Chapter 216: The Wind of the Great Explosion Reaches Jiangnan

Jeju Island has flat terrain and vast grasslands, with no large predatory beasts on the island—it is a natural horse ranch, practically hand-picked by the Mongols. The best part is that it's also an island.

Once Lin Qian's warships anchor in the strait, from then on, no outsider can ever set foot on the island again.

Such a paradise was hardly something Lin Qian would willingly hand over.

The only pity is that Jeju horses are too small in build—unsuited for shock cavalry charges, and unable to pull large artillery either.

They are suitable for the current fighting in the southeastern hills and mountains, but for future campaigns on the North China Plain, other war horses and draft horses will need to be found.

Lei Sanxiang finished his discussion with the old horse keeper, telling him to return to the city to reassure the people and tend to the horses, promising that once the situation on Jeju Island stabilized, he and the war horses would be sent together to the Great Ming.

The old horse keeper was dubious of this promise, but could hardly question it, and could only withdraw.

Walking back among the other horse keepers, they all crowded around asking about the outcome. When they learned they could not return to the Great Ming immediately, and that Yang Liu had not been executed on the spot either, they all felt deflated.

A young horse keeper said bitterly: "All crows are equally black—the Great Ming is no better than Joseon or the Tartars!"

Another said: "The Ming people only came for the horses. They'll take all the horses away and leave us on the island to fend for ourselves!"

The old horse keeper was startled, hastily telling his companions to shut up, then looked around—sure enough, he saw a soldier striding over, uncertain whether he had overheard their conversation.

As the soldier approached, the old horse keeper immediately knelt and kowtowed: "Mercy, mercy!"

The soldier looked utterly baffled, and took a dagger from his waist: "Returning your things to you—who's trying to kill you?"

The two could not understand each other's language, and the old horse keeper could not comprehend what the soldier said, but that dagger was his—it had been taken from him when he went to see the Ming commander. By the customs of the bureaucrats on Jeju Island, anything that fell into an official's hands was never returned.

If it was valuable or to their liking, the officials kept it for themselves.

If they didn't like it, they simply tossed it into the sea or up into the mountains.

The old horse keeper took the dagger, and the soldier left. Even then, the old horse keeper still could not believe it.

"Come on, let's go back and tend the horses." The old horse keeper snapped back to his senses, tucked the dagger into his belt, and said to his companions.

In the days that followed, Lei Sanxiang reassured the people on Jeju Island, mopped up the remaining wokou, and stormed the other two cities and the coastal fortresses.

Life on the island gradually grew stable.

While the great battle raged on Jeju Island—

A major event occurred in the capital.

At the si hour (9–11 AM) on the sixth day of the fifth month, a great explosion struck the Wanggong Factory in the southwest of the capital.

Rumors said the blast was like heaven and earth splitting apart; a cloud of mist shaped like a lingzhi mushroom rose from the scene, an area of one li around was reduced to fine powder, and the thunderous roar could be heard for twenty li. According to reports, the explosion destroyed over ten thousand homes, killed or injured more than twenty thousand people, and human remains, rubble, and trees rained down across the entire capital. There were also many strange and bizarre phenomena—for instance, the victims' clothing had all been stripped away.

Another example: over thirty people in a schoolhouse vanished without a trace.

Yet another: the epicenter of the explosion showed no signs of scorching whatsoever.

Throughout the entire Northern Metropolitan Region, rumors erupted overnight, panic gripped the people, and all manner of news flew about wildly, true or false impossible to tell.

The Nan'ao Times correspondent stationed in Tianjin paid close attention to the matter, but since the great explosion, the capital had been under martial law—not a shred of information could get out, and every report was impossible to verify.

On the ninth day of the fifth month, the Tianqi Emperor issued an edict of self-blame, published in the Capital Gazette and circulated throughout the nation.

The Tianjin station immediately dispatched hawk ships to transport all information regarding the explosion, along with the Capital Gazette, to Nan'ao Island.

