“Wang Ji? Did you say, Wang Ji?” Zhu Zhanji’s eyes grew round, as round as the muzzles of two matchlock guns with their fuses lit.
“Yes.” Yu Qian, having returned from Sili Pu, briefly explained the situation to the Crown Prince.
Zhu Zhanji clenched his fists, nearly grinding his teeth to powder. That treasure ship packed with gunpowder had been a gift from that old dog himself—one could say he was the most direct of enemies.
At that moment, Su Jingxi patted his bare shoulder and said softly, “Your Highness, don’t tense your muscles, or the arrowhead will sink deeper.” Zhu Zhanji quickly unclenched his fists, letting his body relax. After tending to the wound, Su Jingxi turned to retrieve a cotton cloth from a basin of hot water, wrung it out gently, and casually asked, “Why hasn’t Wang Ji fled?”
It was a good question. A day and night had passed since the treasure ship’s explosion, and news of the commotion in Jinling should have reached Yangzhou by now. If Wang Ji knew the Crown Prince had survived, how could he still be sitting comfortably in Yangzhou? How could his household steward still have leisure time for gambling?
Wu Dingyuan said, “Zhu Buhua likely suppressed the true news, preventing him from knowing. It seems this Wang Ji isn’t a core figure in this conspiracy.”
“You mean he doesn’t know I’m alive and is still dreaming of rewards from the new emperor?” Zhu Zhanji grew excited.
“Possibly.”
Wu Dingyuan glanced at Su Jingxi, his eyes showing both approval and wariness. This woman always hit the mark, yet she never spoke directly, always using questions to enlighten others while keeping herself in the background. Was this habitual self-protection, or did she have other motives? At least for now, he could discern nothing from Su Jingxi’s expression.
Yu Qian furrowed his brow and warned, “Hey, don’t lose sight of what’s important! The Crown Prince’s priority is returning to the capital, not revenge! There can’t be any delays.” He looked at Zhu Zhanji: “Your Highness, please remain calm. Once you reclaim the throne, a single imperial decree can determine the fate of the Wang family. There’s no rush.”
Zhu Zhanji understood this reasoning but still cursed under his breath.
Yu Qian continued, “At the hour of Yin tomorrow, the twentieth of May, several Zhoushan supply ships will complete their handover and head north under escort from the Yangzhou Qianhu. We must catch this convoy, so we need to obtain the Wang family’s letter of recommendation tonight. Wait at the inn while Wu Dingyuan and I visit the gambling den.”
Thinking of Yu Qian’s near-capture at Guazhou, Zhu Zhanji felt uneasy: “Perhaps I should go with you?”
Yu Qian was startled: “A precious son shouldn’t sit beneath a dangerous wall. Such a den of vice should be left to us servants to handle.”
Yu Qian’s sincerity was evident, and Zhu Zhanji could tell he thought the prince lacked street experience and would only cause trouble. The Crown Prince felt somewhat indignant, wanting to retort about Yu Qian’s recent near-mishap, but his position prevented him from speaking so rudely to his subordinates. He had to swallow his words.
“Being in a position of authority has its troubles,” Zhu Zhanji sighed to himself.
Wu Dingyuan pulled Yu Qian to the doorway: “Little Almond, have you thought about how to get the recommendation letter from Wang’s steward?” Yu Qian was stunned, clearly having not considered this. Wu Dingyuan tiredly pinched his nose bridge: “You didn’t think they’d just give it to you, did you?”
“We could try persuasion or reason with them about the greater good, or if all else fails, take him to the saltpeter ditch and force him to hand it over!” Yu Qian tried to make his voice sound more streetwise.
“Plain rice for meals, plain talk for deals!” Wu Dingyuan rejected bluntly.
Any gambling den would have enforcers present. Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan couldn’t possibly use force inside. Moreover, even if they could and managed to force him to give up the recommendation letter, he could simply send a servant to alert the ships, and they still wouldn’t be able to leave.
“Then what do you suggest?”
“There’s only one way. We must legitimately win a large sum from the steward in the gambling den, so he’ll trade the recommendation letter for it,” Wu Dingyuan said.
“Win? Tonight is some sort of cricket fighting—do you know how to do that?” Yu Qian’s voice rose several notches.
“I thought you agreed so readily because you were familiar with it!”
“If I so much as touched dominoes as a child, my father would beat me. How would I know how to play such things?” Yu Qian grew increasingly worried. “Weren’t you famous for being dissolute in Nanjing? What dissolute man doesn’t gamble?”
Wu Dingyuan helplessly explained. While his bad reputation in Nanjing included drinking and visiting courtesans, it never included excessive gambling. Firstly, his solitary nature made him reluctant to visit noisy gambling dens; secondly, he was quite careful with money, and couldn’t handle the rapid gains and losses at the gambling table.
Upon hearing this, Yu Qian became anxious—they had both been counting on the other to gamble. This was troublesome; two novices who didn’t even know the rules trying to defeat an expert would be harder than predicting the Qiantang tidal bore a month in advance.
Finally, Wu Dingyuan stamped his foot and said firmly, “It’s getting late, let’s go over first and play it by ear!” Though Yu Qian felt it unwise, he had no choice but to agree.
As they were about to leave, Zhu Zhanji’s voice suddenly came from behind: “Wait, did you say cricket fighting?”
Both men turned to see a pair of bright eyes, gleaming with pride and excitement.
Half an hour later.
The gambling den’s doorkeeper stood with folded arms, watching gamblers enter the establishment. This was Guazhou’s most reputable gambling den; though they took a larger cut, the order was maintained inside with absolutely no fraud or robbery. This was achieved not only through the presence of more than ten enforcer-monks but primarily through the doorkeeper’s hawk-like eyes.
One glance was enough for him to assess incoming guests, and any suspicious characters were politely turned away early. When the gambling den opened at the hour of Shen, the doorkeeper had already taken his position at the door. He saw drunken military officers, curious merchant sailors, various porters’ guild leaders, local gentry and clerks from nearby counties… and several people reeking of salted fish, likely salt smugglers.
The doorkeeper paid little attention to such people. In Guazhou, with its heavy military presence, the government prohibited wine shops and brothels. After sunset, idlers only had gambling dens for entertainment. People from all walks of life came, both legitimate and shady, and as long as they didn’t cause trouble, the gambling den turned a blind eye.
After those salt smugglers entered, the doorkeeper’s gaze suddenly sharpened. Three people approached, one in front and two behind. The young front man wore a round-collared lake silk azure robe and official black boots, walking with noble bearing, though the Korean-style hat on his head seemed somewhat vulgar. Behind him, one wore short hemp clothing with his arm habitually bent at his waist, clearly accustomed to wielding a sword; the other wore a black cloth Daoist robe with a crepe silk headband and a clean white beard, though his expression showed some nervousness.
