Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 385 Unyielding Storm
On November 5, 1638, a sea breeze carrying a salty, fishy smell blew across the crooked bamboo sheds of the Parian Market.

Blacksmith Chen Asheng squatted beside the charcoal furnace, holding a red-hot horseshoe with iron tongs. The sparks that flew up when the hammer fell were particularly dazzling in the dim light.

"Ding...ding..."

With each tap, his brow furrowed more deeply.

"Old Chen, did you open for business today?" Lin Duocai, who sells pottery next door, came over with his sleeves rolled up, looking dejected.

Chen Asheng stopped, spat on the ground, and pointed to the three unclaimed sabers piled up in the shop: "I ordered them last month, they said they'd pick them up in ten days or so, but they've never shown up."

He lowered his voice, "I heard that no ships have come to the port for months, and even the Western governor is selling silverware to pay his troops."

Lin Duocai sighed and leaned closer, saying, "My cousin works as a porter at the port. He said that almost every month, many large ships from Guangzhou and Yuegang set sail, some to Japan, some to Annam, some to Siam, and some even to New Zealand, but not a single one comes to Luzon."

As he spoke, he looked around and said with schadenfreude, "I reckon the Westerners can't even collect a single tael of tax anymore."

"Hmph, serves them right!" Chen Asheng sneered. "How much tax have they taken from us all these years? Now they're in trouble, they can't even do business anymore. I wonder if they'll end up starving!"

He looked up at the end of the market, where the silk section, once a favorite haunt of Spanish merchants, was now deserted, with a few Western tax collectors kicking pebbles on the ground in boredom.

As they were talking, a drunken Spanish soldier staggered over and kicked over the ironware that Chen Asheng had laid out in front of his stall, scattering it all over the ground with a clanging sound.

“Chino! Paga impuestos!” (Chinese! Pay taxes!) The soldier reeked of alcohol, his hand on his sword.

Chen Asheng gripped the iron hammer tightly, his wrist veins bulging.

But after a long pause, he finally lowered his head, took out a few copper pesos from his pocket, and handed them over.

The soldier grabbed it, weighed it in his hand, and curled his lip in disgust: "Siempre sois unos ratones!" (You rats!)

Only after the soldiers had gone far away did Lin Duocai dare to catch his breath, and said with a wry smile, "Sigh, these days are getting harder and harder to bear!"

"Damn it!" Chen Asheng spat out a mouthful of saliva.

Suddenly, a commotion arose at the street corner.

Several Spanish soldiers were shoving a young Ming man who was clutching a package tightly in his arms, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"What a disaster, another smuggling bust." Lin Duocai shrank back. "This is the fourth one this month..."

Chen Asheng squinted. He recognized the young man as Awang, a dockworker who often carried Ming Dynasty goods for others.

Sure enough, the Spanish soldiers tore open their bundles, revealing several rolls of linen that were clearly not from Luzon. The leading captain, Diego, grinned maliciously and raised his musket: "Contrabando holandés! (Netherlands smuggling!)"

The butt of the rifle slammed into Awang's head, and he groaned before collapsing to the ground.

Chen Asheng gripped the hammer tightly, his eyes blazing with fury.

The cloth was clearly from Songjiang; the Spanish were just looking for an excuse to extort money from him.

"No, don't be impulsive!" Lin Duocai pressed down hard on his shoulders. "Half a month ago, the Zhou family's son died in the same way..."

At this moment, a tall, thin figure squeezed into the shed; it was Huang Ahai, who often worked on the boat.

He lowered his voice mysteriously: "...The New Continent is recruiting."

He pulled out a crumpled flyer with pictures of wheat fields and wooden houses. "Upon arriving in the New Continent, each person will receive forty acres of good land, three years of tax exemption, and two years of half-price tax reduction. If you're a bachelor, you'll even get a wife..."

"Where did this news come from?" Lin Duocai reached out and grabbed the flyer. He could barely recognize a few words, but the pictures on it were easy to understand.

“This recruitment flyer is everywhere in Guangzhou, Chaozhou, Fuzhou, and Yuegang,” Huang Ahai said. “However, I got this flyer from a Portuguese man in Oyster Bay.”

