Chapter 413: Kneel

The stench inside Lisbon was more than ten times stronger than the one he smelled at sea.

Zhu Yong stood in the courtyard of the northern monastery, with a basin of clear water before him.

The water was hot, just taken from the stove, steaming with white vapor.

He squatted down, plunged his hand into the basin, rubbed it twice, and found his nail beds coated in black mud—not his own, but picked up from walking around the city.

This place was dirtier than any location he had visited in his previous life.

The Street was littered with excrement—human, horse, and dog—all mixed together, sticky underfoot.

Trash piled in the corners: wilted vegetable leaves, broken bones, rags, dead rats—everything.

The air was suffused with a rotting odor, as if someone had buried hundreds of pounds of rotten eggs in the city.

"Prince, those prisoners have been washed," Wang Gui said as he entered from outside the courtyard, his complexion unwell.

He had spent several years at Tie Mu Er's residence, having seen all manner of harsh conditions, yet Lisbon's filth and chaos still exceeded his imagination.

Zhu Yong rose and flicked the water from his hand.

The water in the basin had turned black.

"Bring them in."

Wang Gui turned and left; shortly after, he brought in three Portuguese.

They had changed into clean clothes, their hair washed and damp against their scalps.

Their faces still bore grime, but were far cleaner than before.

One of the older ones, sporting a grizzled beard, walked unsteadily, supported by two Longxiang Army soldiers.

"Kneel..." Wang Gui said a sentence in Portuguese.

The three toppled onto the ground and knelt, trembling all over.

Zhu Yong sat on a stone bench and watched them.

The older man wore a half‑worn black robe, its collar embroidered with a cross, looking like a priest.

The other two, younger, wore coarse cloth garments, like ordinary civilians.

"Wang Gui, ask them how many garrison troops remain in the city."

Wang Gui translated.

The priest shivered and uttered a string of words.

"Prince, he said the city originally had over two thousand guards; we killed several hundred, the rest fled northward.

Now there are fewer than a thousand people left in the city, all old, weak, women and children, with no combat ability."

Zhu Yong nodded.

It matched his estimate.

"What about the food! Where is the granary?"

The priest said a few more sentences.

"He said the granary is in the eastern part of the city, by the sea; the food there can feed the whole city for three months, and there are several underground stores holding Wine and pickled meat, which are the royal household's reserves."

Zhu Yong looked toward Zhu Gang.

Zhu Gang understood and led people eastward.

"Where is the king? Where did he run?"

The priest hesitated.

"Prince, he's asking you a question!" Wang Gui said loudly.

The priest shivered, quickly uttering a string of words.

"Prince, he said King João I fled three days ago, taking the queen and princes to Porto, where there are ships that can go to sea.

He also took most of the Gold and Silver from the treasury; the remainder is in the palace cellar."

A faint smile curled at Zhu Yong's mouth. He fled rather quickly.

"Where is the palace?"

"In the city center; the tallest building is it."

Zhu Yong stood and led Zhu Di and Zhu Shuang toward the palace.

Zhu Qiongjiong followed behind, bearing a Wolf Fang Club, his eyes darting everywhere.

Lisbon's streets twisted and turned like a maze.

Most of the houses on either side were built of stone, their walls peeling to reveal the dark interior stone.

The windows were small and tightly shut, likely to block the outside stench.

After walking about a quarter hour, a tall building appeared ahead.

It was stone‑built, coated in white lime outside, with some parts flaking off to expose the inner stone blocks.

Two Longxiang Army soldiers stood at the doorway; upon seeing Zhu Yong, they promptly saluted.

"Prince, we've searched inside; no one there," one soldier said.

Zhu Yong went inside.

The palace was smaller than he imagined.

Upon entering, there was a grand hall, its floor laid with stone slabs, moss growing in the gaps.

Several oil paintings hung on the walls, depicting ancestors of the Portuguese king, each with a solemn expression and lavish attire.

At the far end of the hall stood a stone staircase leading to the second floor.

Zhu Yong ascended to the second floor and pushed open a door.

Inside was the king's bedroom, a large bed covered with silk bedding that was crumpled, clearly indicating the owner had left in haste.

Beside the bed stood a dressing table, upon which lay several combs and a bronze mirror.

The bronze mirror has already rusted and can no longer reflect a person's silhouette.

Looking at this style, it's still the one they brought over from Huaxia.

He opened the wardrobe; inside hung several splendid robes—red, blue, purple—trimmed with gold.

Under the robes were a few pairs of leather boots, their tips pointed and upturned like a ship's prow.

"These items, when taken back to Great Ming, the material is decent, but the workmanship is too crude," Zhu Shuang said as he entered, picked up a robe to examine it, then set it down.

Zhu Yong said nothing.

He walked to the window, pushed it open, and looked outward.

Lisbon spread out before his eyes.

The houses were packed densely, like a honeycomb.

The streets were narrow and winding, with no end in sight.

In the distance lay the sea, where their steamship was moored, its chimney billowing black smoke.

"Second Prince, the cellar has been found; inside there's a good amount of Gold and Silver, and this as well," Zhu Di said as he came up from below, holding a wooden box.

He handed the wooden box over.

Zhu Yong took it and opened it.

Inside was a roll of parchment bearing a map.

The map marked the cities, rivers, mountains of all Portugal, as well as troop deployments.

Porto was shown in the north, by the sea, labeled "Royal Seat."

"The map is fairly well drawn," he said, handing the map to Zhu Shuang.

Zhu Shuang took it, looked it over, and frowned, "It's far inferior to ours; it doesn't even have a scale."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

Great Ming's cartographic techniques have advanced rapidly in recent years.

People from the Ministry of Works draw maps using latitude and longitude, accurate to the li.

These Europeans still rely on visual estimation; their maps look like a child's doodle.

"Third Brother, you should take people to the cellar and inventory it, to see how much Gold and Silver there is."

Zhu Shuang responded with a nod and led people down.

Zhu Yong stood by the window, looking at the filthy, chaotic city.

Europe is even more backward than what he had read in his previous life's records.

"Father, can people live in this place?" Zhu Qiongjiong squatted at the doorway, covering his nose.

"Even if it's uninhabitable, we must occupy it; after conquering Europe, someone has to govern," Zhu Yong turned and left the sleeping palace.

At dusk, Zhu Gang returned.

He and his men inventory‑checked the eastern city granary; the food was plentiful, enough to feed the army for a while.

They also discovered dozens of barrels of wine in the cellar, said to be the royal collection.

"Second Prince, this wine isn't bad; it's far stronger than those I drank in Japan," Zhu Gang said, raising a cup of red wine, taking a sip, and squinting.

Zhu Yong said nothing.

He was contemplating the next move.

Porto lies in northern Portugal, a few hundred li from Lisbon.

King João I has fled there, taking the treasury's Gold and Silver with him.

If they don't pursue, he might escape by sea, flee to England, then to France, then to the Holy Roman Empire, and later bring reinforcements back.

"Second Prince, I think we must chase him; we can't let him get away," Zhu Di said from beside him.

Zhu Yong nodded, "We'll chase, but not now; first secure Lisbon, clean up southern Portugal, then advance northward."

Zhu Di nodded and said nothing further.

Zhu Shuang emerged from the palace cellar, bringing back a list.

The cellar contained a fair amount of Gold and Silver—gold bars, silver coins, jewelry, and some church goldware.

Converted, it was worth roughly several hundred thousand taels of silver.

"Second Prince, what shall we do with these?" Zhu Shuang asked.

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "Melt the Gold and Silver and cast them into Great Ming silver ingots; keep the goldware and take it back for Imperial Father; as for the church items, set them aside for now, we'll deal with them later."

Zhu Shuang responded with a nod and turned away.

Night fell, and the lamps of Lisbon city lit up one by one. Yet the stench remained, refusing to dissipate.

Zhu Yong stood at the second‑floor window of the monastery, gazing at the distant sea.

The steamship's lights flickered on the sea like stars.

He was thinking about the upcoming battle.

Portugal is only the first stop; after subduing Portugal, there's Spain.

Spain is larger than Portugal, with a bigger population and stronger forces.

After Spain, there's France, the Holy Roman Empire, and England.

Europe has so many countries; conquering them one after another would take only a few years.

But he is not in a hurry.

He has plenty of time.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Zhu Qiongjiong entered, carrying a bowl of hot soup.

"Father, have a sip of soup; Uncle Wang Gui had it made,"

Zhu Yong took the soup bowl and took a sip.

It's fish soup, very fresh.

The fish was just hauled up from the sea, fresh.

"Dad, when are we going to attack Porto?" Zhu Qiongjiong squatted by the window, looking up as he asked.

"Soon, once the city stabilizes."

Zhu Qiongjiong nodded and said nothing more.

He leaned the Wolf Fang Club against the wall, clasped his knees with both hands, and watched the night outside the window.

Zhu Yong looked at his son, and suddenly felt a pang of emotion.

The twelve‑year‑old boy had crossed the Great Ocean with him, arriving on this unfamiliar land.

He never complains, never shouts tiredness; once on the battlefield he charges forward.

Like him... truly the son of Shiniu... you

"Dad, why do the people here live like pigs?" Zhu Qiongjiong suddenly asked.

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "No one governs them; their king doesn't, the church doesn't, the nobles don't—no one does, so it turned out this way."

"If we govern them, can they become better?"

"They can, but not in a day or two; first we must let them bathe, then have them clean up, then teach them to farm, build houses, and repair roads."

"One generation won't suffice; two generations, two generations still won't; three generations—sooner or later, this place will improve."

Zhu Qiongjiong nodded as if half‑understanding.

Zhu Yong finished the soup and placed the bowl on the windowsill.

He gazed at the distant sea surface; the sea breeze came with a salty, fishy scent, also carrying the unpleasant stench of Lisbon City.

But he had already become accustomed to it.

In Tie Mu Er's manor, he had grown used to the sandstorms.

In Australia, he had become accustomed to the waves.

In Europe, he could also get used to this stench.

What he could not get used to were those who never bathe.

He turned around and left the room.

"Dad, where are you going?"

"Go find Wang Gui, have him push these guys straight into the sea to wash them; otherwise they'll end up not bathing again."

Zhu Qiongjiong grinned, hoisted the Wolf Fang Club, and followed behind his father.