The twenty-first day of the fifth month (Gengyin) is the first year of Hongxi’s reign.

It was between noon and afternoon, the time when sunlight was at its fiercest, and there wasn’t a thin cloud in sight. The heat poured down without any obstruction, making the wide Grand Canal gleam blindingly bright, like molten iron being poured from a crucible into a channel.

Sticky humidity rose from the water around the small boat, seeping through the gaps in the awning and clinging to the passengers’ exposed skin like rice-paste-soaked bamboo paper, making it difficult to breathe or move. By rights, having entered Huai’an Prefecture’s territory, the climate should have been more refreshing than in Nanjing.

The stifling heat wasn’t entirely due to natural causes; human activity played its part too.

If any passenger had dared to brave the scorching sun and stand at the bow, they would have noticed how different this stretch of the canal looked compared to other places. Earlier, from Guazhou to Baoying County, the canal banks had been lush with vegetation, either lined with willows or thick with reeds and water plants, presenting various shades of vibrant green that lifted one’s spirits.

But now, along this stretch of the canal, not a hint of green could be seen.

Instead, the view was a patchwork of earthen yellow, dark brown, and smoky grey. The yellow came from endless rammed-earth platforms and dockyards, the brown from rows upon rows of workshops, and the grey from the forge smoke that billowed high above them. As the small boat progressed, they could see countless craftsmen crawling like ants over massive ship keels, their hammers and chisels creating an endless symphony of metallic clangs. The air over the river was thick with the acrid smell of tung oil and lime.

No wonder the passengers felt parched and stifled with such an industrial racket.

“Young master, the shipyards have taken over much of the shallows here, so we can only travel down the middle channel, constantly making way for larger vessels. This will slow us down somewhat,” said Zheng Xianti, wearing a conical hat and holding a pole as he turned to address the cabin.

Zhu Zhanji reluctantly poked his head out from under the awning and glanced at the shore. “Why are there so many shipyards?”

“Huai’an has the Qingjiang Supervisory Shipyard,” Zheng Xianti explained. “All the canal ships for Southern Zhili, Zhejiang, Huguang, and Jiangxi are built here, then sent directly along the canal to their respective guard posts. But what we’re seeing now is just part of the Zhejiang yard. The main yards for the capital and Southern Zhili are still further north in Qingjiang County.”

If this busy scene was merely one yard, Zhu Zhanji wondered how impressive the entire Huai’an shipbuilding complex must be. The thought cheered him—it was a sign of the nation’s enduring strength.

Wu Dingyuan, uninterested in the shipyard scenery, asked, “How far can this boat take us?”

“We’ve just passed Wadian Shop in Baoying County,” Zheng Xianti answered. “We can go another ten or twenty li to Shijiagang. We can’t go further than that—boats without proper papers will be detained by river patrols.”

“Where do we disembark?”

“There’s a creek called Qingxi Gou beside Shijiagang. My boat can turn off the canal and take you northeast along it for about six li. After that, you’ll need to continue on foot.” Fearing misunderstanding, Zheng Xianti quickly added, “It’s not an official road, but there’s a main path that leads straight to Huai’an city, only about twenty-some li away.”

“That’s fine, thank you for your efforts,” Zhu Zhanji nodded. Zheng Xianti quickly freed his hands to bow deeply, while his brother Zheng Xiunlun pursed his lips and continued rowing. Wu Dingyuan hesitated before offering them a pearl, but when Zheng Xiunlun reached for it, Zheng Xianti quickly signaled with his eyes, saying they were repaying a debt of gratitude and couldn’t accept payment from their benefactor.

He had likely already suspected Zhu Zhanji’s identity and decided that showing generosity now was better than accepting immediate payment—a gamble on future rewards. Hearing this, Wu Dingyuan quickly withdrew his hand holding the pearl. Since any future rewards would come from Zhu Zhanji anyway, there was no need to use his savings.

The two brothers had indeed worked hard. After taking the Crown Prince and his three companions aboard their covered boat at Guazhou, they had traveled north day and night, passing through dozens of lakes in Taizhou and Baoying, reaching Huai’an County borders by the afternoon of the twenty-first. They had covered nearly three hundred li in two days, considerably faster than traveling by horse.

The covered boat continued for another two hours before stopping beside an abandoned grass field. This field had once been a storage area for a Hundred Households Guard post, but after the guard relocated, no one maintained the grass, and it became a transit point for smugglers and vagrants.

As everyone was about to bid farewell to the Zheng brothers, Yu Qian suddenly called out, “Wait a moment, you two.”

His voice reminded Zhu Zhanji and Wu Dingyuan that this usually loud man had been unusually quiet during the journey, neither offering endless advice nor citing historical references about local places, uncharacteristically lost in thought in the cabin.

Yu Qian asked the two boatmen to wait and approached the Crown Prince: “I couldn’t speak freely with the boatmen present, but there’s an urgent matter to discuss with Your Highness.” He then pulled out a letter from his robes and handed it over.

Zhu Zhanji took the letter with surprise, but his expression changed immediately upon seeing “Zhang Quan of Qiao Commandery” written on the envelope.

Others might not know, but the Crown Prince knew exactly who Zhang Quan of Qiao Commandery was. Qiao Commandery was present-day Yongcheng, his mother Empress Zhang’s hometown. Empress Zhang had two elder brothers, Zhang Chang the Earl of Pengcheng, and Zhang Sheng the Earl of Hui’an, as well as a cousin raised in their household named Zhang Quan.

This younger uncle of Zhu Zhanji’s wasn’t in the direct line and held no title, living quietly in the capital. However, Zhang Quan was accomplished in both civil and military arts, skilled in painting, calligraphy, metallurgy, and music, and also enjoyed hunting and horseback riding. Combined with his social grace and a wide network of connections, he had earned quite a reputation as a scholar-gentleman in the capital, where people respectfully called him “Lord Zhang.” The Crown Prince was very fond of this uncle who excelled in various forms of entertainment, and they shared a close relationship.

Given Zhang Quan’s social connections, corresponding with a great scholar of the Left wasn’t surprising. However, at this crucial moment, the coincidence seemed rather suspicious.

The sun was too harsh outside, so Zhu Zhanji took the letter into a nearby thatched cottage and sat down at an abandoned stove to quickly open it. Inside was just a very thin note, heavily creased. The elegant running script was indeed Lord Zhang’s handwriting. Apart from routine pleasantries, the letter merely discussed some interpretations of the Spring and Autumn Annals, asking Guo Chunzhi about the meaning of the character “ke” in “Zheng Bo ke Duan yu Yan,” and requesting him to visit an old friend named Chu Dong in Nanjing.

Zhu Zhanji examined it several times but couldn’t see anything special about it. He even held the note up to the sunlight but found no hidden text.

Yu Qian said, “Look at the date.”

The Crown Prince tilted his head and noticed the date was the twelfth day of the fifth month.

“Oh?”

The Crown Prince finally noticed what was strange. Emperor Hongxi had fallen ill on the eleventh day of the fifth month—how could Zhang Quan, as an imperial relative, have had the leisure to discuss classical texts the very next day?

Zhu Zhanji looked at Yu Qian, knowing he had already reached a conclusion but was constrained by his position as a subject from speaking it aloud. And what Yu Qian was reluctant to say could only be one thing… The Crown Prince thought of the secret message in Empress Zhang’s letter using a feudal prince’s “treasure of kinship,” and Zhang Quan’s letter discussing “Zheng Bo ke Duan yu Yan”—where Duke Zheng of Zheng defeated his younger brother Gong Shu Duan who had coveted the throne.

When these two hints were combined, the conclusion was obvious—the mastermind behind all this must be either Prince Yi or Prince Xiangxian!

“But… why would Zhang Quan write to Guo Chunzhi? And why did Guo Chunzhi give it to Wang Ji?” Zhu Zhanji’s mouth felt dry.

Yu Qian replied, “Your Highness, think carefully. Lord Zhang usually lives quietly in the capital—after the palace incident, he was probably the only one who could still move freely. I dare speculate that when Lord Zhang sensed something amiss in the palace, he quickly sent this coded message, using Guo Chunzhi to warn Your Highness through Wang Ji. Look at how he asks Guo Chunzhi to visit his old friend Chu Dong in Nanjing—split apart, doesn’t it suggest ‘Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace’?”

The explanation was somewhat convoluted, but Zhu Zhanji quickly understood. Zhang Quan had maintained contact with Guo Chunzhi, who was an old friend of Wang Ji, and Wang Ji, as a wealthy merchant in Yanghuai, would certainly host the Crown Prince when he passed through. This was the fastest way for Zhang Quan to notify the Crown Prince.

As for Wang Ji being part of the conspiracy, that was beyond Zhang Quan’s prediction.

“Uncle cares for me, I know that,” Zhu Zhanji sighed dejectedly, “but what good does that do now?”

Yu Qian smiled, “Actually, the letter itself isn’t the key—look at the corner.”

“Hmm?”

Looking closer, Zhu Zhanji noticed what appeared to be a stain in the upper right corner, seeming to be a mixture of pigeon droppings and wax.

“A messenger pigeon?”

“Indeed. From the letter’s creases, this isn’t ordinary folding but screen folding, likely done to fit into a small cylinder attached to a pigeon’s leg, sealed with wax. This letter must have been sent by Lord Zhang to Guo Chunzhi by carrier pigeon.”

The Crown Prince, besides cockfighting, was also quite knowledgeable about raising pigeons. He excitedly grabbed Yu Qian’s shoulders: “Pigeons always fly both ways—if my uncle has pigeons going to the Guo household, they must have returned pigeons to the capital! If we write a letter to the Guo household, we can establish contact with my uncle!”

The Crown Prince’s gloom lifted somewhat at this thought, and his eyes even grew slightly moist. What had troubled him most was his complete ignorance of events in the capital: Was his father alive or dead? Was his mother imprisoned or free? What measures had the two princes taken? What were all those important officials doing? He knew nothing, almost diving blindly into the murky waters of the capital.

If he could meet with Zhang Quan, he could get firsthand information from his uncle. In struggles for the throne, even the slightest intelligence advantage could mean the difference between life and death. When Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji entered the palace, not knowing that the Xuanwu Gate commander Chang He had been bought by Li Shimin, they were tragically killed—a prime example.

Since the disaster on the treasure ship, Zhu Zhanji had suffered a series of heavy blows, isolated and broken-spirited. Now, finally having a chance to contact a relative was like sweet rain after a long drought. The emotion of soon meeting a family member was something Yu, Wu, Su, and the others couldn’t replace.

Yu Qian then said, “Now, please leave a secret mark in the letter that only Lord Zhang would understand, and we’ll ask the Zheng brothers to make a trip to the Guo family in Taizhou.” He turned to Su Jingxi: “Also, please provide a token so the Guo family will cooperate in releasing the messenger pigeon.”

Su Jingxi, nominally the Guo family’s unbetrothed daughter-in-law, nodded slightly, indicating this wouldn’t be difficult.

Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help asking, “Where will we meet my uncle?”

