confiscated immediately, and the ringleaders shall be imprisoned to await trial."
The crowd stirred.
One of the bolder ones shouted, "Lord Chen! The Wang family has fallen, where will we get our salt?!"
"That's right! With the canal transport cut off, how will we get the grain from the north?!"
"How are we ordinary people supposed to survive?!"
The noise grew louder, gradually escalating into a tense atmosphere. Several salt workers, mingling in the crowd, seized the opportunity to incite unrest: "The imperial court is trying to force us Yangzhou people to our deaths!" "Without the Wang family, who will care about our lives?!"
Chen Zizhuang raised his hand to quell the commotion.
He looked at Zhao Laosi: "Manager Zhao, you speak."
Old Zhao stepped forward shakily. This old man had never spoken in front of so many people in his life, and his legs were trembling. But when he thought of his son starving in Tongguan, he straightened his back.
"Neighbors," he said in a hoarse voice, "this old man...this old man is just a rice seller. I don't know any grand principles, I'm just speaking the truth."
He swallowed hard.
"First, even if the Wang family falls, the salt won't disappear. The Emperor has said that from this day forward, the salt fields will be directly managed by the government, the wages for salt producers will increase by 30%, and the price of salt... will remain the same as during the Jiajing era, ten copper coins per jin!"
"Ten coins?!" The crowd erupted in uproar.
Salt in Yangzhou now costs 30 wen per jin!
"Secondly, the canal transport will not be interrupted," Zhao Laosi continued. "The Emperor has said that the wages of canal workers will increase by 30%, and the compensation for those who die or are injured will be doubled! Those who are willing to go should register at the dock now and receive one month's wages as a resettlement allowance!"
"Third..." The old man paused, then took out a piece of paper from his pocket. "This is a proclamation written by the Emperor himself. He asked me to read it to everyone."
He unfolded the paper and spoke slowly and deliberately:
"The people of Yangzhou are all my subjects. The salt merchants' crimes are the most serious and not to be underestimated. All salt producers, salt workers, canal workers, and merchants, as long as they are law-abiding citizens, will be treated equally by the court and their past transgressions will be forgiven. Anyone who takes advantage of the situation to cause trouble or incite unrest will be treated as an accomplice of the Wang Jingwei regime and executed without mercy."
After reading it, he looked up, his old eyes cloudy but resolute:
"Neighbors, my son is serving in the army at Tongguan. If the Emperor truly wanted to force us to our deaths, why would he transport grain all the way from Jiangnan to aid the troops in the north? Why would he reduce salt prices, increase wages, and issue pensions?"
He pointed to the west:
"Over at Tongguan, the rebel army of 300,000 is pressing in, and our soldiers are guarding the nation's gate on empty stomachs! The Emperor is procuring food and supplies in Yangzhou to save their lives, and also to save ours—if Tongguan falls, Yangzhou will be next!"
silence.
A long silence.
Then, the first voice rang out from the crowd: "I...I'll go to the dock to register."
He was a young canal worker, with a youthful face.
"I'm going too!" A salt farmer squeezed through the crowd. "A pound of salt costs ten coins... My mother has been sick for three years, and we haven't had any money for medicine."
"And me!"
Count me in!
The crowd began to loosen, surging towards the dock. The few salt workers who had been instigating the disturbance were swept along by the crowd; they tried to shout something, but a middle-aged woman next to them slapped them across the face: "Get lost! Trying to scam us again?!"
Chen Zizhuang stood on the stage, watching this scene, and let out a long breath.
He turned to the side and whispered to the Imperial Guard beside him:
"It's time to close the net."
At 9:00 AM, at the Wang residence.
The front yard was deserted. Most of the servants and guards had taken their resettlement money last night and run away. Only a few dozen loyal followers remained, holding knives and guarding the main hall door, their eyes filled with fear.
Wang Zhaolin sat in the hall, having changed his clothes—a royal robe with a unicorn emblem bestowed by the emperor during the Wanli era. It was crimson with gold thread embroidery. His father had donated 200,000 taels of silver to support the military, and the Emperor Shenzong had specially granted this robe, allowing the Wang family to "wear crimson in their business register."
He was dressed neatly, his hair combed meticulously. On the table in front of him were three things: a sharkskin dagger, a pot of poisoned wine, and a pre-written confession.
