Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The woman's withered fingers dug deeply into the cracks in the riverbank mud.

"The fishing tax, equivalent to thirty catties of raw silk, is not even worth the tea money that the officials of the river management office have between their teeth."

A sob escaped from his throat.

"The tax for suppressing bandits keeps increasing month by month; the other day it was a string of Chongzhen Tongbao coins, yesterday it was changed to three shi of coarse rice."

"Last month, the family's wealth was just confiscated, and this morning, when the constables kicked down the door, it turned into six taels of silver..."

She suddenly grabbed the girl's thin arm; the bluish-purple scabs were glaringly obvious in the sunlight.

"The county magistrate's order to suppress the bandits clearly states that a five-year-old girl is worth three strings of cash, which is not even enough to cover the extra tax levied on the grain transport."

Zhu Cilang's throat tightened suddenly, and it felt as if thunder had struck his very soul.

Even if we sold the child, it wouldn't even cover a fraction of the extra grain levy!

These seemingly insignificant figures are a thousand times more painful than the ledgers submitted by the Ministry of Revenue.

The woman said with tears in her eyes:

"Young master, tell me, how are we supposed to survive when we can't even boil half a bowl of wild vegetable soup after scraping the soot off the bottom of the pot? We might as well go to the Yellow Springs to find his father."

The river breeze suddenly seemed to freeze in Zhu Cilang's throat.

He stared at the bloody welts on the girl's neck from the straw rope, and in a daze, he saw thousands of nooses strangling the necks of the Ming Dynasty's subjects.

Those nooses were made of human silk, soaked in the dye of fishing tax, and tightened inch by inch by the abacus beads collected from the bandit suppression tax.

Those exorbitant taxes became chains, binding the people to the very ground.

The flesh and blood of a five-year-old child are not as valuable as the crumbs between the teeth of an official!

As his Adam's apple bobbed, he tasted a salty, astringent, and slightly fishy flavor.

I don't know if it was the moisture from the river mist or the tears welling up in my eyes.

The river wind whipped up waves that splashed against his face, and he vaguely saw millions of families like his struggling in the mud.

From the additional levies imposed during the Wanli era to the suppression of taxes during the Chongzhen reign, layers upon layers of oppressive policies, like termites, had long since gnawed away at the very foundation of the Ming Dynasty, leaving it riddled with holes.

Suddenly, tears mixed with blood welled up in the woman's dry eyes, reflecting the jade pendant swaying at Zhu Cilang's waist.

The warm luster now felt like needles, making him instinctively want to cover it with his sleeve.

At that moment, he finally understood the grief and indignation in Li Zicheng's eyes as he raised his arms and shouted.

"Equal land distribution and tax exemption, welcome King Li Zicheng! When King Li Zicheng comes, no more taxes will be levied."

This is not just a slogan; it is clearly the last cry of countless people in their desperate situation.

A century of accumulated problems, the levies are like skinning the dead, the harsh taxes are like being slowly sliced ​​to death!

Squeezing the living space of ordinary people bit by bit, perhaps the Ming Dynasty really is doomed?

Zhu Cilang stared blankly at the river, and suddenly he understood Li Zicheng.

What Li Zicheng's hoe was about to smash was perhaps this old world that devoured people without spitting out their bones.

If Li Zicheng were to cleanse the corrupt and establish the new, perhaps a new chapter of lasting peace could be opened.

Amid the girl's sobs, the Chairman Mao's admonition suddenly rang in his ears:

"If you soften your heart even an inch, ten thousand more wronged souls will claim your life beneath the dragon throne!"

It turns out that Emperor Taizu also trudged through piles of bones and struggled to survive under oppressive rule.

If one had not personally experienced the hellish trials of life, how could one have drawn a sword to sever the old order and reshape the land of the Ming Dynasty?

His chest heaved violently, and he suddenly made a gesture.

Zhang Wu understood and untied his money pouch; two silver ingots, enveloped in river mist, fell into the woman's palm.

When the fifty taels of silver were stuffed into the woman's withered palm, her barbed hand suddenly recoiled as if electrocuted.

"No! This...this is too much...Good heavens..."

The woman took a half step back in fright.

"Does the young master know that this silver is enough to buy a boatload of grain?"

Zhu Cilang took the silver ingot from Zhang Wu's hand and put it back into the woman's palm. His fingertips touched the cracked calluses on her palm, like touching the brittle bark of a tree.

