L.F-Hist.Novelist Chapter 25 Yangzhou Salt Banquet
Chapter 25 Yangzhou Salt Banquet
On the fourth day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the hour of Si (9-
Under the leaden sky of Yangzhou, the stone lions in front of the Grand Canal Transport Commissioner's Office were covered with a thin layer of frost. The wooden doors of the shops along the street were half-open, and the shop assistants peeked out, only to quickly shrink back when they saw a group of soldiers in dark blue cotton armor silently walk by.
Li Ce's imperial ship anchored at Zhangjiawan Wharf, three miles outside the city, last night. This morning, he changed to a blue-furred carriage drawn by four horses and entered the city, escorted by fewer than three hundred guards—these were elite soldiers carefully selected by Li Jizhen from the Nanjing Garrison, with newly issued flintlock pistols at their waists and eyes as vigilant as eagles.
Inside the car, Li Ce closed his eyes to rest.
His fingertips caressed the jade pendant at his waist—a white jade dragon pendant from Hetian, given to him by the Empress before she left the capital, warm to the touch. Scattered voices drifted in from outside the carriage window:
"It really is the Emperor..."
"Wasn't it said he was assassinated in Nanjing?"
Shh! You're asking for trouble!
The wheels rolled over the bluestone slabs, the sound of which was particularly jarring on the empty street.
At the same time, at the ancestral hall of the Salt Merchants' Association in the east of the city.
Sixteen rosewood armchairs were arranged in a semicircle, but only fifteen people were seated there.
Wang Zhaolin sat at the head of the table, holding a Xuande incense burner in his hands, the charcoal inside glowing a dark red. He was over sixty years old, with a gaunt face, and wore a dark blue robe that was neither new nor old. If it weren't for the pigeon-blood red thumb ring on his finger, he would look like an ordinary schoolteacher at first glance.
"Where is the Shen family's ship?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
The Huizhou merchant Huang Shouren, sitting to the left, quickly bowed: "We passed Zhenjiang last night and will arrive before noon. There are twelve ships in total, all carrying... all 'tribute' to various government offices as per custom."
"Festival tribute?" Wang Zhaolin smirked. "This winter is exceptionally cold; we should prepare more money for charcoal."
The room was completely silent.
Shanxi merchant Chen Jiye coughed lightly: "Old Wang, with the Emperor's personal visit and Eunuch Han's side... shouldn't we submit a memorial of apology? At least to express our stance—"
"What stance are you trying to take?" Wang Zhaolin raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as needles. "Are you trying to take the 800,000 taels of silver we've 'given' to Han Zanzhou over the years? Are you trying to take the blame for helping us transport smuggled salt, falsely reporting losses, and embezzling salt fields from salt producers?" He paused, his fingertips lightly tapping the furnace wall. "Or are you trying to take the blame for... those three hundred elite soldiers by Xuanwu Lake, whom we paid to support?"
The ancestral hall was deathly silent.
The only sound was the crackling of the burning charcoal.
After a long pause, Xu Wenyuan, a merchant from Zhejiang, said in a trembling voice, "But His Majesty really does have Shen Maocai's ledger! If Eunuch Han hadn't confessed, why would His Majesty have gone straight to Yangzhou?"
"What good would it do to confess?" Wang Zhaolin slowly rose and walked to the ancestral tablets. His voice echoed in the empty ancestral hall. "In the third year of the Tianqi reign, our sixteen families swore an oath here—'Sharing the profits from salt production and enduring hardship together.' Now Han Zan has encountered setbacks; it's just bad luck. But our roots are in Yangzhou, in the three hundred li of salt fields along the Huai River! The Emperor wants to audit the accounts? Fine. He wants to conduct a land survey? Fine. But to try and uproot our century-old family business..."
He turned around, a cold glint in his eyes:
"Then we'll have to ask the 100,000 salt producers, 30,000 salt workers, and 5,000 grain transport boats in Yangzhou if they'll agree."