Yu Qian had already calculated this: “I worked it out on the boat. We leave Huai’an today, tomorrow the Zheng brothers reach Taizhou and release the pigeon, which takes three days to reach the capital. So four days after we leave Huai’an, Lord Zhang should start heading south. Calculating both parties’ travel speeds, we should meet at Linqing. It’s at the northern end of the Huitong River, an important hub on the Grand Canal—convenient for both parties to meet.”

“Excellent! We’ll meet Uncle at Linqing!”

Zhu Zhanji jumped down from the stove, excited. He provided a secret mark for Yu Qian to include in the note, and Su Jingxi produced a token, both of which were given to the Zheng brothers.

The Zheng brothers, unaware of the letter’s contents, carefully tucked away the message, bid farewell to everyone, and rowed their boat back toward Taizhou. The other three picked up their luggage and followed the now-cheerful Crown Prince toward Huai’an City.

Their landing place was called Lao Huai Pu, about twenty-some li from Huai’an city, connected by a fairly wide mule path. However, walking in such hot weather was truly exhausting. After just three li, all four had developed a fine layer of sweat on their foreheads.

Wu Dingyuan observed the dense wheel tracks on the yellow earth road and concluded there must be a market town nearby, so he suggested waiting in the shade of a tree. Sure enough, before long, an ox cart came slowly by, loaded with mustard greens, summer vegetables, and garden produce, driven by a vegetable vendor headed to Huai’an.

They spent a little money, and the vegetable vendor let all four climb aboard, heading toward Huai’an City. As the ox cart swayed along at an unhurried pace, Yu Qian’s chattiness resumed, enthusiastically explaining the situation in Huai’an: “Huai’an, you see, is called the center of the world. It connects to the Yellow and Huai Rivers in the north, the Great River in the south, links to Ruzhou in the west, and reaches Haizhou in the east, providing direct access to the Eastern Sea. It’s truly the key junction between the Yangtze and Huai rivers, the throat of the canal system. Even the Six Ministries of the court specially designated Huai’an Prefecture for direct administration, showing its high status…”

“Tell us quickly, how will we take a boat later?” Zhu Zhanji rudely interrupted.

“Huai’an is much simpler than Guazhou. Merchants gather here, and there are many civilian boats. We can go straight to Qingkou and pick any fast, shallow-draft fresh cargo boat,” Yu Qian explained confidently.

“There won’t be any more problems, will there?” The Crown Prince still remembered the incident at Guazhou.

Yu Qian glanced behind them—both Nanjing and Yangzhou were distant specks on the horizon, and Zhu Puhua, Liang Xingfu, and Wang Ji were dead. As long as they concealed their identities, it was hard to imagine running into more trouble.

“Rest assured, Your Highness, everything will be smooth sailing from here!” Yu Qian answered confidently, raising his hand and clenching it firmly like Wu Dingyuan.

A long arm suddenly reached over and roughly yanked Yu Qian’s gauze hat off his head. As his eyes widened in anger, Wu Dingyuan had already placed the hat over his face and started snoring among the vegetables.

Yu Qian looked somewhat aggrieved toward the Crown Prince, but Zhu Zhanji waved his hand, telling him not to disturb. Wu Dingyuan hadn’t slept much on the boat, as he hadn’t fully trusted the Zheng brothers and had constantly monitored their course. Only now could he finally relax a little. Yu Qian muttered, “If he had just asked me, wouldn’t I have lent it to him? Taking without asking is…”

The Crown Prince pinched his nose bridge and climbed to the other side of the vegetable pile. Though slightly uncomfortable, at least it was peaceful. Su Jingxi found it amusing and took out her handkerchief to give to Yu Qian, which could at least block some sunlight.

About two hours later, the ox cart finally reached Huai’an’s South Gate at the hour of Shen on the twenty-first day of the fifth month. Huai’an had two cities—an old city, originally the Tang dynasty’s Chuzhou, with its northern edge adjoining the Huai River. During the Yuan dynasty, officials found the old city too dilapidated and difficult to repair, so they built a new city about a li to the northwest, positioned at an angle to the Huai River, extending to Qingjiang Pu.

The cart arrived at the Sheyang Gate of the old city. Compared to the imposing blue-brick walls of the distant new city, the old city’s rammed earth walls with their brick facing appeared quite decrepit. The watch tower’s ridge was missing many of its black tiles, making it look from afar like a crow’s nest perched atop the Sheyang Gate.

Though the gate was dilapidated, the city within was quite lively. Upon entering, they first saw a stone road four zhang wide, paved with bluish-gray stone slabs of varying lengths and cobblestones filling the gaps. Legend had it that whenever local Huai’an merchants traveled, they would bring back a stone slab to lay in front of their homes. Over time, these accumulated into this impressive road. Though the story might not be true, it showed Huai’an’s prosperity and flourishing trade.

The stone road was filled with an endless stream of carriages and horses, with pedestrians shoulder to shoulder. The passing crowds wore either Hu silk or Shu brocade—mostly merchants from the north and south. Along both sides of the stone road were arcade shops built in the Nanjing style, with rows of money changers, pawnshops, wine houses, food stalls, porcelain shops, and various goods stores. Everything was available, though mostly items for pleasure rather than major trade goods. These shops’ banners crisscrossed, their signboards connected, and their clerks used every trick to loudly hawk their wares to passersby.

This was another distinctive feature of Huai’an. The new city had open terrain and spacious warehouses, mostly for conducting major business deals, but afterward, people would return to the old city to relax. Many old establishments and residents were here, with a cultural depth the new city couldn’t match. There was a local saying: “New city for business, old city for relationships.”

Walking through the streets, the four could sense traces of Nanjing, Yangzhou, and Hangzhou in this mere directly administered prefecture’s old city—all benefits brought by canal transport.

Zhu Zhanji suddenly recalled Wang Ji’s words about the canal’s benefits reaching millions. If the capital were relocated, such bustling scenes might disappear. As he pondered the gains and losses, his stomach suddenly growled embarrassingly, reminding him they hadn’t properly sat down for a meal since leaving Nanjing.

Beside him, Su Jingxi tilted her head slightly and said, “I’m a bit hungry, let’s eat something first.”

Yu Qian thought eating outside might be too conspicuous, but Zhu Zhanji jumped in first: “Good, let’s fill our stomachs before anything else!”

Yu Qian quietly discussed with Wu Dingyuan, deciding to have Wu go find a pawnshop first to exchange some Hepu pearls for loose silver and paper money for expenses, while the others would find an eatery to rest.

Choosing where to eat was a problem. Yu Qian and Su Jingxi deferred to the Crown Prince, but after looking at signs until his eyes blurred, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t decide. Yu Qian smiled, “Huai’an is the dividing line between north and south, so the cuisine is most varied, with both rice and wheat, fish and lamb. Your Highness can choose according to taste.”

Hearing Yu Qian’s reminder, Zhu Zhanji noticed among the fluttering banners along the stone road signs for huoshao, bianshi, garlic noodles, and various northern foods. Having grown up in the capital, though Jiangnan cuisine was refined and delicate, when truly hungry, only wheat-based foods could satisfy him.

“Let’s go… have a bowl of garlic noodles!”

Zhu Zhanji finally decided. This dish was quite popular in the capital during summer, but as Crown Prince, having garlic breath would be unseemly, so he rarely got to eat it in the palace.

They went directly to a relatively clean noodle shop. It wasn’t large, with only seven or eight wooden tables, but the decor had character. The walls were white and featured a poem: “Home lies near Mei Gao’s old residence, Bamboo pavilion connects with Chu’s sunny slope, Lotus fragrance wraps around drooping sleeves, Willow wind crosses flute-playing boats. City blocks the misty islands’ path, Temple faces a thousand-acre sunset stream. Alas, the season calls for return, Flowers fall, apes cry another year”—Late Tang master Zhao Chengyou’s “Remembering Shanyang.” Yu Qian read it with endless praise, saying even cart-pullers and sauce-sellers having such refined taste showed Huai’an’s deep cultural education.

The Crown Prince, with his rumbling stomach, cared nothing for poetry. He took charge and ordered three portions of Fulo garlic noodles, plus a pot of plum juice with crushed ice and a plate of tutu mashi.

Soon, the waiter brought three large crude porcelain bowls, setting them down with a clang. The bowls contained freshly boiled fine white noodles that had been rinsed in cold water, making them appear curled and distinct. On the table was a small open jar full of dark brown garlic sauce that diners could add to taste.

This wasn’t pure garlic sauce—it contained fine salt, minced ginger, scallion whites, toasted sesame seeds, and Sichuan pepper. Considering their many southern customers, the shop had also added some chopped water celery. Zhu Zhanji was already starving, so he ladled on a thick layer, added some sesame oil and aged vinegar, mixed it with his chopsticks, and began eating like a whirlwind.

Yu Qian wrinkled his nose, forcing himself to eat a few bites before setting down his chopsticks. Su Jingxi called the shopkeeper and separately ordered a dish of soft-pocket eel, eating it slowly in small bites.

Zhu Zhanji slurped down one bowl, then took Yu Qian’s bowl and cleared that too, frightening Yu Qian almost to his knees—this was truly “pushing away food and removing clothes,” though something seemed off… After finishing Yu Qian’s portion, the Crown Prince saw the glossy, distinct strips of eel in Su Jingxi’s bowl and his throat moved involuntarily.

“What are you eating?”

Su Jingxi smiled slightly: “It’s Huai’an’s most famous dish, called the Complete Eel Feast, which can create various dishes from eel to fill an entire banquet. This soft-pocket eel is made from the back meat of young pencil-thin eels, quickly fried in hot oil, achieving both cooked fragrance and maintaining tenderness.” She then took an empty bowl and gave the Crown Prince most of her portion.

Zhu Zhanji didn’t stand on ceremony, picking up a piece with his chopsticks. The eel’s spine was so soft both ends drooped down, truly like a soft pocket. Once in his mouth, it was incredibly smooth and tender, seeming to slide down his throat on its own. Chewing carefully released waves of fragrant oil that spread through his teeth and tongue roots, immediately immersing his entire body in pleasure. He had been served this during his earlier trip to Nanjing when passing through Huai’an, but back then among all the delicacies, it hadn’t seemed extraordinary. No cuisine compares to eating when truly hungry—now it tastes divine.

By then Wu Dingyuan had arrived. He first glanced at the table and asked who had ordered such stinky garlic noodles. Zhu Zhanji’s face darkened, about to flare up, when he let out a loud belch instead. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t help but glare at him, which immediately caused his head to throb again.

The two clearly couldn’t eat together, so Wu Dingyuan sat at a nearby table and asked for a bowl of bianshi, eating with his head down.

Yu Qian sat across from him and asked how much money he had exchanged. Wu Dingyuan irritably tapped the table, saying Huai’an’s local customs were too cunning. He had pawned ten pearls at the shop and only received a hundred taels of silver, twenty taels each, getting five large silver ingots and two hundred strings of paper money. Wu Dingyuan complained that the pawnshop manager was too greedy, clearly undervaluing the pearls, and the silver’s purity was lacking. If they weren’t pressed for time, he would have given them trouble over it.

“A bunch of thieves obsessing over every zhu.”

“It’s ‘obsessing over every zi,'” Su Jingxi lifted her head to correct him, then lowered it again.