Could this be some young master accompanied by his guard and advisor?
The doorkeeper couldn’t help but look more closely. Then he noticed the young noble was carrying a cricket cage, and his attitude immediately changed. He stepped aside, lifted another curtain, and announced loudly: “A fighting guest has arrived.”
The three walked confidently past the curtain and found this area different from the open gambling den. It contained individual brick-walled rooms, each furnished with square and round tables. Though simple, everything was kept clean. A quick-witted servant brought hot tea, three plates of dried fruits, and a plate of pine cakes, saying they should request anything else they needed, and the matches would begin promptly in a quarter-hour.
Seeing the room was empty, Zhu Zhanji quickly removed his Korean hat, revealing a completely bald head. He had shaved his head earlier while disguised as a monk, and if people saw it now, they might think he was a condemned criminal. Yu Qian couldn’t contain himself any longer and anxiously asked, “Your Highness…”
“Call me Young Master Hong Wang.” Zhu Zhanji glared at him.
This was the alias he had chosen for himself—Hong shared the same sound as “red,” which related to his surname Zhu, and Wang echoed his given name Zhanji, making it a clever wordplay.
Yu Qian quickly corrected himself: “Young Master, can this hasty plan work?”
Zhu Zhanji gently stroked his earthenware pot. Since entering the gambling den, he had been filled with confidence: “Director Yu, in matters of Confucian classics and doctrine, I may not match you, but when it comes to cricket fighting, you cannot match me.”
“But this cricket you bought on the street seems too small and weak, and it cost four pearls…”
“Five,” Wu Dingyuan interjected from the side.
Zhu Zhanji scoffed disdainfully: “Let me explain what we call ‘literary crickets,’ then you’ll understand if it’s worth it.” He took a sip of tea before continuing: “Crickets cannot be fought at any time; they must follow natural seasons. Generally, dormant crickets begin molting in early June, start chirping in early July, and develop fighting spirit after the White Dew festival. They retire in winter, so it’s only about a hundred days total, hence the name ‘autumn interest.'”
Yu Qian heard this and became anxious: “Then what crickets do they fight in May?”
“Don’t be impatient, I haven’t finished.” Zhu Zhanji raised his hand. “Crickets have their seasons, but people’s gambling urges don’t. What to do when the insects aren’t ready but gamblers are eager? Thus, a breeding method was developed: collect cricket eggs from Lingnan, warm them in soil-filled pots covered with fine cotton paper, and transport them north. Daily watering of the cotton paper and warming from below allows the eggs to hatch months early. The hatchlings are placed on vegetable leaves, still watered, and can mature with wings by April or May—this is the Spring Acceleration Breeding Method passed down from Jia Sidao.”
Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan both drew sharp breaths—raising crickets this way must cost dozens of silver taels per insect.
“These artificially bred fighting crickets are born against their natural time. Their bodies are soft and their mouths weak, with fighting spirit far inferior to natural crickets, hence they’re called ‘literary crickets.’ Their only purpose is to give cricket fighters something to play with before the White Dew festival, better than nothing.”
After hearing the Crown Prince’s explanation, both men sighed deeply. Such effort in breeding, just to give cricket fighters something to do before June, seemed extremely extravagant. No wonder the doorkeeper’s attitude changed at the sight of the cricket pot. Anyone who could produce live crickets in mid-May must be quite wealthy.
Yu Qian stammered, “How does Young Master know so much about this?”
Zhu Zhanji said, “I occasionally played with them in the palace. I even found this Spring Acceleration Breeding Method in books and showed it to my Companion—I brought a prize dragon cricket to Nanjing, bred this way by my Companion, but unfortunately…” He glared fiercely at Wu Dingyuan, who quickly averted his gaze.
Yu Qian’s face grew stern: “Young Master, today we act out of urgent necessity. But such playthings waste resources and corrupt the heart. If a ruler becomes obsessed with such things, it bodes ill for the state. Especially since you speak so enthusiastically of the words of traitors like Jia Sidao—surely you don’t want to compare yourself to Emperor Yang of Sui or Emperor Huizong of Song…”
Zhu Zhanji listened to his lecture with an expressionless face while chewing on a pine cake. Just then, a servant entered saying they were ready to begin. The Crown Prince stuffed the pine cake into his sleeve and said, “Let’s go!”
This gambling den was converted from a riverside warehouse, with an extremely spacious main hall. Currently, seven or eight square tables and over twenty long benches were arranged, holding items like dominoes, dice, and backgammon sets, though no one was playing yet. All the gamblers’ attention was focused on the center of the den. Here stood a large round table of black-lacquered cedar, with its eastern edge hollowed out as if someone had taken a bite from a flatbread.
A gambling master in dark clothing stood in the hollow, with a wide-mouthed fighting pot placed on the table before him, alongside some half-dried, half-green bovine sinew grass. Two cricket fighters were already in position, each carefully transferring their literary crickets from their carrying cages into the fighting pot. The pot was divided by a small wooden barrier.
The gambling master made a gesture, and the two cricket fighters each picked up a blade of grass, gently tickling their champions’ whiskers to provoke their fighting spirit.
In a corner of the gambling den, surprisingly, sat a singing girl playing a pipa. She was singing Monk Jidian’s “Cricket-Fighting” to the tune of “Partridge Sky” from West Lake: “Little cricket, Wang Yanzhang, one whisker short and one whisker long. Just because he won thirty-six times, people all called him Wang Iron Spear. Don’t be troubled, don’t be sad, all things in the world are impermanent. Last night sudden frost descended, like a dream of Nanka, all was gone.”
As the song played, spectators observed the crickets’ appearances, exchanged comments, and then placed their bets—banknotes, silver pieces, gold hairpins, and pearls covered the table—this was called “buying horses.” When the betting was nearly complete and the crickets had been sufficiently provoked into fighting spirit, grinding their wings and chirping loudly, the gambling master shouted. Both cricket fighters stepped back, and he lifted the wooden barrier. The two champions immediately lunged at each other, becoming entangled in combat within the fighting pot.
Before long, one cricket was badly wounded and fled around the pot’s edge. The victor raised its whiskers high, chirping continuously. The gambling master announced the outcome, and the winning fighter happily returned his champion to its cage for rest. The loser, presumably having suffered a significant loss, angrily threw his cricket to the ground and stomped on it several times. Half the spectators shook their heads in disappointment while the other half eagerly gathered their winnings from the table.
