Chapter 422: Sent to Mine

On the fourth day after Toledo fell, Zhu Yong finally made sense of the documents in the palace study.

The King of Castile, Juan II, fled in such haste that he didn't even manage to take the royal seal.

The pure‑gold seal lay in the desk drawer, with several unsent letters stacked beside it.

Zhu Yong had Wang Gui translate one of them, a letter to the King of Aragon, Alfonso V, which roughly said, "The heretics from the east have already captured Lisbon and Porto and are now advancing on our realm; we earnestly request Elder Brother to send troops to assist."

After reading the letter, Zhu Yong's mouth twitched into a slight smile; he set the letter aside, keeping it for future use.

"Second Prince, the list of the city's nobles is ready," Zhu Shuang said as he entered from the doorway, a thick stack of parchments in hand; after five years in Australia, his work had become increasingly efficient.

Zhu Yong took the list and gave it a quick glance.

It listed dozens of names in cramped script—Counts, Marquises, Dukes, and several high nobles bearing the "Tang" title—each annotated with the extent of their lands and approximate population.

"Castile has many nobles."

"Many, but they're timid; the king fled, no one dares to step forward. A few who tried to organize resistance were captured by their own and handed over, claiming they wish to submit to Great Ming."

Zhu Yong placed the list on the table, leaned back in his chair, and thought.

The European aristocratic system differs from Great Ming's; in Great Ming, honored nobles live off military merit, titles are separate from official posts, and power must be gained through civil examinations or battlefield achievements.

In Europe, nobility is hereditary; their domains are their foundation, the common folk their property, and the king is merely the greatest noble in their eyes—obedient they pledge loyalty, disobedient they rebel.

"Second Prince, what shall be done with these people?" Zhu Shuang asked.

"Confiscate their lands, register their assets, and send them to dig mines," Zhu Yong said calmly.

Zhu Shuang stared blankly and said, "All of them sent to dig mines?"

"All of them. The north of Castile has iron ore, the south copper; they're short on labor. These nobles have lived in luxury all their lives; it's time they contributed."

Zhu Shuang's mouth twitched as if to laugh, but he held it back.

He recalled his early days of pioneering in Australia, constantly dealing with natives and criminals; the exiles from Great Ming initially refused work, but after a few days of hunger they became obedient.

"Second Prince, what about the common folk in the city?"

"The peasants stay. Those who should farm will farm, those who should herd will herd. The land will be redistributed; landless farmers receive twenty mu each, tax‑free for the first three years, after which, according to Great Ming's rule, a thirty‑to‑one tax applies.

The church's lands will also be reclaimed and given to the peasants."

Zhu Shuang wrote it down point by point, then asked, "What about those priests?"

Zhu Yong thought for a moment.

In Europe the Church wields great power; churches are everywhere, and there are more priests than officials.

These men do not farm or pay taxes; they live off the offerings of the people.

The peasants are already poor; having to sustain these non‑productive religious figures makes a good life impossible.

"Confiscate the churches and convert them into schools; priests who are willing to return to lay life will be registered, given land to farm; those who refuse will be sent to Australia to keep the natives company."

Zhu Shuang nodded, turned to make arrangements, but was called back by Zhu Yong.

"Wait, send people to post notices around the city, stating that Great Ming does not force the people to change their faith, but the churches must surrender their lands and assets.

Those who submit will be treated like Great Ming peasants—land allocation, tax exemption, and the right to lodge grievances with officials; those who refuse may leave now, to Aragon, to France, anywhere, but once they go they must not return."

Zhu Shuang replied with a single word and strode out.

Zhu Yong rose and walked to the window.

Toledo is built on a hill, the palace atop the highest point of the city; opening the window reveals the whole city.

Houses cluster densely, streets wind and turn, and in the distance the continuous mountain range stretches, beyond which lie Aragon, France, and the Holy Roman Empire.

He stood for a moment, then turned and left the study.

In the palace great hall, several Longxiang Army soldiers were moving furniture.

The furniture of the Castile king—beds, cabinets, tables—were solid wood, carved with flowers, looking bulky yet crudely crafted.

"These junk pieces are useless even if taken back to Great Ming," Wang Gui said as he walked over, a freshly written notice in hand.

Zhu Yong took it, glanced at it; the notice was written in Latin, translated by a few educated captives that Wang Gui had found, roughly stating, "Great Ming has taken over Castile; the people live in peace and prosperity, trade and travel continue as usual; rebels are beheaded, law‑abiders are safe."

"Post them at the city gates, and put up several copies."

Wang Gui responded with a nod and led a group to do so.

Zhu Yong exited the palace and stood on the steps.

The streets of Toledo were a bit cleaner than in previous days; Longxiang Army soldiers patrolled, and occasionally a townsfolk would peek out of a house, glance and retreat.

An elderly woman crouched at a corner, cradling a child who cried loudly from hunger.

Zhu Yong walked over, took out several pieces of Dry Rations from his own pouch, and handed them to the woman.

The old woman looked up at him, fear and bewilderment in her eyes; she trembled as she took the rations, muttering something.

Wang Gui came up from behind and translated, "Prince, she says thank you and that God bless you."

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "No need to thank, and no need for God's blessing. Tell her it was given by the Wu Prince of Great Ming; remember that."

Wang Gui relayed the words; the old woman nodded repeatedly, then hurried away with her child.

Zhu Yong stood at the corner, watching the woman's silhouette fade into an alley.

These people are still human, only their lives are unbearably harsh.

The king cares not, the nobles care not, the Church cares not.

When sick they bear it themselves, when hungry they endure, and if they die, they simply die.

"Prince, you are kind‑hearted," Wang Gui said beside him.

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "It's not kindness, it's protocol—Great Ming's protocol. Officials must oversee the lives of the people; these Europeans are now Great Ming's subjects, so they must be governed."

He turned and headed northward.

In the north of the city lay a camp, formerly the Castile garrison, now requisitioned by the Longxiang Army.

The camp held newly captured prisoners, thousands packed together, the stench overwhelming.

Zhu Qiong Jiong stood at the camp gate, a stick in hand, supervising the prisoners as they "bathed."

Several large wooden barrels were set up on the open ground; hot water boiled inside the barrels, sending up white steam.

The prisoners were stripped of their clothes and shoved into the barrels one by one; the soldiers, holding brushes dipped in soapwort water, scrubbed them fiercely from head to toe.

"One at a time, no cutting in line!" Zhu Qiong Jiong tapped the head of a prisoner who tried to cut in line with a stick.

The prisoner crouched on the ground, clutching his head and muttering something; Zhu Qiong Jiong couldn't understand and didn't care, and kicked him into the barrel.

Zhu Yong walked over and looked at the prisoners who had already been "washed."

Their skin was reddened from the scrubbing, but they were much cleaner than before, at least their original faces could be seen.

A few of the younger ones, after bathing and changing into clean clothes, looked quite spirited.