Chapter Thirteen: Mirage General, Directorate of Waterworks

Wang Cheng nodded in agreement from the side.

"That's right. My ancestors were military households, guarding Yue Port for over a hundred years. Our family has fallen on hard times for generations, and only in my generation did I manage to pass the imperial examination as a scholar by sheer luck."

In the Great Zhao, above the base class, there were three types of household registrations: civilian, military, and artisan. Xiucai Wang Fugui was registered as a military household; his forebears were mere bowmen in the Yue Port garrison—a status not much different from tenant farmers, or rather, serfs under the command of the hundreds and thousands of households. The only advantage they held over the boat-dwelling Dan people was that each family had a quota for one scholar to participate in the imperial examinations, whereas families with civilian registration could send as many as they pleased.

In theory, if this scholar, carrying the hopes of the entire family, rose through the ranks to become Minister of War, he would have the right to change his family's status and remove them from the military household registry.

Zhang Wu, overhearing their conversation, could not suppress his resentment toward the untrustworthy court. "The court’s military preparedness has grown so lax that, if it weren't for Prince Jing sharing the people's burdens and defending the borders these past three years, the seas would have fallen into chaos long ago. Without a strong navy to control the waters, I fear Great Zhao is doomed!"

Wang Cheng raised both hands and feet in agreement, shaking his head inwardly at the Han emperor in the capital. "As the histories say, at the end of the previous dynasty, Heaven and Man responded to each other. The Han family, guided by the omen 'Don’t say the stone man has only one eye, stirring the muddy river and all under heaven will revolt,' seized their mandate, rising in rebellion. King Ming the Younger, Han Lin, overthrew the insubordinate Wu family of the Zhao, driving the remnants of the rebel kings Chen, Zhang, and Fang into the sea, where they became pirates. Only then was the Great Zhao dynasty founded. Outwardly, the court claimed the strict maritime ban was to guard against these coastal pirates, hence the curse upon the mountains and the sea.

"Once, I even accompanied my father to meet the present Wu King, Zhu Yaozhai, the eighth in his line, who ruled as an island king under the Old Port Pacification Commission in the South Seas. He was a white-bearded old man who looked like an immortal, but was a little eccentric. He held my hand and said that Great Zhao’s founder, Han Lin, had stolen the throne that was almost within his family’s grasp, and with it, their mandate from Heaven. He invited my father and me to help him reclaim his ancestral heritage, even promising us each a gold token that would spare us from death. At the time, I had not awakened my past wisdom and dismissed his words as madness.

"Now I see, though the Han family somehow stole the Wu family’s mandate and revived themselves, they failed to rule any better. The signs of a dynasty’s decline are already clear—two hundred years after its founding, the empire is trembling on the brink."

A glimpse was enough to know the whole: from Wang Cheng’s own experience, boat-dwelling Dan people and navy households had suffered deeply under Great Zhao. Discontent simmered everywhere. Not to mention the ever-emerging evil spirits and covetous foreign Franks lurking outside.

He understood, too, that even with the dynasty riddled with decay, crushing him would be easier than swatting a fly. After the incidents of sending off the Wang ship to fill the sea’s eye and the blockade of the coast by ghostly spirits, he harbored no doubt that whoever pulled the strings wanted him dead. Now, both the underworld and the authorities must be searching for him by every means.

If he chose to hide, even protected by the "Universal Sea Treasure," it would only mean a slow death. If he wanted to break free, there was no better place than Yue Port—the world’s trade nexus connecting the East, West, and South Seas. A little risk was entirely worth it.

The Zhang Fushun pressed onward, and soon everyone saw the source of the illusory haze around the port’s perimeter.

At the bottom of the channel, crowded together, were hundreds of enormous clams. They were covered in green moss, each at least the size of a large banquet table, with the largest rivaling a house. As they opened and closed their shells to filter water for food, faint mist naturally drifted out.

Zhang Wen explained, "Sir Scholar, there’s no need to worry. You’ve been away studying these past few years, so you may not have seen them. When Prince Jing defended the Eastern Sea, he stationed several of his famed Generals and Fierce Commanders here at Yue Port. These are the 'Illusory Tower General' Huang Yuanzhou’s spirit clams, raised through his strange arts. Yue Port, after all, is a smuggling harbor—should foreign enemies breach our waters, the spirit clams and intricate channels become our strongest defense. In peacetime, they never harm anyone."