Zhu Zhanji and his two companions stood in the crowd, watching three or four rounds. The Crown Prince even placed several small bets, surprisingly winning them all. Yu Qian couldn’t help but suspect that the prince’s cricket fighting in the palace had been more than just occasional.
As the matches continued, the atmosphere in the gambling den grew increasingly heated. Both fighters and spectators became flushed with excitement as if possessed by the crickets themselves. Wu Dingyuan, uninterested in cricket fighting, scanned the crowd until his gaze fixed on one particular direction.
An old man wearing a square headcloth pushed to the front circle, raising his earthenware pot. The man had a dark red birthmark on his neck which, though partially hidden by his embroidered collar, became visible when he moved—according to Fatty’s information, this must be the steward from Wang Ji’s household.
Wu Dingyuan nudged Zhu Zhanji, who nodded in understanding and moved forward.
Just as the old man placed his cage at the gambling master’s right, Zhu Zhanji immediately pushed him to the left, signaling his willingness to fight. Then he made an unexpected move, tossing a cloth bag onto the table beside his cage. The bag was untied, and when it landed, more than ten lustrous pearls rolled out.
This action drew gasps of surprise from the crowd. Literary cricket fighting required matched stakes—one side’s wager had to be met with items of equal value by the other. This bag of pearls must be worth several hundred taels of silver—who would dare bet so much without absolute confidence in their cricket?
“My name is Hong Wang, and I wish to have a match with you,” Zhu Zhanji said.
Steward Wang hadn’t expected his opponent to play for such high stakes, and his expression grew somewhat uncomfortable. But when he looked into the opponent’s pot, he smiled. The cricket’s whiskers were dry and short, its neck markings shallow, and its mandibles dull—signs of poor seasonal conditioning. This young noble must be a fool who’d been cheated with a poorly raised cricket without realizing it.
Such an opportunity couldn’t be passed up. Steward Wang said to the gambling master, “I haven’t brought that much wealth with me today. If my opponent agrees to matched stakes, I’ll write a contract to retrieve the payment later, without delay. The house can guarantee it.” The gambling master nodded, indicating that Steward Wang was a regular customer and the gambling house would guarantee the bet, then asked if Zhu Zhanji agreed. The Crown Prince naturally went along.
When Wang accepted the bet, the atmosphere in the den instantly reached a fever pitch. Bets worth several hundred taels were rare, and everyone’s breathing grew heavy as excited chatter erupted. The gambling master had to summon several strong enforcers to maintain order.
Yu Qian’s heart pounded—though he didn’t understand cricket fighting, he could see their cricket was inferior. It had been bought hastily on the street without careful selection or proper training. Losing the pearls didn’t matter, but missing the recommendation boat would be disastrous. Zhu Zhanji, unaware of Yu Qian’s anxiety, confidently picked up a blade of bovine sinew grass and began the pre-battle provocation with Steward Wang, tickling their crickets’ long whiskers to stir up fighting spirit.
Steward Wang’s literary cricket had a yellow head and iron-like neck, colored like aged iron with purple spots. In autumn fighting season, such features wouldn’t be considered exceptional, but among literary crickets, it was a rare champion. In comparison, Zhu Zhanji’s was much weaker, its legs not yet hardened, moving with a limp softness.
While provoking his cricket, Steward Wang kept glancing at his opponent’s insect, which remained listless, refusing to flutter its wings no matter how much it was prodded, its whiskers drooping—this made him even more confident.
When the provocation was sufficient, the gambling master called “Open the gate!” and removed the wooden barrier. Steward Wang’s cricket charged fiercely, but something strange happened when their mandibles first touched. Before it could even clamp down, it suddenly retreated, as if encountering some evil spirit. Zhu Zhanji’s cricket showed slightly more spirit, crawling toward it, but the opponent circled away to avoid it.
A bizarre scene unfolded in the fighting pot: the champion would charge forward but retreat at first contact; the weaker cricket showed little fighting spirit yet forced the champion to run around the pot. The spectators were greatly puzzled and began discussing among themselves. Steward Wang’s face turned purple with confusion.
The two crickets circled for about the time it took to burn half an incense stick until they were both exhausted. The gambling master, seeing this, separated them with the wooden barrier and declared Zhu Zhanji the winner by technical victory—though neither cricket prevailed in combat, Zhu Zhanji had dominated the field position.
The spectators erupted in heated discussion, unable to understand how the match had played out. Yu Qian, standing in the crowd, breathed a long sigh of relief and secretly asked the prince what had happened.
Zhu Zhanji smiled, knowing full well this inferior cricket had little chance of winning normally. But earlier, at the vegetable stall, he had ground some pepper leaves and mixed them with a bit of honey water to coat the cricket. This made its body emit a stimulating scent that crickets found repulsive—even the fiercest opponent would avoid coming close.
This trick, he explained, was actually invented by palace eunuchs. When fighting crickets with the prince, they used this method to deliberately lose. After several instances, Zhu Zhanji noticed something odd and forced them to reveal the truth. The technique was known only within the palace—even cricket fighters in the capital weren’t aware of it, much less those in the South.
Steward Wang’s face turned ashen, his chin trembling slightly. Losing several hundred taels of silver in one bet was like cutting off a large piece of flesh, even for a salt merchant’s steward. He forced himself to cup his hands and acknowledge the loss, immediately calling for a servant to bring paper and brush to write a debt note. Yu Qian went over and gently caught his wrist, smiling slightly: “Actually, my young master only wanted to make friends through cricket fighting; the rest is secondary.”
Hearing this, Steward Wang’s face immediately showed wariness: “What virtue does this old one possess to deserve such attention from your noble house?”
If they were going to make unreasonable demands, he would rather pay the money. Yu Qian smiled and said, “My young master needs to visit an ill relative in the capital, but the waters are low in May, and he’s anxiously unable to travel quickly. He hopes that Old Wang, considering his filial piety, might help arrange a recommendation letter for an upstream boat. We’ll forgo the gambling debt entirely, and still pay the usual fee for the recommendation letter.”
Emperor Hongxi was indeed “unwell,” so “visiting an ill relative” wasn’t untrue at all. Hearing it was about a recommendation letter, Steward Wang’s expression eased somewhat. This matter might be difficult for others, but it was nothing for the Wang household. The steward asked, “When do you plan to depart?”
Yu Qian said, “Preferably tomorrow morning’s convoy.”
