Chapter 330: Storms Darken, Roosters Cry Unceasingly

“Resisting land survey, civilians riot!?”

Yin Shidan dismissed his subordinates, then turned to An Jiuyu with a look of stunned disbelief.

An Jiuyu, Shandong’s Circuit Inspection Censor, hurried in, his heart burning with urgency: “I had just arrived at the Yanzhou Prefectural Office, preparing to inquire into the case of Prefect Zhou Youguang, when I received a flood of terrible news this morning!”

Yin Shidan listened, still unable to believe it.

Jining lies right beside Yanzhou; to avoid suspicion, he had deliberately avoided inquiring into land survey activities, yet even casual glimpses of official documents passing through his own bureau revealed fragments of the truth.

Only days ago, all was calm—yet in just a few short days, such chaos had erupted!

To speak plainly, Shen Li replaced all the prefectural and county magistrates with officials from the central court precisely to help suppress this unrest.

With such caution, how could it still have escalated to this?!

But as a senior official from the Grand Secretariat, Yin Shidan did not lose his composure.

He personally handed An Jiuyu a cup of cold tea, calmly soothing him: “Take your time and speak.”

An Jiuyu had no time for formalities; he snatched the tea and drained it: “I’ll cut to the chase.”

“Recently, Shen Li took up residence in Qufu County’s yamen, but did not immediately begin land surveying—instead, he first paid a visit to the Duke Yansheng.”

Yin Shidan silently nodded in agreement.

Though He Xinyin had ranted wildly and incited the people, it remained merely an individual act.

Shen Li, as a high-ranking representative of the central court, at least outwardly must maintain proper respect for the Kong family—after all, the Duke Yansheng is a First-Rank noble; personally visiting him is the prudent, statesmanlike move.

An Jiuyu swallowed the tea, took a breath, and continued: “After leaving the Kong residence, Shen Li began verifying land records in Qufu.”

He did not say how the talks had gone.

After all, no outsider could know how the talks had truly unfolded.

“Immediately afterward, rumors spread throughout Qufu: some claimed Shen Li had come to recover all back taxes on concealed land since its concealment began.”

“Others said that although household taxes for hidden populations would not be pursued immediately, they hung like a sword above their heads—waiting for the court to need funds, when they would inevitably reopen old accounts and demand full payment with interest.”

“Some even claimed this land survey was nothing but a tax hike—that the wool would be shorn from the sheep, and the burden would ultimately fall on the county’s commoners.”

“In an instant, public sentiment boiled, and false rumors swarmed.”

“At this point, things might have ended—Shen Li promptly posted proclamations to quell the rumors.”

An Jiuyu clenched his teeth.

“But then, local big families in Qufu, colluding with local ruffians Tang Hua, Xu Cheng, and eleven others, coerced the people, claiming that land and household surveys had drastically increased taxes on clan property, charitable estates, temple lands, and school fields—and they openly proposed adding six-tenths in new taxes on land and city gate tolls.”

“Thus, yesterday evening, the entire county of Qufu shut down its markets! Crowds surged to the county yamen’s gates, demanding explanations!”

Yin Shidan’s expression turned grave.

A market strike was not merely people refusing to work.

It meant blocking vital transport routes, violently smashing public facilities, halting all production activities—only then could it rightly be called a market strike.

This was an outrage that stirred universal fury!

The farmland in the Central Plains differed entirely from Xu Jie’s twenty thousand mu, acquired in just over a decade through surreptitious transfers—these lands had been interwoven over two hundred years and no longer belonged solely to any one person.

Instead, they were held collectively by clans or organizations as clan property, temple land, official land, school fields, and so on.

The court could only collect taxes through these intermediaries—the so-called tax-pooling system.

For instance, the big families and ruffians An Jiuyu mentioned were the actual tax-poolers responsible for tax collection.

The former, as respectable gentry, often did not even own land outright—legally, it was collectively owned—but they were tasked with collecting peasants’ harvests, transporting them to the county, paying taxes, and selling the surplus.

The latter, ruffians with gang ties, served as clerks and constables—without pay or rations—bearing the burden of collecting tolls at customs posts and tax bureaus, city gate levies, and even head taxes.

These tax-poolers suffered the most direct damage from the land survey.

Inciting the people to strike was child’s play!

