Song Dynasty: Yuan Dynasty, you didn't expect this, did you? I'm still alive.

In Jinjiang County, Quanzhou Prefecture, there is a small fishing village called Shatang.

Lin Ashui squatted on the ruins of the dock, gazing at the empty sea.

Three days ago, the officials came and confiscated all the fishing boats in the village. The large ones were dragged away, and the small ones were chopped up for firewood. The fishing nets were piled up at the village entrance, doused with tung oil, and burned to the ground. Black smoke billowed into the sky, burning for an entire afternoon.

When the officials dragged away the fishing boat, he knelt on the beach and kowtowed until his forehead was covered in blood, but the officials didn't even glance at him.

"Father." His son, Lin Shuisheng, walked out of the village, one arm slinged around his neck, his face sallow.

Three days ago, he went to the government office to petition, but was beaten out with sticks and his left arm was broken. The village doctor said the bone was shattered and couldn't be set.

Lin Ashui looked at her son's severed arm without saying a word.

"Dad, we're out of rice." Lin Shuisheng's voice was low. "Mom gave the last half bowl of porridge to my younger brother and drank cold water herself."

Lin Ashui stood up and patted the dust off his knees.

He walked to the old banyan tree in the village and struck the broken bell that was used to summon the villagers.

"Clang—clang—clang—"

The bell tolled dully, drifting away on the sea breeze.

The remaining fishermen in the village gradually gathered. The young and strong had all fled, leaving mostly the elderly, the weak, and the disabled. A dozen or so people stood under the banyan tree, all with the same expression on their faces—no expression.

"Uncles and brothers," Lin Ashui said hoarsely, standing on the stone mill, "the imperial court won't let us fish anymore. Our boats are gone, our nets are burned. Our livelihood is cut off."

No one spoke.

"I, Lin Ashui, can't do anything but fish. You want me to farm? Where's the land? You want me to do manual labor? Where's the labor? Are you telling me to die?"

He paused for a moment.

"I will die."

He pulled a knife from his pocket. It was the knife he used to gut fish when he was fishing years ago; the blade was sharpened to a gleaming shine, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

"But I don't want to die like this. What will happen to my son? What will happen to my grandson?"

He gripped the knife, his gaze sweeping over everyone.

"Either way, we're doomed. We might as well—rebel."

silence.

The sea breeze blew in from afar, carrying a salty, fishy smell.

Old fisherman Lin Atu was the first to step forward. He was seventy-three years old, his back was severely hunched, and he had to walk with a cane. He walked up to Lin Ashui with his cane and stretched out his hand, which looked like a withered tree branch.

"Ah Shui, give me a knife. My old life isn't worth much anyway."

One by one.

Lin Ashui led the twenty-odd elderly, weak, sick, and disabled men under the cover of night to the abandoned beacon tower on the beach. There were only two old soldiers in the tower. When they saw a group of fishermen with knives and torches rushing in, they were so frightened that they rolled off their beds and ran away as fast as they could.

Lin Ashui stood on the roof of the outpost and planted a flag made of a tattered fishing net on it.

The flag reads five words: "Oppose the sea ban, seek a way to survive."

When the news reached Yingtian Prefecture, Zhu Di was admiring flowers in the Imperial Garden.

Ji Gang knelt beside the flower bushes and finished reporting the Quanzhou fishermen's rebellion. He lowered his head, not daring to look at Zhu Di's expression.

Zhu Di held a freshly cut peony in his hand, its red color dazzling.

He stared at the peony for a long time, then threw the flower on the ground.

"Reversed?"

"Yes."

How many people?

"It is reported that...more than two hundred."

Zhu Di gave a cold laugh.

"Two hundred fishermen dare to rebel?"

He turned and walked quickly into the hall, the hem of his dragon robe fluttering in the wind.

"Pass on Zhang Ben."

Minister of War Zhang Ben was summoned from the yamen and knelt before Zhu Di without even having time to change out of his official robes.

"Take three thousand soldiers and go to Quanzhou." Zhu Di's voice was as cold as ice. "I don't want any survivors."

Zhang Ben kowtowed: "Your subject obeys the decree."

He got up to leave, but Zhu Di called him back.

"Zhang Ben".

"Your subject is here."

"Why are those fishermen protesting?"

Zhang Ben was stunned for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Zhu Di did not wait for his reply. He waved his hand, signaling Zhang Ben to leave.

Zhang Ben left the hall and realized that his back was soaked with cold sweat.

Three thousand soldiers marched south, their advance unstoppable.

The fishermen retreated to an abandoned salt field on the coast, building makeshift fortifications with salt baskets and timber, armed with harpoons, machetes, and hoes. The youngest among them was eighteen, the oldest seventy-three. They had no training, no armor, and no firearms.

As soon as the soldiers' muskets fired, a whole group of them fell.

With one shot of an arrow, another group fell.

In less than an hour, the salt field was breached.

When Lin Ashui was captured, he had been shot three times with arrows, and blood was everywhere. He was brought before Zhang Ben and forced to kneel on the ground, unable to lift his head.

Zhang Ben looked down at him.

"You're the leader?"