Steward Wang was startled—that was quite urgent… After pondering for a moment, he said the gambling den was too crowded and public. His master had a villa by the Hanjiang River, near the Yangzhou garrison’s dock. He would inquire which officer was escorting tomorrow’s ships and make arrangements. Young Master Hong could stay at the villa for half the night and go directly to the ship at the hour of Yin tomorrow morning.
Having reached an agreement, Zhu Zhanji and Steward Wang left the gambling table together. Other cricket fighters quickly filled their spots, and another fierce battle began amid the gamblers’ shouts.
As they walked out of the gambling den together, casual conversation began. Steward Wang reminisced about obtaining a “Green-headed General” cricket from Xiaoling last year that was undefeated in all of Yangzhou. Zhu Zhanji disagreed, saying truly superior specimens could only be found on Mangyang Mountain. When Emperor Gaozu of Han had slain the white snake there, its blood had splashed among the grass, and since then the fighting crickets of that area had been exceptionally fierce, unmatched by any others.
The old man and youth shared an enthusiasm for cricket fighting, and once they started talking, the conversation flowed endlessly, creating an unexpected sense of kinship. Wu Dingyuan and Yu Qian followed behind, the former counting the pearls one by one, the latter wearing a worried expression—the prince seemed too deeply immersed in cricket fighting, which couldn’t be good.
Steward Wang had his small sampan, which was very convenient for navigating the waterways. Just before boarding, Yu Qian suddenly remembered that Su Jingxi was still near the inn, purchasing medical supplies and equipment for the journey. Seeing the prince in animated conversation with Steward Wang, and looking at Wu Dingyuan, he thought the prince needed someone to attend to him, so he would have to go back himself.
He informed the prince of the situation and headed back toward Sili Pu. The others boarded the sampan and set off for the villa.
Speaking of Yangzhou’s scenery, though separated from Nanjing by just one river, its style was quite different. Nanjing, as the auxiliary capital, had streets and buildings with an imperial air, more magnificent than spirited. Yangzhou carried no such burden of “awe-inspiring the world,” and thus its scenery appeared more natural. Now, along both banks of the Hanjiang River where the small sampan traveled, stood riverside villas of wealthy families. Each property had been carefully cultivated with distinctly different greenery. One house mixed box trees with Japanese maples, pairing yellow leaves with purple flowers; the next had a hedge of purple-leaf barberry surrounded by camphor trees; some eschewed woody plants entirely, creating carpets of pink spiraea, asters, and royal ferns, with Taihu rocks covered in climbing roses and trumpet creepers.
Various species each showed their best features while forming a continuous tapestry. Thus, traveling by boat, the greenery and flowers on both sides constantly changed, sometimes seductively beautiful, sometimes refreshingly elegant, and never repetitive. The setting sun still cast its remnant light, adding a translucent rosy glow to the scene, creating endless variations that dazzled the eye.
Steward Wang stood proudly at the boat’s bow and said, “This is just the evening view of the Hanjiang. Inside Yangzhou City, it’s even more impressive. As the saying goes, ‘With ten thousand strings of cash tied around your waist, ride a crane down to Yangzhou.’ No matter how you might move about the world, you’ll eventually want to settle in our Yangzhou.” He pointed with his sleeve at distant white walls and black tiles, “Look, that whole area consists of private residences of Jinling officials. They don’t dare carouse in Jinling’s Qinhuai District, so they all come here to indulge themselves.” The Crown Prince remained silent, just listening quietly, lost in thought.
After sailing about seven or eight li, the boat slowly approached the western bank of the Hanjiang. On the shore stood a sprawling mansion occupying perhaps one or two li, with high walls and deep courtyards, stepped horse-head walls, and glimpses of dark sloped roofs. The main ridge ends featured swallowing-mouthed makara, while the descending ridges had sculptures of the True Lord Erlang and the Howling Celestial Dog. Wang Ji was from Huizhou, so naturally his villa was built in his hometown’s style.
By the time the sampan reached shore, it was completely dark. Steward Wang led the two men around to the villa’s side entrance and into the rear courtyard. Wu Dingyuan was the last to cross the threshold, but as soon as his foot touched the ground inside, he sensed danger. He glimpsed a tiger-crouch brazier under the side corridor, with a basin of water atop it. The fire blazed fiercely as several thick-topped, narrow-bottomed bronze cylinders bubbled in the basin.
Wu Dingyuan’s brow furrowed involuntarily.
This device was called a “jiu lao” in Jinling, or “wine warmer.” When wealthy households entertained guests, they would first heat these bronze cylinders with boiling water. If the wine grew cold during the meal, they would insert the warmer into the wine pot—both convenient and elegant. However, being rather troublesome to use, it was typically reserved only for honored guests.
The fact that wine warmers were being heated meant there would be a banquet tonight. And at a banquet in the Wang family villa, the master would certainly be present. In other words, Wang Ji was likely in this house. He had seen the Crown Prince before—if they were to meet face to face, it would be catastrophic. They should have sent the Prince back earlier and let him and Yu Qian come for the recommendation letter alone. But it was too late for regrets now. Wu Dingyuan quickened his pace, about to warn Zhu Zhanji when Steward Wang suddenly turned and shouted: “Seize them!”
More than ten guards seemed to materialize from nowhere, surrounding them. Seeing the situation change drastically, Wu Dingyuan didn’t hesitate—he leaped toward Steward Wang. They were outnumbered; capturing the leader was their only chance to break through. But the steward, familiar with the layout, quickly ducked behind a hanging flower gate, shielded by several guards.
Wu Dingyuan wielded his iron ruler, managing to knock down two opponents. But these guards were skilled, and they swarmed forward, forcefully pinning him and Zhu Zhanji to the carved stone floor, immobilizing them. Zhu Zhanji raised his head angrily: “Old man, are you trying to default on your debt and murder us?”
Steward Wang bent down to search Wu Dingyuan, retrieving the bag of Hepu pearls. He weighed it in his hand and sneered, “You two pieces of rotten meat, did you think you could fool this old man with some silk clothes and fake pearls?”
Zhu Zhanji and Wu Dingyuan exchanged glances, bewildered. They had thought the Prince’s identity had been discovered, but there was something odd about the steward’s words. Wu Dingyuan seemed to realize something and kicked Zhu Zhanji hard. The latter, understanding the hint, lowered his head and said nothing more.
Steward Wang calmly tucked the pearls into his robe and deliberately announced loudly to the guards: “These two thieves failed in their deception and forced their way into the residence. They might be accomplices of those bandits—throw them in the water prison together.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “They have two more accomplices coming, a man and a woman. Lure them in and deal with them the same way. The master is entertaining important guests tonight, so keep the noise down. The kitchen will give you some good wine later.”
