Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

"Commander Chen, what is the meaning of this move?"

Suppressing his unease, Song Anqiang stepped forward, and the jade gourd he was spinning suddenly stopped.

Four soldiers from the Beijing garrison, disguised as waiters, followed closely behind.

Chen Yingzong's voice was deep, his right hand remaining firmly on the hilt of his sword:

"Manager Song, may I speak to you in private?"

Before he finished speaking, the others had already retreated into the shadows of the city gate.

Song An hurried after him, his lowered voice unable to conceal his anxiety:

"Brother Chen, what are you talking about? If the city gate doesn't open soon, we'll be late for work!"

The cold wind at dawn blew straight into the city gate, making the torches flicker and the shadows cast on the ground appear longer and shorter.

Song An felt a chill.

Chen Yingzong forced out two dry laughs, spat to the side, and suddenly switched to a rough Sichuan accent:

"Song Sanwa, you little bastard, still pretending to be reckless? Last month you said 'When the gates open, the money comes'..."

He gestured with his right hand as if he were weighing a silver ingot.

Song An's heart, which had been hanging in suspense, suddenly settled down, but a smile appeared on his face:

"I thought something serious had happened!"

But the words that were on the tip of her tongue took a different turn.

"Brother Chen, can't we even go through this little formality? We agreed to settle the deal after we've exchanged documents..."

A dull thud came from deep within the city gate opening; a guard had accidentally bumped the bolt.

Chen Yingzong pointed his sword sheath toward the sound:

"Song Sanwa, look—"

Song An looked in the direction he pointed and saw ten soldiers standing silently inside the gate, their torches flickering and illuminating their numb faces.

"Brothers, you're all risking your lives, shouldn't Sanwa know what's important? Where's the money?"

"How could I, your younger brother, possibly forget Fourth Brother's fiery temper?"

Song An turned to look at someone, and suddenly raised his voice.

"Wang Erhu, come here!"

A burly man called Wang Erhu emerged from the shadow of the city gate bolt. He was tall and strong, but his steps were light and agile, and he carried a blue cloth bundle on his back.

Song An lowered his voice and said urgently:

"Give the items to Commander Chen!"

Wang Erhu stuffed the bundle into Chen Yingzong's arms. The knot loosened, and a Chongzhen Tongbao coin popped out, spinning in the crack between the blue bricks.

"Three hundred taels of silver, not a penny less! Fourth Brother, shall we count it?"

Chen Yingzong took the bundle, weighed it in his hand, his facial muscles relaxed, and he let out a satisfied half-chuckle:

"Oh, that's more like it!"

He suddenly turned around and shouted sharply into the doorway:

"Open the city gates—!"

Ten soldiers guarding the city, veins bulging on their necks, strained in unison. From the shadows, the first iron-clad bolt was slowly lifted.

"Crunch—Squeak—"

The rust that had accumulated over the years fell from the bolt groove.

In the torchlight, the soldiers' sweat shone crimson, like blood. The first bolt opened.

"Lift the bolt—!"

Another command was given.

Suddenly, three owls swooped down over the crenellations of the parapet.

Almost simultaneously, a faint neighing of a horse came from afar, which was then dispersed by the night wind.

The second latch opened as well.

Just as the last latch was about to be lifted out of the groove—

"Wait a minute!"

A sharp shout rang out, and the sound of rapid hoofbeats echoed from deep within the barbican.

Three Qinghai steeds burst from the shadows. The lead rider, dressed in a crimson python robe, could only be seen as a sharp and wiry figure against the firelight, yet his menacing aura was already palpable.

Song An's pupils contracted sharply, and his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. The one who jumped into the flames was none other than Wang Tingchen, the commander-in-chief of the garrison.

As the commander-in-chief of the garrison, Wang Tingchen was responsible for inspecting the opening and closing of the city gates and maintaining the city's defenses. A sense of foreboding gripped him.

"Commander Chen is in high spirits!"

Wang Tingchen reined in his horse and stopped five paces away. The white breath exhaled from the horse's snort almost hit Chen Yingzong's visor.

"Open the gates in the dead of night—is this tantamount to colluding with the enemy? Or is it to send your family away? Commander Chen, choose one!"

The crossbow's string tightened with a snapping sound, and the two guards simultaneously raised their crossbows.

Song An smelled the grease on the crossbow bolts. Each of the six-sided arrow slots contained five armor-piercing spikes, a distance long enough to nail a human body into a crack in the brickwork.

