Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The group arrived at the pier.

Thirty paces away, under the eaves of the tax office, five bailiffs were dragging an old man with white hair up the bluestone steps.

The old man's withered, vine-like hands pressed firmly against the stone steps, his coarse linen short coat torn and disheveled, revealing his jagged ribs.

The cries of the five-year-old child in his arms were intermittent sobs, as if someone were being choked.

The pillars were dilapidated, and the rotten wood creaked and groaned in the wind.

A black bird flew past the gilded plaque of the "Ministry of Revenue Tax Bureau," its wings shaking off a few drops of foul-smelling bird droppings that splashed onto the steps.

"Damn it! We just paid six coins' worth of boat tax last month!"

The old man's hoarse shouts were shattered by the wind.

Zhu Cilang suddenly stopped, tilting his neck slightly forward, his half-closed dragon eyes seeming to hold the edge of a drawn sword.

"Don't meddle in other people's business."

Zhang Wu's towering figure suddenly loomed before them, the Beijing garrison commander's left arm taut with bulging muscles, his palm lightly pressing against the hilt of the sword at his waist.

In the shadow of his straw hat, his gaze swept over the sword at the tax collector's waist.

"It won't hurt to take a look!"

Zhu Cilang suddenly exerted force with his left shoulder, pushing aside Zhang Wu's arm, and strode forward.

He took two steps at a time and walked through the fishing nets scattered all over the ground.

Five constables grabbed the old fisherman by the collar and were about to slam him against the blue brick screen wall.

Suddenly, the richly dressed young man burst into the government office, and the iron-filled fire stick in his hand froze in mid-air.

The last minor official was quick-witted and kicked a tax stamp that had fallen onto the stone steps into the shadows, but it was caught by the tip of Zhu Cilang's boot.

The paper was held between two fingers and read "Fishing Tax Ticket of the Eighth Year of Chongzhen".

However, three lines of new taxes, still wet with ink, were added to the corner of the ticket: River Works Donation, West Depot Relief Silver, and Internal Transport Warehouse Subsidy.

"Grandpa...where was Sister Xing'er taken?"

The child's cries suddenly pierced the clamor of the customs office, like a cold awl stabbing into everyone's eardrums.

The dockworkers shrank back and glanced sideways.

The old fisherman suddenly sprang up and rammed his head into the tax collector:

"You said you'd use your granddaughter to offset the bandit-suppression tax. How come—you're even going to tow away the fishing boat!"

His accusations were filled with anguish.

Enraged, the leading tax collector swung his scabbard and slammed it into the old man's shoulder blade.

"The cost of suppressing bandits is calculated by the number of boats. Haven't you seen the urgent dispatches from Chengdu Prefecture? Zhang Xianzhong's sword doesn't care about widows, widowers, or the lonely."

On the distant riverbank, two constables swung out iron chains, entangled them in the fishing boat's mooring ropes, and pulled hard.

With a loud crack, the reed-mat shed collapsed instantly, scattering wood chips and reeds everywhere.

One of the short, stout tax collectors kicked aside the old fisherman who lunged at him and pulled out a document stamped with the red seal of the Western Depot from his pocket:

"The donation for the river works was meant to pay tribute to Eunuch Wang of the Western Depot to dredge the canal, and you troublemakers—"

Zhu Cilang's fingers trembled slightly as he held the fishing tax ticket from the eighth year of the Chongzhen reign.

The Western Depot was abolished as early as the Jiajing era, so where does the Western Depot's relief fund come from in this dynasty?

Officials used the old dynasty's tickets to levy additional taxes such as "river works tax" and "relief silver," which was a typical exploitative tactic of "levying new taxes on old records."

"absurd!"

A surge of anger rushed to his head, and Zhu Cilang suddenly roared.

"The Western Depot was abolished more than a hundred years ago, yet you dare to forge documents and prey on the people."

Before he finished speaking, the leading tax collector drew his goose-feather knife with a clatter.

Five bailiffs raised their fire-and-water clubs, their blades and clubs clashing as they trapped Zhu Cilang and the old fisherman in front of the corridor, forming a small encirclement.

Zhang Wu's chainmail rustled softly beneath his cloth robe, while Wang Jing's short jacket already bulged out in the shape of a sword hilt at the lower back.

The dozen or so Beijing garrison soldiers who were resupplying at the dock exchanged glances and slowly surrounded each other.

The apricot-yellow flag of the Ministry of Revenue's Tax Bureau suddenly billowed violently, creating a tense atmosphere that seemed ready to erupt at any moment.

Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves came from the end of the long bluestone street.

Twelve guards with swords at their sides escorted a blue official sedan chair, which sped in, breaking the brief stalemate.