The guards roared in approval. Steward Wang fondled his newly acquired pearls and walked away. The guards bound their dejected and confused captives tightly and dragged them deep into the villa.
Unfortunately, Yu Qian and Su Jingxi were unaware of their companions’ misfortune. They had just settled their inn bill and called for two pack mules, heading toward the villa address they’d been given.
Yu Qian rode in front, with a large cloth bundle containing various medicines and the small copper pot for brewing remedies strapped to his saddle. Su Jingxi followed, her hair in a married woman’s bun, head lowered like a shy new bride as she rode.
To be honest, Yu Qian didn’t fully trust Su Jingxi. She had been deliberately trying to please the Crown Prince, and Yu Qian worried that if the Prince became truly enchanted, he might speak the imperial word and take her into the palace. Yet they relied on her medical skills to treat the arrow wound. Yu Qian had even considered encouraging the Prince to grant her a position in the Imperial Medical Bureau—surely the Emperor couldn’t marry a royal physician?
However, there was something that worried Yu Qian more than Su Jingxi at the moment.
He had been sighing all along the way, deeply concerned about the Crown Prince’s obsession with cricket fighting. “Playthings destroy ambition, and frivolity ruins the state”—what would become of the Great Ming if this continued? He couldn’t say these things to the Prince’s face, so he made Su Jingxi his confidante.
Su Jingxi maintained her silence behind him, seemingly uninterested. If Yu Qian had paid attention to her face in the twilight, he would have noticed her gaze wasn’t unfocused—she was listening intently, as was her professional habit. She never missed any detail in conversation.
Yu Qian continued relentlessly: “As goes the top, so goes the bottom. The Crown Prince was so enthusiastic about cricket fighting, even chatting away with that steward. If the common people follow this trend, imagine the chaos it would cause.” The two mules, which had occasionally whinnied before, fell silent, leaving only Yu Qian’s loud voice echoing along the small path.
Su Jingxi suddenly interrupted: “Wait… you said after leaving the gambling den, the Crown Prince and Steward Wang had a very engaging conversation?”
“Yes, if only the Prince would discuss the classics with me instead, but he chooses to talk about cricket fighting with the common folk. Emperor Wen of Han ignored the people’s welfare to ask about spirits, I think…”
“What did they discuss?” Yu Qian’s memory was excellent, and he recounted their conversation word for word. After listening, Su Jingxi’s brows furrowed slightly: “That Steward Wang is suspicious.”
“Oh?”
“His conversation was full of subtle probing techniques. Without appearing to do so, he drew out all our true circumstances, and the Prince didn’t even realize it.”
Yu Qian was startled—he hadn’t considered this angle. Su Jingxi explained: “Look, he asked if the Prince had any fellow cricket fighting enthusiasts, who usually tended his cricket cage—this was probing how many companions we had, their gender; he asked if we had just arrived in Guazhou if we had transport arranged—testing whether we had local connections; especially when he casually mentioned whether we were staying at an official post house or private inn—checking if we had government connections.”
“He’s helping us get a recommendation letter, naturally he needs to know our background,” Yu Qian said dismissively.
Su Jingxi shook her head: “I’ve practiced medicine for many years and know human nature well. Each question alone seemed innocent enough. But strung together, it feels like he was repeatedly confirming that we had neither social connections nor official protection in Guazhou. This isn’t information someone writing a recommendation letter needs to know, it’s more like…”
“More like a thief confirming details before striking?” Yu Qian’s expression grew serious. He had nearly fallen victim to a similar scheme from the porters earlier that day.
Su Jingxi nodded: “Perhaps I’m overthinking, but given the Crown Prince’s special status, caution is better.”
“With Wu Dingyuan there, nothing should go wrong.”
Though Yu Qian reassured himself, he kept urging his mule to go faster. After traveling for a while, they came to a three-way intersection. On the right stood two old locust trees with gnarled trunks, beside them a stone tablet claiming, quite unconvincingly, that Emperor Yang of Sui had planted them.
According to Steward Wang’s directions, this locust tree intersection was the necessary route from Sili Pu to the Hanxi villa. Upon seeing the trees, they were to turn right and follow the river for several li. Yu Qian stopped to confirm the direction and was about to urge his mule forward when he heard the sound of carriage wheels on the dirt behind them, with a driver calling out for the right of way.
He looked back to see a two-shaft horse carriage racing up from behind. It pulled an ornately carved wooden sedan chair with a conical top covered in thin gauze, both sun-proof and well-ventilated—the preferred summer transport of people from north of the Yangtze. Its wheel hubs were rimmed with iron bands that thundered as they rolled.
The mules were trained and moved to the roadside without waiting for their riders’ commands. But Yu Qian was anxious and whipped his mule to speed up, trying to reach the intersection first. This conflicting guidance confused the mule, which turned sideways into the road. The carriage driver hurriedly pulled the reins, but the distance was too short to stop in time. They collided with a crash. The carriage horse was naturally larger than the mule, and with the added momentum of the carriage, it only swayed slightly while Yu Qian and his mule were both thrown, the medicine bundle bursting open and scattering its contents everywhere.
Su Jingxi quickly dismounted to help Yu Qian. The carriage squeaked to a halt, and the driver, gripping the reins, began cursing loudly. Then a deep voice came from within the sedan: “Don’t speak rashly and create bad karma—quickly help them up!”
Su Jingxi was bending to grab Yu Qian’s arm when she heard this voice, and her shoulders trembled slightly. She straightened up and looked past the reluctant driver to see the silhouette of an elderly man sitting inside the gauze curtain.
“Uncle Guo?” Su Jingxi called out tentatively.
An aged hand lifted the gauze curtain, and an old man wearing a Dongpo headband leaned out, looking very surprised: “Jingxi?”
“Splash!” “Splash!”
With two sounds of water, Wu Dingyuan and Zhu Zhanji fell into dark, cold water. The water was murky and gave off a faint stench of decay. With their hands bound behind their backs, they could only hold their breath, close their eyes, and desperately kick their legs to find balance.
Fortunately, the water wasn’t too deep—their toes soon touched the solid bottom. Both men planted their feet firmly and quickly straightened up, their heads breaking the surface just before they ran out of breath, gasping heavily.
The water level wasn’t too deep—when Wu Dingyuan stood straight, it only reached his mid-chest. However, for Zhu Zhanji’s height, it probably reached his neck. In the complete darkness, Wu Dingyuan could only locate the Prince by his heavy breathing.