At 3:45 AM, at the Salt Administration Office.
Imperial Envoy Chen Zizhuang had been waiting at the second gate for a long time.
He is forty-seven years old this year, a native of Nanhai, Guangdong. He became a Jinshi (a successful candidate in the highest imperial examinations) in the forty-seventh year of the Wanli reign (1618) and served as a principal clerk and secretary in the Ministry of Revenue. He was known for his integrity and outspokenness. This time, he was sent south ahead of time by secret imperial decree and has secretly taken control of the Yangzhou treasury and seven major salt warehouses for ten days.
"Your Majesty." Upon seeing Li Ce alight from the carriage, Chen Zizhuang hurried forward, intending to perform a grand salute.
Li Ce raised his hand in a gesture of support: "Minister Chen, you've worked hard. Let's talk inside."
The two passed through the hanging flower gate and headed straight for the signing room in the back courtyard. The room had been cleared of all other people, leaving only two Imperial Guards guarding the door.
"How is the situation?" Li Ce took off his cloak, which was then taken by a palace attendant.
Chen Zizhuang presented three booklets: "I was ordered to conduct a secret investigation for ten days, and the results are all here. First, the Yangzhou treasury currently holds 87,000 taels of official silver, of which 50,000 taels are the river works silver 'donated' by various salt merchants last month, which has not yet been deposited into the treasury."
Li Ce flipped through the booklet without saying a word.
"Secondly, the seven major salt warehouses had 300,000 yin of salt on their books, but the actual inventory was less than 180,000 yin. The shortfall was always accounted for as 'lost' or 'burned' in the accounts over the years."
"Thirdly," Chen Zizhuang lowered his voice, "I secretly questioned seventeen old saltworkers, and they all said that the actual output of the saltworks in recent years far exceeded the accounts. The excess salt... was all smuggled through the Grand Canal, sold to Xuanda in the north, and traded to Fujian and Guangdong in the south."
Li Ce closed the booklet and walked to the window.
Outside the window was the back garden of the Salt Administration Office. A thin layer of ice covered the artificial hill made of Taihu stones, and the pond water was completely frozen. A sprig of wintersweet peeked out from the corner of the wall, its buds scattered but without fragrance.
"What's the situation with Wang Zhaolin?" he asked, turning his back.
"He appears respectful on the surface," Chen Zizhuang said. "Yesterday afternoon, he sent someone with three thousand taels of 'travel expenses,' saying it was for the 'tea and wine needs' of His Majesty's entourage. I have already sealed it away. Also, at 9:00 AM today, he is hosting a banquet at 'Shuizhu Residence' in Slender West Lake. The invitations were sent three days ago, saying it was to 'welcome His Majesty and wash away the dust of his journey.'"
"Slender West Lake..." Li Ce murmured these three words, then suddenly smiled. "In the thirty-eighth year of the Jiajing reign, Yan Shifan hosted a banquet for Zhao Wenhua at the Slender West Lake in Yangzhou. There were a hundred courtesans at the banquet, and the wine vessels were all made of gold and jade. After the banquet, Yan Shifan asked, 'This gives a glimpse into the wealth of the Southeast.' Zhao Wenhua replied, 'Wealth that rivals that of a nation.'"
He turned away, his eyes expressionless.
"Minister Chen, how does today's banquet compare to those of yesteryear?"
Chen Zizhuang bowed: "Your Majesty dares not presume to speculate. But Your Majesty already possesses Shen Maocai's secret letter and Han Zanzhou's confession. Even if this banquet is a trap, Your Majesty is the one wielding the sword."
Li Ce nodded, took out a sealed letter with sealing wax from his pocket, and handed it to Chen Zizhuang: "Before the banquet, you have to do something."
At the same time, in a secluded courtyard on the banks of the Xiao Qinhuai River in the south of the city.
Empress Zhou pushed open the hinged window of the east wing.
