Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

Chapter 117 Misinterpreting the Astrological Prophecy

The north wind swept in yellow sand and rushed into the hall.

Inside the hall, the air seemed to freeze, with only the sound of the map on the table being blown around and turned over.

In this suffocating stalemate,

Zhu Cilang walked calmly toward Wang Keli, with Lieutenant General Wang Jing and Captain Zhang Wu staying close by.

Zhu Cilang bowed deeply, his long sleeves flowing like clouds as he gathered his sleeves; his voice was clear and melodious.

"I have long heard that Scholar Wang is proficient in astronomy and divination. May I ask if the celestial phenomena at Tongguan indicate any unusual signs of good or bad fortune?"

Wang Keli's folding fan hovered in mid-air, and his movement froze.

A draft swept across his tense jawline, making the cold smile on his lips even more piercing.

"Young master, you seem quite unfamiliar?"

"Zhu Kunyao, Imperial Academy of Southern Capital".

Zhu Cilang straightened up, his sleeves fluttering slightly with the movement.

"My father once studied the Chongzhen Calendar with Mr. Wen Zhenmeng."

Wang Keli narrowed his eyes slightly and subconsciously held the folding fan horizontally in front of his chest, the fan ribs slightly open, implying wariness.

Zhu Cilang spoke at a measured pace and continued:

"Last year, a comet swept across Wenchang, this spring a white rainbow pierced the sun, and in July, five planets moved in different directions and gathered in the constellation Jing—Does Scholar Wang know these omens?"

Wang Keli unfolded his folding fan with a "whoosh," revealing a majestic and flowing diagram of the Twenty-Eight Mansions on its surface. He laughed proudly:

"The well's location corresponds to the Qin region of Yongzhou, precisely where Mizhi, the cradle of our Great Shun dynasty, lies. This is a divine blessing upon Great Shun!"

"No!"

Zhu Cilang categorically denied it, and suddenly swept his right sleeve towards the northeastern void.

"Scholar Wang, you only see the Jing constellation shining brightly, but have you seen the Ziwei Emperor star teetering on the verge of collapse, its brilliance completely lost?"

"This is a sign of the collapse of the Han Dynasty's two-hundred-year reign!"

"Wonderful! Wonderful!"

Wang Keli stroked his beard and laughed, folding his fan as if to tap Zhu Cilang's shoulder, but was blocked by Zhang Wu's iron wrist guard.

"When the heavens change their handle, the earth will naturally change its ruler."

"This is a change of era by the Mandate of Heaven; the fate of the Ming Dynasty has run its course. This is precisely a great act of conforming to the Mandate of Heaven."

A sharp glint flashed in Zhu Cilang's eyes, his gaze as deep as an abyss:

"Scholar Wang misinterpreted the astrological prophecy."

"The student is saying—it's a sign of the Han Dynasty's two-hundred-year reign crumbling!"

He suddenly looked up, gazing into the depths of the caisson ceiling.

"The Ming Dynasty may perish, but this ominous sign of the severing of its cultural heritage—"

His voice suddenly froze, and in a daze, he saw the pine trees on Coal Hill.

He paused briefly, then spoke again:

"Scholar Wang, have you noticed... that after the imperial star fell in the third month of the Jia-Shen year, why have the three stars of the Big Dipper remained suspended to this day?"

Wang Keli's folding fan snapped shut, the Twenty-Eight Mansions constellation distorted under the pressure of the fan ribs:

"You brat! How dare you speak ill of celestial phenomena?"

Zhu Cilang not only did not retreat, but instead took a step closer, his momentum suddenly increasing:

"The Jianlu changed its name to Qing in the year of Dingchou, and its power corresponded to the Xuanwu constellation in the north."

He grabbed Wang Keli's fan ribs.

"Dorgon, carrying the Imperial Seal, drank from the Yellow River—Scholar Wang believes that the Big Dipper's lingering presence is truly awaiting the arrival of your Great Shun's black dragon banner?"

Wang Keli shouted angrily, pulled back his folding fan, and his face darkened:

"How can a mere child know the will of Heaven?"

He pointed his folding fan towards the northwest.

"Our Great Shun Dynasty is in accordance with Heaven and the people; how can it be shaken by the covetous eyes of barbarians!"

"good!"

Zhu Cilang turned to face the lattice window, the sunlight casting a long, slender shadow.

"Scholar Wang, have you heard the sound of the Yellow River ice cracking? The Han people, in their traditional attire, must ultimately unite to defend the nation."

Almost at the same time Zhu Cilang finished speaking, a loud "crack" suddenly came from the left.

The square-faced military officer known as General Hui could no longer bear it and slammed his palm down, shattering the wine cup in front of him.