No wonder An Jiuyu clenched his teeth—such events were reduced to eight characters in history books: “Land survey began, people struck markets”—but to the Shandong provincial officials, it was a mountain capable of crushing their careers.

Yin Shidan rubbed his facial scar—his habitual gesture when deep in thought: “Did Shen Li not appear to calm the people?”

Unlike the salt merchants’ retainers who blocked gates and shouted in Nanzhili, the majority here were genuine peasants misled—had Shen Li offered even slight reassurance, he might have dispersed them.

Hearing this, An Jiuyu trembled with rage: “How could Shen Guide possibly not appear to calm them?”

“But as soon as Shen Li showed himself yesterday evening, someone began wailing loudly—grief spread, then secret leaders emerged, leading the first charge against the yamen!”

“Ruffians seized the moment to hurl stones into the county office and set fires.”

“Though Shen Li retreated repeatedly and strictly ordered the Embroidered Uniform Guard to hold their blades, the guards stationed outside the yamen clashed most fiercely with the crowd—many clerks died, and when colleagues saw this, they could no longer hold back, accidentally killing several civilians.”

Yin Shidan understood at once.

For this situation to have reached this point without covert manipulation would insult his decades of courtly survival.

During Longqing, Hai Rui faced a similar peasant revolt during land surveying in Nanzhili and was forced to resign.

Back in Jiajing, Gui E’s downfall halted all land surveys—many reasons existed, but such incidents were among them.

Even earlier, during Zhengde, attempts to open maritime trade sparked similar unrest in the southeast—looting, arson, destruction.

This was never something any official could prevent in advance.

The direction of events depended only on the resolve and power balance of all sides.

“And then?” Yin Shidan asked.

This was clearly only the beginning.

An Jiuyu’s face darkened: “And then?”

“After the county clerks scattered the crowd, they regrouped outside a temple, electing a self-cultivating farmer named Ge Cheng as their leader, performing a blood oath ceremony.”

“That night, they surged out, avoiding the yamen guarded by Embroidered Uniform Guards, capturing tax officials, land surveyors, and accountants—and then, under the eyes of the city garrison troops, marched out of the city openly.”

“Afterward, the rebel Ge Cheng chose a Daoist temple, held a public trial of the officials, and incited the enraged crowd to hurl stones at them in turn.”

“Thousands threw stones, smashing several officials to death.”

“After the clerks died, Ge Cheng climbed high and proclaimed: ‘Today’s act is to rid the court of evil! If anyone seeks personal gain from this, who in the world will believe in us? Those who follow my orders, stay; those who do not, leave!’”

Today’s act is to rid the court of evil—if anyone seeks personal gain from this, who in the world will believe in us? Those who follow my orders, stay; those who do not, leave now.

Hearing this, Yin Shidan was shaken!

Blood oath, codified rules, discipline over followers, purging the core—this was no self-cultivating farmer’s conduct!

An Jiuyu’s face grew even darker: “After establishing his rules, the crowd responded en masse, gathering thousands.”

“Then, Ge Cheng divided them into six squads, each led by one man holding a banana leaf fan as signal, the rest carrying cudgels behind.”

“This morning, they smashed open the county yamen!”

Yin Shidan turned pale, leaping to his feet: “Smashed the county yamen!? Where is Shen Li?”

In Huguang, a censor was killed—eventually, three princes were executed, and the Provincial Governor and Administration Commissioner were dismissed to end it.

If Shen Li were harmed in Shandong, the consequences were unthinkable!

An Jiuyu had been watching Yin Shidan’s expression closely; seeing him finally moved after several probes, he exhaled inwardly—his dramatic pause had been worth it.

He paused, then explained slowly: “Shen Li is unharmed—he acted decisively, summoning Embroidered Uniform Guards into the city.”

“He likely intends to crush the rebellion by force.”

Hearing Shen Li was safe, Yin Shidan calmed his earlier shock, nodding repeatedly: “Yes, he must crush it. He must crush it.”

As if his composure had been broken, Yin Shidan finally inquired about An Jiuyu’s purpose: “With such a disaster in Qufu, why are you here in Jining instead of rushing to the scene?”

An Jiuyu shook his head, his expression grim: “Not just Qufu County. From the official reports arriving at the prefectural office this morning, neighboring Zou County, Ningyang County, Sishui County, and even farther away Teng County, Cao County, and Dingtao County have all responded to some degree.”