Outside the window was a narrow river, its water murky, with several dilapidated awning boats moored there. On the opposite bank, a woman squatted on the stone steps, pounding clothes with a wooden mallet, the sound of which was deep and resonant.
"Your Highness," Yunniang quietly entered, carrying a set of indigo coarse cotton dress in her hands, "the clothes are ready. As you instructed, they are in the style of ordinary women in the marketplace, without embroidery or patterns."
The Empress took it, her fingers tracing the texture of the coarse cloth, and suddenly asked, "Yunniang, what kind of business did your family do before you entered the palace?"
Yunniang was taken aback, and whispered, "My father... is a boatman at the Tongzhou Wharf."
"Qiangfu..." the Empress sighed softly, "That year, the Yongding River breached its banks, flooding three thousand households in Tongzhou. Did your father escape?"
"I escaped, but my legs were frostbitten, and the following spring..." Yunniang's voice trailed off, "that's when I sold myself into the palace."
The Empress was silent for a moment, then placed her cotton skirt on the kang (a heated brick bed): "I ask you, if there were an opportunity that would free the children of laborers, salt workers, and farmers from selling themselves into slavery... would you take that chance?"
Yunniang suddenly looked up: "Your Majesty..."
"Change your clothes." The Empress turned around. "You will come with me in half an hour."
At 9:00 AM, at the Water Bamboo Residence by the Slender West Lake.
This is the Wang family's villa, built by the lake, with three courtyards and winding corridors. Today, there are no carriages or horses in front of the gate, only eight servants standing at their sides, all wearing blue satin cotton-padded jackets, with bulging pouches at their waists—clearly hiding weapons.
When Li Ce's carriage arrived, Wang Zhaolin was already waiting at the second gate with fifteen heads of households.
"This humble subject, Wang Zhaolin, kowtows to Your Majesty—" The old man trembled as he tried to kneel.
Li Ce had already stepped off the train and stopped. He gestured for Li Ce to help him up, saying, "Mr. Wang is an elder of high age and great virtue, there is no need for such formalities. Please rise, everyone."
His voice was gentle, revealing no emotion.
Wang Zhaolin rose to his feet, his eyes darting quickly across the room—the emperor was accompanied by only twenty guards, all carrying swords but no muskets. Imperial Envoy Chen Zizhuang lagged half a step behind, his expression calm. Further back… were four Imperial Guards carrying brocade boxes.
The brocade box is about a foot square, painted black with gold accents, and the clasp is shiny.
Wang Zhaolin's heart skipped a beat, but he forced a smile: "Your Majesty's personal visit to Yangzhou is truly a once-in-a-century event. We, your humble servants, have nothing to offer in return but a simple meal and some songs to express our heartfelt gratitude. Your Majesty, please—"
The banquet was held in the waterside pavilion.
Surrounded by windows on three sides, the lake shimmers outside, and occasionally a duck takes flight from the withered lotus and reeds. Inside, a scarlet Persian carpet is laid out, and the bronze animal-shaped braziers in the four corners burn brightly, making the room as warm as spring.
Sixteen tables were arranged in a fan shape, with Li Ce at the head of the table and Chen Zizhuang sitting to his left. The salt merchants were seated according to their seniority, and each table was set with eight cold and eight hot dishes, as well as four kinds of snacks. The wine was thirty-year-old Shaoxing Nu'er Hong, warmed in a silver pot.
The orchestra was behind the screen, and the sound of string and wind instruments began; it was "Yangchun Baixue" (White Snow in Spring).
"Your Majesty, please." Wang Zhaolin raised his cup. "This wine is from my humble family's collection. It was buried underground in the thirty-eighth year of the Jiajing reign and has only been opened this year. As the ancients said, 'Wine becomes more mellow with age.' Your Majesty is the chosen one, and you are perfectly suited to this century-old vintage."
Li Ce held his cup but did not drink, his gaze sweeping across the table.
Huang Shouren stared down at the tip of his chopsticks, Chen Jiye's Adam's apple bobbed, and Xu Wenyuan's forehead was covered in a fine sweat... Fifteen faces, fifteen masks trying to appear calm.
