Take control of Wei Zhongxian at the start and confiscate 100 million from him!

Chapter 276 The Ming Dynasty: Become Stronger by Recharging

It was nearly noon, and the sun was scorching, baking every inch of the bluestone slabs on the south bank of the Qinhuai River.

The willow leaves along the street were curled and listless, and the cicadas sang hoarsely, as if weeping and lamenting, which disturbed people's peace of mind.

Sanshan Street, Jubao Teahouse.

The restaurant is small, but because of its strategic location, it has always been very popular.

At this moment, the venue was packed to capacity.

The shirtless waiter, with a half-damp cloth draped over his shoulder, moved between the tables and chairs, chanting, "Here it comes. Continuing the service." In his hand, he held a huge purple copper kettle with a long spout like a beak, drawing lines of boiling water in the air and precisely pouring it into the tea drinkers' rough porcelain bowls, stirring up ripples of turbidity.

This place is a resting place for peddlers and laborers, a place for cart drivers and vendors to catch their breath, and a natural breeding ground for public opinion at the bottom of the empire.

The emperor's edicts and rumors from the common people converged and collided here, ultimately being molded into the most basic "truths" in the hearts of the people.

The atmosphere at the table by the window was particularly somber.

On the table were several dishes of fennel beans and a plate of salted peanuts. The water in the teacup had been refilled three or four times and was as bland as dishwater.

The silk shopkeeper, Mr. Qian, was in his early teens, but his temples were already gray. He stared at a yellowed ledger in front of him, fiddled with the abacus in his hand for a moment, and finally put it down dejectedly, letting out a long sigh.

“There’s no hope for this life.” His voice was hoarse, full of exhaustion. “This new ‘shop tax’... My little shop, with its three-foot storefront, will have to pay an extra two taels of silver a month for no reason. It’s not a lot of money, but the feeling in my heart…” He pounded his chest with his hand, “It’s so suffocating, so damn suffocating!”

Two qian of silver.

It's enough brown rice for his family of five to eat for half a month, and enough to buy two feet of cloth for his youngest son to make a new set of clothes.

Now, the tea was going to be sent to the government treasury for nothing, and the thought of it made him feel that even the tea tasted bitter.

Upon hearing this, a man at the next table who worked on boats slammed his teacup down and said gruffly, "It's not just you shop owners! We boatmen are now facing an additional 10% tax when we pass through the customs! Before, they would just pluck the feathers off a passing goose, but now they practically want to catch the goose and stew it, meat and bones alike! This imperial court really stretches its reach far!"

"Silence! Silent!" A gaunt old man at the table looked around and made a shushing gesture. "Want your whole family to go to jail?"

Upon hearing this, the murmurs at the surrounding tables dropped several octaves.

Sitting opposite Manager Qian was a storyteller who frequented the neighborhood. His surname was Meng, and he was known as "Master Meng".

In his youth, he was a student who had taken the imperial examinations several times, but failed each time. He then gave up on the idea of ​​taking the imperial examinations and made a living by relying on his mouth and his half-baked knowledge of classical allusions.

He closed the worn-out palm-leaf fan in his hand, his brows furrowed, and leaned forward, lowering his voice as if to sound profound:

"Manager Qian, Captain, your views are narrow-minded. Focusing only on your own meager savings is like sitting in a well and looking at the sky—too shallow, too shallow!"

Master Meng took a sip of tea, and seeing that everyone around him had perked up their ears, he slowly continued, "Do you all know about His Majesty's current policy of 'collective taxation'? What is this policy? In short, it means that all scholars and gentry must perform their duties and pay taxes on an equal footing! For thousands of years, scholars, officials, and gentry have never had to pay imperial taxes like us commoners. This is like putting a knife to the throats of all scholars in the world!"

He paused, a hint of worry in his voice: "Think about it, how many tenants and servants do these gentry have? If things really escalate, will you still be able to keep your two coins? You might not even be able to save your lives!"

Mencius's words, full of classical allusions and a detailed analysis of the advantages and disadvantages, made the surrounding tea drinkers tremble with fear.

They didn't understand any grand principles, but they clearly heard the truth that "even one's life and property are hard to protect."

The boatman's face turned pale, and he muttered, "Good heavens, is this old emperor trying to tear a hole in the heavens?"

"It's more than just poking holes." A peddler who had been silent all along suddenly spoke up in the corner, "Have you forgotten about Jiming Temple?"

"hiss--"

There was a sound of people sucking in air.

