Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The old fisherman's gnarled back was bent into a crescent shape, his forehead slamming heavily against the stone slab:

"Justice... Your Honor!"

The old man's throat became hoarse and cracked.

"But Xing'er is still in the West City Military Command dungeon..."

Before he could finish speaking, there was a loud crash as Ambassador Li suddenly kicked over the bronze lottery tube in the corridor.

Dozens of red-lacquered bamboo slips flew out like a storm, the slips bearing the character "detain" grazing past the old fisherman's ear:

"That old fool is getting the better deal and still acting innocent! Does he really think I'm some clay idol?"

Zhu Cilang helped the old fisherman up and was about to speak when Ma Jinzhong's iron boots suddenly took a half-step to the side, and his goose-feather saber clattered three inches from its sheath at his waist:

"Ambassador Li, our men have been training for half a month and are in dire need of a few live targets to test their bows—"

Ambassador Li's Adam's apple bobbed violently, fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his jaw clenched so tightly it made a grinding sound.

He slowly raised his hand:

Release them.

Moments later, the sound of chains dragging on the floor echoed from under the eaves of the tax office's corridor.

Two bailiffs carried a disheveled young girl out, staggering along.

The girl's festering wound on her ankle was still bleeding, leaving faint bloodstains on the stone slab with every step she took.

Ambassador Li's triangular eyes twitched violently.

Zhu Cilang lowered his eyes, fiddled with the ivory abacus, untied the pearl-adorned purse from his waist and tossed it to Zhang Wu, silently making a "exchange" gesture with three sticks hidden in his sleeve.

Zhang Wu understood, and his towering figure suddenly positioned itself between the tax collector and the girl, a deep voice emanating from beneath his bamboo hat:

"Take five taels of silver to offset one tael of tax for suppressing bandits."

He deliberately raised his voice.

"The archers under Marshal Ma are all waiting to see Ambassador Li's righteous act."

The old fisherman suddenly lunged at his granddaughter as if possessed. His calloused hands tore the rope binding her wrists, and amidst tears and blood, the three of them clung to each other.

The five-year-old child took out half a moldy wheat cake from his tattered coat and carefully stuffed it between his sister's chapped lips.

The wind suddenly shifted, and the apricot-yellow flag under the eaves of the tax office flipped over with a "whoosh".

Ma Jinzhong's maniacal laughter shook the river's surface. He tossed his riding whip to his personal guard and walked to Zhang Youyu's side.

"Mr. Zhang, our warships are lacking an advisor who is knowledgeable about canal transport?"

Zhang Youyu remained expressionless and politely declined with a slight bow.

Ma Jinzhong brushed past Zhu Cilang's robe again, his voice suddenly lowering:

"Some things are better said to the Dragon King of the Yangtze River."

Zhu Cilang felt a slight chill run down his spine.

Although he didn't know exactly what Zhang Youyu and Ma Jinzhong discussed, he keenly noticed that the fierce general's gaze kept lingering on the jade belt at his waist.

How could an ordinary merchant get a Nanjing Vice Minister of Revenue to accompany him?

Not to mention Zhang Wu and his group of fierce soldiers from the capital garrison; although they had changed into short-sleeved uniforms, their posture with their hands on their swords was still that of soldiers.

Ma Jinzhong's thumb stroking the gilded hilt of his sword was a subtle gesture, clearly the habitual posture of a veteran general checking military tallies.

General Langshan probably already knows exactly what the Emperor's Imperial Guards are doing, but he's pretending not to know. Let's see how this merchant's drama ends.

"General, you have great magnanimity!"

Zhu Cilang held the small ivory abacus, his sleeves swaying gently in the river breeze.

"One day, I will prepare ten jars of Shaoxing wine at Yanziji, and I only ask that the general spare some time to drink with me—"

"But I wonder if the aroma of this wine is worthy of the vast ocean in the general's heart?"

Ma Jinzhong let out a muffled laugh like thunder, and Jiang Feng whispered in Zhu Cilang's ear:

"We drink according to the cup—if it's the lamp lit by the true emperor, I'll brave the waves to attend the banquet."

His tone suddenly changed, and his large, fan-like hand abruptly gripped the hilt of the knife.

"But if we encounter will-o'-the-wisps flickering... our four-pronged anchor at the bow is more likely to recognize its master than a wine jar!"