"Mr. Wang," he suddenly said, "the thirty-eighth year of Jiajing was a good year."
Wang Zhaolin laughed and said, "Your Majesty is wise. That year, the great victory against the Japanese pirates in the southeast, General Qi Jiguang's battle at Hengyu shook the sea frontier. The salt merchants of Yangzhou donated 200,000 taels of silver to help with the war effort, and my ancestor Wang Zhi's name was also on the list of meritorious officials."
"Donating 200,000 taels of silver," Li Ce nodded, "is indeed a great achievement. But I remember that in the 37th year of Jiajing's reign, the actual salt tax collected in Lianghuai was only 420,000 taels, 180,000 taels short of the official amount. In the 38th year, it was even 250,000 taels short. Where did this 200,000 taels come from?"
The music suddenly stopped.
The musician stood frozen behind the screen.
Wang Zhaolin's hand, holding the glass, hovered in mid-air, his smile frozen. After a long while, he slowly put down the glass, his voice dry: "Your Majesty... Your Majesty's words are incomprehensible to this humble subject. Donations come from a public heart, how can... how can they be said to have been 'squeezed out'?"
Li Ce remained silent, but raised his hand in a gesture.
A member of the Imperial Guard stepped forward and opened the first brocade box.
Inside the box was a stack of letters, the paper yellowed, the ink varying in shades. The top letter, unfolded, revealed Shen Maocai's distinctive slender, elegant calligraphy:
"...On the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, three hundred tiger-squatting cannons were privately cast and hidden in the mountains of Yizheng. Thirty thousand taels of silver are needed to hire a cargo ship for transport. Please advise, Elder Wang..."
Wang Zhaolin's face turned pale instantly.
The second brocade box was opened.
It is a copy of Han Zanzhou's confession; the bloodstains have dried to brown, and the handwriting is crooked but still clear.
"...The Salt Merchants' Guild raised 800,000 taels of silver, to be delivered in three installments. The mastermind, Wang Zhaolin, along with fifteen other business leaders including Huang Shouren and Chen Jiye, all signed agreements as proof..."
"Clang—"
Huang Shouren dropped his wine cup, spilling wine that soaked his robe.
The music stopped completely. The musicians and maids retreated silently, leaving only the crackling of the charcoal fire and a dozen heavy, suppressed breaths in the waterside pavilion.
Li Ce picked up his glass of wine and slowly stood up.
He walked to the window of the waterside pavilion, gazing at the withered lotus leaves outside, his back to the crowd. His voice was soft, yet every word struck a chord in everyone's heart:
"I will give you three paths."
"First, within three days, 100,000 shi of grain and 800,000 taels of silver shall be deposited into the treasury. As for past offenses, as long as they do not involve treason or collusion with the enemy, I will forgive and pardon them."
"Second, continue to be my enemy. Those three hundred tiger-squatting cannons, the eight hundred thousand taels of silver used to buy the murderer, the century-old private salt accounts... I will punish them according to the 'Great Ming Code - Treason and Rebellion'."
He paused, turned around, and his gaze swept across each face like a knife:
"three--"
"Among you, whoever can provide the exact location of the privately cast cannons, the details of the collusion with the canal gangs, and the list of officials who have been bribed over the years... I will grant him the preservation of his family business, allow his children to enter the Imperial Academy, bestow upon him a plaque inscribed with 'Loyalty and Righteousness,' and exempt him from corvée labor for generations."
Dead silence.
A spark burst from the charcoal brazier, landing on the Persian rug and sizzling, burning a small hole in it.
Wang Zhaolin suddenly left his seat, staggered to his knees, and burst into tears:
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please see the truth!" He pounded his head on the ground, his forehead slamming against the bricks with a loud thud. "This is all a frame-up by Han Zanzhou and Shen Maocai! Although we, the common people, have done something slightly...something wrong, we would never dare to rebel! Those three hundred cannons must have been privately cast by Shen Maocai! Eight hundred thousand taels of silver...Yangzhou's salt industry has been in decline for years. Let alone eight hundred thousand taels, even eighty thousand taels wouldn't be enough to raise in a short time!"
