Chapter 416: Washing the Brain

The basement of the Porto palace is much larger than that of Lisbon.

Zhu Yong stood on the steps and glanced down.

Candles flickered on the walls, illuminating piles of wooden crates in the basement; some were already opened, and Gold and Silver jewelry glimmered in the firelight.

"Second Prince, we've struck it now," Zhu Gang said as he came up from below, holding up a gold bar engraved with the Portuguese royal crest, which glowed a dull light in the candlelight.

Zhu Yong took the gold bar, hefted it, and estimated it at about five Jin.

"How much is still down there?"

"We haven't finished counting, but at least several million taels, dozens of boxes of silver coins, several boxes of gems, several boxes of gold items used by the Church. The king fled in a hurry, taking less than thirty percent; most of it stayed here."

Zhu Yong nodded and tossed the gold bar back to Zhu Gang.

"Melt it and cast it into Great Ming silver ingots; keep the gold items and take them back to the Imperial Father."

Zhu Gang replied with a word and went down, still holding the gold bar.

Zhu Di walked over from the other end of the basement, a list in his hand.

He had spent several years in the Western Regions, gaining experience in managing money and grain; his inventory of supplies was much more efficient than Zhu Gang's.

"Second Prince, the gold and Silver have been tallied: roughly eighty thousand taels of Gold, over two million taels of Silver, a dozen boxes of gems, and more than thirty pieces of Church gold items."

He handed over the list and said, "There are also dozens of barrels of Wine, claimed to be a Porto specialty, with a good vintage."

Zhu Yong took the list, scanned it, and found the numbers roughly matched his estimate.

Although Portugal is a small country, its maritime trade is thriving, and in recent years a considerable amount of Gold and Silver has been shipped back from Africa and India.

King João I is a money‑saving monarch; the treasury is far stronger than the filthy, chaotic streets of Lisbon.

"Keep the Wine and take it back for the Imperial Father to taste."

Zhu Di nodded, turned around, and went to make arrangements.

Zhu Yong emerged from the basement and stood on the palace steps.

Porto's night was quieter than Lisbon's; the sea breeze blew in, carrying a salty, briny scent as well as the lingering stench of the city.

Wang Gui entered from outside, clasping his fists, and said, "Your Lordship, the captives in the city have been counted, about two thousand in total—soldiers, civilians, and a few nobles who didn't escape."

"The soldiers will be incorporated as auxiliary troops, the civilians released, the nobles detained for later trial."

Wang Gui replied, then asked, "Your Lordship, what shall we do with those Portuguese churches? They also hide a lot of Gold and Silver inside."

Zhu Yong thought for a moment.

Churches, the Europeans' temples, whose priests are much like Great Ming monks and Taoists—everyone makes a living off religion.

"Move the Gold and Silver, keep the churches, and later convert them into schools. Europeans have been worshipping for centuries, to the point their minds are muddled; we must let them learn to read and enlighten them.

We need to let our ancestors' Confucianism properly wash their brains."

Wang Gui was momentarily stunned, then smiled, "Your Lordship, that's a good idea."

Zhu Yong gave no reply.

He turned around and gazed at the lights of the city of Porto.

This northern Portuguese city, the largest in the region, has changed its master as of today.

But the campaign isn't over yet.

King João I fled to England, taking the queen, the princes, several hundred royal guards, and a great amount of Gold, Silver and treasure.

England, an island nation in north‑western Europe, lies across the English Channel opposite France.

In this era, England is under the Lancastrian dynasty, with King Henry V on the throne.

Zhu Yong had read about this man in a book in his previous life—the victor of the Agincourt campaign, a famed English general of the Hundred Years' War.

But that belongs to a past life.

In this life, if Henry V dares to come, he wouldn't mind letting that English general taste the feel of a Flintlock Gun.

"Second Prince, what are you thinking?" Zhu Shuang came up from behind, carrying a bowl of hot soup.

Zhu Yong took the soup bowl and took a sip.

It was fish soup, very fresh.

The fish had just been hauled from the sea, fresh.

"Thinking about England."

Zhu Shuang stood beside him and asked, "Is England far?"

"Far—across the sea. From Porto head north, pass France's western coast, then further north to the English Channel; cross the channel and you're in England."

Zhu Shuang frowned and said, "How long would that take?"

"If you're quick, a few months."

Zhu Shuang fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Second Prince, do you really intend to conquer all of Europe?"

Zhu Yong gave him a glance.

That kid had spent five years in Australia, becoming much steadier, yet that innate caution remained.

"If we don't conquer it, why did we come here?"

Zhu Shuang opened his mouth slightly, then said nothing more.

He knew the Second Prince was right.

Coming to Europe isn't just to defeat Portugal; it's to bring the whole continent into Great Ming's domain.

Portugal is only the first stop.

"Third Brother, are you scared?" Zhu Yong asked.

Zhu Shuang shook his head and said, "It's not fear, it's that… this place is too vast, there are many states; conquering is easy, governing is hard."

Zhu Yong gave no reply.

Governing is indeed difficult, as he said.

Europe is not like Australia; Australia is vast and sparsely populated, the natives are easy to deal with, and once immigrants go there they can take root.

Europe is different: many people, many nations, many languages, many cultures; conquering it is easy, but governing it is truly hard.

But however hard, it still must be governed.

Regardless, in a few decades these Europeans will sail their ships to the doorstep of Great Ming, burning and looting.

He does not want to see the history of his past life again.

"Governing is hard, so govern slowly; one generation fails, two generations fail, three generations—one day this place will become Great Ming's."

Zhu Shuang nodded and said nothing more.

In the distance, a steamship's whistle drifted over the sea, long and muffled.

It was a Longxiang Army patrol vessel, on watch in the strait to prevent the Portuguese king's fleet from returning.

Zhu Yong finished his soup and handed the bowl to Zhu Shuang.

"Rest early; we have business tomorrow."

Zhu Shuang replied with a sound and turned to leave.

Zhu Yong stood on the steps and watched Porto's nightscape for a while longer.

Moonlight spilled onto the sea, the waves glittering.

The sea breeze came, carrying a salty, fishy scent.

He inhaled deeply, then turned and walked back to the palace.

The palace's inner chambers had been tidied; the bedding on the bed was replaced with silk sheets brought by Great Ming, the windows were opened, sea wind poured in, dispersing the stale mildew smell inside.

Zhu Qiong Jiong was already lying on the bed, the Wolf Fang Club propped against the headboard, still clutching an unfinished piece of Dry Rations in his hand, asleep.

Zhu Yong walked over, pulled the Dry Rations from his hand, and placed them on the table.

He tucked the corner of the blanket for his son, then turned and left the chambers.

Outside the door, Wang Gui was still standing there.

"Prince, there is one more matter."

"Speak."

"Among those Portuguese captives, a few sailors say they are willing to guide us to England."

Zhu Yong's steps halted.

"Guide…"

"Bring them up."

In a short while, Wang Gui returned with three Portuguese sailors.

All three were in their thirties, clad in coarse cloth garments, hair in disarray, faces smeared with grime, emitting a foul odor.

They knelt on the ground, trembling all over.

"Wang Gui, ask them whether they have been to England."

Wang Gui translated and asked.

The three men kept nodding, replying word for word as instructed.

"Prince, they say they have been there; from Porto heading north along France's coastline, it takes about ten days to reach England."

Zhu Yong nodded and asked, "Who is the king of England?"

Wang Gui translated the question.

The three men were momentarily stunned, then spoke a few sentences.

"Prince, they say England's king is named Henry, a formidable warlord who, a few years ago, won a great victory in France and captured many French nobles."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly upward.

Henry V, the Battle of Agincourt.

The history books of his past life recorded it clearly.

"Tell them to guide us well; there will be reward when we reach England."

Wang Gui translated this.

The three men bowed repeatedly, voicing thanks.

Zhu Yong waved his hand, and Wang Gui led them away.

Night had deepened.

The lights of Porto City went out one by one.

In the distance, on the sea, the steamship's lights still flickered.

Zhu Yong stood by the window, gazing at the distant sea.

England, Henry V.

This era's England was in the middle of the Hundred Years' War.

England and France had fought for decades, neither able to subdue the other.

Now, Great Ming has arrived.

Whether England or France, both must submit.

He turned, walked back to the bedside, and lay down.

The mattress board was a bit hard, but far more comfortable than on a ship.

He closed his eyes, his mind contemplating tomorrow's plans.

Porto had been taken, southern Portugal was stable, and next they would strike north.

England, France, the Holy Roman Empire—one after another they would attack.

Europe is vast, with many nations.

But Great Ming's army is stronger.

They are not afraid.

They have never been afraid.

Outside the window, Moonlight is like water.

In the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore can be heard.

A new day will arrive soon.