Before departure, the Tianjin station ordered each hawk ship: this mission was of the utmost urgency—they must sail day and night without rest, delivering the news to Nan'ao at the fastest possible speed. To guard against shipwreck, they even sent three hawk ships at once.

Six days later, Nan'ao Island received news of the great explosion, and the newspaper office worked around the clock, producing a clean proof overnight.

In the dead of night, Lin Qian was woken up—still not even dressed—and immediately approved it with his seal.

The next day, the *Nan'ao Times—Wanggong Factory Great Explosion Special Edition* was printed and distributed in Zhangzhou, Quanzhou, and Fuzhou.

The moment the paper was published, people in all three cities scrambled to buy it; the streets emptied as crowds flocked to the newsstands, which sold out instantly. The common folk then blockaded the newspaper office gates—printing one batch, selling one batch—and this continued for days on end.

At the Ye family in Fuqing, Ye Xianggao and his two grandsons crowded around a table, sharing a single newspaper, reading every character as if they wished to go over each one several times.

The newspaper's report on the great explosion was largely drawn from the official Capital Gazette—that is, a death toll of over five hundred.

But eyewitness accounts from the common people and the various unverifiable rumors were also published.

People of the time subscribed to the theory of heavenly retribution—such a portentous anomaly, occurring in the capital, and occurring precisely when eunuch power held sway and the court was in chaos—even if the newspaper merely reported facts, it was enough to set imaginations running wild.

The newspaper also printed the full text of the Tianqi Emperor's "Edict of Self-Blame," and to help less literate readers understand it, thoughtfully included a vernacular translation and even a summary of its contents.

Though the full text was lengthy and grandiloquent, it boiled down to just four points:

First, the Emperor reflects on his own faults.

Second, he demands that all his ministers reflect on theirs.

Third, he will personally go to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to offer sacrifices to heaven and earth.

Fourth, funds will be allocated for disaster relief measures.

As for the content of the reflection, the language was extremely vague, highly ambiguous, touching on no specific issues, addressing no current affairs, and offering no remedial measures. Such an edict of self-blame was less about reassuring the people than about treating the whole world as fools.

After reading it, Ye Xianggao collapsed into his chair, let out a long sigh, and murmured: "Has the state of the court truly come to this?"

Ye Yisun clenched his fists and said angrily: "This edict of self-blame goes back and forth—reflect, reflect—reflect on what, exactly?

Not a single word about Wei the eunuch in the entire text—it's clearly the work of the eunuch faction! They'd even fool heaven itself—these people are trying to deceive the gods!"

Even the normally composed Ye Yifan could not help but say: "They treat the whole world as fools and idiots. For the court to act this way is truly chilling."

Ye Xianggao wanted to rebuke them, but when he opened his mouth, he could not produce a single word of justification.

After the two brothers had finished bitterly cursing the court, they flipped to the back of the newspaper and saw bold characters proclaiming: *"We Ask: Is the Realm of Today the Realm of All Under Heaven, or the Realm of the Eunuch Faction?"*

The article used the great explosion as its backdrop and the edict of self-blame as its entry point, aiming its spear directly at the dark court.

The article said:

The court persecutes scholar-officials, using the Imperial Prison to mete out private torture—this is the law thrown into chaos.

Exalting and trusting the eunuch faction, bringing calamity upon the court—this is governance thrown into chaos.

Dismissing good generals like Sun Chengzong and Yuan Keli, so that when the Jianzhou barbarians attacked Joseon, the court did nothing—this is the military thrown into chaos.

The Liaodong levy presses down on the people like a heavy mountain—this is the populace thrown into chaos.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard and Eastern Depot riders run rampant without restraint, tax supervisors extort at will, every region races to build shrines to the living eunuch, and no one cares whether the common folk live or die—this is the realm thrown into chaos. The article ultimately concluded: the Great Ming of today has become the Great Ming of the Wei family, and the realm of today has become the realm of the eunuch faction.

The language of this article was so fierce and blunt that not only had nothing like it ever appeared in a newspaper, it was exceedingly rare anywhere in the world.

The sharply critical article Ye Yisun had written before was nothing compared to this one—like a minor sorcerer before a great one.