He wept bitterly, tears streaming down his face, his hands trembling as he reached for the hem of Li Ce's robe.
Li Ce took a half step back and looked down at him: "Can't you gather them all?"
"I can't raise it! I really can't raise it!" Wang Zhaolin hissed. "If Your Majesty doesn't believe me, you can send someone to check the accounts! The Wang family, the Huang family, the Chen family... all sixteen warehouses, Your Majesty is free to check them! If you can raise 800,000 taels of silver, this humble subject is willing... willing to die to atone for my sins!"
He lay prostrate on the ground, his shoulders twitching.
The fifteen men behind him knelt down in unison, kowtowing repeatedly: "Your Majesty, have mercy! Your Majesty, have mercy!"
Li Ce watched this scene in silence.
After a long while, he bent down and personally helped Wang Zhaolin up. The old man stood up shakily, his face still wet with tears, but a barely perceptible glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes.
"Since Mr. Wang says so," Li Ce released his grip, his tone calm, "I will trust you this once. Three days, I will give you three days. At noon three days later, I will be at the Salt Administration Office, waiting for your grain and your silver."
He turned to Chen Zizhuang and said, "Chen Qing, take Mr. Wang back. It's freezing cold, please don't let the old man catch a cold."
"I obey your decree."
The Imperial Guards put away the brocade box. Li Ce glanced one last time at the salt merchants kneeling on the ground, then turned and walked out of the waterside pavilion.
The footsteps faded into the distance.
Wang Zhaolin remained kneeling until he was certain the imperial procession had left through the gate, then slowly straightened up. He wiped his face, the tear stains instantly disappearing, leaving only a chilling coldness in his eyes.
"Help me up," he said in a hoarse voice.
Huang Shouren and Chen Jiye hurriedly stepped forward to help him. The old man stopped, straightened his clothes, and looked at the crowd:
"You saw everything?"
The fifteen people nodded, their faces pale.
"The first path is a dead end. If we hand over 100,000 shi of grain and 800,000 taels of silver, the accumulated wealth of our sixteen families over a century will vanish in an instant."
"The second path is also a dead end. Treason is a capital offense, punishable by death by a thousand cuts and the extermination of the entire clan."
He took a deep breath, his eyes flashing with a fierce light:
"There is only a third way left—to prevent the Emperor from leaving Yangzhou."
At the same time, in a shabby alley in the south of the city.
Empress Zhou had changed into a coarse cotton dress, her hair was simply tied up with a wooden hairpin, and her face was dusted with stove ash. At first glance, she looked no different from an ordinary woman from the marketplace. Yunniang was also dressed as a maid, carrying a bamboo basket containing a short blade.
The two exited through the back door, meandered through narrow alleys, and arrived at an inconspicuous clothing shop.
The shop sign was faded, but it read "Zhao's Clothing Store". The door was half-open, and the interior was dimly lit.
The Empress pushed open the door and entered.
Behind the counter sat a woman in her forties, mending clothes. Hearing the voice, she looked up and, seeing the ordinary-looking man, said, "Sir, would you like some clothes tailored? The master tailor isn't here today; please come another day."
The empress did not answer, but took something from her bosom and gently placed it on the counter.
It is a white jade hairpin with a phoenix holding a lingzhi mushroom carved on the head. It was given by Empress Dowager Zhou when Empress Zhou was conferred her title, and many of the women in the inner circle recognized it.
The woman's face changed drastically, and the needle and thread in her hand fell to the ground.
She hurried to the door, looked around, closed it, bolted it, turned and knelt down with a thud, her voice trembling: "Your Majesty, I, Wang, pay my respects!"
"Rise and speak." The Empress gently helped her up. "Yunniang, bring tea."