Zhu Zhanji was also trying to move closer to him, creating waves as he pushed through the water. Soon, they managed to come together, standing back to back. In this environment where vision was useless, only actual physical contact could provide any sense of security.
“So… they just threw us in a water prison?” Zhu Zhanji asked, his tone somewhat strange.
“What else did you expect?” Wu Dingyuan replied stiffly.
“If they knew my identity, would they treat us so carelessly? They must think we’re just petty thieves!”
Wu Dingyuan gave a cold laugh: “Carelessly? You must not understand how terrible this water prison is.”
Zhu Zhanji said, “It’s just standing in water—surely it can’t be worse than palace castration.”
“In three days, you’ll wish you had been castrated instead,” Wu Dingyuan said. “In the water prison, you can only stand upright. If you bend even slightly or try to sit, the water will cover your nose. If one day isn’t enough, they’ll keep you for three; if three days aren’t enough, they’ll keep you for five. Eventually, you’ll collapse from exhaustion and drown. The process is extremely slow—you’ll have plenty of time to experience your death.”
This explanation left Zhu Zhanji pale. He had thought the worst would be wrinkled skin; he hadn’t imagined such horror. “What should we do now?”
“Stay quiet.”
Wu Dingyuan stopped responding to the Prince and began observing their surroundings. He quickly noticed a square opening above, firmly covered by an iron grate with four bars, with faint light visible outside. Prisoners were probably thrown in through this entrance.
With his hands bound, he could only jump in the water. Being tall, his head hit the edge of the grate with a “bang,” but it didn’t budge—locked from outside.
After confirming the prison entrance was secured, Wu Dingyuan pressed his back against the uneven wall. It was built of broken stones and bricks, with lime mortar in the joints, covered with a layer of slippery moss. He backed along the wall, slowly moving through the water, trying to measure the layout and size of the entire water prison.
When he reached the other side, he discovered there were already others imprisoned there. Three people stood silently in the water, backs against the wall, one of them noticeably taller than the others above the water’s surface.
They had noticed the new arrivals but remained silent. These poor souls had probably been here for several days and considered talking a waste of precious energy, to be avoided if possible.
Wu Dingyuan ignored them too, continuing to feel his way around the dark walls until he had a good sense of the space. Judging from Steward Wang’s actions, he hadn’t recognized Zhu Zhanji’s true identity—he simply wanted to steal the bag of Hepu pearls.
The people already in the water prison were probably thieves or bandits. The steward likely planned to falsely accuse them of being accomplices, having them tried together. This way, his theft of the pearls would be cleanly handled, leaving no loose ends.
In official circles, this was called “crime grafting”—attaching an unrelated crime to the victim, then trying them together with real criminals. The evidence against the real criminals would automatically become evidence against the victim—a very effective technique. Only someone experienced in criminal matters could execute such a refined scheme.
Seeing that the others had no desire to talk, Wu Dingyuan swam back to the Crown Prince. When the Prince asked if he’d found another exit, Wu Dingyuan said no. The walls were solid all around, with only a small drainage hole at the bottom that perhaps only water snakes could squeeze through.
“What can we do?” Zhu Zhanji looked up anxiously. It was already late, and darkness pervaded beyond the grate. Not only might they miss tomorrow morning’s supply ship, but they could die here in this water prison as common thieves.
To have miraculously survived the treasure ship catastrophe, to have fought their way out of Nanjing’s encirclement, only to capsize in this small water prison? Zhu Zhanji found it infuriating.
“There’s nothing we can do now except wait. Whether we escape depends on whether the people outside are clever enough,” Wu Dingyuan mumbled.
“You mean Yu Qian?”
“No, Little Almond is admirably loyal, but he’s just a stubborn block of wood. I mean Su Jingxi.” A complex light flickered in Wu Dingyuan’s eyes, though the Prince couldn’t see it in the darkness.
“Doctor Su?” Zhu Zhanji was startled.
“How could someone capable of poisoning Zhu Buhua be an ordinary woman?” Wu Dingyuan chose his words carefully. “That woman… has a porcelain face but a crystal-clear mind. If anyone can detect Steward Wang’s suspicious behavior, it would be her.”
“It’s rare to hear you praise someone.” The Prince reflected that since meeting Wu Dingyuan, the man had always maintained a caustic, infuriating demeanor—this was the first time he’d offered such direct praise. A slight wariness arose in his heart: “Could it be that you also find Doctor Su appealing?”
“I just wish she would be more forthright, instead of keeping things hidden.”
Both fell silent, and the water prison returned to dead quietness. After a while, the Prince’s voice suddenly rose again: “Wu Dingyuan, have you noticed?”
“What?”
“This is the first time you’ve spoken to me like this.”
This sudden observation startled Wu Dingyuan. Thinking back, it was true. Previously, because of his strange headaches, he couldn’t look directly at the Prince, either speaking to Yu Qian or forcing out a few painful shouts when necessary. Now in darkness, unable to see each other’s faces, they could converse like ordinary friends.
“…Uh, yeah,” he answered.
Another awkward silence followed. Their status, education, and interests were worlds apart—there was little to discuss except escape plans. But in this water prison, there was nothing to plan, only waiting.
This was the true terror of the water prison. The quiet, enclosed space, pitch darkness, and encompassing cold water stripped prisoners of their senses, making their thoughts unusually sharp. The first torture they faced wasn’t pain or fatigue, but extreme emptiness and boredom.
Unable to bear the oppression, Zhu Zhanji spoke again: “I have a question, though I’m not sure if I should ask.”
“Big Radish, you’re already asking,” Wu Dingyuan replied irreverently.
“You just said you hoped Su Jingxi would be more honest—I wish the same of you.” Zhu Zhanji moved closer to the voice. “How did you end up like this?”
Though they’d known each other barely a day, Zhu Zhanji had learned quite a bit about this “Scornful Pole’s” life. This man possessed remarkable abilities, yet deliberately hid behind his father, willingly enduring public mockery and bearing the stigma of drunkenness and whoring. Zhu Zhanji couldn’t understand why anyone would debase themselves so.
In the ink-dark water prison, silence reigned. Zhu Zhanji wondered if he’d gone too far. Just as the Prince decided to abandon the topic, Wu Dingyuan’s voice drifted through the darkness, lacking its usual sarcasm, carrying only faint weariness and sorrow:
“Since childhood, I’ve admired my father above all. He was the most formidable constable in the Southern Metropolitan Region—no criminal could escape his thunderous methods. When children in Nanjing played cops and robbers, they called the cops ‘Iron Lion.’ Whenever I played with them, I refused to be a robber—how could the Iron Lion’s child play a thief? I had to be a cop.
