Chapter 335: Dividing the Land

……

Evening, Zhu Yong returned to Wang Fu.

Just upon entering the main courtyard, he saw Zhu Huanhuan sitting on the corridor reading, and Zhu Qiongjiong lifting a Stone Lock in the yard.

Nine‑year‑old Zhu Qiongjiong, with a tiger‑head, tiger‑brain look, had frighteningly great strength.

The Stone Lock weighed a hundred jin, and Zhu Qiongjiong lifted it as if playing, his face unflushed and breath unlabored.

Seeing Zhu Yong come in, Zhu Qiongjiong set the Stone Lock down and ran over.

"Father, you're back!"

Zhu Yong patted his head, smiling, "How many lifts today?"

Zhu Qiongjiong replied proudly, "Three hundred times, I counted."

Zhu Yong nodded, "Tomorrow add twenty jin, try the one‑hundred‑twenty‑jin."

Zhu Qiongjiong's eyes brightened, and he nodded vigorously.

Zhu Huanhuan set the book down, walked over, and softly asked, "Father, have the immigrant representatives from outside the city arrived today?"

Zhu Yong looked at her, smiling, "How did you know?"

Zhu Huanhuan said, "I heard Sister Xiao Zhu say that those people want to see you; you left the city early this morning."

Zhu Yong nodded and sat on the corridor.

Zhu Huanhuan sat beside him, softly, "Father, are they... doing well?"

Zhu Yong looked at her, a hint of satisfaction rising in his eyes.

This child has been kind‑hearted since childhood.

"They're doing well, even better than when they were under Great Ming," Zhu Yong said.

Zhu Huanhuan nodded and asked, "And the locals here? Are they also doing well?"

Zhu Yong thought for a moment, then slowly said, "Some are good, some are bad, but most people are better off than before."

Zhu Huanhuan nodded thoughtfully.

……

After dinner, Zhu Yong went to the study.

A stack of documents lay on the desk, all accumulated over the past year.

There were papers on immigrant resettlement, land allocation, tax statistics, official assessments, and local tribal submissions…

He flipped through them page by page, occasionally marking a few characters with his brush.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

Guanyin Nu entered carrying a bowl of hot tea and set it on the desk.

"Prince, it's so late, aren't you taking a rest?"

Zhu Yong looked up, smiling, "I'll rest after finishing this batch."

Guanyin Nu sat opposite him, watching him.

It's been more than a year.

In this past year, she has watched the land change little by little with her own eyes.

From a newly conquered enemy state to a gradually loyal Great Ming vassal territory.

And all of this was done by the man before her.

"Prince, you're truly impressive," she said softly.

Zhu Yong was momentarily stunned, then smiled, "Why bring that up all of a sudden?"

Guanyin Nu shook her head, "It's not sudden; I've been wanting to say it— you, alone, leading three thousand people, seized such a vast area, and in just over a year, made so many people return their loyalty.

My elder brother says he has never submitted to anyone in his life, but he submits to you."

Zhu Yong looked at her, set down his brush, and took her hand.

"It's not me who's powerful— it's Great Ming. I am nothing alone, but with Great Ming behind me, I can accomplish many things."

Guanyin Nu nodded and leaned against his shoulder.

The candle flame flickered.

Outside the window, night deepened.

In the distance, the clank of a garrison's drums could be heard faintly.

……

Early the next morning, Zhu Yong went out of the city again.

Today was the day of immigrant land division.

On the newly reclaimed land outside the city, a sea of people stood densely packed.

There were Han People, Persians, Turkic people, and Mongols.

Old and young, men and women alike.

Everyone stared eagerly at the platform ahead.

On the platform stood a long table, piled with stacks of land deeds.

Zhu Yong stood before the platform, his gaze sweeping over the crowd below.

Those people were also looking at him.

In their eyes were expectation, gratitude, and awe.

Zhu Yong took a deep breath and shouted, "In the sixteenth year of Hongwu, the first batch of immigrants arrived— a thousand households, five thousand people. In the seventeenth year of Hongwu, the second batch arrived— three thousand households, fifteen thousand people."

"Now, you are the third batch: five thousand households, twenty‑five thousand people."

He paused, then continued, "The land lies right behind you— fifty mu per person, two hundred mu per household. No taxes for three years; after three years, according to Great Ming's rule, thirty percent tax."

A stir rose among the crowd.

Someone murmured.

"One tax per thirty, lower than the Great Ming heartland…"

"Indeed, the Prince is kind."

…

Zhu Yong waved his hand, and the crowd fell silent.

"However, there is something I, the Prince, must clarify: this land is Great Ming's, the court's, part of my fief; you planting, paying taxes, is the natural order."

"But if anyone intends to cause trouble, to rebel, to collude with outside forces…"

He paused, his gaze sharpening.

"Then don't blame me for showing no mercy."

The crowd was silent.

No one dared to speak.

Zhu Yong nodded and said, "Alright, let the land distribution begin."

The officials began reciting names and issuing land deeds.

The crowd stepped forward in turn, received their deeds, and walked away jubilantly.

An elderly farmer took his deed, approached Zhu Yong, suddenly knelt and kowtowed heavily three times.

"Prince, this humble subject has kowtowed to you."

Zhu Yong quickly helped him up, saying, "Elder, rise quickly."

The old farmer lifted his head, tears streaming down his face.

"Prince, my hometown is Henan; in the Hongwu First Year I fled famine to Yingtian Prefecture, worked for over a decade, and last year I heard this place was recruiting migrants, so I brought my whole family here."