Previous newspaper articles only dared to criticize the eunuch Wei, never the Emperor.

This article still criticized the eunuch Wei, yet it showed a tendency to aim its spear at the Tianqi Emperor himself.

The two brothers read the entire piece, and both broke out in cold sweat, yet at the same time felt an indescribable relief in their hearts.

This article had said everything the two of them dared not say, all in one go.

The feeling was like eating a chili pepper—spicy enough to make one sweat all over, body trembling, and after swallowing, an immense pleasure rose from the depths of the heart. Ye Yisun trembled with excitement and said repeatedly, "Exactly right, exactly right! A magnificent piece, truly magnificent!"

Ye Yifan praised, "This is the true backbone of a scholar. The author's courage is no less than that of Hai Bijia in his day!"

Ye Xianggao saw his two grandsons like this, went over, and read the article as well. His expression grew even worse, and in the end, he let out a long sigh.

The two grandsons clamored that they too wanted to take up their brushes and submit articles to the newspaper.

Ye Xianggao felt a profound helplessness. He knew well that even if he strictly restrained them and forbade his grandsons from submitting, it would no longer do any good.

The Ye family was bound too deeply with Lin Qian; there was no way to stay clear of the matter.

Never mind the Ye family—even the entire Fujian officialdom, and indeed the common people of Fujian, would be tied onto the same warship.

Is there any dynasty under heaven that has lasted nearly three hundred years without falling?

Heaven's mandate is inconstant; virtue alone is its support. This has always been the natural order of things, and no one can stand against it.

Beyond the Ye estate, throughout all of Fuqing, Fuzhou, and even Zhangzhou and Quanzhou,

this special edition newspaper was still being printed and circulated without stop. Its sales were nearly ten times that of regular issues.

Readers were buying the paper not merely for the strange tales of the great explosion, but even more for that magnificent article printed on the back page.

To be fair, the article's literary style was merely above average, and its prose was mostly vernacular—the sort of thing scholars would normally disdain.

But the article dared to speak too boldly, venting in one go the grievances that people across the realm had been swallowing for over a decade, even several decades.

A single reading left one feeling immensely relieved.

Soon, in teahouses and wine shops everywhere, people were quoting the article's contents in spirited discussion, some offering their own views, others cursing the court in crude language.

From learned scholars at the top to peddlers and laborers at the bottom, everyone delighted in hearing it, and everyone could weigh in on the situation with a few words.

Even the storytellers in the teahouses abandoned the Three Kingdoms and the Sui-Tang tales, telling nothing but anecdotes of the Wanggongchang explosion.

Of course, the article's wording was so sharp, so contrary to traditional philosophy of the golden mean, that it also drew considerable opposition.

Moreover, in the Great Ming, one could curse the eunuch faction, but cursing the Emperor was absolutely politically incorrect.

Scholars and commoners alike had been brainwashed into loyalty to the sovereign for over a thousand years; they could not turn around so quickly.

Many even believed that the court's current predicament was entirely the doing of the eunuch faction, that His Majesty was supremely wise and merely temporarily deceived—that once the treacherous were swept away and officialdom purified, peace under heaven would come with but a single effort.

Because the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot dared not enter Fujian, and local officials had been more or less sidelined by Lin Qian, speech in Fujian was extremely free. Everyone could speak their minds, and all manner of viewpoints clashed fiercely in the streets and alleys.

Often two people would debate on a street corner in the morning, by afternoon they would have gathered into two opposing crowds, and by evening the entire street would be blocked.

Even seven days later, the special explosion edition of the newspaper showed no sign of cooling off.

According to statistics gathered from newspaper offices across the region, nearly fifty thousand copies had been sold in those seven days, and the number was still climbing.

Even given Fujian's literacy rate, this sales figure was astonishing.

One must understand that many common folk were loath to spend money—a single newspaper would be passed around among five or six people, sometimes even dozens.

This circulation meant virtually everyone in Fujian had read it.

The effect was far better than Lin Qian had anticipated.