“However, I always found it strange that I only remembered things after age six, with no memories before that. I asked my parents, and they said children just don’t remember well, so I believed them. When I was twelve, my mother died after giving birth to Yulu, and my father never remarried, raising us two alone. From then on, I began learning combat skills, tracking, and forensics, training my eyes and feet, hoping that one day I could become someone like my father—protecting my family and the people of Jinling.
“In the thirteenth year of Yongle, I got a position as a regular constable in the Yingtian Prefecture, the first step toward my dream. I was so happy that day, I decided to celebrate with some wine at Taohua Ferry. On the way, I saw a thief who’d stolen a farm woman’s vegetable money. I chased him along the Qinhuai River for five or six li before catching him. Just as I was about to tie him up, I looked up and saw my father entering the Furle House.
“The prefecture’s constables often visited brothels, but usually in Neiqiao or Zhongzheng Street, not such high-class places along the Qinhuai River. Moreover, I knew my father well—since my mother’s death, he’d never shown interest in women. The neighbors even joked about it, saying they’d seen widows staying faithful to dead husbands, but never a widower staying faithful to a dead wife. So you can imagine my shock when I saw him enter the Furle House.
“However, I didn’t confront him, first taking the thief to the authorities. That evening at home, I tried probing, but my father said nothing. My curiosity grew, so I investigated the Furle House and learned that the courtesan my father visited was called Hongyu. I used some tactics to meet Hongyu. Unexpectedly, when I first saw Hongyu… or Auntie Hong, I was completely stunned.”
“Like when you see me, with unbearable headaches?” Zhu Zhanji asked.
“No, it was incredibly comfortable,” Wu Dingyuan closed his eyes, seemingly savoring the memory. “Like warm water gradually flowing over your feet, seeping between each toe, making your whole body feel warm—more soothing than the finest masseur.” Though his description was crude, Zhu Zhanji understood the general idea.
“Auntie Hong had a strange reaction to seeing me too. She seemed to know me from before but tried hard to act as if she didn’t. I saw through it immediately but didn’t say anything. I just visited her often, not for anything else, just to see her face and experience that wonderful feeling again—I couldn’t get enough. I wondered why seeing my own mother’s face never gave me this feeling, yet I felt such familiarity with a stranger. Why? What was her relationship with my father? I never investigated, fearing that if I revealed the truth, that feeling would vanish.
“These meetings continued many times. Once, a drunk burst into Auntie Hong’s room, complaining that her pipa playing was too noisy. He cursed viciously, calling her a bitch ridden by father and son—clearly referring to my father and me. Enraged, I went to grab the drunk, and in the scuffle, accidentally knocked over a candle, setting the whole Furle House ablaze. When I saw the huge flames, suddenly my head felt like it was splitting open, as if a grasshopper was jumping and gnawing inside my skull. I foamed at the mouth, my limbs convulsed, and I collapsed.
“When I hazily awoke, I was lying on Auntie Hong’s bed, and she seemed to be talking with my father outside. They didn’t know I was conscious and spoke freely. I only vaguely heard one line—Auntie Hong saying, ‘You’ve raised him all these years, how is that different from being his real father?’ It hit me like a thunderbolt. You must understand, that I’d always taken pride in being the Iron Lion’s son. Learning this truth was devastating. At that moment, it felt like the sky was falling, and everything turned gray. I was a bastard, I was a fucking bastard…”
Wu Dingyuan’s tone seemed to return to that day. Zhu Zhanji struggled to move his lips: “Didn’t you ask about your true background?”
“How could I not? When Auntie Hong came in, I questioned her thoroughly. She first claimed I’d misheard, but couldn’t withstand my repeated questioning and finally nodded in confirmation, though she wouldn’t say more. When I pressed further, she raised her hairpin and said if I asked again or revealed this to my father, she would take her own life. I knew she was serious, so I had to swallow my questions and return home with my father, completely devastated.
“After that, my life changed entirely. Whenever I saw even slightly large flames, I’d have epileptic fits, foaming at the mouth, with uncontrollable headaches. Forget inheriting the Iron Lion’s mantle—I couldn’t even be an ordinary constable. What constable has fits at the sight of fire? I became useless, a bastard of unknown origin.
“I’m not sure which hit me harder—the epilepsy or being a bastard. I didn’t dare tell my father, fearing I’d lose even our adoptive relationship. I began deliberately drinking excessively, making everyone despise and scorn me, hoping they’d all think I was unworthy of being the Iron Lion’s son because of my behavior rather than my birth. When it became unbearable, I’d go to Auntie Hong’s, doing nothing but staring at her face—only then could I find some peace. This earned me a reputation for whoring, but well, it didn’t matter.
“My father always thought my personality change was just because of the strange illness. He found many doctors for me, but nothing helped. He tried many times to get me to quit drinking, using both beatings and scolding when persuasion failed, but nothing worked. I secretly continued helping my father, solving many major and unusual cases, but I had no right to share in the Iron Lion’s glory, preferring to give him all the credit. I was repaying my debt of gratitude to someone who raised me despite having no blood relation…”
Wu Dingyuan had spoken at length, unsure why he was willing to reveal these things. Perhaps it was the prison’s confined environment that created an urge to confide; perhaps he’d kept the secret bottled up too long and needed release. His listener was the exalted Crown Prince of the Great Ming, a celestial dragon—why would such a being care about a cricket’s fate? The vast difference in their status somehow made it easier to speak freely.
Strangely, though, Zhu Zhanji offered no cutting remarks after hearing the story. Wu Dingyuan gave a self-mocking smile—such things were indeed hard for others to understand. However, he quickly realized something was wrong with this silence. He called out the Prince’s name and reached forward, discovering that Zhu Zhanji had nearly submerged completely, bubbles rising to the surface.
Zhu Zhanji had probably lost his balance while listening intently. With his hands bound, he couldn’t even brace himself and could only sink.
Unable to use his hands, Wu Dingyuan hooked his left leg against the Prince’s chest as it pitched forward, lifting to barely prop him above water. Zhu Zhanji coughed up several mouthfuls of water, raised his head, and mumbled, “Then what happened?”
“Never mind that now.” Wu Dingyuan tried to lift the Prince again while looking toward the other side of the prison, apparently noticing something.
The three men were still there, standing like stone statues against the wall. Wu Dingyuan narrowed his eyes, observed for a moment, steadied the Prince, then walked directly to the middleman and said in a low voice, “May I borrow this spot?”