The confession contained only three lines:
"The criminal Wang Zhaolin has colluded with foreign vassals and smuggled contraband, deserving the death penalty. However, the salt industry is crucial to the national economy. I beg Your Majesty to spare a line of the Wang family bloodline so that the family line may continue. The secret saltworks passages, overseas silver deposits, and the list of officials involved in the collusion have all been burned by the criminal. He would rather die than take them with him to the grave."
He picked up the pen, signed his name at the end, and pressed his fingerprint.
I had just put down my pen when I heard footsteps outside the door.
It wasn't one person, but a group. Their footsteps were synchronized and heavy, carrying the clanging sound of armor rubbing together.
The door was pushed open.
Chen Zizhuang stood at the doorway, behind him two rows of New Army soldiers, muskets held level, muzzles pointed into the hall. Sunlight streamed in from behind him, making Wang Zhaolin squint.
"Wang Zhaolin," Chen Zizhuang said calmly, "your matter is settled."
Wang Zhaolin smiled. He slowly stood up, straightened his crimson robe, and even cupped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Chen Zizhuang:
"Lord Chen, I have long admired you. In the forty-third year of the Jiajing reign, your grandfather Chen Shaoru served as the Guangdong Provincial Treasurer and reformed the salt laws. He was framed by salt merchants and dismissed from office. I never expected that eighty years later, his grandson would come to reform the salt laws again."
Chen Zizhuang remained expressionless: "I am acting on imperial orders, and I will not pursue personal grudges."
"Well done, acting on imperial orders." Wang Zhaolin nodded. "Does Lord Chen know that Yangzhou's salt industry produces three million salt samples a year, accounting for 40% of the nation's salt tax? The Huai salt, transported north, feeds a million soldiers on the nine borders. The Huai salt, transported south, is exchanged for rice from Southeast Asia and silver from Japan."
He stepped forward, a fierce glint in his eyes:
"With the Wang family gone, who will manage the salt? Will the salt producers disperse? Will salt prices become chaotic? Will the canal transport stop? Lord Chen, have you considered these things?!"
Chen Zizhuang was silent for a moment, then said, "His Majesty has already made arrangements."
"Arrangements?" Wang Zhaolin scoffed. "The Emperor has only been in Yangzhou for a few days. Does he know how many saltworks there are in the salt fields? Does he know how much silver is needed to bribe a cargo ship to pass through a lock? Does he know which way the wind blows and which way the waves crash?"
He became more and more agitated as he spoke, his finger trembling as he pointed north:
"He only knows that Tongguan needs grain, pay, and silver! But he doesn't know where all that silver and grain in Yangzhou came from! It was the result of six generations of the Wang family risking their lives against pirates, battling typhoons, dealing with corrupt officials, and exhausting themselves negotiating with salt farmers, saving every penny!"
"Now he says he wants it, so he wants to take it all!" Wang Zhaolin roared. "On what grounds?! Just because his surname is Zhu?! Just because he sits in the Forbidden City?!"
Chen Zizhuang watched him vent his anger quietly.
After he stopped breathing heavily, he slowly said, "Are you finished?"
Wang Zhaolin slumped back into his chair.
"Now that you've finished speaking, sign and put your fingerprints on it." Chen Zizhuang took out a pre-prepared confession from his sleeve and placed it on the table. "Write down everything you just said—how you communicated with the Later Jin, how you smuggled goods, and how you bribed the officials."
"Will writing this... save my life?"
"No," Chen Zizhuang said truthfully. "Colluding with the enemy and smuggling are punishable by death by a thousand cuts, and the extermination of three generations of one's family."
"Then why should I write it?!" Wang Zhaolin suddenly looked up, his eyes bloodshot and ferocious.
"Because you can die a quick death." Chen Zizhuang's voice remained calm. "And also because... your third son, Wang Yanzong, suddenly fell seriously ill last night and was sent out of the city to 'rest quietly.' By now, he should have crossed the Yangtze River."
Wang Zhaolin trembled violently.
He stared at Chen Zizhuang as if he were seeing him for the first time. After a long while, he gave a bitter laugh.
"Good...good methods. That bitch Wang...is one of your people?"
Chen Zizhuang did not answer.
Wang Zhaolin closed his eyes, two streams of tears flowing down his cheeks. When he opened them again, his eyes were filled with a deathly stillness. He picked up a pen, signed his name on the confession, and pressed his fingerprint on it.
"And this too," he pushed his own written confession over, "Give it to the Emperor. Tell him... the Wang family's roots aren't in Yangzhou, they're at sea. If he really wants to control the salt industry, those secret passages, deposits, registers... I can give them to him."