"I never expected to actually receive land, to truly have my own plot…"

He wiped his tears and said, "Prince, you are a living Bodhisattva, a living Bodhisattva…"

Zhu Yong looked at him, his heart a mixture of five flavors.

A farmer as ordinary as could be, whose greatest lifelong wish was to own a piece of land of his own.

Now, he has it.

"Elder, cultivate well and live well," Zhu Yong patted his shoulder.

The old farmer nodded vigorously, wiping his tears, and staggered away.

…

After the distribution, it was already afternoon.

Zhu Yong stood on the high platform, gazing at the migrants in the distance gradually dispersing.

Those people carried luggage, led children, and walked toward their own lands.

Their silhouettes bore fatigue, but more hope.

Zhang Wu walked over and stood beside him.

"Prince, you say, will these people consider this place home in the future?"

Zhu Yong was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Yes, as long as they can live well, they will treat this place as home."

Zhang Wu nodded and said nothing further.

In the distance, the sun gradually set.

On the Gobi plain, the newly built wooden houses began to raise cooking smoke.

This once desolate land was slowly turning into a home.

…

Returning to Wang Fu, night had already fallen.

Zhu Yong had just entered the main hall when he saw Zhu Qiong Jiong rush over and grab his leg.

"Dad! Dad! I lifted 120 jin today, did it two hundred times!"

Zhu Yong bent down, lifted him, and laughed, "Good kid, impressive."

Zhu Qiong Jiong smiled proudly, showing his mouth missing a front tooth.

Zhu Huanhuan stepped out of the house, softly saying, "Dad, Mother asks you to go in and eat."

Zhu Yong nodded, carrying his son inside.

Inside, warmth suffused the room.

On the table were several side dishes, a bowl of lamb soup, and a plate of baked flatbread.

Guanyin Nu was setting out bowls and chopsticks; seeing him enter, she smiled, "You're back, hungry?"

Zhu Yong put down his son and sat at the table.

The family gathered around and began to eat.

Zhu Qiong Jiong ate ravenously, his cheeks puffed out.

Zhu Huanhuan ate gracefully, taking small bites.

Zhu Yong looked at the two children, then at Guanyin Nu, and a vague, indescribable sense of satisfaction rose in his heart.

With wife and children by his side, the household was peaceful.

That's enough.

…

After the meal, Zhu Yong went back to the study.

On the desk lay several documents still unread.

He had just sat down when a report voice came from outside.

"Prince, the leaders of several tribes from outside the city have arrived, wishing to see you."

Zhu Yong set down his brush and said, "Let them come in."

A moment later, a few Turkic men in long robes walked in and knelt on the ground.

At the head was an elderly man in his fifties, his hair graying, yet his spirit was vigorous.

"Prince, we are from the nomadic tribes outside the city; we heard that today the immigrants are being allotted land, we… we also wish…"

He stammered, seeming unsure how to begin.

Zhu Yong looked at him and said, "You also want land?"

The elder nodded repeatedly and said, "Yes, yes, we are used to nomadism, but in recent years the pastures have become scarcer, and life has grown harder.

We heard the Han People have arrived, offering land to plant and food to eat; we… we also want to try."

Zhu Yong was silent for a moment and said, "How many of you are there?"

The elder replied, "Over three thousand yurts, more than ten thousand people."

Zhu Yong nodded and said, "It is possible, but you must, like the immigrants, obey Great Ming's regulations, pay taxes, perform corvée labor, and not cause trouble."

The elder was overjoyed, repeatedly kowtowing.

"Thank you, Prince, thank you, Prince!"

Zhu Yong waved his hand and said, "Tomorrow go find the officials of the Immigration Office; they will make arrangements."

The tribal leaders retreated, expressing endless gratitude.

Zhu Yong watched their backs, a faint smile curling his mouth.

The nomadic peoples have also begun to desire settlement.

That is a good thing.

It shows that Great Ming's governance is gradually changing this land.

……

Night had deepened.

Zhu Yong finished the last document, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, Moonlight was like water.

In the distance, Samaerhan City glittered with scattered lights.

There were lanterns of Han People, oil lamps of Persians, and campfires of Turkic people.

Those lights mingled together, illuminating the ancient city.

Zhu Yong gazed at those lights, and suddenly thought of Great Ming.

He thought of Yingtian Prefecture.

He thought of his parents, his elder brother, those younger brothers and sisters, and those nephews and nieces.

They are probably also celebrating the New Year.

In Kunning Palace, his mother was surely again preparing dumplings.

In Qianqing Palace, his father was surely again muttering, "Our few sons."

In the Eastern Palace, his elder brother was surely again reviewing those endlessly countless documents.

And Xiong Ying, Huan Huan, and the others…

A smile rose at Zhu Yong's mouth corner.

It is close.

When this side is fully stabilized, I will go back to see.

A soft footstep sounded behind him.

Guanyin Nu walked over and draped a Great Cloak over him.

"Prince, aren't you going to sleep?"

Zhu Yong grasped her hand and whispered, "Thinking of Great Ming."

Guanyin Nu leaned on his shoulder and said, "I also think of it."

The two stood side by side at the window, looking into the distance.

Moonlight stretched their shadows long.

In the distance, faintly came the recitation from a mosque and the bell of the Guan Di Temple.

The two sounds mingled together, drifting over the ancient city.

This is Tie Mu Er's manor's night.

This is Great Ming's night.