Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

Zhu Cilang never revealed his identity as the crown prince.

One of them cannot be verified.

Although Lian Guoshi and Lu Zhenfei were high-ranking officials in the imperial court, they had never had the opportunity to see the emperor.

Secondly, the risks are difficult to predict.

If I were to reveal my identity at this moment, not to mention the difficulty in distinguishing between the real and the fake.

The very fact that the Crown Prince traveled south alone was enough to arouse suspicion in the court and among the public.

The crown prince is the foundation of the state; at best, he will be suspected, and at worst, the very foundation of the nation will be shaken.

We left the canal office and entered the pier.

The canal workers carrying loads shuttled back and forth on the planks, their chants carried by the river breeze.

Zhu Cilang stood alone on the riverbank, his emotions surging like the river water:

Although Nanjing was nearby, the Crown Prince's seals were lost, and his will was destroyed in the war...

If he is regarded as a false crown prince, the imperial prison of Xiaolingwei will be his final destination!

This thought kept gnawing at him:

How can one prove that they are the Crown Prince of the Ming Dynasty?

Looking at the bustling crowd, he couldn't help but feel a little lost.

In a daze, I seemed to see the old locust tree on Coal Hill hanging with a white silk ribbon, and I could hear my father's final roar again:

"Your ministers have misled me! My son, remember this: after crossing the Yangtze River, you must emulate Emperor Guangwu and restore our land!"

He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, visualizing the grand scheme of the world in his mind:

Today is the second day of the fifth lunar month, more than half a month since Shi Kefa sent a letter to welcome the establishment of Prince Fu.

He learned from Lian Guoshi that Zhu Yousong would ascend the throne in Nanjing on May 15th.

If we cannot reach Nanjing before then—

After Zhu Yousong offered sacrifices to Heaven and Earth and ascended the throne, he, the rightful crown prince, became a usurper in the eyes of the new emperor...

However, if one enters Nanjing alone without any token to prove one's identity, relying solely on the statement "The Crown Prince is here," one might not even be able to get through the city gates of Yingtian Prefecture.

More importantly, at this time, the Ming Dynasty was already fragmented into military garrisons, each governing its own territory.

Zhu Cilang felt a chill run through him, followed by a surge of unyielding stubbornness—

Right now, we must rely on external forces to break this deadlock!

His thoughts raced over the generals of the four towns north of the Yangtze River:

Gao Jie avoids battle, Liu Zeqing is arrogant, and Liu Liangzuo is greedy; none of them are trustworthy...

In that instant, a name suddenly became clear in his mind—

Only Huang Degong, the general of Luzhou, was loyal, brave, and fierce, and his troops were strong and well-equipped.

If he were to support me, I would have a foothold, which would be far more secure than if I were to venture into Nanjing alone.

More importantly, the Luzhou Prefecture has irrefutable evidence to prove his identity...

Just as he was thinking about this, a few words of conversation drifted in from the noise, interrupting Zhu Cilang's thoughts:

"I heard that Huang Chuangzi killed eighteen bandits in battle the day before yesterday?"

"That's why he's called the Iron Whip King! His camp has three thousand armored carts, and even bandits avoid him when they see his yellow banner!"

The canal workers shouted as they hurried past, carrying sacks on their shoulders.

"Huang Chuangzi!"

Zhu Cilang silently recited the name in his heart, his eyes gazing southwest.

He decided not to go to Nanjing first, but instead to go to Luzhou Prefecture.

......

On the other side of the pier, several barefoot children were chasing and playing among the reeds.

They clapped and sang:

"Auspicious purple clouds arrive from the east, and the virtue of earth descends."

The young emperor shook the four directions.

Swords are wielded to drive out the barbarians in the north.

The sun and moon shine brightly again, restoring the Han borders.

The crisp, childlike voice was swept away by the sudden gust of river wind.

Willow catkins drifted past Zhu Cilang; the journey to Luzhou Prefecture required passing through Qingyuan Town.

He turned and walked towards the ferry, looking for a boat to head south.

Just then, a Taoist priest with a mole on his face resembling the Big Dipper emerged from the crowd.

The whisk brushed against Zhu Cilang's back unintentionally, and he muttered some incantations before disappearing into the shadows of the cargo boat.

At this time of great upheaval and unpredictable events.

This prophecy is spreading along the canal, quietly circulating on the backs of porters and among the lips of children.

.....

Zhu Cilang traveled south by boat along the Caohe River.

The Caohe River was calm and its flow was slow.

Across the river, the village walls were crumbling and dilapidated, and a skinny yellow dog clung to the broken wall, barking wildly.

The crumbling walls cast gray shadows in the sunlight, and in the abandoned fields, weeds grew wildly, reaching as tall as a person.

Zhu Cilang stood at the stern of the boat. The banks of the canal, which should have been bustling with people, were now so dilapidated.

"Sir, please take a look at this canal."

The boatman, his back hunched, broke the silence as he rowed his oar.

"Back in the seventh year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, grain ships were so numerous that one could cross the river by stepping on their masts. Now..."