The man’s eyebrows shot up, seemingly unwilling. But Wu Dingyuan unceremoniously nudged him aside, gesturing for Zhu Zhanji to come over. The Prince was puzzled but understood when he leaned against the wall. There was a protrusion, created by years of water damage pushing out the bricks. Its size and height were perfect for sitting while keeping one’s head above water. In this prison, it was more precious than the Dragon Throne.
The three men had discovered this treasured spot earlier and took turns sitting on it. Wu Dingyuan noticed their standing order had changed, with the central figure slightly higher than the others, revealing their system. Seeing their precious spot about to be taken, the three could no longer remain calm and gathered around with ugly expressions.
However, they’d been in the water too long, tired and hungry, and were no match for Wu Dingyuan’s fresh strength. Feeling somewhat sympathetic, he said, “Just borrowing it temporarily, we’ll take turns. You won’t lose out.”
He turned around and struggled to retrieve a water-soaked pine cake from Zhu Zhanji’s clothes, taken earlier from the gambling den. The three men’s eyes lit up at the sight of food. Wu Dingyuan passed it back with his bound hands. The men showed some honor, each taking only one bite, not eating more. After finishing the cake, their spirits revived somewhat, and they finally dared to speak.
It turned out they were boatmen from Yuetang Village in Yizhen County. The two older ones were Xie Sanfa and Zheng Xianlun, while the younger one, Zheng Xiandi, was Zheng Xianlun’s cousin. Wu Dingyuan asked why they were imprisoned.
Xie Sanfa, the eldest, explained with a bitter smile that recent changes in the grain transport system had made life unbearable for boatmen. Their fellow villagers had chosen them to negotiate with Wang Ji. Unfortunately, the talks turned hostile, and Wang Ji accused them of being river bandits, throwing them directly into the water prison.
Hearing it concerned grain transport policy, Zhu Zhanji paid special attention, as Emperor Hongxi had personally implemented these changes. “I heard the change from transfer transport to exchange transport was our current emperor’s benevolent policy to help the common people. Why do you find it so unbearable?”
Zheng Xianlun spat into the water viciously: “Benevolent policy my ass! Let the old emperor try it himself and see how it stinks!” The crude words made Zhu Zhanji’s expression change slightly, nearly lost his seat.
Xie Sanfa quickly smoothed things over: “Under the old transfer system, we boatmen were conscripted for transport duty from Suzhou-Songjiang to Dezhou, taking nearly half a year—exhausting work. Now with the exchange system, we only transport from Suzhou-Songjiang to Huai’an, hand it over to the military officers there, and can return home—truly a merciful policy. However…”
“However what?” Zhu Zhanji pressed. Zheng Xianlun burst out, “However, we boatmen have to pay the transport fees from Huai’an to Dezhou!”
Zhu Zhanji understood immediately—that the labor service had been converted to monetary payment. In other words, the boatmen paid to hire military households to handle the transport—this should still be better than corvée labor, so he couldn’t understand their complaints.
“Is it because the transport office set the fees too high?”
Xie Sanfa explained: “The office’s regulation is one sheng per shi of grain, which isn’t too high. But at Master Wang’s level, it becomes five shengs per shi, five times higher—who can afford that?”
“Grain transport fees are government business—what does a salt merchant have to do with it?”
All three men looked at Zhu Zhanji sympathetically, as if he were an idiot. Zheng Xianlun sneered, “You don’t understand how things work. Everyone in Yangzhou knows you can’t sail without Dragon King Wang’s boats!”
Through their explanation and cursing, Zhu Zhanji finally understood. Under the old transfer system, the government provided boats for the entire journey, and boatmen just had to follow along. Now with the exchange system, the government no longer provided vessels for the Suzhou-Songjiang to Huai’an route—boatmen had to arrange their transportation. Poor men like Xie Sanfa and the Zheng brothers didn’t own large boats and had to band together in groups of five or ten households to rent them. All suitable large boats were monopolized by Wang Ji, who could set whatever rental price he wanted. Of the “five sheng per shi” fee, only one sheng went to the government—the other four were boat rental fees.
“Master Wang says lending his boats for grain transport takes away capacity from other businesses. If he doesn’t set high rental fees, he’ll lose money. At these rates, our whole families will starve after one trip. We begged him for a way to survive, but he ignored us, saying if we had the ability, we didn’t have to rent his boats. But all the 400-liang grain transport boats are in the Wang family’s hands—we can’t complete the transport without renting from them.”
Zhu Zhanji burned with anger: “This is outrageous! Has no one reported it to the authorities?”
“He’s thick as thieves with the Yangzhou Prefect and the Garrison Commander—who could touch him? At least half of those four sheng goes to bribing the prefecture and garrison offices.” After Zheng Xianlun’s angry words, the previously silent Zheng Xiandi added, “Actually, that’s a minor issue. I heard from the porters that the Yangzhou garrison’s boats heading north are all smuggling the Wang family’s private salt.”
This revelation truly shocked Zhu Zhanji. Salt smuggling was a serious crime in the Great Ming, yet Wang Ji could command government vessels for such purposes—even more brazen than charging excessive rental fees.
The Prince fumed inwardly. Wang Ji’s greed knew no bounds—tens of thousands of jin of official salt licenses yearly weren’t enough, he had to engage in such despicable activities. On one hand collecting exorbitant boat rental fees, on the other exploiting military connections to smuggle salt. The profits from both were astronomical. The grain transport reforms appeared to benefit the people, but all advantages had been seized by the Wang family.
“This… this violates national law, doesn’t it?” he stammered.
“National law my ass! In Yangzhou, Master Wang is the law, bigger than the emperor himself,” Zheng Xianlun cursed bitterly. “The emperor sits in the capital eating big fish—how would he care about small shrimp-like us!”
Zhu Zhanji wanted to argue but didn’t know how. He had initially felt indignant, thinking them ignorant peasants who didn’t understand the court’s good intentions. Now he witnessed firsthand how a policy meant to benefit both country and people had become a tool for parasites to profit.
This was how these so-called loyal ministers and upright merchants repaid the emperor’s trust. No wonder Wang Ji could so easily gift a treasure ship—it all came from undermining the nation’s foundation. Having gained such advantages, his treasonous heart still wasn’t satisfied, even plotting to usurp the throne. The more Zhu Zhanji thought about it, the more his entire body trembled with rage, desperately wanting to leap out of the water prison and personally flay this scoundrel alive!
His emotions grew too intense, his whole body shaking violently. Suddenly, the Prince heard a faint “crack,” then his seat gave way, and he sank into the water as the protruding brick broke loose…
“Big Radish?!” Wu Dingyuan cried out in alarm.