Suddenly, the woman's turbid tears burst forth, and she knelt down on the hot flagstones with a thud, her forehead hitting the ground hard.

"My benefactor! You're making this poor soul suffer so much..."

"You mustn't kneel!"

Zhu Cilang hurriedly went to help him, his voice hoarse but firm.

"Buying some rice to make porridge should be enough to get through this famine year."

He gazed at the dilapidated house in the distance, from which smoke rose from its chimney; several drooping bunches of loofahs hung listlessly from the gaps in the bamboo curtain.

"Remember, live on, even if it means gritting your teeth and surviving."

"When the spring thunder breaks through this gloomy sky, someone will surely restore a clear and bright sky for you!"

The woman's body trembled violently, her withered fingers gripping the silver ingot tightly.

Turbid tears kept rolling down his face, winding their way through his weathered features.

She suddenly turned her head to look at the dilapidated thatched hut in the distance, then looked down at the silver ingot in her palm, as if to confirm that this was not an illusionary dream.

After a long while, she shakily tucked the silver into the innermost layer of her garment:

"Thank God...May the Bodhisattva bless our benefactor with a long and healthy life..."

She choked back tears, her voice hoarse and broken.

"This silver...this silver is enough to fill my rice jars into a granary!"

She suddenly raised her head, her bloodshot eyes staring straight at Zhu Cilang, her gaze filled with gratitude and hope.

"I...I've remembered your words, my benefactor!"

"Even if I have to chew on grass roots and gnaw on tree bark, I will definitely live on with my child and wait for the clear sky that my benefactor spoke of."

A breeze ruffled the little girl's hair at her temples, and she suddenly pointed to the golden sun peeking through a gap in the clouds and laughed:

"The sun is breaking through the clouds!"

"My father said that when the sun is at its brightest, evil spirits hide in the cracks of rocks..."

The innocent words of a child caused the frost patterns on the silver ingot to suddenly reflect a golden light.

The rising sun, bursting forth, actually pierced through the gloomy sky, cascading its scorching rays onto the surging river.

As he watched the mother and daughter stagger away and disappear at the end of the riverbank, Zhu Cilang's surging anger and sorrow did not diminish in the slightest; on the contrary, they grew even heavier.

He needed to find a high place, and it seemed that only the Yellow Crane Tower, overlooking the river, could contain his turbulent emotions at this moment.

He suddenly turned around and walked up the stone steps.

The boots trod on the dew-soaked moss, their hems brushing against the wild chrysanthemums growing in the cracks of the steps.

On this riverside rocky islet, the Yellow Crane Tower with its flying eaves and bracket sets rises abruptly, overlooking the rolling waves of the river.

The foundation of the building is made of huge stones, which jut out into the riverbank. You can even see the rust marks left by the iron chains that were thrown into the river back then between the stones.

The mudflat ferry crossing below Huanghuji is starting to get lively, with several cargo boats unloading Huizhou tea bricks.

A bamboo shed was erected on the platform at the top of the rock.

Several scholars sat around a rough wooden table, on which sat several bowls of steaming coarse tea.

A thin scholar unfolded a bamboo-ribbed folding fan with a "whoosh," and the four characters "Yanbo Jiangshang" on the fan surface were gilded by the morning light.

"I heard that a poetry gathering is being held at the Yellow Crane Tower today? Is it to send off Mr. Taichong of the Little Donglin Academy?"

"Exactly!"

The man in the blue shirt next to me suddenly spoke up, his voice clear and bright.

"When Mr. Taichong travels up the Yangtze River, the scholars of Wuchang will naturally see him off for ten miles!"

The eldest scholar stroked his beard, a hint of worry in his eyes.

"His admonition that 'the emperor should not allow eunuchs to hold power' was truly a resounding statement."

"This poetry gathering may have a deeper meaning."

Zhu Cilang's fingers tightened as he rubbed the jade buckle at his waist, and every word he heard reached his ears.

With a faint smile playing on his lips, he turned and walked towards the west slope.

Zhang Youyu seemed to sense something and glanced warily around out of the corner of his eye.

Wang Jing and Zhang Wu were inseparable, one hand on the hilt of the knife hidden in his clothes, the other pulling his straw hat down even lower.

The slope on the west side of the rock is filled with the aroma of scallion pancakes and eel noodle soup.

Zhu Cilang slowed his pace, pretending to admire the shops along the street, but in reality, his heart was churning with emotions—

Mr. Taichong... Huang Zongxi!