“Some have struck markets, others marched, others gathered in support—nearly every county in Yanzhou is in chaos!”

“Shen Li can handle Qufu’s mess—but the other counties must be guarded against.”

“I’ve sent word to the provincial seat in Jinan, but the situation is too urgent—we cannot wait for Governor Yu.”

“Yet neither I nor the newly appointed Yanzhou Prefect Li Deyou have authority to mobilize Yanzhou’s guards or the Teng County Garrison Battalion to suppress the unrest…”

By now, Yin Shidan had a basic grasp of the situation—and An Jiuyu’s intent.

He paced slowly in the hall, finishing An Jiuyu’s thought: “So you want me, personally, to mobilize the salt administration’s salt troops to take your place in the fire and quell the unrest?”

Neither the Circuit Inspection Censor nor the Yanzhou Prefect had authority to command military garrisons—even Shen Li, with imperial mandate, could not be granted such power.

The Three Provincial Offices were far away in Jinan; every extra day delayed worsened the crisis.

In Yanzhou, An Jiuyu could only turn to Yin Shidan.

An Jiuyu hesitated, then bowed earnestly: “General Yin, how can you say that? With rebellion imminent in Yanzhou, you and I, as provincial officials, stand at the forefront—how could this be ‘taking your place in the fire’?!”

He knew full well the rebellion had nothing to do with the salt administration.

But his phrase “provincial officials” referred not only to the two men in the room, but also to Governor Yu Youding in Jinan—the man who had fully inherited Yin Shidan’s political resources, and who, in this matter, was unquestionably the second responsible party; if anyone was taking fire, it was Yu, not him.

Yin Shidan glanced at An Jiuyu, unmoved: “In your post, fulfill your duty.”

The blunt refusal revealed Yin Shidan’s ironclad stance.

An Jiuyu had not expected such firmness from General Yin; he pleaded urgently: “General Yin! Master Tangchuan! You are not like me, a mere itinerant official!”

“Shandong is Master Tangchuan’s homeland; the people of Shandong are your own kin—can you truly stand by and watch evil men incite and deceive the people, leading them to slaughter?!”

An Jiuyu invoked the honorific title, appealing to their shared roots—his words, sincere and moving, filled the hall.

But he met only Yin Shidan’s silence.

Yin Shidan had turned away, his face unreadable.

After a long while,

Yin Shidan’s voice rose again, flat and calm: “Precisely because I am from Shandong, I cannot possibly appear.”

Had the Emperor truly trusted him, he would not have written to comfort him when Wang Xilie died in Shandong, despite their longstanding conflicts.

If he intervened and easily crushed the rebellion, what would the Emperor think?

Or if his intervention worsened the situation, what would the Emperor suspect his role to be?

Either way, he would lose.

And let alone those villagers.

Any forceful suppression would immediately brand him with centuries of condemnation in county and prefectural annals.

If he tried to meddle and smooth things over, countless schemers would inevitably fly his disciples’ and servants’ banners, hinting outwardly that he condoned it.

Above him was the Emperor, below him his homeland; he was trapped in between, like a rootless floating weed—slight carelessness, and the wind and rain would sweep him away.

If he hadn’t been cautious, deliberately drawing clear lines, how could he have remained oblivious to events in Qufu?

As soon as Yin Shidan spoke these words.

An Jiuyu realized he could not persuade this Tangchuan Master.

He sighed, bowed, and took his leave: “Since entering officialdom, Your Excellency has perfected the Dao to the state of Hunyuan; surely you would not err. It was this subordinate’s foolish notion, wasting Your Excellency’s time.”

These words carried a tone of sullen sarcasm, mocking Yin Shidan’s slick, jaded ways and his disregard for the people’s suffering.

Clearly, as Censor-in-Inspection, he was deeply dissatisfied with Yin Shidan’s conduct.

Saying this, An Jiuyu moved to push open the door and leave.

“Wait.”

An Jiuyu halted, turning to look at Yin Shidan.

Yin Shidan remained as calm as ever: “This year, the Salt Administration must redeem the second batch of salt vouchers, beginning from Jining Prefecture and Yanzhou.”

“When salt troops transport salt vouchers through the region, the Censor-in-Inspection may make limited use of them.”

