Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

A few days later, at the Shu Prince's Mansion in Chengdu.

Dark clouds loomed over the city before the Chengyun Hall.

A bronze cauldron billowed white smoke, and the boiling tung oil inside coated the robes of seven scholars, sizzling and crackling.

Zhang Xianzhong, with his right arm bare, struck the rim of the cauldron with a wooden stick, a ferocious grin spreading across his face.

"Wang Zhangshu's 'Inviting the Guest into the Cauldron' technique is quite novel, more elegant than Lao Tzu's 'Peeling the Skin and Stuffing the Herbs'."

Wang Zhaolin bowed in reply, his face plastered with respect, but his eyes concealed a sinister glint:

"Your Majesty, I have already spread the word that the Western Camp will hold an imperial examination—in three days, the Chengdu Prefectural School will test candidates on the 'Strategy for Pacifying Shu,' and all these pedantic scholars will gather at the Minglun Hall..."

With a flick of his sleeve, he produced a tinderbox, which he blew on with a "hiss" in the fumes, causing a blue flame to rise.

A muffled clap of thunder rolled overhead, and the oppressive atmosphere of an impending downpour enveloped the palace.

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly threw the wooden stick into the cauldron, watching it bob and sink in the oil foam. A glint of pleasure flashed in his eyes, and he sneered:

"Scholars are cunning and calculating; how do you know they'd actually come?"

Wang Zhaolin flicked his wrist and extinguished the fire extinguisher:

"I added the phrase 'Those who pass the imperial examination will be granted the title of Assistant Magistrate' to the proclamation. The courier from the Provincial Surveillance Commissioner's office reported that three hundred scholars had already rushed here from Tongchuan and Ziyang overnight."

"Those damned scholars, they swarm to anything that smells of blood!"

Zhang Xianzhong cursed angrily and slammed his palm onto the scalding hot cauldron handle, splattering oil all over his bushy beard.

Wang Zhaolin covered his nose with his sleeve, his voice tinged with a hint of probing:

"I dare to ask a question that strikes at the heart..."

Zhang Xianzhong tore off half of his robe sleeve and threw it into the oil cauldron:

"Stop spouting nonsense!"

Wang Zhaolin gently flipped the tinderbox in his palm:

"I have heard the saying, 'One can conquer the world on horseback and govern it on foot,' but I do not know—in Your Majesty's eyes, what crime has a scholar's cap committed that warrants its burning?"

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly turned around and strode into the Chengyun Hall.

Sunlight streamed through the carved window, cutting across the scars on his face, with Wang Zhaolin following closely behind.

As he passed the table in the hall, the tattered scroll of Mencius on the table was swept away with a snap, its pages flying and scattering across the blue bricks.

"When I was ten years old... I carried two baskets of green dates and walked thirty miles of mountain road to Baoning Prefecture. At the city gate, I met a gentleman in a silk robe."

He started talking about the past again, his voice becoming distant, as if he had traveled through time.

"That bastard, waving his silk robe, said he wanted to buy all my dates and made me go to the Confucian Temple to hand them over."

He suddenly clenched his fist and slammed it on the table.

"By the time I came out with my empty basket, the morning market had already closed up—the bastards were giving out all those Hongwu Tongbao coins with the edges cut off."

Suddenly, a three-foot-long cloud of blue mist rose from the tung oil cauldron outside the hall!

A sinister smile curled at the corner of Wang Zhaolin's lips:

"Three hundred scholars in scholar's caps threw themselves into the cauldron—and what's boiling inside that cauldron, isn't it the rusty smell of Hongwu Tongbao coins?"

Zhang Xianzhong, dragging his python robe, slowly walked to the throne. He slumped down heavily, and the throne groaned.

"When I was thirteen, I was selling dates with my father on the road in Tongchuan. There was a man in a silk shirt who said he wanted to exchange his family's Duan inkstone for dates."

A fierce glint appeared in his eyes, as if the flames of his memories had been reignited.

"The inkstone was engraved with 'Wenqu descends to earth.' My father knelt and held it for a long time, but then the yamen runners confiscated it as stolen goods."

"Scholars are cunning. I saw with my own eyes that pedantic fellow point three fingers at the yamen runner, and that very night my father hanged himself on the locust tree in the county yamen."

"And then?"

Wang Zhaolin stepped forward and stopped three steps away from the throne.

"later?"

Zhang Xianzhong grabbed the golden lion paperweight from the table.

"My mother threw herself into the well with the inkstone in her arms. The night my father dug the inkstone out, he burned down the county school library."

There was a thunderous explosion!

A pale flash of lightning tore through the glazed tiles of the palace roof, and raindrops poured down from the caisson ceiling.