Chen Zizhuang took it, glanced at it, and shook his head: "Too late."
"What?"
"At midnight last night, the navy set sail according to the secret route map." Chen Zizhuang put the confession into his sleeve. "Now, all forty-nine rendezvous points on the seventeen waterways should be under control. Your overseas silver deposits... have been confiscated."
Wang Zhaolin was stunned.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound came out. Finally, a strange "hoarse" sound came from his throat, like a leaky bellows.
Then, he suddenly grabbed the flask of poisoned wine on the table, uncorked it, and tilted his head back to gulp it down!
The liquor dripped down his chin, mixed with blood foam.
He staggered backward, knocking over the armchair and falling heavily to the ground. His body began to convulse, his eyes wide open, staring intently at the coffered ceiling—where the Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea was painted, with Tieguai Li riding the waves.
"Sea... sea..."
He uttered two final words, his pupils dilating.
Chen Zizhuang stood there, looked at the corpse for a moment, then turned to the soldiers and said:
"Clean it up. Preserve the head with lime and put it in a box. Bury the body... find a place to bury it, and don't erect a tombstone."
"Yes."
It was noon when we left the Wang residence.
The sunlight was blinding, and Chen Zizhuang raised his hand to shield his eyes. Outside on the long street, people watched from a distance, whispering amongst themselves. Some pointed and gestured, some shook their heads and sighed, and some… quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
He mounted his horse and addressed the accompanying Imperial Guards:
"Issue the order that all sixteen ringleaders be imprisoned and their property confiscated. This afternoon at 1-3 PM, I will be at the Salt Administration Office awaiting the Emperor's decision."
At 3:45 PM, in the backyard of the Salt Administration Office.
Li Ce stood under the old locust tree, holding a newly delivered urgent report in his hand. The paper was ordinary rough-edged paper, but the ink was dark red—it was written with blood mixed with ink.
Zhou Yuji's letter written in blood.
"Your Majesty, I, Yu Ji, kowtow: The grain reserves at Tongguan are nearly exhausted, and only eight thousand arrows remain. The rebel Li Zicheng attacks three times a day, and the arrow tower at the west gate has already collapsed. I and my soldiers have sworn an oath: the day our grain runs out, we will die for our country. I humbly beg Your Majesty to send reinforcements immediately..."
The writing at the end was blurred, resembling bloodstains.
Li Ce gripped the paper tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Chen Zizhuang strode over, kneeling on one knee: "Your Majesty, Wang Zhaolin has been executed, and all sixteen ringleaders have been imprisoned. The silver, grain deeds, and evidence in the underground palace have been inventoried and sealed. The total amount of silver is 4.87 million taels and grain is 370,000 shi."
Li Ce did not turn around.
"Minister Chen," he said softly, "tell me, can this silver and grain save Tongguan?"
Chen Zizhuang paused for a moment, then said, "If it arrives in time, it can support the Tongguan garrison for three months. If it doesn't arrive..."
He didn't go on.
Li Ce turned around and handed him the blood-written letter. Chen Zizhuang took it and his expression changed drastically upon reading it.
"Zhou Yuji can hold out for at most ten more days." Li Ce walked to the stone table, spread out the map, and said, "From Yangzhou to Tongguan, it's 1,800 li by land. Even traveling day and night, it will take fifteen days."
"That……"
"Therefore, I cannot wait." Li Ce tapped his finger heavily on the map. "The silver and grain must be transported, but I must go first."
Chen Zizhuang suddenly looked up: "His Majesty intends to personally go to Tongguan?!"
"Yes." Li Ce raised his eyes, his gaze resolute. "I will lead two thousand light cavalry, lightly armed and simply, changing horses along the way. We can reach Tongguan in ten days. You will escort the silver and grain, advancing by both land and water, and follow behind."
"Your Majesty, this is too risky!" Chen Zizhuang said urgently. "There are countless bandits and defeated soldiers along the way. What if..."
"There's no 'what if'," Li Ce interrupted him. "Zhou Yuji and tens of thousands of soldiers at Tongguan are waiting for me. Every extra day we wait, a thousand more will die."
He paused, his voice low:
"Minister Chen, do you know why I insist on making a southern tour?"
Chen Zizhuang shook his head.
"Because I had a dream." Li Ce looked north, his gaze drifting into the distance. "In the dream, Tongguan fell, Beijing fell, and I hanged myself on Coal Hill."