An Jiuyu froze, then burst into joy—he wouldn’t appear himself, yet he was lending An Jiuyu his troops, clearly intending to dump the responsibility on him.

But willingness to act was far better than standing idly by.

An Jiuyu quickly bowed in thanks: “Master Tangchuan, your righteousness!”

Yin Shidan did not respond.

He waved his hand, and a clerk stepped out from the side, holding official documents, advancing in small steps to present them before An Jiuyu.

Seeing the documents already prepared, An Jiuyu gave Yin Shidan a long, piercing look.

Truly an old fox!

With matters at this point, he said no more, seized the documents, and turned to leave.

Yin Shidan watched An Jiuyu’s retreating back, worry slowly creeping into his brow.

“Write two letters for me: one to Yu Youding, saying I am anxious over the situation and have lent salt troops to An Jiuyu; the other to Yin Gao, saying the Censor-in-Inspection came to my office and requisitioned salt troops.”

“Master, your eldest son sent word this morning…”

“From now on, don’t tell me what he’s doing, who he’s meeting—whatever happens to him is none of my concern.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Go to Laizhou and tell your second son not to interfere with land survey and household registration. Whether redeeming salt vouchers to establish credibility or opening the Laizhou trade market, both are of critical importance—ensure he fulfills his duties in Laizhou and does not disappoint His Majesty’s expectations.”

The trusted attendant bowed and withdrew.

Yin Shidan stood silently in the courtroom, gazing out the window as if in a trance.

Endless clouds shifted into different shapes—sometimes like surging crowds, sometimes like snarling dragons—then a gust of wind swept them into a tangled mass, drifting far away.

…

The clouds over Jining flowed eastward, halting above the city of Yanzhou Prefecture.

The clouds blocked the sun, casting a vast shadow directly over the Lu Prince’s palace.

The Lu Prince’s imperial palace, second only to the two capitals, had once been called an imperial palace for a long time.

Eight hundred halls, chambers, towers, terraces, pavilions, and gazebos surrounded by red walls and green tiles, carved beams and painted rafters, backed by Jiulong Mountain, bordered by Wolhu Mountain to the east and Yuhuang Mountain to the west, covering more than a thousand mu.

Even the moat was replicated, also called the Golden Water River.

Such a magnificent princely house was destined to take charge of the hearts and minds of Shandong’s six prefectures, fifteen states, and eighty-nine counties.

Prince Ziyang Zhu Shoufu stood atop the palace wall, gazing at the patrol troops and Embroidered Uniform Guards circling outside the gate, his face darkening.

He dismissed his attendants and turned to the woman beside him: “Li Deyou has come to the palace for the third time to take people away. If this matter is found to involve the Lu Prince’s household, you and I will be reduced to ashes. My Lady, at this point, won’t you finally tell me the truth?”

The Princess of Ziyang bit her lip, her expression utterly helpless.

She met the Prince’s gaze: “Your Highness, I swear by heaven and earth—I only heard of this today. My father would never dare use our name to stir up trouble.”

She had said this many times already, but Prince Ziyang refused to believe her.

In the fifth year of Wanli, she married into the Lu Prince’s household as a second wife, a daughter of the Kong family; since then, they had treated each other with mutual respect, living in harmony.

This was the first time she felt so utterly powerless.

Prince Ziyang pressed on: “My Lady, we’ve been married three years—surely you know whose side you should be on.”

“Now, our stewards and servants have been dragged into this peasant uprising. Even if Governor Li Deyou isn’t powerful enough, Shen Li won’t let us off after this.”

“Tell my county magistrate father to stop!”

“My Lady, if you wish to defy the court, let your Kong family do it yourselves—just spare me, please?”

By the end, Prince Ziyang’s voice had grown plaintive.

Clearly, the fate of the Chu princely house had terrified him.

The Princess of Ziyang bit her lip, looking utterly lost: “Your Highness, my father upholds the law…”

Her words had barely ended.

“Enough!”

Prince Ziyang finally lost his temper.

He seized her shoulders, furious: “What law?!”

“Resisting land survey, storming government offices—could common peasants possibly do this alone?”

“Who else but your Kong family could be behind this in Qufu? Not just I think so—the court will think the same!”

“Even if we set aside all that, if the county magistrate’s men killed peasants and inflamed tensions, isn’t it likely he secretly ordered it?”

“And even if all that were true, why drag the Lu Prince’s household into it?!”