"The firelight made Tongchuan City brighter than on the Lantern Festival, and the charred bamboo slips crackled—guess what it looked like?"

Before Wang Zhaolin could answer, Zhang Xianzhong laughed heartily:

"Kowtowing like a damn scholar!"

He suddenly stood up, his python boots crunching over the scattered pages on the ground:

"Does Secretary Wang know? I replaced that inkstone with the first ghost-head knife, specifically for chopping off heads of those wearing square scarves."

He walked step by step toward Wang Zhaolin.

Wang Zhaolin bowed and clasped his hands in greeting:

"In the past, King Wu of Zhou melted down the nine tripods to forge swords and axes; now Your Majesty transforms the Wenqu (a type of ancient Chinese musical instrument) into weapons. This is not merely the reform of the tripods, but rather... the way of Heaven to harvest weeds."

"What grudge could there be! I know that every wrong has its perpetrator and its debtor!"

Zhang Xianzhong kicked away the scattered copies of Mencius at his feet, sending the slips of paper inscribed with "benevolence, righteousness, and morality" flying everywhere.

"What's the use of scholars?!"

"Emperor Chongzhen supported so many scholars, but when he finally met his end, hanging from his belt on a crooked tree on a swing, could he have composed a poem to scare away the enemy?"

"Father—!"

A hoarse, urgent roar came from outside the hall, and the clanging of armor shattered the rain.

Li Dingguo rushed in amidst the wind and rain, followed closely by Sun Kewang, who reeked of gunpowder and carried a damp, cold scent.

Before Sun Kewang could even offer a proper greeting, he slammed the newspaper onto the corner of the table with a "thud," the sound urgent:

"Chongqing Prefecture! Urgent dispatch!"

Zhang Xianzhong glanced at the words "White-Spear Soldiers," his eye muscles twitched violently, and he slammed the golden lion paperweight he was holding onto the table with a thud.

"Is that old widow Qin Liangyu still alive?"

"Father! Four armies have surrounded Chongqing!"

Li Dingguo's battle robe was dripping with water, and he spoke rapidly, like a machine gun.

"Zeng Ying's troops' red flags covered the sky, Wang Yingxiong's warships filled the river, and Hou Tianxi raised a five-zhang-high commander's flag at Tongluo Gorge."

His dark face turned bluish in the lightning flash.

"The most dangerous force is the Shizhu chieftain's troops; scouts say their white-pole spear formation has already reached the foot of Fotu Pass!"

"How many men?"

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly stood up, causing the brocade cushion on the throne to fall to the ground.

"The scout said..."

Rain streamed down Sun Kewang's armor, his voice heavy.

"Five thousand White-Spear Soldiers formed the vanguard, followed by a column of smoke and dust that blotted out the sun; the number was probably no less than one hundred thousand."

Li Dingguo wiped the rain off his face:

"Father! Scouts on the Kuimen Pass intercepted three groups of able-bodied refugees, all wearing cotton linings sewn into their collars from Wuchang. Could it be that Zuo Liangyu (the bald man) has secretly entered Sichuan?"

Wang Zhaolin suddenly stepped forward, speaking rapidly:

"Your Majesty, my informant in northern Sichuan has sent a secret report—that Nanjing has sent a child-like supervisor who is still wearing open-crotch pants."

Outside the palace, a sudden downpour lashed like whips, relentlessly striking the roof tiles!

The shattered pieces of Mencius scattered on the ground shook violently, as if thousands of armored soldiers had trampled through the passes of eastern Sichuan.

Li Dingguo sneered, slamming his sword hilt against the doorframe.

"Commander-in-Chief? Those pedantic literati in Nanjing are probably taking their children's play at the Imperial Academy to the battlefield."

Sun Kewang stared intently at Zhang Xianzhong:

"Father! We must not underestimate the people from Nanjing! Although that commander is a rookie, he has the backing of Shi Kefa's students and old friends."

"What the hell are you trying to achieve?"

Zhang Xianzhong grabbed a newspaper, crumpled it into a ball, and slammed it hard against the pillar.

Wang Zhaolin pointed towards Chongqing:

"Your Majesty, they are taking advantage of our main force being concentrated in Chengdu. Liu Tingju's garrison in Chongqing... I'm afraid they can't even count the red tassels on the tips of their white spears."

Zhang Xianzhong pondered for a moment, then suddenly kicked over the table, scattering cups, goblets, and reports all over the floor:

"You son of a bitch, trying to learn my 'Yellow Tiger Steals the Heart' move?"

"First tickle the armpits of the Sichuanese, then poke the waist of the Chongqingese, and finally shove straight into the crotch of the Chengduese?"

His gaze, sharp as a knife, swept over the crowd before finally settling on Sun Kewang's face:

"If Chongqing falls, Chengdu will be in deep trouble!"