The noise in the teahouse seemed to be instantly silenced by an invisible hand, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Jiming Temple.

In Nanjing, who doesn't know him?

Of the 480 temples in the Southern Dynasties, Jiming Temple was the foremost.

It is an ancient temple with a history of over a thousand years, where incense is burning brightly and there are countless believers.

Countless high-ranking officials and nobles have made donations here; countless ordinary people have prayed for blessings here.

Such a place was reduced to rubble overnight.

Seeing the fear on everyone's faces, the peddler lowered his voice even further, his voice trembling with the trembling of someone who had experienced it firsthand: "Don't believe the notices posted by the government, saying things like 'Impropriety and misleading the masses will lead to your own destruction.' My cousin works at the Dali Temple. That night, the Imperial Guards came out everywhere and sealed the temple gates tightly. There were hundreds of monks inside, and not one... not one of them came out."

He stuck out his tongue, licked his chapped lips, and made a throat-slitting gesture.

“Some of the bolder ones climbed over the wall to take a look afterward. They said that the bluestone slabs in front of the main hall were soaked with blood, and the cracks were red, which could not be cleaned by water... I heard that His Majesty personally issued an edict: ‘If Buddha does not save me, I will destroy Buddha.’”

"If Buddha does not save me, then I will destroy Buddhism."

This sentence exudes a cruel and domineering aura that is incompatible with heaven, earth, gods, and ghosts, like a mountain pressing down on everyone's heart.

Collecting commercial taxes is tantamount to competing with the people for profit.

Equal distribution of land ownership would be tantamount to making enemies of the gentry.

Destroying ancient temples is to be an enemy of Buddhism.

In the eyes of the people of Nanjing, the image of this young emperor became increasingly blurred and terrifying.

Everything he did broke the rules that people were used to, and it all revealed a ruthless and inhuman nature.

They could only directly perceive the changes in their lives, the cruelty of imperial power, and the unfathomable confusion and fear about the future.

This oppressive silence spread through the teahouse.

The waiter moved very gently when refilling the water, afraid of disturbing the stagnant pool.

At this moment——

"A great victory in the northern frontier!"

A hoarse yet excited shout shattered the stillness of the pond like a boulder crashing into it.

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw a poor scholar in a faded white robe rushing in from outside the door as if he had gone mad.

His clothes were soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his thin, bony body. His hair was disheveled, and one of his straw sandals was nowhere to be found. He was barefoot, but his face was flushed with a sickly pallor. He clutched a piece of paper with undried ink tightly in his hand.

"A great victory! The Khorchin tribe has been wiped out!" He rushed to the center of the teahouse without regard for anything else, his voice cracking with excitement.

The tea drinkers in the teahouse were all stunned.

"WTF?"

"Is this poor scholar delirious from heatstroke?"

"Extermination of the entire clan? Do you think this is a theatrical performance?"

Mocking and jeers erupted.

How many years has it been since the Ming Dynasty heard the words "great victory"?

After Sarhu, the nine border regions were under martial law several times. How could there be any talk of the country being destroyed?

The scholar, provoked by the crowd, blushed and glared at them. Without arguing, he climbed straight onto an empty octagonal table.

He stood on the table, looking down at the paper, and with a loud "snap," unfolded it, the sound shaking the roof tiles.
"This is His Majesty's personally issued Edict for Pacifying the Barbarians! I just copied it from the front of the Yingtian Prefecture government office! All of you, prick up your ears and listen carefully!"

He took a deep breath, as if trying to channel all his pent-up frustration and indignation into his voice, reciting each word with force and conviction:
"Our Ming Dynasty, founded in Jiangnan, established its capital in Nanjing. Emperor Taizu Gao drove out the barbarians and restored China, his achievements unparalleled throughout history."

These opening lines immediately put the audience at ease, and the teahouse gradually quieted down as everyone looked up in awe.

"The Khorchin tribe has lived in the southern Gobi Desert for generations, and was originally a bulwark of our dynasty. However, they harbor wolfish ambitions, are two-faced, secretly ally with the Eastern barbarians, and aid and abet their tyranny."

When the scholar finished reading, he was already in tears. His long-suppressed righteous indignation touched everyone present.

His chest heaved violently, as if he were about to cough up his lungs, yet he suppressed it with all his might. He held the paper covered in writing even higher, and with all his might, roared out the most terrifying passage:
"When our royal army arrives, its momentum is unstoppable; the enemy chieftain, facing us, crumbles like ice melting away. One battle decides the fate of the world, and three days pacify their country!"

