pappabearbooks Chapter 30 North of the Canal Boats: The Bloody Path - Part 2
Chapter 30 North of the Canal Boats: The Bloody Path - Part 2
At 1-3 PM, the Qingjiangpu section of the Grand Canal.
This is the confluence of the Huai River and the Grand Canal, where the water is swift and the river is winding. In the past, merchant ships would slow down when they reached this point, but today, three hundred cargo ships are rushing into the bend at full speed.
Chen Zizhuang stood at the bow of the lead boat, clutching a telescope in his hand—a gift from Johann Adam Schall von Bell last year, of which there were no more than ten in the entire Ming Dynasty. Through the telescope, the water ahead was calm, but there were faint reflections from the reeds on both banks.
Is it a knife? Or an arrowhead?
"Sir," the boatman's voice trembled, "Qingjiangpu has never been a peaceful place. Two years ago, the Grand Canal Transport Commissioner was suppressing bandits here, and more than two hundred officers and soldiers died."
Chen Zizhuang put down his binoculars: "How exactly is it not peaceful?"
"The water is shallow, with many bends, and the reeds grow tall on both banks." The boatman pointed ahead, "Bandits ambush here, using iron chains across the river to rob grain ships. Last winter, three thousand shi of relief grain from Shandong were robbed here."
Before he finished speaking, three jets of water suddenly erupted from the surface of the water ahead!
It wasn't a cannon, but a gunpowder pack—gunpowder wrapped in oiled paper, tied to driftwood, and floated downstream to detonate upon hitting the bow of the boat.
The lead boat rocked violently, and a large hole was blown in its planks, allowing the river water to rush in.
"Hold on!" Chen Zizhuang gripped the gunwale and roared, "Musketeers, aim at the reeds on both banks! Archers, prepare fire arrows!"
But the enemy never showed up.
A second wave of explosive charges arrived, this time more than a dozen, swarming the fleet like a pack of water rats. Some cargo ships couldn't dodge in time and had their masts blown off; others were hit in the hull and began to sink.
"Sir! This won't do!" the boatman roared. "They have men underwater! They're scuttling the boat!"
Chen Zizhuang gritted his teeth. He saw dark shadows moving beneath the murky river surface—more professional and faster than the "water ghosts" at Shaobo Dam, clearly trained.
"Brothers who can swim! Go into the water!" He drew his sword. "Kill one water ghost, one hundred taels of silver! Kill two, two hundred taels! Kill three, and you'll be promoted to a junior officer!"
With the generous reward, dozens more canal workers jumped out. But this time was different—as soon as they entered the water, they were entangled by something.
It's a fishing net.
A dozen large nets covered with iron hooks were pulled up from underwater, catching all the canal workers who had gone into the water. The iron hooks pierced flesh, and blood instantly stained the river surface red. Amid screams, the water ghosts swam out from the shadows, holding water-splitting spikes, and one by one, stabbed the canal workers in the nets to death.
"You beast!" Chen Zizhuang's eyes widened in fury.
He snatched the three-barreled pistol from the musketeer beside him, aimed it at the dark figure on the water, and pulled the trigger. Bang! The muzzle shot fire, and the lead bullet struck the water, but only splashed.
Just then, hundreds of figures suddenly stood up from the reeds on both banks!
Everyone was masked, holding a powerful bow, with arrows already on the string.
"put!"
At the command, arrows flew like locusts.
The fleet instantly became easy targets. Canal workers, boatmen, and even soldiers of the new army were all struck by arrows and fell to the ground. Some fell into the river and were immediately dragged away by underwater iron hooks.
Chen Zizhuang felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Looking down, he saw an arrow had pierced through his cotton armor and embedded itself in his flesh. He gritted his teeth, broke the arrow shaft, and roared, "Abandon ship! Go ashore! Form ranks!"
It's too late.