Porcelain shards flew everywhere, and the soldiers behind Hao Xiaozhong instinctively shrank back to avoid them.

Wang Keli pressed his folding fan against his cheekbone, glanced at the fragments, then looked at Zhu Cilang, and said disdainfully:

"What Han Chinese attire, what joint defense of the nation, are nothing but empty words."

His words were sarcastic.

"When Zhao Kuangyin donned the yellow robe, did he ever discuss clothing and etiquette with the orphan of the Chai family?"

Zhu Cilang confronts Wang Keli directly:

"Does Scholar Wang know of the Yongjia Rebellion, in which scholars fled south with their official records; does he know of the Jingkang Incident, in which Zhu Bian refused to change his clothing to the barbarians for seventeen years, ultimately returning to his homeland with unwavering loyalty?"

A few strands of hair fell down, obscuring his reddened eyes.

"What is wrapped in this attire is propriety, righteousness, integrity, and a sense of shame; it is the common people!"

Wang Keli sneered and retorted without backing down:

"How many remnants of the Shang dynasty were executed when the Duke of Zhou established the rites? How many 'heretics' were burned when the Yongle Emperor revised the classics?"

"So-called fine clothes are nothing more than the shrouds of the victors!"

"The bones washed up by the Yellow River today, aren't they all descendants of the 'Chinese people' who wore their hair tied up and their robes fastened on the right?"

In the shadow of the pillars, a muffled laugh escaped the throat of the stout military officer from Da Shun:

"Scholar Wang, don't bother arguing with this brat about formalities!"

Zhu Cilang suddenly turned to the side, and the sunlight instantly gilded the edges of his moon-white robe:

"Didn't Scholar Wang see the 100,000 soldiers and civilians at Yaishan who carried the emperor into the sea? Didn't he see Wen Tianxiang, his prison clothes stained with blood, bowing south and dying?"

"Clothing and adornment are not merely cloth and silk; they are the very soul of the Chinese nation!"

His voice suddenly rose, like a phoenix crying in the heavens.

"Even Confucius held a wild goose as a sign of respect when he met Laozi, yet you all today intend to destroy this thousand-year-old tradition?"

Wang Keli suddenly questioned in a stern voice:

"Does this brat even know that the granaries of the Prince of Fu's mansion in Luoyang can feed a million starving people?"

"Emperor Chongzhen would rather watch his subjects exchange children to eat than let the Zhu family seize the throne."

"Is this state truly the state of all the people, or the state of the Zhu family?"

Zhu Cilang remained silent for three breaths.

Strands of his untied hair clung to his sweaty forehead.

He suddenly laughed, a desolate laugh:

"When Emperor Chongzhen hanged himself with a white silk ribbon at Coal Hill, didn't he tie the weight of the Nine Tripods to a single belt?"

"If the nation is merely the private property of the Zhu family, why sever it all and sacrifice the land with blood?"

A sudden gust of wind blew up outside the window, tearing the window paper with a loud rustling sound.

Zhu Cilang's moon-white scholar's robe fluttered like a flag.

"Does Scholar Wang say that the victors write history?"

"Sima Qian wrote the Records of the Grand Historian after suffering castration, and Wen Tianxiang wrote the Ode to Righteousness while in prison. Which of these words, written in blood and tears, is merely a whitewash by the victors?"

He took a step forward, his voice suddenly becoming deep and resonant, each word ringing with conviction:

"Clothes stained with dust can be washed away, but the severance of the Way will lead to eternal decay!"

Wang Keli's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes looking down with disdain as if surveying dust, the folding fan in his hand frozen in mid-air, hanging motionless.

Zhu Cilang's pupils suddenly contracted. Although his face remained calm, a thunderous aura seemed to surge deep within his eyes.

On the surface, he discussed astrology to predict good or bad fortune, but in reality, he was testing Wang Keli.

At this moment, he had already seen through the other party's true colors beneath their pretense: if China were to fall, you would all be sinners for all time.

It was as if an invisible weapon suddenly pierced through the air and struck Wang Keli in his heart.

In an instant, the hall fell into an eerie silence, with only the rustling sound of wind and sand hitting the window paper.

"Commander Hao! This humble general would rather die than suffer dishonor!"

A suppressed roar erupted from the silence.

The military officer, known as General Hui, stared intently at Hao Xiaozhong, his eyes blazing with fury and his chest heaving violently.

Hao Xiaozhong seemed not to hear, not even lifting his eyelids. He completely ignored the fiery-looking General Hui behind him, clearly having already made his decision.

He turned and walked to the center of the lobby, stopping in front of Zhang Youyu:

"Does Minister Zhang know how hunters in Liaodong train eagles?"

He suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question, but then calmly answered it himself.

"First temper its wildness, then bind its feet—"