This sentence, like a boulder thrown into water, had already stirred up a thousand waves. Then, without pausing, he used a series of rapid and powerful pauses to smash his glorious victory down on the crowd like a heavy hammer:

"Slay the rebellious chieftain Obama on the battlefield, hang his head on the straw street; capture his three thousand brave warriors, burn his licentious temples, and seize his fertile land for a thousand miles!"

At this point, the scholar's voice abruptly stopped, as he was struggling to catch his breath and was breathing heavily, his thin chest resembling a broken bellows.

At that moment, the entire teahouse seemed to freeze completely.

The copper kettle the shop assistant held high froze in mid-air; the scalding water flow stopped; Manager Qian's mouth gaped open; Master Meng's eyes widened and he forgot to blink; and the boatman's hand, which had just grabbed a handful of fennel beans, froze halfway through.

The teahouse was packed with customers, and everyone's movements seemed to freeze at that moment, from vendors to laborers.

The restaurant, which was just a moment ago noisy and bustling, is now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Everyone looked toward the scholar sitting at the eight-immortal table.

All eyes, like rivers flowing into the sea, converged on him alone. They did nothing, thought nothing, but simply stared intently at him, waiting for him.

They held their breath, waiting for the scholar's next sentence!
The scholar finally caught his breath. Looking at the pairs of eyes staring intently at him, at the faces contorted in shock, an unprecedented surge of pride filled his chest. He straightened his back and, in an almost chanting, trembling voice, clearly delivered the last few lines of the imperial edict into everyone's ears:

"This battle was not only a testament to the soldiers' bravery, but also a reward from Heaven! I declare to you, my subjects: Not an inch of the Ming Dynasty's territory may be lost; not a single person of the Ming Dynasty may be dishonored!"

A barely suppressed commotion arose from the crowd, like the hissing of a kettle lid rising from the steam.

And when the scholar took a deep breath and roared out those two most inflammatory declarations like thunder—

"The glory of the Han dynasty should be restored under my leadership; the prosperity of the Tang dynasty will surely be revived in our generation!"

The entire teahouse erupted in chaos!

It was as if an invisible powder keg had exploded in everyone's heart, shattering the momentary silence and replacing it with a deafening roar like a landslide or a tsunami.

"What did he say?!"

"To revive the Han dynasty? To revitalize the Tang dynasty?!"

"The emperor wants to establish a new Ming Dynasty!?"

The tea drinkers sitting together suddenly turned their heads, their eyes meeting, each filled with disbelief.

The silk shopkeeper grabbed Master Meng's arm with such force that he almost crushed the man's bones. His lips trembled, but he couldn't utter a single word.

but……

The scholar said that this was the "Edict for Pacifying the Barbarians" written by His Majesty the Emperor himself!
The thought forcibly cooled the almost boiling blood in people's minds.

They tried desperately to remember.

Thinking back on what this young emperor has done in the year or so since he ascended the throne... every single thing he has done has revealed an undeniable, ruthless approach.

Regardless of whether the emperor was tyrannical or ruthless, at least in this emperor's proclamations concerning the major policies of the nation, they had never heard of a single false statement!

So……

So this time...

A terrifying and heart-pounding thought sprouted and grew wildly in everyone's mind.

The Ming Dynasty... really... won a great victory?

Could it be that a large Mongol tribe was truly wiped out from thousands of miles away?!
Once the idea was confirmed, it could no longer be suppressed.

The previous doubts and disbelief were instantly swallowed up by the overwhelming sense of reality.

That ecstasy was no longer a vague fantasy, but a real and substantial happiness!
"Announce it to the whole world, and let all know it."

"So be it!"

The scholar practically roared out the last two words. After reading them, he collapsed onto the table, exhausted, clutching the imperial edict tightly to his chest and bursting into tears.

The entire teahouse was absolutely silent.

You can hear the needle drop!

Only the scholar's suppressed sobs echoed between the beams and pillars.

The teacup in Manager Qian's hand fell to the ground with a crash and shattered into pieces. He was completely unaware of it, just staring blankly at the scholar on the table with his mouth agape.

The storyteller, Meng, had dropped his palm-leaf fan to the ground. His eyes were wide open, his lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Genocide...

Slay the Khan...

Three thousand prisoners...

Burning temples and eradicating ancestral worship...

They confiscated his land, cattle, and sheep...

Every word in the imperial edict struck everyone's head like a heavy hammer.

Doubt, shock, ecstasy, disbelief... a complex mix of emotions churned within everyone, yet no outlet could be found to express them.