By the end, the Princess of Ziyang’s expression had lost its firmness.

Could it be… that her father had truly used her name to manipulate the palace stewards and servants, pulling the Lu Prince’s household into the uprising?

Seeing her bewildered and uncertain, Prince Ziyang realized he would get nothing more from her.

He sighed in disappointment: “Take the Princess away and let her rest.”

Before this was settled, these Kong women would surely be confined—whether for protection or suspicion.

Only after the stewards had led the Princess down the tower did the Prince’s heir approach: “Father, I don’t believe Mother secretly urged palace staff to aid her family.”

“Many stewards and servants have long been embezzling princely assets. If we consider motive, they may need no one’s prompting—only a little encouragement…”

Prince Ziyang waved him silent.

He stared at the Embroidered Uniform Guards below, their eyes sharp as hawks, and sighed: “That’s precisely what I fear.”

Seeing his son’s confusion, he sighed again.

If even Zhu family stewards and servants were spontaneously joining the uprising over land survey, once this fire started, it wouldn’t stop at Shandong!

How could it be contained?!

Would it not burn the entire Ming realm to ashes?!

No matter what, the imperial clan bore the Zhu surname—he would rather believe this was a grand conspiracy by the Kong family, easily crushed, than accept that things had spiraled this far on their own.

Zhu Shoufu shook his head: “I’m going to the prefectural office to meet Li Deyou myself.”

Saying this, he pushed past his son and slowly descended the wall.

Alone, solitary, like a lone cloud drifting away.

…

The wind blowing from west to east passed from Yanzhou Prefecture to Qufu County.

The white clouds, touched by dusk, burned crimson along their edges.

Below, twenty-three alleys glowed with flickering bamboo torches; shouts and cries echoed endlessly—no one knew whose forces they were.

Flames licked across government offices; painted lacquer burst into blue-green flames, mirroring the fiery clouds of dusk.

Heavy doors crashed open.

A leader wielding a banana-leaf fan rode past on horseback; hundreds of peasants armed with cudgels surged behind him, pouring inside.

Outside, only screams, curses, and the dull thuds of flesh meeting blows could be heard.

Within moments, all sound ceased; the group hurried away.

Only towering flames remained, scorching the blood-soaked ground and burning the shredded fish-scale land registers covering the corpses.

The rioters carried folded slips in their belts, listing the names and addresses of every official to be punished.

Peasants and tenant farmers systematically surrounded these officials’ homes, beating, killing, and setting them ablaze.

ottkдno￠o

Officials of slightly higher rank were tied to the main roads and beaten to death by the furious crowds.

Among them were literate strangers who wrote proclamations and posted them everywhere—essentially stating this protest targeted only the land surveyors and their lackeys, with no intent of rebellion.

Ge Cheng’s six battalions swept through Qufu City, encountering no resistance from the city guards.

Meanwhile,

the Embroidered Uniform Guards of the Land Survey Office were gathering on the other side, distributing matchlocks.

Corpses, blood, riots, suppression—everywhere in Qufu City, flashing blades and imminent clashes loomed.

Amid such chaos, the Kong Mansion remained eerily calm—but inside, order had collapsed.

“It wasn’t me. Good great-grandnephew, you know me—if I wanted to betray you, I could have exposed your evidence when Shen Li was conducting the land survey.”

The County Magistrate of Qufu, Kong Hongsheng, removed his official cap, let his disheveled hair fall, his face worn and weary.

The Duke of Yansheng, Kong Shangxian, stared fixedly at this great-uncle of his.

After a moment, he sighed and nodded: “It wasn’t me.”

“If something like this happens, I’m the first one who can’t escape blame—I’m not foolish enough to be the one who sticks his head out.”

The two exchanged glances, their eyes filled with unspeakable bitterness.

The Duke of Yansheng, Kong Shangxian, spat in disgust: “Back then, I already yielded to Shen Li, and privately ordered my people to step back.”

“I even prepared the ‘Kong Family Queli Archives: Household and Land Records’ for Shen Li to verify when auditing the ancestral temple lands—just to get rid of this man quickly.”

“Who knew it would come to this!”

The County Magistrate of Qufu, Kong Hongcheng, shook his head: “It’s useless now—the Kong family has already been put on display. If something like this happens in Qufu, it’s us whether we did it or not!”