Yu Qian advised that less trouble was better than more. Wu Dingyuan pursed his lips, saying he’d add the price difference to the account to be settled in the capital. After hearing this, Yu Qian silently returned to the Crown Prince’s table and lowered his head to eat his noodles. The poor scholar’s aura from the next table was so strong, that he almost didn’t need vinegar with his noodles.

Soon everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, especially Zhu Zhanji, who patted his belly and kept burping. It wasn’t good to walk immediately after a full meal, so they leisurely chatted while drinking plum juice to aid digestion, enjoying this rare moment of anonymity.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the canal transport before them. Zhu Zhanji asked Yu Qian when they should look for a boat, and Yu Qian replied: “Huai’an is different from other places. Even after you’ve found a boat, you’ll have to wait half the night, so there’s no rush.” Yu Qian smiled and continued, “Young master, you’ve come at a good time. Ten or more years ago, passing through Huai’an by canal was an extremely troublesome affair.”

“Oh? Why?”

Yu Qian took up two chopsticks and arranged them in a T-shape on the table: “Look, this horizontal line is the Huai River, and this vertical one is the Grand Canal. Their intersection point is called Mokou, just north of today’s old Huai’an city, also called the North Star Weir.” As he spoke, he slightly raised the vertical chopstick: “The old city of Huai’an sits higher than the Huai River, which created two problems. First, the canal couldn’t draw water from the Huai River, leading to insufficient water for transport. Second, with the canal higher than the Huai, the drop at Mokou where boats entered the Huai was too great, creating rapid currents that easily capsized vessels. To solve this, Song dynasty engineers bent the canal westward for a stretch, parallel to the Huai River, calling it the Inner Canal, and built five boat locks on it.”

Then Yu Qian took up a third chopstick, placing it below the horizontal one, nearly parallel but slightly angled up, with its left end connecting to the horizontal line’s left end. He then placed several small chopstick rests across the middle: “These are weirs, with water gates to control the flow. The Inner Canal has five weirs, named Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, and Xin. These five locks, from east to west, divide the canal into several sections. For example, when you reach the Ren section, the water authorities will divert water from the Yi section to ensure sufficient flow; when you enter the Yi section, they’ll divert water from both the Ren and Li sections. This layer-by-layer adjustment and mutual borrowing ensures each section has enough water for operation.”

Yu Qian’s index finger slowly slid along the third chopstick westward, stopping at its intersection with the Huai River chopstick. “Moreover, these five locks descend in height gradually. By the time canal boats reach Qingkou in Huaiyin, the water level matches the Huai River, making the entry almost risk-free. Since the construction of the five locks, Mokou gradually fell into disuse as everyone switched to using the Inner Canal to enter the Huai.”

Zhu Zhanji studied the three chopsticks arranged on the table with great admiration. After thinking, he asked, “But wouldn’t the weirs rise above the water? While good for water storage, how do boats pass through?”

Yu Qian praised him: “Young master’s attention to this detail shows you’re thinking carefully. Before the thirteenth year of Yongle, when canal boats passed through Huai’an, they would unload all cargo before the five locks. The goods were transported by land to Qingkou, while empty boats were pulled over the locks by towmen. The lock tops were covered with soft grass and mud to protect the boat bottoms. Empty boats would cross one lock at a time until reaching Qingkou, where they would reload and enter the Huai River.”

Zhu Zhanji hissed. Goodness—to reduce risk, they had to go through such trouble. Just getting one canal boat through the locks consumed so many hours and so much manpower. With thousands of boats passing through Huai’an each year, the cost must have been astronomical. All these expenses burdened the court, making Zhu Zhanji anxious: “Then what happened?”

Yu Qian continued: “Such transfers were indeed extremely costly. In the thirteenth year of Yongle, Canal Transport Commander Chen Xuan decided to try something different, excavating a new waterway called Qingjiang Pu. It ran diagonally westward from the old city’s south side, around the new city’s northwest corner, connecting directly to Qingkou. This canal drew water from Lake Hongze, requiring no locks for regulation. Thereafter, boats from Baoying could travel north directly along Qingjiang Pu into the Huai, avoiding both land transfer labor and lock crossing difficulties—without this, the capital’s relocation might have been delayed.”

He placed a fourth chopstick from the middle of the vertical one, angling northwest to intersect with the horizontal one’s end. Thus, Huai’an’s entire canal transport system was displayed on the table.

Hearing this, Zhu Zhanji nodded secretly. He had certainly heard of Chen Xuan, the Earl of Pingjiang appointed by the Yongle Emperor—it seemed his grandfather truly had an eye for talent.

“Commander Chen has remained in charge of Huai’an until now, firstly for establishing the Qingjiang Supervisory Shipyard, and secondly for excavating this Qingjiang Pu,” Yu Qian stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Wait…” Zhu Zhanji suddenly said, “You’re saying the Earl of Pingjiang is in Huai’an?”

“Yes, his Canal Transport Command Office is in the new city.”

“Should we perhaps try to meet him…” Zhu Zhanji asked cautiously.

Yu Qian’s brows furrowed deeply: “Young… master, have you forgotten my warnings? No wishful thinking, no meeting officials!”

Zhu Zhanji argued irritably: “I didn’t say I would go! One of you could test his stance. If he’s not involved in the conspiracy, wouldn’t that be helpful to us?”

As Crown Prince, having to anxiously avoid every government office was extremely frustrating. Zhu Zhanji felt that if even one official proved not to have been bought, their journey would be half as difficult. Especially if Chen Xuan wasn’t involved in the conspiracy, the canal route would be smooth sailing.

“Have you forgotten what Chen Xuan has done?” Yu Qian pointed out sternly. Zhu Zhanji fell silent immediately.

During Emperor Jianwen’s reign, Chen Xuan commanded the capital’s river defense fleet. As soon as the Yan forces crossed at Guazhou, Chen Xuan promptly defected to Zhu Di with his fleet, causing the Yangtze defense line to collapse and forcing Jinling to surrender. The Yongle Emperor, remembering his service, made him Earl of Pingjiang. Yu Qian’s meaning couldn’t be clearer—this man had once betrayed his sovereign, who could guarantee he wouldn’t do it again? They had no room for error.

Zhu Zhanji was quite unwilling but couldn’t argue back. He grudgingly grabbed his cup, drained the last few drops of plum juice, and set it down hard on the table. Wu Dingyuan checked the sky outside and urged them to hurry. So everyone got up, paid the bill, and walked out onto the main street.

In their heated discussion, they hadn’t noticed the kitchen shrine housing a statue of Maitreya Buddha seated on a white lotus throne.

By now dusk was falling and lanterns were being lit. The old city was bustling with noise and prosperity, with music and drinking games echoing back and forth. Though lacking Yangzhou’s refined luxury, it had more street-level vitality. While Huai’an’s main street was quite narrow, its alleys were extremely dense—every dozen steps brought another intersection, like an intricate maze. It took them quite a while to traverse the old quarter and exit through the West Gate.

Yu Qian planned to first find an inn in the new city where Su Jingxi could treat the Crown Prince’s arrow wound while he and Wu Dingyuan looked for a boat. After all, the brokers dealing with canal transport were all in the new city. Taking Qingjiang Pu wasn’t entirely smooth sailing, with several locks to pass through in sequence. So even after choosing a boat, they didn’t need to board immediately—they could leisurely wait for it to clear the locks before embarking.

Between Huai’an’s old and new cities lay a narrow strip of wasteland about two li wide. Strangely, while the old city was prosperous and the new city orderly, with frequent traffic between them, this intervening land—which should have been prime real estate—was completely desolate, without even a single poor person’s shack, just a level dirt road connecting the two city gates.

South of the dirt road stood a small temple. More of a large shrine than a temple, it had neither gable walls nor bells and drums, just a lonely hip-and-gable roofed hall with a square door and double windows, and an incense burner in front. Judging by the wax drippings accumulated beneath, it received decent patronage.

Zhu Zhanji asked: “Why does this temple look so strange?”

Yu Qian explained that it enshrined the Fourth Great King of the Golden Dragon. He had been a scholar named Xie Xu, the fourth son in his family. It was said that after Yuan forces captured Lin’an, he angrily drowned himself. Later, when the Hongwu Emperor battled Yuan forces at Lüliang Hong, Xie Xu’s spirit suddenly appeared and greatly defeated the Yuan army. Thus, the Hongwu Emperor entitled him the Fourth Great King of the Golden Dragon, becoming the deity of the Yellow River and canal system, with temples along the entire canal route.

Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help saying: “How did someone who drowned in Zhejiang end up showing divine power at Lüliang Hong? And this temple is too shabby.”

Yu Qian said: “Your Highness doesn’t know, but there are three or four quite large temples to the Fourth Great King in Huai’an. This small temple is called the Fourth King’s Rest Temple.”

“Rest Temple?”

Yu Qian had studied local customs thoroughly: “There’s a local legend: after Lord Hongwu made Xie Xu a canal deity, he casually pointed to this land between Huai’an’s old and new cities and granted it as his fief. However, the Golden Dragon Fourth King was busy patrolling the rivers and could only return occasionally, never staying long, so locals just built a rest temple for brief stops, hence no need for grandeur.”

“If someone doesn’t stay long, they don’t build them a proper house—these gods are easy to fool,” Wu Dingyuan sneered. Su Jingxi chimed in: “This is good. I’ve heard in some parts of Henan, during droughts they drag the Dragon King statue out of the temple and beat it until it rains.”

Yu Qian said: “Our dynasty’s folk customs mostly aren’t sincere worship, but more like doing business with gods and buddhas. If you grant my wish, I’ll regild your statue; if my matter isn’t settled, I’ll come break down your door and smash your mud idol. You can see how the people’s hearts depend on the teachings of sages.” Once he started pontificating, the topic instantly became boring, and the others fell silent.

Listening to these discussions, Zhu Zhanji curiously peered into the temple, wanting to see what this Golden Dragon Fourth King looked like. Unfortunately, in the dim light, he could only vaguely make out a tall black shadow in the center of the temple entrance, reaching from floor to ceiling, almost breaking through the roof. He hadn’t expected Xie Xu to be so tall—it did seem fitting for a canal deity.

The more he looked, the more familiar this deity seemed, especially its bearing and presence—he must have seen it somewhere before. Just then Yu Qian called him to hurry along. Zhu Zhanji turned away but couldn’t help looking back once more, and suddenly noticed the shadow move.

“A divine manifestation?” The Crown Prince rubbed his eyes, stopping in his tracks.

In the next instant, he first felt a slight wind pressure from the front, and then something forcefully struck his side, sending him staggering outward. When he regained his balance from the impact, he saw a thick black crossbow bolt had appeared in the ground where he had been standing, pinning Wu Dingyuan down.

“The Sick Buddha’s Enemy!” This time it was Yu Qian who cried out in shock.

An icy shudder rose from the soles of Zhu Zhanji’s feet, fear’s hand gripping all his limbs and organs. Liang Xingfu? Hadn’t he died at the Back Lake in Jinling?