In this silence that could shatter one's heart.

"Snapped!"

A crisp, loud slam on the table broke the deathly silence.

Everyone looked on in astonishment, only to see the old merchant who had been silent in the corner suddenly stand up.

He was over sixty years old, his face weathered by time, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness. Having traveled extensively throughout the north and south, his knowledge far surpassed that of ordinary people living in remote corners of the city.

His face was flushed with extreme excitement, and his gray beard was trembling slightly.

"I understand... I understand everything!"

He strode to the center of the teahouse, surveyed the blank and confused faces around him, and spoke in a booming voice:

"You lot! Are you still complaining about that meager two-tael shop tax? Are you still worried that those gentry might rebel? Are you still saying that the emperor is ruthless just because he destroyed a temple?"

The old merchant pointed his thin finger at Manager Qian, then at Master Meng, and finally swept it across the entire room.

"You blockheads, don't you use your brains to think! Where did all this money go? Why would the emperor offend the gentry of the land? Why doesn't he even respect the gods and Buddhas?"

He suddenly turned around, pointed north, his arm taut, spittle flying everywhere, looking like a madman!

"They've all gone north! They've all been turned into swords, spears, bows, and arrows! They've all been turned into provisions and horses! They've all been sent to Xuanfu! To General Man Gui's army!"

He took a step forward, his voice rising eight octaves, as if a thunderclap had exploded above everyone's heads!

"What are those two taels of silver? They're a piece of meat added to the bowls of General Man's men! They're a handful of water used to temper their long swords!"

"What kind of grain is collected through the 'integrated grain collection'? It's the fodder to feed the warhorses! It's the confidence that allows tens of thousands of troops to be well-fed and fight fiercely, so that they can strike at the heart of the enemy in one fell swoop!"

"So the Emperor collects our hard-earned money to fight the Tartars and bring us peace!"

"The Emperor forced those stingy gentry to hand over their money and grain, and even used their money to expand the territory!"

"Therefore, the image of the Son of Heaven is one of striving for profit with the people and expanding the territory of the country! His cruelty is not out of a lack of benevolence, but rather out of great benevolence! His killings are not out of a love of war, but rather out of a desire to secure the country! How could you mere mortals possibly fathom even a fraction of such profound meaning?!"

The old merchant's words were like the sun breaking through the clouds, like a sudden awakening!

New policies, taxes, land redistribution, the suppression of Buddhism... all seemingly isolated and unsettling events were, at this moment, completely connected by a glorious victory thousands of miles away and by these impassioned words!

Imperial power is the prestige of the nation!
Paying taxes is a way of serving the country!
The cold and indistinct image of the emperor sitting deep in the palace suddenly became incredibly tall and clear!
Every penny he received was transformed into a sharp arrow aimed at the enemy chieftain!

Every corrupt official he killed, every swift and decisive action he took, was to clear obstacles for the royal army's northern expedition!
The silence in the teahouse suddenly erupted!
"well said!"

The silk shopkeeper, his eyes bloodshot, suddenly stood up and bowed deeply to the old merchant: "Sir, your words have enlightened me! I was so shallow! I was so shallow! I will pay this two taels of silver! I will pay it willingly!"

“That’s right!” The boatman thumped his chest loudly. “Don’t even mention adding 10%, add 20%! As long as we can fight the Tartars, as long as we can fight with this kind of might! I’ll sell all my strength to the court!”

"Hit him! Hit the hell out of him!"

"Taking money from those scholars to fight the Tartars! That's absolutely right! Take it to the extreme!"

"If my two taels of silver could buy a Tartar's head... no! It could buy a single hair on a Tartar's head! I'd think it was worth it!"

The hall erupted in cheers, and the crowd was filled with righteous indignation!
Resentment, doubt, and fear vanished, replaced by a volcanic eruption of fervor and pride!
This is a long-suppressed desire for a strong and prosperous Ming Dynasty!

It is unclear who was the first to stand up, straighten their clothes, and respectfully bow with hands clasped in the direction of the northern imperial city.

Then, the second, the third...

All the tea drinkers in the room stood up, each facing north with a solemn expression.

"Your Majesty, Holy Might!"

Heartfelt shouts rang out in the teahouse.

Immediately following was a thunderous roar of response.

"Your Majesty, Holy Might!"

"Long live my emperor! Long live! Long live!"

On this day, the same scene was playing out in countless streets and alleys throughout Nanjing.

(End of this chapter)