“Let’s think about how to handle the aftermath.”

Kong Shangxian’s expression flickered between dark and light.

His great-uncle was right: not just outsiders, even he himself suspected whether he’d arranged everything in his sleep—outside of himself, the Duke of Yansheng, and the County Magistrate of Qufu here, how could any outsider possibly have achieved this within Qufu?

The two stared at each other, an involuntary sense of helplessness rising in their hearts.

“I’ll go back and explain to Shen Li again—see if I can clear the Kong family.”

“I’ll reach out to Ge Cheng. If Shen Li insists on making trouble for us, we may have no choice but to go along with the current.”

The two exchanged further views, then hurriedly parted, each to their own tasks.

Dark clouds obscured the bright moon.

A light drizzle began to fall.

…

The raindrops lasted only a short while, then stopped.

By volume, it was just enough to dampen the official road.

A carriage slowly emerged from the Qufu relay station.

Beneath the moon, a figure lifted the curtain and slipped into the carriage: “The fire’s burned out enough—let’s head back to Wuxi before we get burned ourselves.”

The coachman drove on.

Inside the carriage, the two men conversed calmly.

“Your methods, gentlemen, if placed in the Warring States period, would have made you masters of vertical and horizontal alliances—especially Brother Gao, you’re practically a direct disciple of Guiguzi!”

His tone was full of awe, bordering on flattery.

“Merely adapting to circumstances—nothing particularly impressive.”

The voice answering was young, seemingly around eighteen or nineteen.

“Over the years, dozens—even hundreds—of high officials have directly opposed the central authority, and all ended in miserable ruin. But Brother Gao, you’ve stirred up such a commotion while hiding your achievements and wisdom—truly, adapting to circumstances reveals superior intellect!”

“That’s incorrect. Men like Xu Jie, the Prince of Wugang, Shi Mao, and Zhao Jin were far more intelligent than I am—they simply didn’t have as many cards in hand as I do now.”

The young man calling himself “Brother Gao,” whether out of modesty or sincerity, explained earnestly: “Back then, the salt administration case involved limited players. Xu Jie could barely bind anyone to his side, so he was forced to resort to cleverness—using his colleagues’ secrets to force the emperor’s hand.”

“Shi Mao controlled the Ministry of War, but the emperor slowly nibbled away at his power over eight years.”

“Zhao Jin raised the banner of morality to target Zhang Juzheng, but the highest authority of ritual law was the emperor himself.”

“And now?”

“Land survey and household registration have drawn everyone into this whirlpool; it touches everyone’s real interests—not some abstract thing like ritual law. Even in terms of time, it’s the accumulated contradictions of two centuries of land consolidation bursting forth at once—there’s no chance for the emperor to survey one field at a time.”

“The whole realm was a powder keg. Now it’s ignited with a spark—it’s not just my doing.”

The youth’s voice was rational and cold, clearly no ordinary person.

No wonder someone admired him so deeply: “Even with the current situation, Brother Gao is still the greatest man in the realm. What of the great sages of the Central Plains like the Master of Longjiang? What of the Lord of Fushan, who bears the hopes of the world? All have been humiliated. In my view, even the emperor falls far short!”

The carriage slowly rolled southward.

Brother Gao’s voice spoke again: “That’s even more wrong.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The emperor sees things very clearly.”

“The emperor?”

“Look—this is the newspaper published last year when the land survey began, by the Tongzheng Office. The special commentator, a scholar from the Hanlin Academy—must be the emperor himself.”

“Let me see.”

“He says…”

“From the perspective of grassroots political elites, they will exploit the state’s grassroots organizational mechanisms to secure favorable positions within counties and townships.”

“When this self-serving behavior reaches its extreme, the elite identity entrusted with governing counties and townships becomes perverted into a tool for fulfilling personal power lust, and in turn, resists state authority and its corresponding obligations.”

“Thus, when state control and demands exceed their desires, or when higher directives conflict with their interests, they employ various measures to resist.”

“Since their power derives entirely from state authorization, they cannot openly oppose it, but can only use nonviolent, covert methods—the so-called weapons of the weak—to resist.”

“...”

“After today’s land survey and household registration, the weapons of the weak will become commonplace.”

After reading this, the carriage fell silent.

After a long pause, the voice spoke again.

“I wonder if he’s truly so confident.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait and see.”