As if to answer the Crown Prince’s question, the black shadow slowly emerged from the Rest Temple’s shadows—it was indeed Liang Xingfu. But he was different from before, his body now wrapped in a horrifying giant red lotus python, coiling upward, ready to strike at any moment. This nightmare from Jinling had crawled back from hell, even more terrifying than before.

Compared to his stature, the Fourth King’s Rest Temple seemed frail. With each step Liang Xingfu took out of the temple door, the surrounding air grew more condensed, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. In his hand, he held an unloaded waist-drawn crossbow—such crossbows were extremely heavy, requiring a strong man’s waist strength to draw, yet Liang Xingfu held it effortlessly.

The Crown Prince stood frozen in terror, legs trembling, while Su Jingxi beside him was the first to react, murmuring: “It’s the White Lotus Sect…”

Though the White Lotus Sect had been suppressed, many followers still lurked everywhere. If they could cause trouble in Nanjing, they naturally would have planted eyes and ears in an important center like Huai’an. They had grown too relaxed upon reaching Huai’an, and spies had probably spotted them as soon as they entered the city, quickly reporting to Liang Xingfu who had arrived in Huai’an.

But this was no time for recriminations—they needed to flee! Yet their strongest fighter had been shot down. Su Jingxi hurriedly bent to check, when with a ripping sound, Wu Dingyuan rose from the ground, his left trouser leg torn with a long gash.

The bolt had shot through his trouser leg, grazing his calf before embedding in the ground. Wu Dingyuan had no time to pull out the bolt, so he simply tore his pants open and forced himself up. But Su Jingxi could sense his breathing had become rapid, fine sweat beaded on his forehead, and his fingers trembled slightly—he was afraid, his inner fear no less than the Crown Prince’s.

By now Liang Xingfu was less than fifty paces away. Yu Qian roared: “The city towers are less than a li away on either side, troops could arrive instantly—aren’t you afraid of being surrounded by government forces?” Liang Xingfu remained expressionless as Yu Qian’s own voice caught in his throat.

He looked left and right somewhat desperately, discovering he could barely make out the tower outlines. Unknown to them, fog had silently risen from the river and was slowly spreading onto land. The guard towers couldn’t see anything happening in this strip. More troublingly, he noticed many figures gathering at the city gates on both sides of the strip. Undoubtedly White Lotus Sect members hiding in Huai’an. Fortunately, they too seemed wary of Liang Xingfu and didn’t dare approach, only blocking the retreat paths to the cities from afar.

“What do we do?” Yu Qian shouted to Wu Dingyuan. The entire situation had suddenly deteriorated beyond recovery—the enemy had them surrounded on three sides, while they had only one small constable who could fight.

Wu Dingyuan looked at the crossbow bolt stuck in the ground and shook his head slightly. Liang Xingfu had aimed at the Crown Prince from the temple, meaning the enemy no longer needed him alive—they just wanted a corpse. In other words, they couldn’t use threats to the Crown Prince’s life to stop Liang Xingfu from approaching; their only way out had failed.

Yu Qian’s vision darkened, but he forced his trembling legs to move in front of the Crown Prince, his mind recalling a line from the “Memorial to Send Out the Troops”: “These are all loyal ministers who would die for righteousness.”

Just then the Crown Prince behind him asked a strange question: “Yu Qian, in your earlier diagram, the new city was northwest and the old city southeast, right?”

“Hmm?” Yu Qian didn’t understand why the Crown Prince was bringing this up.

“The Five Locks Inner Canal runs diagonally down the north side of both cities, so it must also cross the north end of this strip,” the Crown Prince said gravely. Extreme terror had made him calm down. The water system diagram Yu Qian had made with chopsticks gradually overlaid with the scene before his eyes.

Hearing his reminder, Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan both understood simultaneously.

The Fourth King’s Rest Temple was on the south side of the road, with Liang Xingfu there; White Lotus followers blocked the east and west sides of the strip. If they fled north, they would reach the Inner Canal near the Xin Lock. Since Qingjiang Pu opened, the Inner Canal had been abandoned, making the five locks deserted ground—a perfect escape route. The Crown Prince truly had a keen sense of spatial geography.

However, this was an extremely rough guess. The north was now pitch black, completely shrouded in ethereal fog, which was why the White Lotus hadn’t blocked that direction. They didn’t know what lay ahead, but the fog’s uncertain dangers were better than certain death.

Wu Dingyuan reacted fastest, jamming his iron ruler into the ground and heaving upward, sending a shower of sand and soil flying toward Liang Xingfu. Though this didn’t impede the giant at all, it made him squint slightly.

“Big Radish, run!” Wu Dingyuan shouted.

After their long ordeal together, the group had developed an unspoken understanding. At his shout, they immediately turned and sprinted north, especially Wu Dingyuan and the Crown Prince, who seemed to share one mind as they split up—one northwest, one northeast.

The White Lotus had tasked Liang Xingfu with capturing and killing the Crown Prince; his mission was to send Wu Dingyuan to meet his father. Now these two targets had split up, forcing him to make a difficult choice.

Even Liang Xingfu hesitated for several breaths. Those four rats had gained several zhang’s distance, about to disappear into the fog. Liang Xingfu tilted his head, dropped his waist-drawn crossbow, and pursued northeast. The Crown Prince wouldn’t save the constable, but the constable had to protect the Crown Prince. If he caught Zhu Zhanji, Wu Dingyuan would surely come.

White Lotus followers gathered from both sides of the strip—they had been ordered by the Buddha Mother to assist this killing god in catching people. However, these followers were just untrained ordinary people with no coordination, chaotically charging into the fog. Running in fog was extremely dangerous—aside from uneven ground, any tree or large rock could cause severe injury, and worse, there was no way to tell when the path might end at a riverbank. Such anxiety greatly affected the fugitives’ speed.

Wu Dingyuan ran through the grayish-white fog with wide eyes, straining to listen each time he slowed. Liang Xingfu was an absolute mortal enemy—their hatred ran ocean-deep. Wu hadn’t planned to escape but wanted to use the environment for a counterattack.

But disappointingly, he heard no footsteps behind him—clearly, Liang Xingfu had chosen to pursue the Crown Prince. The swirling fog seemed to sketch an arrogantly malicious face: “Save him or not? Now it’s your turn to choose.”

Wu Dingyuan bit his cheek hard and changed direction, running northeast. As he ran, he saw a vague figure ahead—it was Su Jingxi. She was running north alone in small quick steps but very cautiously, with Yu Qian nowhere in sight.

Wu Dingyuan caught up in a few strides and asked if she’d seen the Crown Prince. Su Jingxi shook her head, saying she’d lost Yu Qian as soon as they entered the fog and hadn’t encountered anyone else, so she’d decided to head north first.

Wu Dingyuan said hurriedly: “You have your own business—you should leave. Tonight is extremely dangerous; I can’t protect your life.”

Su Jingxi looked at him and suddenly smiled: “You’ve finally learned to express concern for others honestly—that’s good.” She paused, then continued in a different tone, “Just protect the Crown Prince well; I can take care of myself.”

“You…”

He knew Su Jingxi was formidable, but only with enough preparation time. In this foggy chaos, even heaven-reaching medical skills were useless. Just then a roar came from the northeast, and Wu Dingyuan could only leave her with a “take care” before running that way.

After running about a hundred paces, he suddenly found his path blocked by a rammed-earth embankment. Wu Dingyuan knew he’d reached the end—this must be the Inner Canal’s bank. He quickly climbed to the top of the embankment and saw through the fog first a nearly dead tree, its withered branches half-drooping and half-spread like a skeleton struggling desperately. Nearby, a huge figure was gripping someone’s throat, holding them half-aloft, creating an eerily matched image with the dead tree.

It seemed Zhu Zhanji’s luck was truly terrible—he’d been caught by Liang Xingfu right after reaching the canal.

In desperation, Wu Dingyuan threw his iron ruler at Liang Xingfu. He aimed precisely at the eyes, forcing Liang Xingfu to use one hand to deflect it. Using this opening, Wu Dingyuan closed several steps and rammed with his back.

But while he was still several steps from Liang Xingfu, there was a crash as he hit the dead tree instead. Liang Xingfu turned to watch the tree topple with Wu Dingyuan, exposing ghost-claw-like roots.

Liang Xingfu meant to return his attention to finishing the Crown Prince, but cracks spread from the root hole, the embankment surface cracking like pottery in a kiln. In moments, one crack extended to his feet.

While in Yingtian Prefecture, Wu Dingyuan investigated a strange case where a canal worker killed a village head and buried the body in a sand embankment overnight. The Works Ministry had cut corners using inferior river sand, causing that section to crack immediately, exposing the corpse. As soon as Wu Dingyuan reached the top, he noticed horizontal lines in the rammed earth similar to the Hengxi River embankment—poor-quality, loosely packed soil. With a tree growing there, the roots would further weaken the soil’s density. So he thought quickly and deliberately rammed the dead tree, using the force of the turning roots to completely split the soil.

The cracks rapidly spread under Liang Xingfu’s feet, and the entire ground began to shake. Liang Xingfu had to lower the Crown Prince slightly with one hand, intending to turn and jump down. But Wu Dingyuan sprang up from the ground and grabbed the Crown Prince’s legs.

Though Liang Xingfu’s arm strength was incredible, able to lift the Crown Prince with one hand, he couldn’t support Wu Dingyuan’s additional weight. He grunted, reaching for his staff with his other hand, but was caught off guard by dozens of Hepu pearls and silver ingots flying at his eyes. This was Wu Dingyuan’s desperate counterattack, spending his entire fortune. The silver and pearls striking Liang Xingfu’s eyes caused intense pain, slowing his movements slightly.

But at this crucial moment, the ground stopped cracking. Soil’s nature is unpredictable, and the spread of cracks is untraceable. Feeling stable footing, Liang Xingfu immediately regained his strength and grabbed Wu Dingyuan’s throat. Having thrown away everything he had, Wu had no more options and could only submit to capture.

Liang Xingfu stood like a war god atop the embankment, one hand holding the Crown Prince, the other choking his enemy. With muscles tensed, in just a few more breaths he could resolve both major matters. “The world is a fire pit, all life is suffering,” Liang Xingfu muttered. Just then came a rustling sound behind him. He looked back to see a woman laboriously climbing the embankment, her hair disheveled, breathing heavily, clearly uncomfortable in such situations. He immediately recognized her as the female physician who had treated the Crown Prince, somehow involved in Zhu Puhua’s death.

But Liang Xingfu paid no attention to such a minor threat. Given her build, a mere breath could topple her—she couldn’t cause any trouble. After reaching the top, Su Jingxi neither approached nor begged for mercy, just brushed the messy hair from her forehead and stood silently with a lowered head.

Liang Xingfu ignored her apparent helplessness and continued focusing on throttling his victims while muttering sutra verses. Wu Dingyuan and Zhu Zhanji’s eyes bulged, making choking sounds as their legs kicked weakly like defeated May beetles.

From further away came chaotic footsteps as White Lotus followers approached, gathering at the embankment’s base with confused discussion before beginning to climb.