"Reporting to the Commander-in-Chief!"

Chen Yingzong stepped forward, bowed, and said in a hoarse voice:

"It's Suzhou embroidery that Manager Song brought from Yangzhou! He said he had to deliver it into the city before dawn..."

"Suzhou embroidery?"

Wang Tingchen dismounted silently and walked past Song An to stand before Chen Yingzong.

"Suzhou is 5,000 li (approximately 2,500 kilometers) by water!"

His embroidered spring knife was half-drawn from its sheath at his waist, and the glint of the blade made Song An's pupils shrink.

"What kind of Suzhou embroidery is worth breaking the curfew at night?"

"The Eighth Prince has strictly ordered a curfew at all four gates. The three generals are currently in the east to reinforce Chongqing. Commander Chen, would you like to test the sharpness of my sword?"

"General, please forgive me! How dare this humble officer presume to move the city gates..."

Chen Yingzong's words were still lingering on his lips when Song An suddenly took a half-step forward, bowed, and said:

"May the General's Grace Be Respected!"

His expression shifted several times, and he lowered his voice.

"To be honest, what I brought is indeed not Suzhou embroidery!"

Wang Tingchen squinted, the firelight dancing on the surface of his blade:

"What are you hiding in the carriage, knocking on our gates in the dead of night?"

Song An glanced at Chen Yingzong's deathly pale face and saw that he was trembling slightly.

"Reporting to the Commander-in-Chief!"

"To be honest, what is carried in the carriage is actually the Nine Bestowments Ritual Vessels secretly cast by Shi Kefa, the Minister of Works in Nanjing, to celebrate the Eighth Prince's receiving the Mandate of Heaven."

He paused heavily on the words "Minister of History," quickly glanced at Wang Tingchen's expression, and continued:

"Now all the officials in Nanjing are saying, 'The imperial aura of Fengyang will move to Sichuan.' It looks like the city of Jinling is about to change."

Song An's words implied that the Nanjing court (represented by Shi Kefa) had recognized Zhang Xianzhong's (Eighth King) "mandate of heaven" and that the ceremonial objects presented were in preparation for his ascension to the throne.

Wang Tingchen suddenly sneered, his gold-plated teeth flashing menacingly in the firelight:

"The nine ceremonial vessels should have been used to clear the way with gongs and drums, yet you all sneaked in under the cover of night!"

"The military commander is wise to investigate!"

Song An suddenly took half a step forward and whispered,

"Minister Shi secretly cast nine kinds of ceremonial seals and dispatched eight hundred laborers to escort the treasure ship up the river. To avoid the eyes and ears of the Donglin Party, they hid by day and traveled by night for more than a month."

"With only three months left until the enthronement ceremony, Minister Shi has specifically instructed—"

His voice was trembling with tears.

"This is a vital instrument of state, entrusted by Heaven and capable of breaking through the Purple Palace. We must not allow those corrupt scholars and pedantic officials in Chengdu to even see a fraction of it."

"If anything goes wrong and the news leaks out, ruining the Eighth Prince's good fortune, I will be guilty of a thousand deaths."

"Ha ha--"

Wang Tingchen suddenly threw his head back and burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the city gate.

Chen Yingzong, standing to the side, hunched over with a forced smile, cold sweat beading on his forehead, glancing uneasily at the two crossbows that were still raised.

"This Shi Kefa is truly considerate!"

Wang Tingchen's laughter stopped abruptly, his gaze sweeping over Song An and Chen Yingzong.

"Since this is a ladder to power prepared by the gentlemen of Jinling for Your Majesty, it is not appropriate for this town to obstruct this important instrument of destiny."

The tone suddenly turned icy.

"Take advantage of the shift change at 3:45 AM and get back into the city quickly. If you dare to do it again..."

He flicked the hilt of the knife with his thumb, producing a soft "clang" sound.

"The Seven-Star Dragon Tiger Blade at my waist will soon taste the blood of this southern capital."

"Your humble servant obeys!"

Chen Yingzong and Song An responded almost simultaneously, with Chen Yingzong even kneeling down and pounding his kneecaps heavily on the blue bricks.

Wang Tingchen said no more, turned around and disappeared into the darkness with two personal guards.

The moment the three figures disappeared into the shadows, Song An staggered half a step and grabbed the city wall for support. The icy touch sent a chill down his spine, and he suddenly realized that he had bitten the tip of his tongue with his back teeth.