Lin Ashui raised her head, her face covered in blood, but her eyes were still bright.

"Yes."

"Why rebel?"

Lin Ashui grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained red with blood.

"My lord, I'm not rebelling. I just—want to live."

Zhang Ben remained silent for a long time.

"Take him away," he said.

. . .

Yingtian Prefecture, the Imperial City.

Ji Gang knelt on the floor of the imperial study and gave a detailed account of the Quanzhou fishermen's rebellion.

Zhu Di sat behind his desk, holding nothing in his hands and not looking at any proclamations. He simply sat there, his eyes half-closed, like a clay statue.

"Your Majesty," Ji Gang hesitated for a long time before finally speaking, "the fishermen's rebellion stems from the fact that the prefect of Quanzhou misunderstood Your Majesty's will and arbitrarily banned the sea."

"kill!"

Upon hearing this, Zhu Gaochi quickly tried to dissuade him, "Your Majesty, the prefect of Quanzhou had good intentions. If he is executed directly, it may discourage local officials!"

That's absolutely right.

He ordered an crackdown on smuggling, but were any arrests made in Quanzhou?

They were arrested, and the arrests were thorough.

The results are solid, and smuggling has been greatly controlled.

"But I didn't impose a maritime ban!"

"Father didn't allow it, but he didn't say he wouldn't either." Zhu Gaochi met his gaze. "Father's decree was to 'investigate smuggling and arrest unscrupulous merchants.' The prefect of Quanzhou interpreted it as—as long as smuggling could be eradicated, any method would do. He misunderstood, but he wanted to do the job assigned by Father well."

Zhu Di gave a cold laugh.

"Want to do a good job? Did you do it well? The fishermen have rebelled."

Zhu Gaochi kowtowed, his forehead hitting the gold brick with a dull thud.

"The fishermen's rebellion is the fault of the prefect of Quanzhou. I will not exonerate him. But Father, killing a prefect of Quanzhou is easy. What happens after that?"

He raised his head.

"What will the officials in the four coastal prefectures think? All they'll see is—if they investigate smuggling too hard, and something goes wrong, they'll be beheaded. So what will Father order to investigate next time? Who will take it seriously? Everyone will follow the example of Guangzhou and Ningbo prefectures, filing a few false cases to get by, everyone's happy. Anyway, those who do their jobs seriously will be beheaded, while those who lie will get away with it. Father, who will be willing to be a serious official in the future?"

Zhu Di tapped his fingers lightly twice on the imperial desk.

"You mean, not only should I not kill him, but I should also reward him?"

"That's not what I meant," Zhu Gaochi's voice softened. "What I meant was—the prefect of Quanzhou was wrong, wrong in arbitrarily banning the sea, wrong in failing to consider the people's plight. But his mistake wasn't because he didn't want to do his job well, but because he wanted to do it too much. Your Majesty can punish him—demote him, reduce his salary, transfer him away from Quanzhou, all of that is acceptable. But to kill him—"

He shook his head.

"Father, if you kill him, no one will be willing to serve you properly anymore."

The Imperial Study remained quiet for a long time.

Zhu Di sat back in his chair, his chest heaving violently.

Why is it so difficult to be an emperor?

It's much harder than fighting a war.

He thought that once he became emperor, he would have the authority to rule the world and could even make the sun stand down.

But after being emperor for several years, he discovered that this was not the case.

If you investigate smuggling, I will impose a maritime ban, burn all the fishing boats, and cut all the fishing nets, making it impossible for the people to survive.

If you want to achieve results, I'll arrest people. If I can't arrest Song merchants, I'll arrest local cloth merchants. Anyway, "those who can survive must have used Song cloth."

If you want to quell the rebellion, I will kill innocent people and claim credit for it. Three thousand soldiers will kill two hundred old, weak, sick and disabled people, and report it as "annihilating three thousand pirates".

If you want to rectify official corruption, I will push out those who do their jobs diligently to take the blame, and keep those who do sloppy work to get promoted.

If you want to be considerate of the people's feelings, I'll say you're "too eager to do your job well." The problem isn't your intention, it's your method.

If you want to provide compensation, I'll just take money from the imperial treasury. Anyway, it's the emperor's money I'm spending, and I'll gain a good reputation in return.

If you investigate me, I'll run away. My house in Luzon and the gold mine in Africa are already prepared.

If you issue a warrant for my arrest, I will hide in the Song Dynasty. The Song Dynasty will not hand me over, so there's nothing you can do about it.

You want the emperor to guard the country's gates, I'll be the monarch who dies for the state—you go to your death, and you take the blame;

If you want a "prosperous Yongle era," then I'll be a parasite within that era. If you build the Great Wall, I'll eat bricks; if you sail to the West, I'll sell ships; if you fight the Mongols, I'll establish relations with them; if you ban the seas, I'll engage in smuggling.

In short, they either oppose you directly, or more often than not, they push your correct ideas to extremes, turning them into fallacies, and then pin the blame on you—waving the red flag while opposing it, eating the emperor's food while undermining the emperor's power.

"Very well, if you won't work, I'll send the army to catch the smugglers!"