He did not notice the fleeting trace of nostalgia in Wang Cheng’s eyes at the mention of Huang Yuanzhou.

Soon, the fishing boat passed through the illusory haze, and Wang Cheng beheld the true face of Yue Port, exclaiming from the heart, "What splendor!"

The harbor was surrounded by water, curving like a crescent moon—truly living up to its name. Hundreds of giant ships and sea junks were anchored in the moorage, sails raised, coming and going in endless streams, so thick they blocked out the sun. There were the hard-sailed Fujian junks common along the Zhao coast, as well as the distinctive soft-sailed carracks and galleons of the Sogdians and Franks. Yellow, white, brown, and black—people of all colors mingled here.

Cries in a cacophony of languages rang out:

"Raise anchor and set sail!"

"Hacerse a la mar!"

"Search for a new horizon..."

Its prosperity outshone any port city of Great Zhao, the Eastern Sea, or the South Seas—the title "World Trade Center" was well deserved.

Remote and rugged, with fierce and independent people, the port had never been brought back under official control since the garrison was disbanded. The nearest prefectural city, Xiangzhou, lay more than forty li away, with no county seat nearby. Driven by vast profits, the people gathered here by themselves; Yue Port boasted tens of thousands of households, merchants in droves, shops as numerous as the stars, and commerce flourished.

The true rulers here had always been the so-called "sea bandits" the court denounced as murderers and thieves.

In the annals of Xiangzhou, local officials recorded with frankness the awkward reality the Zhao court had to face:

"The sea bandits are held in great esteem among the people; all flock to them. Some bring delicacies, others wine and rice, or even offer their sons and daughters."

"The innkeepers in every town, fully aware they are sea bandits, covet the profits, let them store goods, and even help with their transport and protection."

"When the bandits enter the city, there is no pillage; when they set out to sea, all are in the same boat. Even children of three regard the sea bandits as providers, and the military as hereditary enemies..."

The reason was simple: the merchant adventurers, not the military, were the ones who supplied the coastal poor with their daily needs.

A group of Dan people stood beside Wang Cheng, gazing at the bustling port with mixed emotions. "Our lives were hard before—only in the past three years, with Prince Jing treating everyone equally and giving us support, have things started to improve. Now that Prince Jing is gone, can the Five Peaks Banner still protect Yue Port? How much longer can these good times last?"

As if in answer, a sudden shout thundered from the dock.

"All newly arrived fishing boats, come pay your fishing tax! The Court’s Waterways Commission is stationed in Yue Port as of today—order has been restored, and not a single coin of trade or fishing tax will be missed. Pay three years’ back taxes at once!"

The Zhang Fushun and several other fishing boats that had entered earlier were struck as by a bolt from the blue, their faces blanching as they looked toward the dock.

Two tax officers, leading a crowd of enforcers in official uniforms, were searching boats one by one, tallying catches and collecting taxes. As soon as they arrived, tax enforcers rowed over, silently raising their deadly crossbows—no boat dared make a move.

They could only comply, docking one by one at the designated berths, grumbling inwardly:

"What’s going on? Where did these Waterways Commission tax officers come from?"

"Aren’t they all stationed along the Jiulong River? Has the mutual market, run by sea merchants, been taken over by the court?"

"And where’s the Five Peaks Banner’s 'Illusory Tower General'? Just going to stand by and watch?"

The fishermen from the Eastern Sea and Jiulong River felt their legs go weak as they disembarked. Though the news of Prince Jing’s assassination had spread throughout the east, they never imagined the aftermath would reach them so quickly.

The three years of good times had been as fleeting and beautiful as a spring dream.

Bang!

A giant of a man, nearly two meters tall and wearing the enforcer’s uniform, struck the wooden wharf heavily with a black iron staff, the sound echoing thunderously.

"Hurry up! I, Xue Da, can tell how much fish you’ve caught with a single sniff. If you dawdle, that’s resisting tax by force—don’t blame my yaksha staff for showing no mercy!"

Wang Cheng’s brow furrowed deeply.

"If the court truly has taken over Yue Port, things have just become very complicated."