Wang Shi rose tremblingly, not daring to sit, but standing with her hands hanging down. She was Wang Zhaolin's second wife, born into a scholarly family in Shaoxing. Her brother, Wang Siren, had served as the Vice Minister of Rites. Three years ago, he was imprisoned for a scandal related to the imperial examinations, and the Wang family refused to help him. Since then, Wang Shi had become estranged from her husband.
"I don't have much time," the Empress said bluntly, "Are you aware that Wang Zhaolin hosted a banquet for His Majesty at the Slender West Lake today?"
Madam Wang nodded, then shook her head: "He only said... that there were important guests, and that I should not leave the courtyard for the next few days."
"A distinguished guest?" The Empress sneered. "He wants to use three hundred privately cast cannons and eight hundred thousand taels of silver to buy off the murderer in order to entertain His Majesty, this 'distinguished guest'."
Wang trembled, her eyes widening in disbelief: "He...he really dared to..."
"He not only dares, but he's already doing it." The Empress looked directly at her. "Wang, I ask you a question: Do you want justice for your father and brothers? Do you want justice for your sister, whose dowry was swallowed up by the Wang family and who was driven to jump into a well?"
Tears welled up instantly. Wang covered her mouth and choked back sobs. After a long while, she nodded heavily.
"Very well." The Empress took out a plain sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil from her sleeve. "I need three things. First, the location of the Wang family's secret silver vault. Second, copies of the secret letters exchanged between Wang Zhaolin and the leaders of the Grand Canal Gang. Third..."
She paused, then spoke even softer:
"Any evidence of collusion between Wang Jingwei and Zuo Liangyu's subordinates."
Wang wiped away her tears and gritted her teeth, saying, "Your Majesty, please wait a moment."
She went into the inner room and returned a moment later with a flat wooden box. Inside were several yellowed sheets of paper:
"This is a map of the underground palace of the Guanyin Temple in the south of the city, which was donated and built by the Wang family. There are three underground floors. The second floor is used to store silver, and the third floor... I have only been there once. It was filled with account books."
"This is a copy of a secret letter sent by the deputy leader of the Canal Transport Gang last year, which I secretly transcribed. It says... 'Before the fifteenth of the twelfth lunar month, three hundred transport ships can be mobilized and are ready to be dispatched.'"
"This is..." Madam Wang flipped to the bottom page, which was a half-page tattered account book with burn marks on the edges. "I snatched this from the brazier in the study. I can only make out one line of text: 'Give Mr. Cheng of the Left Commander's Office 50,000 taels of silver, to delay the troops in Jiujiang and prevent them from advancing eastward.'"
The Empress took it, quickly glanced at it, and a cold glint flashed in her eyes.
Zuo Liangyu... was indeed involved.
"Madam Wang," she said solemnly, putting away the paper, "after this matter, I will grant you three promises: first, I will protect your life; second, if you wish to leave the Wang family, I will arrange a place for you; third, I will request the Emperor to retry your brother Wang Siren's case."
Tears streamed down Wang's face as she prostrated herself on the ground, saying, "Your Majesty, I thank you for your grace!"
"There's one more thing," the Empress leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Does Wang Zhaolin have any illegitimate sons? Those who are close to you?"
Madam Wang was taken aback, then realized: "Yes! His third son, Yanzong, lost his mother at a young age and was raised by me. He is sixteen this year and is studying at the academy outside the city. That child... is kind-hearted, unlike Wang Zhaolin."
"Alright." The Empress took out a small jade ring and placed it in Wang's hand. "Within three days, find a way to make him 'seriously ill' and get him out of the Wang residence. With this jade ring, someone will be there to help him leave Yangzhou."
After saying that, she left without lingering and quickly departed with Yunniang.
The clothing store door closed again.
Wang Shi clutched the jade ring, leaned against the door, and after a long while, murmured, "Wang Zhaolin...you forced me to do this."
At 1-3 PM, in a secluded room at the villa by the Slender West Lake.