When the sedan curtain was lifted, a middle-aged official wearing a black gauze turban stepped out, supported by his guards, his demeanor exuding official authority.

"Who dares to cause trouble at the customs office?"

The official's voice was high-pitched and arrogant. He narrowed his triangular eyes, his gaze sweeping over the pearl pendant at Zhu Cilang's waist.

The lead tax collector, hunched over, jogged forward:

"To Ambassador Li!"

He pointed at Zhu Cilang,

"This madman forced his way through the tax office and dared to make irresponsible remarks about the imperial tax policy."

Zhu Cilang stared at the official in front of him, who was wearing a black gauze hat.

The man's robe, adorned with a python pattern, revealed a ninth-rank official badge with a mandarin duck pattern, suggesting he was the tax commissioner of the Ministry of Revenue stationed in Wuchang Prefecture.

Since the Hongwu era, the Ministry of Revenue has been divided into thirteen administrative offices.

The taxes of the two lakes were then under the jurisdiction of the Huguang Qingli Division, and Ambassador Li in front of them was a prefectural-level tax official in charge of commercial and fishing taxes.

"Ambassador Li, I demand justice."

Zhu Cilang suppressed his anger and slammed the fishing tax slip onto the stone table. The newly pasted paper strip was still stained with the old fisherman's blood.

"May I ask whether the tax regulations of Wuchang Prefecture are based on the Ministry of Revenue's Yellow Register or on the still-wet ink of the fabricated tax categories?"

He tapped his fingertips heavily on the words "West Depot".

"Three taxes were privately added to the old ticket from the eighth year of Chongzhen's reign, and the name of the Western Depot was used to deceive the emperor."

Ambassador Li picked up the fishing tax stamp from the stone table, glanced at it, and a hint of disdain flashed across his lips. Suddenly, he tightened his grip on the tax stamp, and the page tore in two under his fingernails.

"Three hundred grain ships pass through the Jiangxia sluice gate daily!"

His official robes trembled with the cold laugh.

"Let alone the West Depot's relief funds, even if you add ten more bandit suppression levies—if I say it's true, then it's true."

Suddenly, a fierce glint appeared in his triangular eyes.

"The vermilion edict from the Huguang Provincial Administration Commissioner's office is much brighter than your Huguang pearl."

Zhu Cilang felt his blood surging in his chest.

These are the officials of the Ming Dynasty, who disregard the law and treat the people like dirt.

He forcefully suppressed the angry rebuke that almost escaped his lips:

"What a truly honest tax policy!"

Zhu Cilang suddenly burst into loud laughter.

"According to the 'Collected Statutes of the Ming Dynasty,' anyone who arbitrarily alters the Yellow Register of the Ministry of Revenue shall, in accordance with the Constitution, be punished with one hundred strokes of the cane, three months in the cangue, and exiled three thousand li to a malarial area."

He quoted extensively from classical texts, his voice as sharp as tearing silk.

"Those who deceive the emperor and forge official documents shall be executed by slow slicing, with their families suffering the same fate for three generations."

He suddenly stepped forward, his imposing aura overwhelming.

"You parasites dare to exploit the government under the guise of the former dynasty's abolished government offices."

The old fisherman's hunched body trembled suddenly, his cloudy eyes fixed on the fishing ticket.

His withered hand hung in mid-air, and a fleeting look of disbelief and realization flashed across his weathered face.

Ambassador Li was taken aback at first, then suddenly tore the fishing tax tickets on the stone table to shreds and laughed wildly:

"What a merchant who is well-versed in the classics!"

He tossed the shredded paper into the air with a mocking tone.

"Do you know the twelve heads hanging on the walls of Wuchang? The tax-resistant scoundrels who were just beheaded last month have had their tongues fed to river fish."

"If I say that the Western Depot has been re-established, then it is with the Emperor's personal approval."

Ambassador Li suddenly pulled a roll of yellow silk from his sleeve, and the seal of the "Huguang Provincial Administration Commission" was written on it in bright red.

"But you, merchant, forcibly broke through the tax gate and destroyed the documents—"

He changed his tone and turned the tables,

"Those who resist taxes shall be punished with eighty strokes of the cane, three months in the cangue, and a fine of three hundred taels of silver. Strip this madman of his silk robe."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the leading tax collector's hand was about to grip Zhu Cilang's shoulder.

Zhang Wu's towering figure stood like a gate blocking the way.

The soldiers of the Beijing garrison stepped forward in unison, but suddenly stopped at the signal of Zhu Cilang bending two fingers.

Only their sharp gazes locked onto every single constable in the arena.