At this time, in the study of the Lin residence, Scholar Zhou was reporting on the reception of the newspaper after its release.

"…During this period, the newspaper office has received nearly a thousand submissions, far more than ever before.

Of the opinions expressed, five in ten support the 'Man of the Realm' article, and five in ten oppose it."

Lin Qian toyed with a Xuande censer and said, "Those who oppose—what views do they hold?"

"Some say it offends imperial authority, some say it reveals wild ambition, some say the language is too extreme, and some say the prose is crude… I am ashamed…" That article had in fact been written by Scholar Zhou at Lin Qian's direction, which was why he felt embarrassed when criticized for his writing.

Lin Qian comforted him, telling him not to mind.

This article was, after all, meant as a stone cast into still waters to test the reaction.

Before raising the standard, he needed to unify thought and win the support of all classes in Fujian.

Those who could submit to the newspaper were almost all from the scholar class. That half of them approved of the article suggested that among ordinary folk, supporters might reach sixty or seventy percent.

These numbers were already good, but not yet enough.

An uprising was an extremely dangerous affair. He had to unite every force that could be united and bind all of Fujian into a single rope.

Right now, the people of Fujian harbored only resentment toward the court. They had no longing for a new government or a new life, no direction or program to strive for. That would not do.

So Lin Qian took a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to him: "For the articles in the coming issues, promote along these lines."

Scholar Zhou opened it and immediately caught his breath.

On the paper were written only four sentences, twenty-four characters in all, yet every word struck at the heart of the matter. Once published, their impact would be far more profound than the "Man of the Realm" article. However, Scholar Zhou hesitated a moment before saying, "These twenty-four characters carry enormous weight. This article should not be written by me."

Lin Qian said, "Do you have someone in mind?"

Scholar Zhou said, "Among those submitting to the newspaper, two have the strongest pens. As luck would have it, both are related to the Helmsman—they are the Ye brothers." Although submissions used pen names, payment for contributions still required a mailing address, and in time, the identities of contributors became quite clear. Lin Qian weighed the matter repeatedly. These twenty-four characters each weighed a thousand jun; if they could be discussed carefully with others, so much the better. He thus agreed to Scholar Zhou's request. A few days later, the two brothers-in-law, at Lin Qian's invitation, came to Nan'ao Island, held secret discussions in the study for an entire day, and then departed.

According to Lin Qian's wishes, the two could have written the article right there on Nan'ao Island, but when Ye Zhen learned of this, she strongly urged Lin Qian to let the two brothers return to the Ye estate in Fuqing to write instead. Lin Qian thought it over briefly and readily agreed.

After the two brothers returned home, they threw themselves into their room and wrote the piece together with all their effort.

When Ye Xianggao learned of this, he was both curious and worried. He paced his room all day, sighing endlessly, and would often wander outside his grandsons' chambers, sometimes for nearly an hour at a stretch, yet he never went in.

Lady Yu could not bear to watch. In front of Ye Xianggao, she gave the order: "Nanny Li, once Fan'er and Sun'er finish their article, have them show it to their grandfather." "Yes!" Nanny Li acknowledged and relayed the message.

Ye Xianggao said, "Come back!"

Lady Yu said angrily, "Go!"

Seeing Lady Yu angered, neither Ye Xianggao nor Nanny Li dared say another word.

That evening, the two brothers brought the first draft to Ye Xianggao and said respectfully, "We beg Grandfather to correct it."

Even at this moment, Ye Xianggao's heart remained deeply conflicted. This essay was like a piece of red-hot charcoal—he wanted to take it, yet dared not.

After hesitating for a long while, Ye Xianggao thought to himself: "I am not helping Lin Qian foment rebellion. I am purely worried that Fan'er and Sun'er, being young and hot-blooded, might write something treasonous or overstepping in the essay and bring disaster upon themselves.

This is for the sake of my Ye family's younger generation—not to commit any great act of defiance.

I will only take it for a brief glance. As long as the essay does not involve the Ye family, I will not alter a single word."

After much mental preparation, Ye Xianggao finally took the essay, swept his eyes over it, and immediately his eyes lit up, letting out an "Eh?"