Finally, Su Jingxi raised her head, revealing a brilliant smile. Unfortunately, Liang Xingfu didn’t know this smile had appeared days ago at Shence Lock, with only Zhu Puhua privileged to see it. “Sick Buddha’s Enemy, I’ve always wondered what experiences would create someone like you,” Su Jingxi spoke with interest, regardless of whether he responded. “Why are you so determined to send the Wu family to the afterlife? What principle drives you to destroy your benefactor’s entire clan?”

Liang Xingfu looked at Su Jingxi—no one, including Ye He, had dared to directly raise this question. This young woman’s audacity both angered and intrigued him.

“I heard you reciting sutras earlier. Only three types of people recite sutras before killing. One type is hypocrites with lingering conscience, just trying to suppress it during the act. Another is devout practitioners who’ve misread the scriptures, truly believing their actions are meritorious. And the third type…”

Though Liang Xingfu’s hands remained tight around their throats, his gaze was drawn to Su Jingxi’s mysteriously trailing words. Su Jingxi tapped her head: “The third type is the mentally ill. Their bodies are strong, but the illness is in their spirit, their joints, their marrow—all madness and folly stem from this.”

Liang Xingfu stared intently—was she calling him crazy in a roundabout way?

Su Jingxi sighed softly: “Actually, it’s nothing special. We all have heart ailments. Like this embankment—seemingly solid, but often needing just a gentle push…” Before she finished, her left foot stamped the ground. The previously stopped cracks, like a snake awakened from hibernation, raised their heads again.

She had been distracting Liang Xingfu while secretly calculating the crack patterns. Where cracks forked, strength was weakest; the more branches, the more dispersed the strength. Su Jingxi’s task was to find the point with the most branching and stop there.

The rammed-earth embankment, recently disturbed by Wu Dingyuan, had achieved only a fragile balance. Su Jingxi’s precise step at the critical point used four ounces to move a thousand pounds, destroying that balance.

Dense cracks instantly covered the entire embankment, like cavalry cutting into loose formations. The soldiers screamed and cried as they fled before the iron horsemen, the formation immediately collapsing into an impressive rout. With dull sounds, and huge chunks of earth separated and collided, the structure no longer exists.

Everyone on the embankment lost their footing, swept away with the defeated army of earth and stone toward the Inner Canal…

Yu Qian initially thought he was lost, but soon realized this was the right direction.

Since leaving Nanjing, Yu Qian had been caught in subtle confusion. Through that series of dizzying crises, Wu Dingyuan had shown both courage and strategy, fighting through even the most desperate situations; Su Jingxi mastered both medicine and poison, able to heal the Crown Prince and repel strong enemies; but himself? He’d only helped with interpreting documents and planning routes—in actual confrontations, his contributions were extremely limited.

Especially the Guazhou experience had made Yu Qian deeply question his abilities. When he and Su Jingxi rushed to Wang’s villa, if she hadn’t noticed the oddities in time, all four might have died in the water prison.

No one blamed Yu Qian, but he couldn’t get past it himself.

As an imperial examination champion, Yu Qian had his pride and principles. Even with his bumpy official career, he’d always believed he could serve his time well and support the state. But the experiences of just three days had deeply wounded his self-esteem. What can I contribute to the team? What is my value? Yu Qian kept asking himself.

His constant chatter and eagerness to take on tasks were less about helping the Crown Prince and more about desperately proving his worth.

Now in the fog, what should Yu Qian do? The normal thought would be to quickly rejoin the Crown Prince. But he knew that with his fighting ability, going there would only mean death—though he could earn a reputation for “dying loyally,” it would be useless to both the Crown Prince and the state. This was another kind of reputation-seeking; such “loyal ministers” were better off not existing!

What should one do? Or rather, what was one best at?

Yu Qian suddenly halted in the fog, hesitated for a moment, then resolutely changed direction, running westward. If someone were to accuse him of desertion at this moment, he would accept it. As long as the task was accomplished, it didn’t matter if others misunderstood; if the task failed, what use was a good reputation after death?

The fog was thick, and the White Lotus followers’ attention was focused northward—no one noticed a figure running in a different direction. Yu Qian ran in one breath to the east gate of the New City, fortunately finding the guard had not yet locked it. He quickly passed through the gatehouse and, after questioning the guards, headed straight for the Grand Canal Transport Command headquarters in the New City.

The Grand Canal Transport Command oversaw north-south canal operations, controlling all transport vessels, thirteen divisions of 120,000 transport troops, related officials across nine provinces, and matters concerning locks, docks, and ports. Their authority exceeded that of ordinary provincial administrations. Thus, their headquarters in Huai’an’s New City had unceremoniously displaced the local government office, occupying the prime feng shui location in the city center, sharing an axis with the renowned Zhenhuan Tower.

The facade of this office was extremely magnificent, making it nearly impossible for Yu Qian to mistakes. It featured a pair of stone guardian lions at the front, four flag pavilions and two drum pavilions on the sides, and twenty-eight stone hitching posts in rows. The five-bay entrance was crowned with a black lacquered gold-lettered plaque reading “Hall of Canal Transport Command”—truly an imposing sight.

However, Yu Qian had no intention of barging into the Command headquarters; the officials would have retired for the night, making it pointless. Instead, he headed for a side entrance that led to the Ministry of Justice’s Huai’an branch. This branch, though nominally under the Ministry of Justice, essentially functioned as a subordinate office to the Transport Command, handling criminal cases related to canal operations. As canal transport operated day and night, the branch always kept a magistrate on night duty. Yu Qian reached the branch entrance, saw the gateway inscription “Beneficial Canal Transport,” confirmed he was in the right place, and was about to rush in when guards stopped him.

Yu Qian declared, “Rebels are plotting in the canal system—I must report to the authorities!” The guard replied that they only accepted official documents at night; civilian complaints would have to wait until morning. Yu Qian, growing desperate, shouted, “Criminal investigations don’t stop for day or night—do rebel plots wait for daylight?”

His voice was so loud it soon brought out the duty magistrate. The magistrate emerged with an annoyed expression, demanding, “Who dares create such a disturbance?” His eyes suddenly widened: “Yu… Yu Tingyi?”

Yu Qian was nearly moved to tears. Along this journey, the Crown Prince had called him Yu Qian, Su Jingxi had called him Magistrate Yu, and most annoying was Wu Dingyuan who never ceased calling him “Little Almond.” Finally, someone addressed him by his courtesy name—the world still retained some normalcy after all.

After this emotional moment, Yu Qian examined the magistrate’s features and was overjoyed. This was a fellow graduate who had also placed in the third tier of the imperial examinations, named Fang Du. When Yu Qian had gone to the Messenger’s Office, Fang Du had worked at the Ministry of Justice. He hadn’t expected that after several years, Fang would be posted to Huai’an as a canal transport magistrate.

Fang Du quickly invited Yu Qian into the branch office, asking about his business in Huai’an.

Yu Qian urgently replied, “Chengxing, miscreants are gathering in the passage between the two cities, plotting something significant. I implore the office to immediately dispatch troops to suppress them, or disaster will ensue.”

The Command headquarters had a Yong’an garrison nearby with two battalions of troops. Once deployed, even Liang Xingfu would have to surrender, regardless of his abilities.

Hearing this, Fang Du was startled and asked for details. Yu Qian dared not mention the Crown Prince’s identity, only saying he had overheard discussions in a tavern about plans to gather and cause trouble near the passage. Being poor at lying, he kept things vague, using phrases like “I heard…” and “It’s said…” Fang Du listened and laughed heartily: “Tingyi, your character hasn’t changed at all, still meddling in such matters. People in Huai’an are prone to exaggeration—every day someone gets drunk and boasts. No need to take them seriously.”

Yu Qian grew more anxious: “What if this gathering isn’t just boasting? If we miss this one chance, wouldn’t it lead to disaster? At least we should inform Commander Chen!”

Fang Du shook his head: “Commander Chen isn’t in Huai’an now—he’s up north overseeing Yellow River management. Even if he were here, such minor matters wouldn’t reach his desk. If we arrested people every time civilians boasted at a drinking table, we’d have no time for anything else.”

Yu Qian was desperately worried and persisted, causing Fang Du’s attitude to gradually cool. He waved his sleeve dismissively: “Yu Tingyi if you’re passing through Huai’an for a friendly visit, I welcome you warmly. But if you’re still like before, meddling in matters that don’t concern you, don’t blame me for being busy with official duties and unable to entertain you.” Yu Qian felt extremely awkward and was strongly tempted to reveal the Crown Prince’s identity. After careful consideration, he held back. Seeing his strange expression, Fang Du thought his words had been too harsh and sighed: “To be frank with you, we’re busy with major canal matters now—we really can’t attend to such minor issues.”

“Major matters?” Yu Qian was taken aback.

“Well! It’s because the Yellow River has invaded the Huai several times in recent years, silting up Qingjiang Port. We need to dredge the waterway before the water release in June. With this section closed, transport boats must be diverted to the Inner Canal. To use the Inner Canal, they must cross five dams, requiring portage and coordinating cart and horse transport… Ah, there are more tasks than hairs on an ox—how can we attend to anything else?”

Yu Qian finally learned that Qingjiang Port had silted up this year, forcing the previously abandoned Inner Canal back into use. He suddenly realized the danger—the other three had run toward the temple in the north, right toward the Inner Canal, heading straight into trouble.

“This should have been handled in early spring, but the court kept talking about abolishing the canal transport system and relocating the capital, so things were delayed. Now there’s no clear decision about the abolition, yet they’re rushing transport operations—how can the lower ranks prepare in time?” Once Fang Du started on this topic, his complaints flowed freely.

Yu Qian interrupted: “So there are many people at the five dams now?”

“Yes, portaging boats require drafted laborers for towlines. Sigh, you don’t know—it’s nearly harvest time, who wants to work for free? The Huai’an government barely managed to conscript over a thousand people from nearby counties.” Fang Du’s grievances seemed endless. “The fewer hands available, the harder the Transport Command pushes people—working two shifts a day. These past few days, the laborers are near revolt from exhaustion. We’re arresting four or five groups daily—the branch office is running out of bamboo paper for writing verdicts…”

While Fang Du continued enthusiastically, Yu Qian’s mind was in turmoil. The more people at the five dams, the greater the risk of exposure for the Crown Prince and his group. If no action was taken here, the situation looked grim. At this point, he had to take a risk.

“Chengxing, let me be frank…” Yu Qian began, “I suspect those gathering are White Lotus sect members!”

“Tsk, you’re overthinking this. Not all White Lotus sects are the same—some worship the Divine Mother, some Maitreya, some are Gold Chan sect, some Pure Emptiness faction. Common people call them all White Lotus, but they’re completely different matters.”

“These people specifically mentioned worshiping the Divine Mother—why else would I rush to report?”

Hearing this, Fang Du’s expression changed instantly.

The term “Divine Mother” was an absolute taboo in Ming dynasty officialdom. In the eighteenth year of Yongle, a village woman named Tang Sai’er in Putai County, Shandong, had claimed to be the “White Lotus Divine Mother,” gathering tens of thousands of followers and sweeping through dozens of prefectures and counties. The court had sent several large armies to suppress them, barely managing to contain the uprising, though Tang Sai’er was never captured.