The third wave of attack followed immediately—this time, it was fire ships. A dozen or so small fishing boats, piled high with dry grass and sulfur, were set ablaze and carried downstream, heading straight for the middle of the fleet!
"Stop them!" the boat captain shouted desperately.
The canal workers tried to push the grain ships with long poles and scoop them up with fishing nets, but there were too many of them, and they were moving too fast. One, two, three... one after another, they collided with the grain ships.
Flames erupted, instantly engulfing three grain-laden cargo ships. The grain sacks ignited upon contact with the fire, turning the river into a sea of flames. The heatwave was intense, scorching the skin and flesh.
Looking at all this, Chen Zizhuang suddenly remembered what the Emperor had said to him before he left the capital:
"Minister Chen, if this batch of grain and provisions cannot be delivered, Tongguan will surely fall. Once Tongguan falls, the Ming Dynasty will perish."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When she opened her eyes again, only resolute determination remained.
"Give the order," his voice was hoarse but unusually calm, "all grain ships, move to the shallows on the right bank. Silver ships, continue charging forward, one ship at a time, if you can get through. The rest of you... come ashore with me and kill the bandits."
"My lord!" the guard cried urgently, "We only have eight hundred soldiers, at least three hundred archers on the shore, and who knows how many more are underwater..."
"So what?" Chen Zizhuang drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the firelight, its cold light blinding. "The Emperor is fighting desperately at Tongguan, and the Empress is holding the fort in Yangzhou. Are we, the grain transporters, not even able to carve a bloody path out of here?"
He leaped onto the nearest burning grain ship. Flames had already licked at the cabin, but he paid no heed, raising his sword and shouting:
"Soldiers of the Ming Dynasty! Follow me to slay the traitors—!"
A roar, like a thunderclap.
The previously panicked soldiers of the new army, seeing the imperial envoy lead the charge onto the burning ship, instantly had tears welling in their eyes. Someone shouted "Kill!" and eight hundred men responded in unison.
"kill--!!!"
They no longer cared about the boat, the food, or even their own lives. Those carrying muskets, bows, and knives all followed Chen Zizhuang, jumped off the boat, waded through waist-deep icy water, and rushed towards the reeds on the shore.
The archers on the shore were clearly caught off guard—normally, when soldiers are ambushed, they should hold their ground and wait for reinforcements, or abandon ship and flee for their lives. Why would they run headlong into an encirclement?
In that brief moment of hesitation, the new army had already rushed ashore.
Hand in hand.
With muskets losing their advantage at close range, the soldiers grabbed the butts of the muskets to smash the enemy and drew their sabers to slash. The canal workers swung their poles and oars, charging forward recklessly. Those who fell after being hit by arrows crawled forward, grabbing the enemy's legs, biting them, and ramming them with their heads.
Blood splattered on the withered reeds, staining them a glaring red.
Chen Zizhuang charged ahead. Although he was a civil official, he was from Nanhai, Guangdong, and had practiced martial arts since childhood, so his swordsmanship was quite good. With one stroke, he pierced the throat of a masked archer, and with a backhand, he severed the wrist of another. His shoulder wound reopened, and blood soaked half of his body, but he was completely unaware.
He fought his way into the depths of the reeds and finally spotted the mastermind.
It was a middle-aged man dressed in a blue cloth quiver, sitting on a withered tree stump, slowly polishing a knife. The knife was a goose-feather blade, long and narrow, with a bluish gleam on the edge—it had been poisoned.
"Lord Chen," the man looked up, grinned, "I've heard so much about you."
Chen Zizhuang pointed his sword at him: "Whose man are you? A remnant of the Wang family? Zuo Liangyu? Or a spy for the Later Jin?"
"It's both, and neither." The man stood up, twirling his sword. "Someone offered five thousand taels of silver to have this batch of grain sunk at Qingjiangpu. As for who I am... why should a dying man know too much?"
Before he could finish speaking, the knife was already at his face!