The two brothers felt uneasy, observing their grandfather's expression.

But they saw Ye Xianggao reading with extreme seriousness, savoring nearly every word.

"Hiss." Having finished the opening, Ye Xianggao drew in a cold breath.

Then his brows furrowed tighter and tighter, nearly twisting into the character "chuan."

The two brothers, who had never seen their grandfather wear such an expression even when they idled away their studies fishing and playing, felt great unease rise in their hearts.

Ye Yisun could not contain himself and asked, "Grandfather, is there something amiss?"

Ye Yifan said in a low voice, "Don't disturb Grandfather."

Ye Xianggao turned a deaf ear, his gaze moving downward. Seeing what followed, he gave a barely perceptible nod, his brows relaxing somewhat. He read further, and his brows relaxed even more, his hand stroking his beard continuously.

But the good times did not last—Ye Xianggao's gaze soon sharpened again.

The two brothers stood in attendance, truly feeling as if needles pricked their backs. Cold sweat was about to seep out, and time felt unbearably long.

Finally, Ye Xianggao slowly set down the essay, raised his head to look at the sky, and let out a slow sigh. He asked, "Who wrote those four slogans?" Ye Yisun immediately said, "It was brother-in-law who said them—we did not change a single word..."

Ye Yifan hurriedly covered his mouth, then continued, "Brother-in-law only offered a few pointers; it was mainly grandson who wrote it. Grandfather, if you must punish someone, punish me." Ye Xianggao smiled, picked up the essay again to read it carefully, and murmured, "The Great Ming has produced a Lin Ziyuan. Whether that is a blessing or a curse, who can say..."

The two brothers were utterly bewildered, unsure whether the essay was good or not.

Ye Yisun plucked up his courage and asked.

Ye Xianggao said: "Good! And not good. That Ziyuan could propose these four slogans—truly... truly he has some breadth of vision and bearing. The essay you two wrote is also not bad—measured and balanced, neither hasty nor agitated.

It is merely that some parts are a bit immature; the wording could still be refined.

For instance, here—this character carries too much killing intent and lacks magnanimity. Even if the original character could win some hearts, it is not the proper way. Better to change it to 'abolish'..."

Ye Xianggao pointed out more than a dozen flaws in succession.

Ye Yisun pulled a brush from his sleeve, licked it with his saliva, took out a sheet of rough paper, and began taking notes.

Ye Xianggao found his grandson's note-taking too slow, so he simply took the brush over and began making revisions on the original text himself...

Mid-May.

A new edition of the Nan'ao Times was published, reporting on the aftermath of the Wanggongchang Great Explosion.

In the newspaper, an essay titled "A Plan to Relieve Distress and Strengthen the Foundation" drew particular attention.

The essay proposed four slogans:

First: Survey the fields, equalize corvée and taxes.

Second: Abolish the Liaodong levy, relieve the people's hardship.

Third: Remove the eunuch tax collectors, open the trade routes.

Fourth: Settle the refugees, reclaim the wastelands.

Among these, the first and second items sought the support of farmers and common folk; the third sought the support of the merchant and artisan classes and the Jiangnan literati.

The fourth item was about maintaining social stability and absorbing population. It was true that Fujian had no wasteland, but Dongning had plenty of unclaimed land.

Compared to the earlier slogan of "Eight Min, a Land of Bliss," these four items already carried clear political demands and concrete administrative measures.

On the surface, they were demands directed at the Great Ming court; in reality, they were already a program for uprising.

This was Lin Qian's adaptation of Li Zicheng's "equalize land, exempt levies" based on the actual conditions of Jiangnan, incorporating appeals to all social strata. Of course, this was not treating everyone equally—the program made no mention of protecting the interests of great landlords and high-ranking officials.

Moreover, "survey the fields, equalize corvée and taxes" was in essence drawing the blade against those parasites who occupied vast tracts of farmland yet paid no taxes.

Once this essay came out, all sectors of Fujian responded enthusiastically, though the frequency of cursing in discussions was lower than with the previous edition's essay.