Since then, local authorities would occasionally receive reports of Divine Mother appearances, putting officials on high alert. Huai’an, being just south of Shandong, had a strong White Lotus following among its people. If a Divine Mother truly appeared, it could cause significant unrest.

“Is what Tingyi says true?”

“If I speak falsely, I accept legal punishment.”

Fang Du paced the hall several times with his hands behind his back. Logically, suppressing heretical sects fell under Huai’an Prefecture’s jurisdiction, but most of Huai’an’s industries were related to canal transport. If the Divine Mother planned anything, it would certainly affect the Transport Command headquarters, with his Justice branch being first in the line of fire. Better to prevent trouble than clean up afterward. Fang Du was also someone who took initiative—he slapped the table and said to Yu Qian: “I’ll go mobilize the Yong’an garrison now. Tingyi, come with me!”

Yu Qian followed Fang Du out of the branch office with an uneasy heart. While sending the Yong’an garrison to the five dams would crush the White Lotus forces, it might also affect the Crown Prince. This risky move had to be made, but he truly didn’t know what the outcome would be.

“May heaven protect the Crown Prince and keep him safe,” Yu Qian silently prayed.

They say when people fall from heights, their minds race, processing countless thoughts in an instant. However, as Zhu Zhanji fell, he had no other thoughts—only bitter laughter.

How many times had he fallen into the water now?

Which Ming emperor had been as unlucky as him, ending their life by falling into water?

But looking on the bright side, his throat no longer hurt, breathing was no longer difficult, and that large hand gripping him had finally loosened… Bang!

A sharp pain interrupted Zhu Zhanji’s thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt his back hit a hard, dry surface—this wasn’t the sensation of hitting water, which he knew from experience.

The Crown Prince struggled to prop himself up and looked around, discovering he was on a boat. His back had struck the wooden deck at the front. Judging by the profile of the mast and square steering oar, this appeared to be a standard 400-liao transport boat. Zhu Zhanji shakily stood up on the deck, and the scene before him left him dumbfounded.

This transport vessel wasn’t floating on the river but was climbing halfway up a long arched dam. The forward half of the bow pointed upward, while the rear half of the stern remained submerged in the canal. The entire hull slanted slightly upward, resembling a makara fish trying to climb ashore. Eight thick cables firmly secured through the towing holes on either side of this giant beast’s body. These eight cables were divided into four groups, each attached to four general posts on both sides of the dam. The posts had cable-connecting drums with stone sockets below, containing two axle timbers. Each timber had eight handle poles inserted, forming four massive windlasses.

Around each windlass, more than a dozen men were straining to push the handle poles. Accompanied by creaking friction sounds, the windlasses slowly turned, transferring power through a complex system of pulleys, hooks, and ratchet wheels to the eight thick cables, gradually pulling the transport boat upward.

Along both sides of the canal, banks stood hundreds of raggedly dressed towmen. Each carried a tow rope on their shoulders, working in coordination with the windlasses. The ropes were as dense as a spider’s web, firmly attached to both sides of the hull, all pulled taut. Remarkably, such a massive vessel was being lifted from the water and sliding toward the dam’s crest purely by human power.

Dozens of lanterns were raised high along the riverbank, partially dispelling the haze. The beast emerged slowly from the fog above the dark water, surrounded by crisscrossing cables—what a magnificent sight. Despite his perilous situation, Zhu Zhanji was momentarily captivated. When Yu Qian had earlier described boat portaging, he’d merely found it interesting, but now seeing it firsthand, he truly appreciated the spectacle of a real portage operation.

However, Zhu Zhanji had no leisure to admire further, because if he could land on the deck, so could Liang Xingfu.

Yu Qian had mentioned that when portaging transport boats, all cargo must be unloaded, including the crew. This meant only the four of them were now on this empty vessel. He looked up to see Wu Dingyuan engaged in combat with that nightmarish tall figure at the slightly tilted stern.

The windlass workers and towmen were positioned lower than the Li character dam, focused solely on their pulling duties, unaware of the four additional people aboard. Though the “Bamboo Pole” was no match for Liang Xingfu in combat, the constantly moving vessel and increasingly tilted deck limited Liang’s movements.

Zhu Zhanji glanced around and spotted a short axe left by some boatman near the mast base. He pulled it out and rushed to help, but suddenly stopped.

He saw Su Jingxi lying beside a rib board, blood flowing across her broad forehead, her fate uncertain. During the collapse, she had been closest to the breaking point and, unfortunately, had struck her head on the rib board when landing on the boat. Zhu Zhanji lifted her, torn between helping her or assisting Wu Dingyuan.

Su Jingxi barely opened her eyes, making a strange gesture and mumbling something. Zhu Zhanji leaned closer to hear her weakly say “Switch hands, switch hands.”

The Crown Prince’s arrow wound was in his right shoulder, and in his urgency, he had instinctively grabbed the axe with his dominant right hand. Su Jingxi was telling him to switch hands to prevent aggravating his injury. That she would think of this even now moved Zhu Zhanji deeply, and he declared loudly, “I won’t let you down!”

He helped Su Jingxi to the mast, then switched the axe to his other hand and charged at Liang Xingfu. The leader must be eliminated first, or none would survive.

The transport boat had an aft cabin at the stern for crew rest, with a flat roof. Wu Dingyuan and Liang Xingfu were locked in mortal combat in that confined space atop the cabin. Though Zhu Zhanji’s sudden joining didn’t shift the disadvantage, it at least gave Liang Xingfu another concern to handle.

It’s worth noting that boat portaging isn’t a smooth ascent. Human strength has limits—neither windlass operators nor towmen could pull the boat up the dam in one continuous effort. They had to pull in segments, pause to adjust the cables and ropes, and then pull again.

This made the fight rather comical, as the three men on the slanting cabin roof had to devote half their attention to maintaining balance. They could only exchange quick moves when the boat stopped, then retreat when it moved to avoid falling. This intermittent combat style allowed these two cornered rats to somewhat hold their own against the cat.

Unfortunately, resistance didn’t equal advantage. Liang Xingfu emotionlessly blocked their frenzied attacks one by one, his occasionally lifted mouth corner suggesting he enjoyed their desperate resistance. Wu Dingyuan’s viciousness and Zhu Zhanji’s brute force seemed childish to him, merely delaying the inevitable end.

Wu Dingyuan’s fist struck again, this time at an odd angle, uppercutting from the left armpit. Liang Xingfu blocked it with his palm. Meanwhile, Zhu Zhanji’s axe came down from another direction—a feint! Liang Xingfu, as if having eyes in the back of his head, quickly flexed his shoulder muscles, incredibly catching the axe blade. It only broke the skin slightly before stopping.

As he prepared to counterattack, the boat shuddered violently, tilting more severely. Liang Xingfu had to brace his legs and lean forward to avoid being thrown off. Wu Dingyuan and Zhu Zhanji seized this moment to jump clear.

As the boat moved again, Liang Xingfu suddenly reached out and tore open his upper garment, revealing knotted muscles and horrific burn scars. Before the other two could react, he launched himself like a stone projectile.

This movement was like a mountain splitting or a cliff piercing the sky as Liang Xingfu violently collided with Zhu Zhanji head-on.

The Crown Prince felt as if struck by a battering ram. Blood spurted from his mouth, his internal organs seemed to shift, and the axe flew from his hand. Liang Xingfu merely reached out and easily recaptured the Crown Prince.

Previously, whenever the boat moved, Liang Xingfu had deliberately slowed his attacks, making them think he needed to find his balance first. This time, when the boat moved, their guard dropped habitually, allowing Liang Xingfu to exploit the opening for a decisive strike.

Wu Dingyuan, shocked and enraged, lunged forward but was kicked away by Liang Xingfu.

“Don’t resist, don’t struggle, all life is suffering, find release early.”

“To hell with your bullshit release!”

Wu Dingyuan roared as he got up, launching another flying kick. However, his kick wasn’t aimed at Liang Xingfu’s chest, but at Zhu Zhanji.

This trick again? Liang Xingfu found it slightly amusing—while the strategy of attacking Wei to rescue Zhao was clever, using it three times was underestimating him. He instinctively braced himself for a sharp counterattack.

As Wu Dingyuan’s right foot approached, Liang Xingfu hesitated—the trajectory suggested he was going to kick Zhu Zhanji. But at this distance, any reaction was too late; he could only throw a reverse punch at Wu Dingyuan.

Two things happened almost simultaneously.

Wu Dingyuan’s kick struck the Crown Prince hard, breaking him free from Liang Xingfu’s control and sending him flying overboard. Meanwhile, Liang Xingfu’s fist connected with Wu Dingyuan’s face, causing him to cry out in pain and roll from the cabin roof onto the deck.

After being kicked off the boat, Zhu Zhanji landed heavily on top of the Li character dam. The dam’s surface was covered with grass and mud, making it impossible to stop. He tumbled several times before sliding down the slope toward the eastern base.

Liang Xingfu watched the Crown Prince’s figure quickly disappear toward the dam’s base without much urgency. The canal locks were sealed—he could kill Wu Dingyuan first, then catch his prey trapped in the lock. But when he turned his attention to Wu Dingyuan, he found him holding an axe—the one Zhu Zhanji had dropped. Strangely, instead of charging at Liang Xingfu, Wu Dingyuan quickly walked to the boat’s edge and hurled the axe into the distance. He turned back, his face covered in blood, letting out a laugh of savage satisfaction.

Amidst his laughter, panicked shouts arose from below the boat, followed by violent rocking. The sound of snapping ropes echoed through the air. With a massive groan from the keel under pressure, the entire transport boat tilted extremely in another direction. Liang Xingfu looked out and finally understood what had happened.

The boat had just been pulled to the top of the Li character dam, completing the most difficult part of the portage. However, during the dry season, the dam top was very high above the water. If the boat were pushed directly down the other side, it might break apart. Therefore, the windlass operators would adjust the cable angles, changing from pulling to lowering, to gradually lower the vessel into the water.

At this crucial moment, Wu Dingyuan’s thrown axe struck the windlass beneath the right general’s post, frightening the civilian workers off their feet. As the windlass failed, two cables immediately came loose. Originally, the boat’s balance was maintained by eight cables pulling evenly from different directions. Now missing two, they could no longer hold the boat’s massive bulk, and the other ropes began snapping.

Without the cables’ restraint, the out-of-control transport boat slid down the western slope from the dam top, rushing toward the water surface with unstoppable momentum.

During this extremely brief moment, everyone on board felt suddenly weightless. Only when leaping from a cliff would one experience a similar sensation. Wu Dingyuan staggered two steps on the tilting deck, reached the injured Su Jingxi first, grabbed her, and rolled to the side.

In an instant, the yellow-brown transport boat crashed into the black canal water, its huge upturned hull plunging deep. The surrounding water, displaced at high speed, shot up in sprays several zhang high. The entire canal section was awed by this magnificent scene, ripples appearing as if the river god himself trembled.

The boat was built so solidly that it didn’t break apart on impact, and after several bobs, the main structure resurfaced, though the bow was completely mangled. However, the momentum had been so fierce that the vessel didn’t stay in place but continued charging across the canal, pushing through the waves.