The river breeze, carrying scraps of paper, swept across the mottled brick walls of the tax office, and Ma Jinzhong's laughter startled the crows roosting under the eaves of the tax office.

Zhang Wu and the other men from the Beijing garrison all placed their hands on their waists, causing the scabbards beneath the coarse cloth to clang with a dull thud.

Zhu Cilang flicked his wrist, and the ivory abacus beads rang crisply.

"The general's anchor recognizes its master, and so do my goods."

"The Big Dipper points to Yanziji, where fishing lights guide navigation all night long."

He suddenly looked up at the warship in the middle of the river.

"If merchant ships from the Purple Palace pass through... we need to borrow the general's four-clawed anchor to measure the depth of the Yangtze River's waterway during the twelve-hour period."

Ma Jinzhong suddenly gripped the knife hilt with all five fingers:

"What a great BeiDou navigation system!"

"Our anchor is based on the Dragon Palace Path at the bottom of the river, not some illusory star formation."

"Does the general know—"

Zhu Cilang, his wide sleeves billowing in the wind, pointed to three enormous warships on the river, their winds whipping up their hulls.

"Two hundred years ago, Emperor Yongle sent the eunuch Sanbao to sail to the Western Ocean. There was always a statue of Zhenwu the Great on the bow of the ship, which was said to be able to suppress the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas."

He deliberately dragged out the last syllable.

"I wonder which deity your warship worships?"

Ma Jinzhong suddenly turned around, the scraping sound of his chainmail scales startling his personal guards, who took a half-step back.

"The soil offered at the bow of our boat comes from the graves in Jibei and the blood from the walls of Liaodong."

"The anchor only recognizes the cracks in its homeland—it nails the loyal bones of those who have passed into the netherworld, and measures the vast expanse of mountains and rivers!"

"The general is truly heroic!"

Zhu Cilang turned slightly to the side, facing the river breeze, his words carrying a deeper meaning.

"General, your spirit soars to the heavens. To be honest, these ten jars of Shaoxing Red wine from Yanziji are Shaoxing Imperial Wine aged for thirty years."

"On the day he left the capital, His Majesty bestowed upon him a clay seal inscribed with 'the finishing touch of the dragon's eyes'—"

He raised his hand, seemingly pointing to the Big Dipper in the sky, his voice resounding throughout the land.

"I will use this river and sky as my mat and the stars as my tally, and wait for the general's warship to ride the waves."

Ma Jinzhong leaped onto the saddle, his roar echoing across the fields:

"Once our big ship has offered sacrifices to the river god at Sanchaji, the iron anchor will split open the formation of eight hundred dragons."

"Prepare the wine vessels!"

"Let's replace these lousy wine jars with large bowls, and drink while standing on the Big Dipper."

As soon as he finished speaking, he slammed his hand on the saddle, and his warhorse transformed into a black lightning bolt. In the blink of an eye, the entire group of men and horses disappeared into the depths of the canal boats.

The sound of hooves faded into the distance, eventually swallowed up by the roar of the river.

Zhu Cilang's tense nerves relaxed a little.

Although Ma Jinzhong is arrogant and difficult to control, his words and actions ultimately adhere to the principles of "loyalty and righteousness." This wild horse may still be able to be tamed.

His journey to Chengdu was of paramount importance; his identity must not be revealed, for every move he made was tied to the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers.

As the sun climbed over the eaves of the Yellow Crane Tower, golden sunlight gilded it with a layer of brilliance.

The rising mist on the river surface shimmered with golden light, like scattered pieces of silver.

Zhu Cilang composed himself and walked straight towards the Yellow Crane Tower along the wet bluestone path.

The river breeze, carrying dampness, made the blue ribbon binding his hair flutter wildly.

The upturned eaves of the Yellow Crane Tower are faintly visible in the mist, and the copper bells under the eaves tinkle in the wind.

Just then, a gust of wind carrying the smell of fish rushed in, accompanied by intermittent cries.

The sound grew clearer, like a cold iron hook, suddenly pulling him back.

He stared intently in the direction from which the crying was coming—

On the rocks by the river not far away, a mother and daughter were standing.

The young woman was around thirty years old, with disheveled hair and a plain, coarse cloth shirt covered in mud. She was holding a five- or six-year-old girl tightly in her arms.

The little girl had a tattered straw rope around her neck, and her eyes were filled with terror.

"Mother, I'm scared..."

The little girl sobbed, her little hands clutching her mother's clothes tightly.