Chen Zizhuang raised his sword to parry, the metal clashing and sparks flying. He was startled—what immense strength!
The two clashed in the reeds, their swords flashing, each strike deadly. Chen Zizhuang, wounded in the shoulder, gradually weakened, and in a moment of carelessness, his arm was slashed by the blade. The wound wasn't deep, but it instantly went numb—the blade was indeed poisoned!
The man grinned maliciously: "Lord Chen, rest in peace. On the road to the Yellow Springs, you'll have eight hundred brothers to keep you company—"
He froze before he could finish speaking.
Looking down, he saw a blood-stained sword tip protruding from his chest.
Behind him, a blood-soaked New Army soldier gripped his sword hilt with both hands, his teeth grinding together: "Damn it... die!"
The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but blood gushed from his throat. He slowly fell to the ground, his eyes still wide open, dying with his eyes open.
Chen Zizhuang staggered backward, leaning against a withered tree, panting. The poison had taken effect; half his body was numb, and his vision was beginning to blur.
He saw that the fighting on the shore was gradually subsiding. The new army and the canal workers had fought to the death, killing most of the three hundred archers. But most of their own side had also fallen, with fewer than two hundred men still standing.
The fire was still burning on the river. Of the three hundred grain transport boats, more than forty had sunk and more than twenty had burned. Most of the silver boats had managed to escape, but the grain boats... had suffered more than half their losses.
"My lord!" A soldier, covered in blood, ran up, crying, "Our...our rations..."
Chen Zizhuang tried to speak, but no sound came out. He raised his still-functioning hand and pointed north.
The guards understood, wiped away their tears, and hoarsely relayed the order: "Those that can still move! Sacrifice the wrecked ships! Save as much grain as you can! Load them onto wagons! Transport them by land! Even if you have to carry them, carry them to Tongguan!"
The survivors began to get busy.
Some people dug out charred grain bags from the burned grain ships, some scooped up bags of grain from the sunken ships, some cut down trees to make tugs, and some brought the few remaining horses from the shore.
As Chen Zizhuang watched all this, his vision grew increasingly dark.
In his last moments of consciousness, he recalled the Empress's instructions to him when he departed from Yangzhou:
"Minister Chen, the grain is there and the people are here."
He forced a smile, and with his last ounce of strength, said to his personal guard:
"Tell Your Majesty... I... have done my best..."
Complete darkness enveloped everything.
Late afternoon, at Yangzhou Wharf.
Empress Zhou stood on the newly erected wooden platform, with the flags of the Salt Administration Office fluttering in the river wind behind her. Below the platform, thousands of people had gathered—salt workers, canal workers, merchants, commoners, and even elderly people with canes and women carrying children.
She wasn't wearing a phoenix crown or a formal dress, just a plain white dress, her hair simply tied up. Yet, standing there, she exuded an aura of authority.
"Fellow citizens of Yangzhou," she began, her voice soft yet carrying far, "I know you are afraid. Afraid that the Wang family will fall, and the salt industry will collapse; afraid that the canal transport will be cut off, and there will be no rice to cook; afraid that Zuo Liangyu will attack, and the city will fall and your homes will be destroyed."
The crowd was silent.
"But I'm standing here today to tell you—don't be afraid." The Empress raised her hand, pointing to the dock. "Look!"
Everyone looked in the direction she was pointing.
At the dock, thirty cargo ships were being loaded. It wasn't grain, but salt—snow-white salt, transported directly from the salt fields, sacks being carried onto the ships. New flags flew at the bows: the Ming Dynasty dragon flag on the left, and an apricot-yellow flag reading "Direct Salt Transport" on the right.
"From this day forward, the salt of Yangzhou will be directly managed and transported by the Imperial Court!" the Empress declared loudly. "One jin of salt will cost ten copper coins, and the price will never increase! The wages of saltworkers will increase by thirty percent! The wages of dockworkers will also increase by thirty percent!"