He spat towards the shore.

"The bandits skinned the people alive, the government soldiers dismembered them, and the sound of the Tartar horses' hooves echoed all the way to Hejian Prefecture—"

He pointed his finger at the willow branches on the bank.

"See that tattered ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) hanging there? A woman with a baby in her arms jumped into the water last month!"

Zhu Cilang bent down, scooped up half a piece of celadon from the river, and said:

"The broken porcelain scattered along the river is like the shattered landscape; people only say that the rivets on the sunken ship were rotten through."

"But who knows—"

He gazed at the shimmering light floating on the river surface.

"Does the dragon's skeleton conceal a hidden dragon's rebellious scales? It awaits the east wind to overturn this stagnant pool..."

His tone was somber, yet it unconsciously carried an air of sternness.

Upon hearing this, the boatman's eyes flashed with surprise, and he even forgot to row.

......

The next day at noon.

The scorching sun beat down on the ship's planks.

Zhu Cilang abandoned the boat and went ashore, his shoes crunching over the wild wormwood as he headed towards Qingyuan Town.

I walked along the deserted path for about half an incense stick's time, just turning past a withered willow tree—

At the fork in the road ahead, a figure was staggering along.

An old man, with a straw rope tied around his waist and a thread-bound book clutched tightly in his hand, walked over, looking lost and muttering to himself.

Seeing this, Zhu Cilang raised his hand in a slight bow and asked:

"Old man, may I ask which way to Qingyuan Town?"

The old man stopped and glanced at Zhu Cilang's patched trouser legs.

His hand trembled as he pointed to the dirt road on the right:

"Following this road will get you there. But young man..."

His voice was filled with worry.

"You seem like a studious person, so take my advice and don't go! You absolutely mustn't go to that town!"

As he spoke, he glanced out of the corner of his eye toward the town.

The thread-bound book slipped half an inch, revealing the remnants of the two characters "The Analects" on the cover.

The corner of the book was chewed out, I don't know if it was the work of a mouse or a human tooth.

"Why can't we go?"

Zhu Cilang took half a step forward, a suspicion arising in his mind.

How could an ordinary small town inspire such fear?

The old man suddenly leaned in close and said, almost in a breath:

"That Liu... Liu Rutu..."

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly covered his mouth with his hand, as if uttering the name alone would bring disaster.

He took half a step back and shouted.

"If you are in a hurry, young man, you should avoid this place."

Zhu Cilang remained unmoved and raised his hand in a perfunctory bow:

"May I ask, sir, who is this Liu Rutu?"

The old man suddenly shut his mouth as if someone had grabbed his throat, and he pushed Zhu Cilang's shoulder aside and walked away quickly.

Just as Zhu Cilang was about to call out, the old man's whispered curse drifted over:

"This man... wears a blue robe yet wields a white blade, recites Confucian classics yet brews wine for the dead..."

He turned around and looked, and the old man's figure had shrunk to a gray dot at the end of the desolate path.

Green robes and white blades, Confucius and Mencius in the Yellow Springs... What exactly is this?

Calculating the itinerary, taking a detour would be too late.

Zhu Cilang strode towards the dirt road on the right.

Before long, the main street of Qingyuan Town came into view.

The only main street is like a dried-up riverbed, splitting the dilapidated houses on both sides into two banks.

Most of the shop doors were half-closed, and spider webs hung from the eaves.

A faded wine flag hung limply under the eaves, motionless and lifeless.

In the dead silence, a strange movement suddenly arose!

A group of refugees suddenly emerged from the street corner, the girl at the front being extremely thin.

She held a baby tightly in her arms, with half a piece of tree bark tied around her waist, and her straw sandals had stepped through puddles.

Seeing the bustling crowd in the town, Zhu Cilang felt somewhat at ease, as there was nothing particularly frightening about it.

The old man, leaning on a jujube wood cane, coughed violently, his phlegm mixed with blood.

He clutched the oil paper package tightly in his other hand, revealing a corner of a yellowed page.

Finally, there was a lame boy, his legs below the knees bluish-purple, yet he still carried his younger sister on his back, the girl's lips stained with unswallowed grass roots.

Zhu Cilang immediately recognized them as refugees who had crawled out of the flames of war in the north and were heading south to seek a chance at survival.

"Gah—!"

Dozens of crows took flight from the top of the ancestral hall in the town, forming a dark mass that momentarily obscured the sunlight.

My stomach rumbled with hunger.

Zhu Cilang's gaze shifted from the refugees to a street vendor.

He took out ten copper coins and exchanged them for a millet cake.

The bread was so hard it hurt his teeth. As he chewed the tasteless dry rations, seeing the people's impoverished state, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow.

When a nation ceases to be a nation, how can its people bear it?

Zhu Cilang took a second bite of the hard biscuit, and a chill suddenly ran down the back of his neck.

"Clang, clang, clang—!"

A rhythmic scraping sound came from the direction of the ancestral hall at the entrance of the town.

The refugees who had just crossed the street suddenly turned back in panic, like startled birds.