This was the benefit of measured and balanced writing—it could bridge all parties without causing internal division.

At the same time, because the essay had been polished by Ye Xianggao, its influence and reach were even greater, and it quickly spread to Zhejiang, Guangdong, Jiangxi, and other provinces. It sparked widespread discussion among literati and common folk alike, who all yearned for what the essay described.

Those with insight understood that although what the essay proposed was good, given the Great Ming's current national strength, even if Zhang Juzheng were still alive, it would be utterly impossible to accomplish.

Setting aside everything else, the mere abolition of the Liaodong levy—were it implemented—would cause the court's finances to collapse rapidly.

The situation under heaven had become a dead knot. Short of overturning heaven and earth, what the essay described could likely never be realized.

Late summer, early autumn.

A new round of natural disasters and man-made calamities was printed in the newspaper.

On the fifth day of the sixth month, a great earthquake struck Shanxi, affecting the capital, Shandong, Tianjin, Henan, and other places. City walls and dwellings were all destroyed, with heavy casualties.

On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, Jinan and Tianjin experienced earthquakes simultaneously, toppling houses and walls.

In the newspaper and among the people, discussions of "relieving distress and strengthening the foundation" continued without cease, the clash of ideas reaching unprecedented intensity.

On the first day of the seventh month, an essay by a literate farmer appeared in the newspaper. Written in plain language, it denounced the evils of the Liaodong levy, and no reader was left without indignation.

At the same time, all over Fujian, large-scale collection and production of saltpeter began.

As saltpeter prices rose, the common folk set to work, and the plaster on walls of latrines and corners was scraped off in several layers.

Lei Sanxiang finished handling miscellaneous affairs and took an eagle ship, returning ahead of schedule from Jeju.

At the end of the eighth month, the summer tax collection was completed. That same month, an eagle ship sent to purchase flint returned from Qingzhou, Shandong, carrying nearly a hundred jin of Qingzhou flint. This stone was almost the finest flint in the Great Ming—extremely hard, with sharp fracture edges, and all of North China used it for striking fire.

If even this flint's ignition rate proved insufficient, then they would truly have no choice but to look overseas.

Lin Qian ordered the eagle ship to transport the flint to Macao.

At the end of the ninth month, the Xiamen shipyard faced a dire shortage of timber—nearly all of the air-dried wood in Fujian had been consumed by the shipyard.

At the same time, the province's saltpeter was nearly exhausted, and because the walls had been scraped so fiercely, several outdoor latrines had collapsed.

In mid-October, the merchant convoy returned from Hirado, bringing no less than one million taels in silver alone, plus twenty thousand taels in gold, along with copper and other goods. That same month, a whale ship returned from Jeju Island on the winter monsoon—a thousand new soldiers went back to their post at Fenshui Pass, while two hundred Jeju horses and thirty grooms arrived at the same time.

During this period, the new army had been training intensively, and around Fenshui Pass, the sound of cannon fire never ceased from dawn to dusk.

Add to that the frequent troop movements of the Fujian army over the past half year, the constant stream of articles criticizing current affairs in the newspapers, the continued deterioration of court politics, the frequent natural disasters and man-made calamities, and the ever-increasing number of shrines built to living men.

The entire southeast was like a volcano filled with magma, ready to collapse heaven and crack the earth at any moment.

Along the Fujian provincial borders, both Jiangxi and Zhejiang had deployed troops to a greater or lesser extent.

Since the fifth month, Hu Yingtai, the Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi, had been sending a memorial to the court almost every five days, stating plainly that Fujian was stirring.

Yet all routine memorials and secret memorials sank into the sea like stones.

Even in early September and early October, the court twice issued imperial edicts to Lin Qian, promoting his honorary rank and noble title.

Hu Yingtai felt deeply helpless—without an imperial decree, he could not arbitrarily mobilize the heavy troops of Guangdong and Guangxi, and could only transfer his governor-general's personal troops to Chaozhou for garrison duty. For a time, the situation in the southeast grew tense, with a strong sense that a storm was brewing.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen