Chapter 42: A Bizarre Timeline (Part II)
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The honest monk immediately looked as though he were facing a formidable enemy.
(Though these heroes appear to possess extraordinary skill, even the strongest pair of fists cannot prevail against four hands.)
Yun Zheng’s expression remained unchanged. The three chieftains likewise wore expressions of eager anticipation, as if to say: What sort of standing do you have to dare swagger before us?
Those underlings were plainly ordinary thugs who had neither practiced martial arts nor endured the trials of battle. Yun Zheng and the others need not even lift a finger; the three chieftains alone could have cut them down to the last man.
The young master, mounted on a tall horse, wore a haughty expression and was about to order his men to swarm forward and seize these outsiders who had dared challenge him.
A peddler who had been watching for some time approached the young master and whispered into his ear. The more the wastrel listened, the more alarmed he became. Suddenly, he dismounted, threw himself before Yun Zheng, and bowed deeply.
“This lowly Tian’s servants were blind and failed to recognize Mount Tai. They offended Your Excellency. I beg Your Excellency’s forgiveness.”
The sudden transformation was worthy of the face-changing art of Sichuan opera and carried a distinctly southwestern flavor. Yet one did not strike a smiling face. Seeing the sincerity in his expression, Yun Zheng could only help him to his feet.
Young Master Tian then ordered the thugs who had bullied the girl—and whom Yun Zheng had already dealt with—to be pinned to the ground. Their trousers were stripped off, and their naked buttocks were beaten mercilessly with white-wax paddles until the flesh split open.
“I warned you long ago not to throw your weight around like this! Our Tian family’s ancestors lost their fiefdom because they acted without restraint, and the Yongle Emperor stripped them of it. With your arrogance, you’d better not drag me into your mess!”
He then asked the steward, “Exactly how much did the girl owe, and who was responsible for the debt?”
After getting a clear answer, Young Master Tian produced an exquisite tinderbox. With a strike of the fire steel, he set the loan contract the steward had brought out alight. The flames leapt up, and in an instant nothing remained but drifting ash.
Yun Zheng thought to himself that, according to the original timeline, Ye Xi’s grandfather, King Ye—Ye Xiaotian—should already have begun promoting matches and similar goods throughout the southwest.
Yet in this illusion, Young Master Tian still used the fire steel that had been employed for thousands of years.
The young master did seem genuinely sincere. Not only did he burn the girl’s loan contract, he also thumped his chest and declared, “A mere thirty taels of silver is nothing worth mentioning,” before giving her one tael in loose silver for her expenses.
The girl, seeing the Tian family suddenly become so accommodating, was bewildered and unable to make head or tail of it. Still, she could only accept the silver, offer profuse thanks, and depart.
…
Night descended. The first lanterns came alight. Within the city of Tongren Prefecture, the Drunken Immortal Residence blazed with light.
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The largest private chamber in the Drunken Immortal Residence had long since been filled with food and wine. There were not only delicacies from the mountains and seas of Guizhou, but also Jiangnan stir-fries, and even such western delicacies as naan, cherry biluo pastries, and hand-grabbed lamb rice. To lay out such an extravagant feast in mountainous Guizhou had clearly required a tremendous expenditure.
Yun Zheng, Ye Xi, the two native headmen, and the three chieftains sat around the table.
The secretary, An Miaotong, was absent. The monk had been determined to return to the sacred Mount Fanjing to cultivate, yet feared that the mountain might refuse to take him in. Yun Zheng had therefore given An Miaotong his token as an assistant regional commander and sent her to vouch for the monk in person.
Yun Zheng toyed with the wine cup in his hand, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“So you are saying that your elder sister seized what originally belonged to you?”
A trace of resentment flashed across the Tian wastrel’s face.
“That is correct. The foundation of our Tian clan of Sizhou has always been passed from father to son, never to a daughter. What is more, my sister intends to hand over the entire Tian family, gift-wrapped, to Yang Yinglong.”
Yun Zheng did not even lift his eyelids.
“I have never heard of any Tian clan of Sizhou.”
The so-called Tian chieftains of Sizhou had been annihilated long ago, during the Yongle era of the Ming dynasty, when the Yongle Emperor, Zhu Di, dispatched fifty thousand troops against them. The former territory of Sizhou had already been divided during the Yuan dynasty into Sizhou and Sinan. After the Yongle Emperor replaced native rule with regular administration, he divided the region further into eight prefectures: Sizhou, Liping, Xinhua, Shiqian, Sinan, Zhenyuan, Tongren, and Wuluo, placing them all under the authority of the Guizhou Provincial Administration. This was also the origin of Guizhou Province.
Realizing that he had misspoken, the Tian wastrel gave an awkward smile.
