Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

"Your Majesty, please take a look."

Wang Zhaolin unfolded the land register of the Prince of Shu's residence.

"Seventy percent of the fertile land in Chengdu Prefecture belongs to the Zhu family. Tenant farmers plant in spring and harvest in autumn, and what they get is nothing more than bran to feed pigs."

"What a fine example of 'benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and law'!"

Zhang Xianzhong snatched the land deed, threw it into the fire pit without even looking at it, and the flames shot up, turning the golden pillar blood red.

"What I'm going to burn isn't just the land deeds!"

"These cannibalistic laws and this bloodsucking world must be smashed to pieces."

Flames flickered and quickly devoured the yellowed papers;

Song An's gaze swept across the corner of the hall and saw dozens of large sandalwood boxes piled up against the wall, their lids open, filled to the brim with land deeds and documents accumulated over the years.

Zhang Xianzhong turned around and started talking about the past again:

"Back in the Qinling Mountains, when people sold dates, they saw mountain folk selling their children for half an acre of meager land; when soldiers guarded the border in Yansui, they saw military households exchanging children for three bushels of coarse grain."

His scabbard then slammed heavily against the table.

"Today, I will establish a new rule in this Shu King's Palace: all who till the land shall have their land, and all who weave shall receive their silk."

Zhu Zhishu suddenly burst into a hoarse, shrill laugh:

"Ha... What a fine idea of ​​'land to the tiller'! Wang Mang sang the same tune when he usurped the Han throne."

He forced his head up.

"When my Ming Dynasty was founded, there were only 70,000 households in Sichuan. Where did the million people come from now?"

"It is precisely because of the established rites and laws that the hierarchy of rank and the clear distinction between rewards and punishments have enabled us to build a glorious empire that has lasted for 270 years."

He became increasingly agitated as he spoke, his blood-stained face filled with mockery.

"You bandits who divide the land and destroy the contracts may seem to be relieving the people from their suffering, but in reality you are undermining the very foundation of the nation."

"Once your scoundrels taste the sweetness of victory, they will surely turn on each other and kill one another within three years due to fighting for territory—"

Before he could finish speaking, Zhang Xianzhong kicked him hard, sending his head slamming into a golden pillar.

Zhu Zhishu collapsed to the ground, still straining to shout:

"Even if you slaughter all the descendants of the Zhu family, benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are already engraved in the marrow of the Chinese nation."

"You can burn the written words on paper, but can you burn through the three cardinal guides and five constant virtues in people's hearts?"

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly squatted down, grabbed Zhu Zhishu by the hair, and forced him to look at the burning land deeds:

"Bah! The Three Cardinal Guides and Five Constant Virtues? I'll tear down your Three Cardinal Guides and Five Constant Virtues!"

He let out a cold laugh through his nose.

"You people who have been corrupted by the classics can't cure the world's diseases. We old folks who have eaten clay know what it means for the common people to be hungry."

A gust of wind swept through the hall, swirling a few burning scraps of paper from the brazier around inside.

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly raised his hand and grabbed a piece of fluttering joss paper:

"See that? Your Zhu family has been eating blood and grain for two hundred and seventy years, and in the end, you're nothing but ashes."

"Report—"

Just then, the palace doors were suddenly kicked open.

A bodyguard strode in, knelt on one knee, and announced in a loud voice:

"To the King!"

"Smoke and dust obscured the sun in the southern suburbs, and scouts discovered the Zeng-character flag."

Zhang Xianzhong slammed his fist on the table and rose to his feet, causing the goose-feather dagger on the table to rise three inches:

"That bastard Zeng Ying, I should have chopped his head off when I broke through the Kuimen Pass."

Upon hearing the name Zeng Ying, Song An's shoulders and back suddenly straightened.

That night, when the Emperor spoke of General Zeng, the candlelight on the desk illuminated the three words "Young Master Zeng" on the memorial.

General Sun Kewang, the pacification general, stepped forward with his fists clasped in front of him:

"Father, a report came from Chongqing yesterday that Zeng Ying has gathered the defeated troops in eastern Sichuan, and it seems he intends to act under the pretext of supporting the emperor..."

"Damn it!"

Zhang Xianzhong stepped on Zhu Zhishu's neck.

"You bastard prince, isn't Zeng Ying some kind of vicious dog raised by your Zhu family?"

Zhu Zhishu spat out a mouthful of paper ash, panting and sneering:

"Ahem... General Zeng's family has been loyal and virtuous for generations... Do you bandits even know what loyalty and righteousness are? Wait for the Ming army..."