The crowd stirred.
One of the bolder ones shouted, "Does Your Majesty keep your word?!"
"It stands," the Empress declared resolutely. "I vouch for it with my position as Empress, and with the Zhou family's century-long reputation! If there is even the slightest falsehood, may I be struck by lightning!"
Someone else shouted, "What if Zuo Liangyu attacks?!"
The Empress smiled.
His smile was faint, yet it carried an undeniable air of authority.
"If Zuo Liangyu dares to come, I will stand on the city wall and watch him fight. I will stand there for every day he fights; I will stand there for every year he fights. But I also want to tell you—the Nanjing garrison of 50,000 troops is ready to depart, and His Majesty's northern expeditionary force will return soon. Zuo Liangyu's 100,000 rabble dares to invade Yangzhou; he is courting his own destruction!"
She paused, then her voice suddenly rose:
"Elders of Yangzhou! You are subjects of the Great Ming Dynasty, not anyone's private property! Your salt feeds the soldiers on the nine borders; your grain saves the people of the north! Today, I ask you to do one thing—"
She turned around and nodded to Yunniang.
Yunniang presented a large folded banner and unfurled it with a whoosh!
The flag is three zhang long and one zhang wide, with an apricot-yellow background and large black characters embroidered on it:
"The righteous people of Yangzhou contributed to the army and served the emperor."
The Empress took the flagpole and planted it heavily on the wooden platform. The flag unfurled in the river breeze, fluttering loudly.
"Those willing to donate grain to support the army, come here to register! Not a pound of rice is too little, not a bushel is too much! I will personally keep accounts, and every grain of rice and every penny will be sent to Tongguan and into the hands of the Emperor!"
Dead silence.
Then, the first person came out.
It was Zhao Laosi. The grain shop owner, an old man whose son was a soldier in Tongguan. He walked to the front of the table, took out a cloth bag from his pocket, and opened it layer by layer—inside were five taels of silver and some loose copper coins.
"Your Majesty," the old man knelt down, "this humble man... donates five taels of silver and three hundred coins. It's not much... but it's all the wealth this humble man has. I beg Your Majesty... please deliver it to Tongguan so that my son... can have enough to eat and fight the bandits!"
The Empress's eyes reddened, and she personally helped him up, saying, "Don't worry, father-in-law, I will definitely deliver it."
Once there's a first one, there's a second, a third...
Salt merchant Qian Guangyi, accompanied by his son, brought in a box: "This humble commoner, Qian Guangyi, donates one thousand taels of silver to help His Majesty quell the rebellion!"
Chen Dashuan, a rice cooker, leaned on his cane and carried a half-sack of rice: "Old man Chen Dashuan, I'm donating fifty jin of rice! It's what the cooks collected, not much... but it's all new rice!"
The canal worker Zhao Tiemao and a dozen of his brothers, each holding a handful of copper coins, said: "We, the common people... are donating three months' wages! We beg Your Majesty to convey to the Emperor—the lives of canal workers are lives too! But for the sake of the Ming Dynasty, we are willing to sacrifice them!"
More and more people gathered, and the boxes piled up higher and higher.
Silver, copper coins, rice bags, cloth, and even women donated their dowries and children donated their New Year's money.
Empress Zhou stood on the platform, watching all of this, and finally couldn't hold back her tears.
But she didn't wipe it; she let the wind dry it.
Because she knew that from this day forward, Yangzhou was no longer the Wang family's Yangzhou, but the Yangzhou of the Ming Dynasty; the people of Yangzhou were no longer the servants of the salt merchants, but the backbone of the Ming Dynasty.
All of this was bought with blood, lives, the grain ships that sank to the bottom of the canal, and the soldiers who fell on the walls of Tongguan.
She looked up and gazed northward.
As dusk settled, the last rays of light on the horizon were fading away.
But in her heart, a light shone.
A lamp that never goes out.