“Your Excellency is right. This commoner was ignorant.”
“So this ignorant commoner of yours intends to use me as a weapon to fight for your family fortune?”
“This commoner would never dare.”
Yun Zheng gave a cold laugh.
“What is there you would not dare do? In the past, the Hongwu Emperor expressly decreed that private lenders could charge no more than three-tenths interest, and that the interest could not exceed the principal. Yet you compound interest upon interest, scheming to seize what is not yours. Have you ever shown the slightest regard for the court, the laws of the Ming, or the Son of Heaven?”
The Hongwu Emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang, had written in the Great Proclamations: “Henceforth, no loan shall bear interest exceeding three-tenths.” This regulation was also incorporated into the Great Ming Code. Yet in later generations, certain silver-tongued, black-hearted scholars seized upon a few temporary provisions in the Great Proclamations—measures intended for times of chaos, when severe laws were necessary—and used them to denounce Zhu Yuanzhang as a monster of cruelty, portraying the Great Proclamations as a book devoted to greed and the oppression of the people, and Zhu Yuanzhang as a solitary tyrant whose poison had corrupted all generations to come.
The wastrel’s face had gone pale beneath Yun Zheng’s reprimand. After a long while, he stammered, “This humble one would never dare. I merely admired Your Excellency’s imposing dignity, which strengthened my resolve to abandon darkness and turn toward the light. Yang Yinglong’s defiance of the armies of the Ming is a path to certain ruin. I cannot stand by and watch the thousand-year foundation of the Tian family perish along with him.”
There was, admittedly, a certain logic to those words.
Yun Zheng merely said, “What imposing dignity do I possess? How do I compare with Yang Yinglong?”
“Your Excellency is brave and mighty, your bearing radiant. How could Yang Yinglong, with half his body already in the grave, possibly compare?”
“Nonsense. If Yang Yinglong is already a dried-up corpse in the tomb, then what does that make Commander Liu Chengsi, whose tens of thousands of troops Yang Yinglong annihilated?”
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“Ah… this humble one is poor with words. Yang Yinglong does possess some ability, but that ability cannot compare with Your Excellency.”
“Then?” Yun Zheng said, pretending to be hazy with drink. “How many rebels in this world possess ‘some ability’ equal to Yang Yinglong’s?”
“Your Excellency is jesting. Everyone under heaven knows that the only bandit who can be mentioned in the same breath as the rebel Yang Yinglong is Oda Nobunaga, who falsely claims the title of Lord of Japan.”
“That Oda Nobunaga is as ambitious as a ravening wolf or tiger, wantonly trampling the soil of Joseon. Then our Great Ming raised an army of one hundred thousand righteous men, only to find that his treachery knew no bounds. He built three hundred and sixty-five mountain fortresses, each as impregnable as a golden citadel, leaving the armies of Heaven unable to take them even after a prolonged assault. It is truly enough to break one’s heart!”
The Wumeng chieftain froze.
Oda Nobunaga? Who was that? Had I wasted all those years reading military reports and official documents?
The Wusa chieftain was equally stunned.
When, during the Wanli era, did such a chapter of history ever occur? I have not read many books, but do not try to deceive me.
Even Ye Xi was utterly bewildered. Yun Zheng, however, understood perfectly.
Just as I thought. This world is far from simple.
In the twenty-sixth year of the Wanli era as recorded in history, the event that should have occurred was this: Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the Imperial Regent who truly ruled Japan, would be driven to his death by repeated defeats at the hands of the armies of the Ming. The Ming forces would then advance like a knife through bamboo, driving the Japanese into the sea and fully restoring the Joseon kingdom, reclaiming all its lost territory.
But in this world, Japan was led by Oda Nobunaga. Clearly, the warlord whom the Japanese called the Sixth Demon King of Heaven had not died during the Incident at Honnoji. He had triumphed in Japan’s Warring States period, not only unifying the country but also attempting to realize an even grander ambition: to arm and rule the entire realm.
As the wine warmed their ears and loosened their tongues, Yun Zheng coaxed still more information from the Tian wastrel.
Seeing that Yun Zheng and the others were growing increasingly drunk, the wastrel’s gaze began to flicker. His eyes lingered on Ye Xi and on Shui Rouqin, whose beauty had retained all its mature allure, and a murky lust gradually crept into them.
At that moment, the door to the private chamber was flung open with a loud crack.
The Tian wastrel was about to rebuke whoever had entered, but when his gaze fell upon the doorway, all his anger and drunkenness vanished in an instant.
An Miaotong stood there, leading more than a hundred stout monks armed with clubs. They filled the courtyard so completely that not even a drop of water could pass through.
Behind the monks stood several men dressed as martial artists, their faces swollen and bruised, their bodies bound tightly from head to toe.
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