“New Continent?” Chen Asheng frowned. “How far is that godforsaken place? Can we even come back?” “I’m afraid it’s difficult.” Huang Ahai shook his head. “New Continent seems to be tens of thousands of miles away from our Great Ming Dynasty. It would take several months to travel there. However, I’m thinking that if we go there, at least… we won’t have to be slaves to the Western barbarians anymore.”

“But our ancestral graves are still in Quanzhou…” Lin Duocai shook his head.

"Ancestral graves?" Chen Asheng suddenly sneered, throwing the iron hammer in his hand aside. "Do you think you can easily go back to Quanzhou to pay respects to your ancestors just because you're in Luzon?"

"Anyway, there's no way to preserve our ancestral lineage in Luzon." Huang Ahai sighed. "Last month, Xiao Li was secretly burning paper money in the suburbs to commemorate his deceased father when he was arrested by the Westerners. They accused him of engaging in cult activities and had him whipped thirty times!"

Several people were silent.

In the distance, the bells of the Spanish church tolled dully, like some kind of ominous premonition.

Huang Ahai finally sighed, "I originally thought that after working hard in Luzon for a few years, I could save up some money and then go back to Quanzhou to buy a piece of land. But given the current situation, I'm afraid that's unlikely. So..."

He looked up at his fellow villagers, as if he had made up his mind: "I plan to go back next month and see if I can take my family to Xinzhou to try my luck. I really can't stay in Luzon anymore. I have a bad feeling that something bad is going to happen sooner or later."

Chen Asheng stared at the fire in the stove without saying a word, but he was also struggling internally.

“Indeed, we can’t survive here.” Lin Duocai sighed again. “The Western barbarians even melted down the silver candlesticks in the governor’s mansion. What will they do when they’re desperate for money…”

He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone remembered the massacre that took place here in the thirty-first year of the Wanli Emperor's reign (1603).

"I don't think...right?" Huang Ahai shook his head and muttered to himself.

On the street corner, Captain Diego was dragging Awang toward the prison, a soldier holding the blood-stained rag in his arms, his face full of greed.

“Sir, we should suggest to the Governor that we seize all the wealth of those Ming people.” Rodrigo de Castillo muttered as he walked. “Although they look very poor on the surface, their residences must be full of gold, silver and jewels.”

“I bet that if we just rob a thousand Ming people, it will be enough to make up for five months of our salaries. If we rob two thousand Ming people, the financial crisis of the entire municipality can be alleviated immediately.”

"What if we captured ten thousand Ming people?" a bearded Spanish soldier asked with a smile.

“Oh God, ten thousand Ming Chinese!” Rodrigo’s eyes lit up. “Then we will all become millionaires! That’s right, each of us will get a huge sum of money, enough for us to live the life of nobles! Hey, by the way, how many Ming Chinese are there in the entire Governor-General’s Region of the Philippines?”

“There are definitely ten thousand,” the bearded soldier said confidently. “In the Parian district alone, there are more than four thousand. If you add other areas, it’s probably tens of thousands. Oh my God, what a huge number that is. The total number of Ming people is ten times greater than ours!”

Captain Diego overheard their conversation and was struck by a thought.

There seem to be too many Chinese people in the Philippines!
This was a huge hidden danger for the colonial authorities.

What if they...

“I think we should kill all the Ming people and then turn all their wealth into ours.”

"Haha... Raul, you're really greedy!"

"Shut up, all of you!" Diego suddenly stopped and stared at the soldiers with a serious expression. "From now on, do not discuss this matter in public."

"Yes, sir!"

"Also, don't reveal these thoughts in front of the Ming people in the future. Hmm, it's dangerous, and it might anger those damned parasites!"

"Huh?..." Upon hearing this, the Spanish soldiers exchanged bewildered glances.

Will those Ming people be provoked again?

They weren't always so submissive, choosing to endure all the extortion and oppression from the Spanish without ever showing any dissatisfaction, even becoming subservient.

With people like them, what need is there for any scruples?
“Let those parasites understand who the real masters are here. There’s no need to deliberately use words to demonstrate authority and power.” Diego revealed a sinister smile. “What we need to do is use iron and blood to let them know what fear is, what submission is, and who the ultimate ruler of the Philippines really is!”

After saying that, he kicked the Ming Dynasty "smuggler" to the ground and then walked straight toward Fort Santiago (present-day Manila).
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(End of this chapter)