There was a dry dock on the other side, normally used as an emergency repair platform. Like a mad bull in a china shop, the boat first brutally shattered the entrance lock, then plunged into the dock, destroying dozens of support beams and ladders, and knocking down countless piles of materials. The hull scraped against the dock edges with a piercing screech, twisting the two bottom rails like noodles.

Finally, the transport boat crashed heavily into the stone wall at the dock’s end. The bow and wall shattered simultaneously, debris flying everywhere as thick dust enveloped the entire dock…

Zhu Zhanji slid rapidly down the Li character dam’s slope, head first. The terror of weightlessness made him instinctively reach out to grab something. Unfortunately, the dam wall was covered with a thick layer of moss, deliberately planted to reduce portage friction, making it impossible to grip.

Fortunately, this fall didn’t last long. The Crown Prince soon felt a shock throughout his body, then found himself embedded in something soft—not water, but denser, stickier, with a faint earthy smell that frantically invaded his nostrils, ears, and mouth.

The Crown Prince closed his eyes and held his breath, desperately struggling upward. In his panic, his hands suddenly touched a hard wooden channel frame. Without hesitation, he pushed himself up and over, finally escaping the sticky entanglement. After catching his breath, Zhu Zhanji discovered he had fallen into a distribution channel at the dam’s base. These channels were used for water division and sand trapping, so the bottom was thick with sediment, providing the perfect cushion.

The heaven-favored Crown Prince of Great Ming felt no joy—he was now filthy from head to toe, his face completely mud-covered except for his eyes, looking worse than a beggar. But rather than cleaning himself, Zhu Zhanji was anxious to understand the current situation. He only remembered Wu Dingyuan kicking him off the boat, knowing nothing of what happened afterward.

“Must find a way back to the dam top…”

Thinking this, Zhu Zhanji looked up at the Li character dam and jumped down from the wooden channel. First, he scooped some water from a nearby ditch, gargled several times, and spat out mud mixed with saliva, then stepped onto the dirt path beside the water channel.

The path was muddy and littered with torn cloth, broken baskets, and rotting straw mats. Most striking were the countless footprints. Though seemingly chaotic, these footprints of various sizes all pointed in the same direction, and without exception, were barefoot and deeply impressed, as if a large group had trudged laboriously in the same direction.

This was the towpath!

Having just witnessed the spectacular boat portage from aboard, Zhu Zhanji knew that crossing a dam required many towmen pulling from both sides. This path was the shoreline route used by the rope pullers.

He staggered forward a few steps, accidentally kicking aside a piece of tattered canvas. Looking down, he was startled to find a person curled up underneath. The person had dark skin and was skeletal, with only dirty strips of cloth wrapped around his head and loins. His withered face made his age impossible to determine.

He lay sprawled on the ground, eyes half-open but dim and lifeless. Zhu Zhanji leaned down to pat his cheeks but got no response. Checking for breath, he found none—the man was beyond saving, probably recently deceased. Zhu Zhanji quickly withdrew his hand in shock.

All signs suggested this was a towman who had collapsed from exhaustion. His companions, unable to stop pulling, had no choice but to leave him behind, hastily covered with a mat. The poor soul had curled up in the mud, waiting for death to claim him. Zhu Zhanji felt both pity and anger. Where were the supervising officials? Where were the physicians? Where had the considerable annual funds allocated by the court gone? Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from another direction along the towpath—a patrol of dam guards was rushing over. The path offered nowhere to hide, and running would certainly lead to capture. The Crown Prince’s gaze fell on the deceased man, and his brow furrowed as an extremely unpalatable solution came to mind.

Zhu Zhanji quickly stripped, bundling his clothes and boots and throwing them into the adjacent distribution channel. He then clasped his hands and bowed to the recently deceased, before untying the cloth strips from the dead man’s head and loins and wrapping them around himself. He had barely finished when the dam guards arrived.

“Halt! What are you doing?” the lead officer demanded. Afraid of giving himself away by speaking too much, Zhu Zhanji feigned terror and mutely pointed at the corpse at his feet. The lead officer lifted the canvas, discovered the body, and looked up suspiciously. Zhu Zhanji lowered his voice and mumbled, “Old Liu fell sick, the village head told me to stay and care for him.” The officer checked for breath: “Care for what? He’s already dead!” Zhu Zhanji stubbornly repeated: “The village head told me to stay and care for him.”

The officer narrowed his eyes to examine this fellow, noting mud covering his face, neck, and legs. Seeing the cloth band around his head and completely bare body, his last doubts vanished.

Most town shaved their heads and wrapped them in white cloth to prevent sweat from breeding fleas. There was a saying in the Jianghuai region: “Barbers stand aside for monks and towmen—they’re either chanting or pulling ropes.” This means barbers never lacked business if they followed monks or towmen. The Crown Prince had shaved his head to disguise himself as a monk, but now it unexpectedly served another purpose.

“Seems there’s been an accident ahead, and you’re here slacking off! Get back to work immediately!” The officer raised his whip and struck, making the Crown Prince of Great Ming jump in place, his buttocks burning with pain. He was about to react but saw the whip poised again and had to swallow his anger, feigning a submissive attitude.

The officer ordered his men to remove the corpse, and then personally escorted this cunning laborer. Zhu Zhanji walked obediently forward, occasionally rubbing his buttocks. Following the towpath, they soon caught sight of the main group of towmen.

It was an impressive sight—over three hundred naked laborers densely packed along the riverbank, the air heavy with the sharp smell of sweat. However, they weren’t working; the thick tow ropes lay on the ground as everyone craned their necks to look at the canal. The strange accident earlier had sent a large transport boat sliding down the dam into the dry dock, even pulling down one of the general’s posts. It was quite a disaster, and portaging operations had been suspended, naturally halting the towing work as well.

The officer hadn’t realized the accident was so serious and lost interest in Zhu Zhanji, kicking his backside to make him rejoin the group before hurrying toward the dam with his patrol.

Such a major accident would surely draw all nearby dam guards. If the Crown Prince tried to leave now, he might be considered suspicious—better to blend in with the towmen and look for an escape opportunity during the work break. Decision made, Zhu Zhanji stepped forward, quietly merging into the crowd of towmen, staying where the group was densest. In his current attire, he blended in as naturally as a raindrop falling into a well.

As he mingled, Zhu Zhanji suddenly heard a sharp, clear willow-leaf whistle. At this sound, the towmen stopped watching the commotion and moved toward its source. To avoid standing out, Zhu Zhanji had to follow along, inexplicably swept up with the group to a large poplar tree by the riverbank.

Under the poplar stood six large wooden barrels: three filled with coarse flour buns, one with meat soup, and two with vegetables cooked with river shrimp. The steam rising from the food had the towmen swallowing audibly.

So this was the night shift’s extra meal, Zhu Zhanji thought. Having eaten well earlier, he didn’t need to rush for food and consciously stepped back. Unexpectedly, a dark figure flashed beside him, and suddenly there was a wooden stick in his hand. The stick wasn’t long and still had its bark, but its tip had been deliberately sharpened and fire-hardened—a potential weapon.

The Crown Prince was startled—what was this for? Looking around the crowd, he realized he wasn’t alone; many others had mysteriously acquired similar short clubs. Several dark figures were quietly distributing them under the cover of the crowd, almost impossible to notice. Zhu Zhanji was puzzled, but the club felt right in his hand, so he decided to keep hold of it for now.

Then a burly man in black clothes walked to the poplar tree, wielding a water-soaked cowhide whip that cracked loudly. His voice was as loud as Yu Qian’s, and all three hundred men heard him clearly: “You worthless sons of bitches, playing these tricks on Master Xue? Tired of living?”

Through the thunderous shouting and continuous cursing, Zhu Zhanji understood. This Master Xue was the supervising official responsible for overseeing the three hundred men towing and portaging boats. The boat breaking loose and crashing into the dry dock was an extremely serious accident, no wonder he was so angry.

Without asking, this must have been caused by the fighting on the boat. He wondered if Wu Dingyuan and Doctor Su had escaped safely, and what had happened to Liang Xingfu… Zhu Zhanji wanted to check the riverbank but dared not move, only gripping his club tighter.

As Master Xue was cursing enthusiastically, a man stood up from among the towmen. He was in his fifties, very short but with well-defined muscles, and said: “Master Xue, the loose boat wasn’t our fault. We found an axe at the southeast windlass—it flew in from somewhere and broke the handle pole, that’s what caused this.” He raised both hands, presenting the axe.

Supervisor Xue paused, then spat loudly, his phlegm landing on the towman’s forehead: “Pah! Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you expect me to believe some random axe story? Why don’t you say your mother was sprawled on the windlass and I fucked it broken?”

This vulgar comment caused some murmuring in the crowd.

“You worthless scum must be harboring resentment against the court, deliberately disrupting grain transport!” Supervisor Xue raged. “Otherwise, count how many boats you’ve portaged today!” He swung his whip, striking the old towman’s shoulder viciously.

The old man’s body shuddered, but his voice remained steady: “Supervisor Xue, our shift has been pulling since noon without rest. The office originally promised two meals every six hours, two steamed buns, and a bowl of meat and vegetables per person per meal. But now you’ve reduced two meals to one, and we’re only eating now—how can we have any strength?”

Supervisor Xue sneered: “So it’s all about the meat…” Suddenly he kicked over the barrel of meat soup, the dark brown liquid immediately spreading across the ground, quickly absorbed by the riverbank soil. Many towmen cried out “Ah!” involuntarily leaning forward.

“Still wanting meat, damn you! Let me tell you! If you don’t find the rebels who loosened the boat today, you’ll all work an extra hour of towing tomorrow!”

The old towman rose resolutely: “Supervisor Xue, we’re not criminals but dutiful citizens performing our service! The court has laws—how dare you act so arbitrarily?”

Supervisor Xue snarled: “Kong Eighteen, you’re just a fallen soldier—who do you think you are? Since you came to Huai’an Prefecture, it’s checking accounts one day, and examining rations the next. I see you’re up to no good!”

Kong Eighteen thrusts out his chest: “This old man only speaks up for his companions’ grievances. The office schedules portaging shifts so tightly, yet you still skimp on food—how are we supposed to survive? The sick go untreated, the dead unburied—this is life-and-death business!”

“Life and death? Let’s start with your life, old man!” Supervisor Xue flicked his wrist, whip lashing viciously toward the old towman’s face. But Kong Eighteen was quick, the axe in his hand flashing to slice the whip in two.

“You… rebels!” Supervisor Xue was furious.

“Not rebels! We just have something to say.” Kong Eighteen said coldly, then looked back, “We all have something to say.” Suddenly, dozens of sharpened short clubs rose from the crowd of towmen, dense as a forest. Supervisor Xue’s eyes bulged, and before his mouth could open, Kong Eighteen reversed the axe handle and struck his temple hard, dropping him to the ground.

The dam guards standing behind Supervisor Xue panicked at seeing him suddenly knocked down. Xue scrambled up and ran awkwardly back to his men. Kong Eighteen whistled, and dozens of club-wielding towmen charged forward together, shouting as they ran: “Xue the murderer! Xue the murderer!”

