Chapter 138: Fusang Catches Fire

(ps: Brothers, we just happened to write about Japan, saw a decent inspiration on Douyin, spent all night yesterday working and wrote a short story titled *Wu Dalang Crosses East: From Selling Cakes to Founding a Nation*. Click into the author's homepage, or search the novel's title to take a look, boost the author's sales! Any questions can be left in the comments of that short story or this novel; the author will definitely reply!! (??? _??)?)

Kyushu, Zhendong City.

This massive fortress, built single‑handed by the Wang Family, has now become the brightest jewel of all Western Japan and even the East Asian region.

On the wide, flat cement streets, traffic flows incessantly and people come and go. Merchants from Goryeo and the South Seas, speaking various accents, haggle with the local Japanese.

The Wang Family Guard, dressed in uniform, patrol the streets with high spirits, maintaining order. Anyone daring to cause trouble here, whether a noble samurai or a ferocious ronin, will be mercilessly seized and thrown into the labor camp at the dock.

Inside the City Lord's residence, Wang Meng is reading a secret letter delivered from Yangzhou by the fastest "carrier pigeon" ship.

The letter was handwritten by the senior Head of Family, Wang Po.

When Wang Meng saw the words "Red Earth Project – Phase Two", his breathing involuntarily quickened a notch.

This plan was devised years ago by him and the senior Head of Family, in conjunction with the situation in the Japanese nation. Its core goal is to completely dismantle and reshape the entire Japanese nation. Phase one was to support the Matsuura family, seize Kyushu as a base, and simultaneously conduct economic and cultural infiltration.

Now, Phase One has been over‑fulfilled.

Phase Two, however, must be far more ruthless.

"... the time has come; set fire to the wind, let them burn themselves..."

"... spread ominous prophecies, stir popular discontent, fund rebel factions, ignite accumulated grievances within their country..."

"... once their nation collapses and families fall, industries wither, the Wang Family will descend again as saviors to tidy up the remnants..."

Wang Meng reads each word, thinking, the senior Head of Family wants the whole Japanese nation to run red with blood!

Nevertheless, he feels no hesitation or remorse. As a distinguished scion of the Wang Family, he has always put the Wang Family first; the senior Head of Family's will is his mission. Moreover, he has never harbored any goodwill toward these so‑called "allies".

He places the secret letter carefully onto a candle flame, burning it to ash.

Then, he rings the bronze bell on the table.

Soon, two young men dressed in the Wang Family senior officials' attire walk in.

One of them, with a delicate face and sharp eyes, is the man once honored as "Tian Wenjing" for his achievements in silver‑mine management—Fujita Shoushirou. Today, he serves as the Wang Family's Finance Director in Kyushu, overseeing all mines, workshops, and trade.

The other, towering and with a fierce expression, is the battle‑proven "Wang Tianhai"—Tachibana Jiro. He now serves as the Deputy Director of the Wang Family's Education Department in Kyushu, tasked with training ronin and samurai who have pledged to the Wang Family, as well as handling some unsavory "dirty work".

Both were among the first top graduates of the Wang Clan Academy and are Wang Meng's most trusted right‑hand men. Today, their loyalty to the Wang Family has long surpassed any allegiance to their homeland or ethnicity.

"Present, my Lord!" the two kneel on one knee, their expressions reverent.

"Rise," Wang Meng says in a deep voice.

He looks at the two youths before him and says, "The senior Head of Family has a new order."

Tian Wenjing and Wang Tianhai's bodies simultaneously shudder, instantly snapping to full alert.

"Tian Wenjing."

"Here, subordinate!"

"From today onward, employ all our channels to purchase massive quantities of grain across the Japanese nation beyond Kyushu—buy as much as there is. Simultaneously, strictly control our Salt Control, Iron Control, and textiles, and impose embargoes on those disobedient daimyos."

Wang Meng's tone is cold and emotionless, "Within three months I will drive their rice prices sky‑high. I will cause widespread famine throughout their territories."

A spark of excitement flashes in Tian Wenjing's eyes. He instantly grasps the lord's intent: to use economic means to sow chaos.

"Lord, rest assured!" he says confidently, "The Wang Family controls over 70% of the Japanese nation's maritime transport. If we wish, not even three months—within Era Name Deadline—I can make rice prices in the Kansai region soar tenfold! Those wretched poor will have not even a blade of grass to eat!"

Wang Meng nods and turns to Wang Tianhai.

"Wang Tianhai."

"Here, subordinate!"

"Your task is even heavier," Wang Meng says, his gaze sharpening. "From the ronin under your command, select a group that is the smartest, most eloquent, and most reckless. Send them to infiltrate the regions about to suffer famine."