Wang Zhaolin had changed back into his dark blue robe and was sitting in a grand chair with three people standing in front of him.
Li Biao, the deputy leader of the Cao Gang, nicknamed "Mixed-River Dragon," had a face full of scars and wore a water-split spike on his waist.
Zhao Tiegu, the salt-drinking instructor, was originally a night scout in the border army. He had a scar on his left cheek that ran from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth.
There was another person, dressed as a scholar in a blue robe, with a sinister face. He was the accountant and strategist of the Wang family, and his surname was Wu.
"Three hundred cannons," Wang Zhaolin tapped the table, "still in the mountains of Yizheng?"
Zhao Tiegu nodded: "It's buried in a karst cave in the back mountain. The entrance is disguised with a stone door mechanism, so outsiders can't find it."
"Where's the gunpowder?"
"It's fully prepared, enough for twenty rounds per cannon."
Wang Zhaolin pondered for a moment: "Li Biao, how many people can your three hundred cargo ships carry?"
The River Dragon grinned: "If we squeeze in thirty people per boat, that's nine thousand. If we only carry elites, fifteen people per boat, that's four thousand five."
"Four thousand five..." Wang Zhaolin closed his eyes and calculated, "Adding the two thousand salt workers, and if all the servants and guards from each household contribute, it can amount to ten thousand."
He opened his eyes, his gaze gleaming with a sharp light:
"not enough."
Mr. Wu said softly, "Master Dong, what about Commander Zuo...?"
"Zuo Liangyu accepted 50,000 taels of silver and agreed to 'delay the troops in Jiujiang.' But this man is two-faced and cannot be entirely trusted," Wang Zhaolin sneered. "We must force him to act."
"What does the master mean?"
Wang Zhaolin took out a private seal from his pocket, stamped it on the Xuan paper, and then quickly wrote something. After finishing, he handed it to Mr. Wu:
"Go to Jiujiang yourself. Tell Zuo Liangyu that the Emperor has obtained evidence of his accepting bribes and is about to issue an edict to strip him of his military power. If he still wants to be the 'General Who Pacifies the Rebels,' he should quickly lead his troops eastward and seize Nanjing under the pretext of 'purging the court of corrupt officials.' After the deed is done, he will receive 30% of the salt tax revenue from Jiangnan."
Mr. Wu took the letter and hesitated, saying, "Will Marshal Zuo really believe this?"
"He'll believe it," Wang Zhaolin said in a sinister voice, "because I'll make sure that the 'Emperor's' messenger is captured by him 'just in time' before he receives this letter."
He turned to Zhao Tiegu: "Choose fifty assassins, disguise them as Imperial Guards, and have them infiltrate Jiujiang in three days, deliberately revealing their whereabouts. Remember, leave them alive and make them 'confess'—the Emperor has secretly ordered Li Jizhen to prepare to lure and kill Zuo Liangyu."
A ruthless glint flashed in Zhao Tiegu's eyes: "Understood."
"Furthermore," Wang Zhaolin said, turning his gaze to Hunjianglong one last time, "it's time to move the 'water ghosts' on the Grand Canal. We don't need to wait for the Emperor to return north. Starting tonight, sink every grain ship and official vessel heading north that we see. I want the court to know—without us, this Grand Canal is a dead end."
The three men accepted the order and left.
The secret room returned to silence.
Wang Zhaolin sat alone, taking out a copper coin from his pocket—it was the "pocket money" his father gave him when he first entered the salt business at the age of twelve, its edges worn smooth.
"Father," he whispered to the void, "you said that to keep our family's salt bowl steady, we have to be ruthless than others. Your son has remembered that for the rest of his life."
He flicked the coin up and caught it again.
Clench your fist.
"But now, someone wants to chop off the bowl and the hand together," he muttered. "Then don't blame your son for... overturning the table."
Outside the window, the waters of Slender West Lake were calm.
The leaden clouds hang low; it's going to snow again.