Meanwhile, in Jiangnan… Jiangnan was still a place of peace and prosperity, salt merchants still had mountains of silver, and gentry were still composing poems and essays. They felt that changing the emperor was just changing who to kowtow to.
He withdrew his gaze and fixed it on Chen Zizhuang's face:
"I want them to know that when the sky of the Ming Dynasty collapses, it will not only kill the people in the north, but also the wealthy in the south."
After saying that, he turned and walked towards the front hall.
Empress Zhou was already waiting there. She had changed into a moon-white dress, her hair was simply tied up, and the bloodstains on her face had been washed away, but she could not hide the weariness in her eyes.
"Has Your Majesty made up your mind?" she asked softly.
Li Ce nodded, took out half of the tiger tally from his pocket, and placed it in her hand: "The affairs of Yangzhou and Jiangnan are entrusted to you. Stabilize the salt industry, appease the merchants, and dredge the canal. If things get urgent... you can call upon the Nanjing garrison."
The Empress gripped the tiger tally tightly; it was icy cold.
"How many soldiers does Your Majesty bring?"
"Two thousand, all cavalry," Li Ce said. "Lightly armed, carrying only ten days' worth of dry rations. Horses will be requisitioned from post stations along the way; the horses will be replaced, but the riders will remain the same."
"That's too little," the Empress shook her head. "Bring at least five thousand."
"Bringing too much will slow us down." Li Ce raised his hand and gently brushed a stray hair from her ear. "Don't worry, I won't die. I've already tried seven lives, this one... should live a little longer."
This was the first time they had mentioned the concept of "reincarnation".
The Empress's eyes suddenly reddened. She gritted her teeth and held back her tears, taking a small sachet from her sleeve and placing it in Li Ce's hand: "Inside is a calming incense I've prepared, and... a lock of hair. If Your Majesty... if you truly reach a desperate situation, smell it, think of it, there are still people waiting for you in Yangzhou."
Li Ce gripped the sachet tightly and nodded.
No further words were said.
He turned and strode out of the salt administration office. Outside, two thousand cavalrymen were already lined up, their horses puffing out white steam and pawing the ground restlessly. The soldiers were fully armored, with swords at their waists, bows on their backs, and three days' worth of dry rations hanging beside their saddles.
Li Ce mounted his horse and looked back one last time.
The Empress stood on the stone steps of the government office, with officials such as Chen Zizhuang and Liu Lishun behind her. Sunlight shone on her moon-white robes, giving them a soft glow. She raised her hand and waved.
There was no crying, no shouting, just a wave of the hand.
Li Ce pulled on the reins: "Let's go!"
The thunderous sound of hooves shattered the afternoon tranquility of Yangzhou. Two thousand riders surged out of the city gates like a black torrent, heading north.
Chen Zizhuang watched the dust settle into the distance, then turned and bowed to the Empress: "Your Majesty, what happens next..."
"Proceed according to plan." The Empress's voice had returned to calm. "The silver and grain must be loaded onto carts and depart before dusk today. You will personally escort them, taking the Grand Canal to Tianjin, and then transferring to land transport. I will remain in Yangzhou to handle the handover of the salt industry."
"Yes." Chen Zizhuang hesitated for a moment, "Your Majesty, although the Wang family has fallen, their salt merchant network is deeply entrenched, I'm afraid..."
"I know." The Empress raised her eyes and looked towards the direction of Slender West Lake. "Therefore, I need to meet with a few people. Those who have a grudge against the Wang family, those who have been suppressed by the Wang family, those who want to take their place... it's time to give them a chance."
She paused, then added:
"Also, send a message to Li Jizhen in Nanjing, instructing him to keep a close eye on Jiujiang. If Zuo Liangyu dares to make a move... there's no need to ask for instructions, just attack him directly."
The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable determination.
Chen Zizhuang looked at her intently and suddenly realized that the empress before him was completely different from the gentle and refined palace woman he had left the capital.
He bowed and withdrew.
The Empress stood alone on the stone steps, gazing at the northern horizon. There, the sky was clear and blue, yet she seemed to see the smoke of war obscuring the sun above Tongguan Pass, and the setting sun stained with blood.
She gripped the tiger tally tightly in her hand and murmured to herself:
"Your Majesty, you must defend Tongguan Pass."
"Your Majesty... I will definitely defend Jiangnan."
The wind blew by, lifting the hem of her moon-white dress.
Behind them, Yangzhou was undergoing a transformation unseen in a century. Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, a bloody battle that would determine the fate of the Ming Dynasty was about to begin.