The towmen had probably suffered too much abuse on the dam—this battle cry instantly ignited their emotions, each man red-eyed and joining the shout. Countless bare feet trampled the meat-soaked mud as they transformed into a buzzing swarm of bees, stinging toward the dam guards under the poplar tree.

Zhu Zhanji wanted to distance himself but had positioned himself too close to the center and was swept along by the emotionally charged crowd. Moreover, because he held a club, he was inexplicably pushed to the front line.

The dam guards finally reacted, drawing their weapons, ready to teach these peasants a harsh lesson. Seeing this, Zhu Zhanji knew that further hesitation would result in either being trampled by those behind or cut down by those ahead, so he had no choice but to raise his club and thrust forward forcefully.

A scream rang out as the club’s point burst through flesh at the opponent’s shoulder blade. Simultaneously, more clubs extended around Zhu Zhanji, met by gleaming blades swinging down. The air filled with the sounds of colliding bodies, breaking bones, clashing weapons, and desperate shouts and screams, transforming the canal bank at the Li character dam into a battlefield.

A frontier general had once told Zhu Zhanji that battlefields possess a unique atmosphere. When immersed in it, you involuntarily lose your sense of self, forgetting everything. You become a drop in a great wave, a grain of sand in a mighty wind, a puppet controlled by war drums and battle flags, mindlessly fighting until exhaustion or death.

Zhu Zhanji was in exactly such a state. The surrounding shouts and bloodshed hypnotized him, making him forget his identity completely. Though his initial fighting was reluctant, his emotions soon took over entirely, wielding the club like a windmill. He had been suppressing too much frustration along this journey, and only now could his pent-up rage find release.

The Crown Prince far exceeded these towmen in both stamina and experience. And these dam guards were far inferior fighters compared to Liang Xingfu. Zhu Zhanji led the charge, becoming unstoppable, forcefully breaking through their formation to reach the old locust tree. Spotting Supervisor Xue’s back, he felt a surge of revulsion and thrust his arm forward, knocking him to the ground.

The Crown Prince felt extremely satisfied. Looking back, he saw the old man called Kong Eighteen had also broken through the dam guards’ defense line and was fighting his way over.

This old man’s fighting style was distinctive. While other towmen swung their clubs wildly with raw passion, he maintained extreme composure, never striking carelessly, observing his enemies’ vital points. Each thrust of his club guaranteed another guard falling. Zhu Zhanji recognized this as the combat style of a true veteran soldier, who aims to eliminate each enemy with minimal effort.

Kong Eighteen reached the old locust tree just as Supervisor Xue was trying to get up, and knocked him unconscious with one blow. The young and old fighters exchanged glances, mutually impressed. Looking back at the scene, the towmen had the advantage. Ironically, though the dam guards were better equipped, they lacked coordination; whereas the towmen, who pulled ropes together day and night, worked in perfect harmony. Once armed, they became an elite fighting unit.

“Come, let’s charge back in!” Kong Eighteen said without wasting words. Zhu Zhanji, to avoid revealing his identity, could only smile wryly and follow. How ironic that the Crown Prince of Great Ming was now joining Huai’an towmen in a civilian uprising.

This old-young duo rejoining the fray put immense pressure on the dam guards from behind. In less than a quarter-hour, the towmen had gained a complete advantage. Over thirty dam guards and clerks under Supervisor Xue were all knocked down, some unconscious, others bruised and swollen.

Seeing victory secured, Kong Eighteen called the towmen to form ranks under the large poplar tree, then selected several men to bring over the five food barrels and distribute portions. The towmen, starving, each took their share and sat on the ground, wolfing down the food.

Zhu Zhanji wasn’t hungry. As his excitement cooled, he realized something was suspicious. The sharpened wooden clubs, the uniform shouts, the coordinated whistle signals—this uprising had likely been planned for some time. But why had it happened precisely tonight?

This Kong Eighteen was quite remarkable. Not only was he skilled in combat, but he also expertly controlled the situation. Though the scene appeared chaotic and violent, no lives had been lost. Their battle cry had been carefully measured, only shouting “Xue the murderer!”

After witnessing the nameless corpse and Supervisor Xue’s behavior, Zhu Zhanji completely understood why the towmen had revolted. But he was curious about their next move. The court feared nothing more than these uncontrolled uprisings. He had read about similar incidents in official memorials, where officials were remarkably unified in their response: suppress forcefully without question, lest one precedent lead to endless defiance by the common people.

Kong Eighteen came over with several steamed buns and sat beside Zhu Zhanji: “Haven’t seen you before—which unit are you from?” Zhu Zhanji mumbled something about being transferred from elsewhere. With five dams along Huai’an’s Inner Canal, towmen were often reassigned between units, so not knowing each other was normal.

Kong Eighteen didn’t probe further, patting his shoulder approvingly: “You fought well—what’s your name?”

“Uh… Hong Wang,” Zhu Zhanji answered.

“Such skill would be wasted in official custody.” Kong Eighteen handed him a bun. “Brother Hong, after eating, secretly dispose of your club and return to your original dam. If anyone asks, say you were never here.”

Zhu Zhanji was startled: “Then what do you plan to do next?”

Kong Eighteen spread his legs, crudely scratched between his hairy thighs, and picked up another bun: “Next, I alone will surrender.”

“What? Aren’t you planning to gather forces and rebel?”

Kong Eighteen made a questioning sound—such terminology was unusual for the common folk. Zhu Zhanji’s expression changed, and he quickly fell silent. Fortunately, Kong Eighteen didn’t pursue it, chuckling instead: “You foolish egg, did you think we were planning rebellion?”

“Then what was all this chaos for?” Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help asking.

Kong Eighteen took a huge bite, consuming half a bun: “Brother Hong, you don’t understand. When hundreds of us cause trouble, those official hat-wearers don’t dare do much—if they arrest everyone, who’ll handle the portaging? They care about face and fear trouble, so we make a commotion first, then offer a resolution—I’ll surrender to the authorities, they save face, the ringleader is punished, and the rest go free. At least they won’t dare skimp on rations anymore, giving our fellow villagers some chance at survival.”

Zhu Zhanji found this man extraordinary—strategic, insightful, and responsible—and couldn’t help studying him closer. The old man’s face was deeply wrinkled, but his eyes gleamed with intelligence. Ten or so scars of varying sizes marked his cheeks, some thin like arrow grazes, others broad like sword cuts. He must be a veteran soldier, the Crown Prince thought.

Kong Eighteen finished his bun in a few bites, then clicked his tongue regretfully: “Shame, the timing was still off. I had planned to act the day before Commander Chen returned to the city, leaving the officials only half a day to negotiate—would’ve been much easier. Who’d have thought the transport boat would cause such trouble? Man’s plans truly can’t match heaven’s will.”

Only then did Zhu Zhanji understand—this uprising was indeed planned, but not for today. The boat’s unexpected accident had forced them to act early.

The Crown Prince had wondered at the coincidence of this happening the very night they arrived in Huai’an. Now he saw it wasn’t a coincidence but an inevitable cause and effect. Supervisor Xue’s long-term exploitation had built up resentment among the towmen; conflict was inevitable. Their fight with Liang Xingfu had merely accelerated the confrontation.

“But if you surrender, won’t they execute you?” Zhu Zhanji found himself worried about the old man.

“Hehe, don’t worry, we didn’t kill anyone—the crime isn’t capital. At most a few dozen strokes with the rod, not my first time.” Kong Eighteen answered lightly. “I burn incense at the White Lotus Divine Mother’s altar—with her protection, I’ll be fine.”

Zhu Zhanji’s shoulders tensed—the old man was a White Lotus follower. Kong Eighteen, not noticing the Crown Prince’s reaction, asked with interest: “Have you heard of the Divine Mother?”

“I’ve only heard of the Buddha,” Zhu Zhanji avoided his gaze.

Kong Eighteen laughed heartily: “There is Buddha, and there is Divine Mother. The White Lotus Divine Mother is even more miraculous than Buddha. She achieved enlightenment on Spirit Mountain, and a white lotus flew to the East to manifest her power. She can prevent three disasters, remove eight difficulties, and comes specially to save people.”

“Sounds like an opera story—probably just tricks to fool people,” Zhu Zhanji couldn’t resist countering. He expected Kong Eighteen to curse angrily, giving him a chance to leave, but the old man just smiled: “I’ve never personally seen future blessings or white lotus miracles. But once you’ve burned incense at the lotus altar and kowtowed before the Divine Mother, you become close brothers and sisters. While alive, we look after each other; when dead, at least the altar will buy you a coffin, burn incense, and find good ground for burial—you won’t end up covered by a straw mat, feeding wild dogs and crows. Who wouldn’t want that?”

Zhu Zhanji remained silent. He had always thought White Lotus used charlatan tricks to deceive the ignorant, never realizing that what drew common people so eagerly were such modest benefits. Yet considering these towmen’s situation, where mere survival consumed all their energy, it wasn’t hard to understand the White Lotus sect’s appeal.

“How about it, young brother? Want to come burn some incense at my altar? I’m the altar keeper,” Kong Eighteen thumped his chest.

Zhu Zhanji awkwardly waved his hand, about to decline politely, when a thought struck him: “Do you know Liang Xingfu?”

“Who’s that?” Kong Eighteen looked bewildered.

Zhu Zhanji secretly sighed in relief. As he had guessed, the White Lotus organization was very loose—local altars only shared devotion to the Divine Mother, with each keeper operating independently. While city followers helped Liang Xingfu catch people, dam followers staged their uprising, neither knowing about the other.

This was fortunate for the state. If the Divine Mother could control all altars as easily as moving her arm or commanding troops, the court would have a serious problem.

Zhu Zhanji was about to decline when the other suddenly gestured for silence, then pressed his ear to the ground and listened carefully: “Strange, why are so many people approaching? Could it be the Yong’an garrison?”

“What’s that?”

“Commander Chen’s direct transport protection army—real combat veterans. This small disturbance shouldn’t warrant their attention… and they’re coming too quickly. Something’s not right, not right at all.” Kong Eighteen muttered, listening more carefully, his expression changing dramatically. In the distance came the faint clanking of armor, indicating well-equipped troops approaching aggressively.

The towmen by the river also sensed the unease, all looking to their leader. Kong Eighteen shouted: “Don’t panic! Stick to the plan—quickly throw your clubs in the river and return to your units!” The towmen responded in unison, hurriedly dispersing. Seeing Zhu Zhanji still standing dumbly, he gave him a hard push: “What are you waiting for? Go quickly!”

Zhu Zhanji hastily threw away his club and ran toward the riverbank. Kong Eighteen, holding the axe that had knocked out Supervisor Xue, raised both hands and walked toward the dark figures emerging on the distant road, shouting: “I acted alone, take me to Magistrate Fang…”

Before he could finish, several soldiers in narrow-sleeved red padded jackets pounced on him, violently throwing him to the ground. More soldiers streamed past, charging toward the scattered towmen. They quickly caught up with Zhu Zhanji, who had barely started running, pulled him down, and pressed their boots into his body.

“White Lotus followers—capture them all!” dozens of Yong’an garrison soldiers roared in unison.