"What they are to do is not burn, kill, or loot, but spread certain ideas."

"Ideas?" Wang Tianhai asks, a bit puzzled.

"Yes, ideas." Wang Meng pulls a small booklet from the drawer and tosses it over, "Let them memorize the words on this, then, in their own way, tell the farmers and poor who are about to starve."

Wang Tianhai takes the booklet, flips it open, and sees several striking large characters written in Japanese script.

"The world belongs not to one man, but to all under heaven!" he whispers, his Adam's apple moving, feeling as if something struck his chest.

He recalls the noble youths he has seen over the years, who, by birth alone, enjoy fertile fields and fine homes, while ronin like him, even after a lifetime of fighting with a blade, are merely scolded insects; the sentence strikes him like a thunderclap, cleaving the long‑standing confusion in his heart.

His gaze drops; the second line is even more incisive: "He may be replaced!" "He"—who is it? The lofty daimyos, the hereditary privileged elite? Wang Tianhai clenches the booklet.

He recalls last year on the streets of Osaka, witnessing a noble's son riding his horse over a civilian, dismissively saying "the lowborn block the road." He was gripping his sword sheath, unable even to approach and argue, yet now these words tell him that those people's positions are not inherently unshakable.

What strikes his heart most is the short yet powerful sentence.

"Do nobles and ministers have any inherent lineage?"

Wang Tianhai himself, a ronin of low‑born samurai, reads this line and feels a surge of hot blood rushing to his head!

Indeed! Why should those born as daimyos or nobles enjoy silk and fine food, while we must risk our lives for a single meal, sometimes unable to even sell our lives?

Why?!

"Lord!" Wang Tianhai's breathing grows heavy, "I understand! I will make this phrase spread to every corner of the Japanese nation! Let those lofty noble lords hear the roar of the lowborn peasants!"

"Very good," Wang Meng nods approvingly. "Slogans alone aren't enough. Tell those on the brink of starvation that instead of sitting and waiting for death, they should pick up weapons, raid! plunder! reclaim what rightfully belongs to them!"

In the daimyos' granaries lies endless rice! In temple storages lie inexhaustible cloth! Seize them, and they are theirs!

"If they have no weapons..."

"Then teach them to make them!" Wang Meng sneers, "Sharpen bamboo into spears! Bind a sickle to a wooden staff, and it becomes a great sword! Tell them, you are many—ten for one, a hundred for one—anyway you can pile the armored samurai to death!"

Tian Wenjing and Wang Tianhai listen to Wang Meng's deployment, feeling a chill run through them, yet also an inexplicable excitement.

They seem to already envision a massive storm sweeping the entire Japanese nation, about to be unleashed by their hands; their hearts hold only the thrill of Wang Meng entrusting them this mission and the rebellion they will stir, with not a hint of guilt toward their people or country.

Era Name Deadline later.

In the Chōshū Domain of western Honshu Island.

Because of months of drought, coupled with mysterious merchants buying up all food at high prices, the rice price in the territory has risen to a sky‑high level that an ordinary farmer, after a year's hard work, cannot afford even a bushel of rice.

Starving corpses begin to appear in the fields.

The lord of the Mori clan not only failed to open the granaries to release grain, but instead tightened tax collection to raise military funds to counter his ever-stronger neighbor.

Popular resentment had already boiled over to the extreme.

Just then, a monk clad in tattered robes, who called himself the Heavenly Way Walker, appeared in the village.

He did not expound Buddhist teachings, but instead posed a question to a group of farmers emaciated from hunger, their faces yellow and skin thin.

"Are you willing to just starve to death like this?"

No one answered; only a deathly silence and numb gazes remained.

"Your lord, the Mori clan's granaries are piled high with grain, about to mold! Your temples' Buddha statues are covered in gold leaf! Yet you and your children are to starve to death here! Do you think this is fair?"

A stir began to rise among the crowd.

"The Buddhas and gods have abandoned those fat-headed, big-eared nobles!" the monk shouted loudly, "They told me it is time to make a change!"

He exerted all his strength and roared out a sentence that shocked everyone's hearts and minds.

"What noble birth do lords and marquises have?!"

That sentence, like a thunderclap, split open the numbness and despair in everyone's hearts.

Yeah, what right do they have?

A young farmer, whose child had just starved to death, his eyes bloodshot, was the first to stand up and pick up a hoe from the ground.

"Unwilling! I refuse to accept this!"

"Seize the grain! Fight them to the death!"

The spark of a star was finally ignited.

That night, under the organization and leadership of dozens of mysterious ronin, thousands of farmers driven to desperation by hunger, wielding crude weapons, charged toward the Mori clan lord's main city.

Long Province Domain, rebellion erupts!