"Loyalty and righteousness?"

Zhang Xianzhong grabbed the prince by the collar again.

"Back then, I served as Wang Wei's personal guard and witnessed this 'loyal and virtuous' man pile up the heads of eight hundred rebel soldiers into a mound of skulls."

Suddenly, the sharp sound of weapons clashing came from outside the hall, and the shouts of guards changing shifts pierced through the corridor and echoed between the halls.

Sun Kewang stepped forward with his hand on his sword:

"Father, our main force has just gone to Long'an Prefecture to survey the fields, and there are less than five thousand soldiers in the city who are ready to fight."

"Don't panic!"

Zhang Xianzhong pointed to the land deeds scattered all over the ground:

"Move all the silver from the royal treasury onto the city wall and tell the brothers—"

"I'll give you a hundred taels of silver for every head you cut off Zeng Ying; if you capture Zeng Ying himself, I'll give him three hundred mu of paddy fields in Chengdu Prefecture."

Zhu Zhishu suddenly struggled and burst into wild laughter:

"See that?"

"They just said they'd distribute the land, and now they're bestowing land as rewards. You soldiers have gotten rich and powerful, you're even more greedy than the gentry..."

A flash of cold light, and Zhang Xianzhong's goose-feather saber was already at his neck, the blade pressing into his flesh, drops of blood dripping down the hilt.

"If I kill you now, those government troops outside the city will be like headless flies."

General Li Dingguo of Anxi knelt on one knee to request orders:

"Your son requests permission to lead five hundred light cavalry out of the north gate, detour through Longquan Mountain, and burn their grain supply route."

"Wait a minute!"

Wang Zhaolin, his fingers twirling black iron prayer beads, stepped forward half a step, calmly speaking: This strategist, who always stood at the crossroads of light and shadow, spoke:

"Even the formidable Kuimen Pass cannot stop Your Majesty's fierce army."

"Zeng Ying, a mere child, deployed his remaining troops on the plains, which was like a sick tiger roaring in the forest or a withered vine clinging to a tree; he had the appearance of strength but not the substance."

His rosary beads stopped abruptly.

"If they fight like cornered beasts, our army will simply close the gates and lock the doors."

"Once their food supplies and reinforcements run out, their morale will collapse. This is the strategy of 'closing the doors and locking the keys, waiting for them to perish on their own.'"

Zhang Xianzhong turned and stared at the geomantic map. After a moment, he grinned and said:

"Back then, that bastard Chen Qiyu laid a trap, but I still managed to rip his ass out."

He waved his hand.

"Wang Zhangshu's method is timely. After I finish dealing with these swine in the city, I'll have time to crush that bug Zeng Ying."

"The two generals should go about their business and not concern themselves with that bastard Zeng Ying."

He suddenly turned to Wang Zhaolin, raised an eyebrow, and asked:

"But this bastard of the Zhu family, does the scribe think steaming or braising is more flavorful?"

Wang Zhaolin slowly moved his fingertips along a rosary bead.

"I have heard that the Shu King's palace has a hundred jars of kerosene in its cellar. If these noblemen in red robes were placed together in the barbican..."

Zhang Xianzhong's gaze sharpened, and the shadow on his brow bone grew long and slanted.

"Go on."

"The skill of Butcher Ding in carving up an ox in the past can be imitated today."

Wang Zhaolin's voice was as steady as if he were having a casual chat.

"Skinned to make lamps, filled with oil to make wicks, illuminating the path to the throne for the king... and also teaching the people of Chengdu to see clearly that this benevolence, righteousness, and propriety are nothing but a layer of human skin."

Upon hearing this, Song An's back teeth chattered, and cold sweat trickled down his spine.

Zhang Xianzhong paused for a moment, then suddenly raised his arm and roared:

"Drag these noblemen in red robes to the barbican and pour all the oil from the cellar onto them."

He paused, his voice suddenly becoming deep.

"When peeling the skin, the dough must be left intact so that the people of Chengdu can see clearly whether the 'benevolence and righteousness' is black or white underneath."

The black iron prayer beads in Wang Zhaolin's hand reflected the setting sun, gleaming with a cold, hard luster; Song An's throat bobbed, as if he could already smell the stench of burnt flesh mixed with kerosene.

A vulture circling outside the palace let out a long, mournful cry, as if to herald the tragedy that was about to unfold.