The Fall of the Ming Dynasty

Ming Yi gazed at her intensely, asking in a deep voice, “How can you be so sure that the Ming Dynasty will fall?”

Wei Lan was slightly taken aback but quickly replied, “I just know. Aren’t you able to predict the future? Can you calculate the fate of the Ming Dynasty?”

Ming Yi felt a moment of internal struggle. The secret passed down through the Liu family for generations was not something he should easily reveal. However, if he didn’t speak, how could he blame Wei Lan for concealing it? After a moment of deliberation, he slowly said, “I have calculated it. The Ming Dynasty is likely to fall in the seventeenth year of Chongzhen. The last emperor will die, and the nation will perish. Foreign invaders will slaughter the Han people, and from then on, the Han people will be reduced to the lower class, until the next dynasty rises.”

Upon hearing this, Wei Lan’s heart trembled violently, and her pulse raced: “You… you… you come from the future?”

Ming Yi frowned, confused, “What do you mean?”

Wei Lan took a deep breath: “The seventeenth year of Chongzhen? That’s only four years away!”

Ming Yi smiled, looking at Wei Lan’s wide-eyed expression. He chuckled, “I was just joking. You believe that? The I Ching is mysterious, but it’s just a method of prediction. The results are merely for reference. There’s no need to take it seriously.”

Wei Lan, however, felt puzzled. How could he know more about this than she did? He couldn’t possibly be a time traveler too, could he? She hastily asked, “Did you really calculate this using the I Ching?”

“Of course.” Ming Yi nodded. “Now, tell me your birth date, and I’ll calculate yours for you.”

Wei Lan grew more curious. Why was he so insistent on asking about her birth date? She replied, “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but I truly don’t know.”

Seeing Ming Yi’s face darken slightly, Wei Lan quickly raised three fingers: “Don’t be angry, I swear to heaven, I really don’t know the birth date of Gong Yunrong!” As the words left her mouth, she realized she had misspoken, and her face turned slightly red.

“Who is Gong Yunrong?” Ming Yi asked.

“It was my former name. I just remembered it,” Wei Lan muttered.

“Then what about ‘Wei Lan’?” Liu Ming Yi seemed unwilling to let it go, continuing his questioning.

“It’s a name I came up with casually, haha.” Wei Lan laughed awkwardly but then became serious. “Ming Yi, if the Ming Dynasty really falls in the seventeenth year of Chongzhen, what should we do?”

Ming Yi paused for a moment, then replied calmly, “The changes of the times follow their own laws. Life and death are all determined by fate. We can only go with the flow.”

The next morning, thinking that there were only four years left, Wei Lan suddenly wanted to see the city that was about to fall. She wandered through the familiar streets. Today, Changsha City seemed very different from before. The air was filled with a sense of vitality and hope that had been absent for a long time.

The morning mist had not yet cleared, but the sound of hammers pounding wooden stakes could already be heard, echoing through the streets.

On both sides of the street, construction sites were bustling with activity. The workers were no longer slacking off or being lazy as they used to. They worked energetically, their efforts in full swing. Wood and stone materials were piled high like mountains, and there were twice as many workers as the day before! The sounds of hammers striking wooden planks and stonecutters chiseling the stones mixed together, creating a lively symphony of reconstruction.

She stopped in front of a collapsed teahouse, where three shirtless workers were hoisting freshly cut cedar beams onto a mud wall. Sweat rolled down their darkened backs, and wood shavings glistened like tiny gold flakes in the morning sun. She heard someone whisper, “Prince Ji sent people to repair this. He said he wants to help the city’s commerce thrive again.” The voice was full of surprise and gratitude.

“Make way!” A shout interrupted her thoughts. Two porters, carrying bundles of tiles tied with hemp rope, jogged past her. Wei Lan stepped aside, but her attention was drawn to a pile of blue bricks on the roadside. Each brick bore a bright red stamp reading “Made by Ji Wangfu.”

Wei Lan turned the corner and soon arrived at the City God Temple. In front of the temple, twenty iron pots were neatly arranged in two rows, steaming with heat. The workers, wearing indigo short sleeves, were busy pouring rice into the boiling water, and the steam rose in the air, spreading a faint aroma of rice.

Next to each pot was a wooden sign with the freshly written characters: “Relief Grain.”

At this moment, dozens of disaster victims were lined up in an orderly fashion to receive the grain. In the past, the crowd at the old Tang restaurant was always chaotic and noisy, but now it was much quieter.

People’s faces were no longer clouded with sorrow; instead, there was a renewed sense of hope and confidence for the future. Wei Lan overheard some people talking as they passed by: “This is all thanks to the grain storage of Prince Ji. It truly is a lifesaver!”

“Long live Prince Ji!” Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the crowd. Wei Lan looked over and saw several yamen runners unloading sacks of rice from an ox cart. Snow-white rice grains spilled from the sacks, spreading like a galaxy of stars across the stone pavement.

“Be careful!” A sharp voice rang out, and Wei Lan was yanked back a step. A thick, heavy wooden beam brushed past her nose, creating a gust of wind. She turned in shock, only to see six porters shouting as they carried heavy timber southward through the streets. Their ropes, soaked with sweat, left deep red marks on their shoulders, but no one complained; they just kept moving forward.

Wei Lan followed the timber’s direction, turned another corner, and suddenly found herself in an open space. A week ago, this area had been crowded with the shelters of disaster victims, but now there was no trace of them. Instead, a tall, green brick wall foundation stood in front of her. She was stunned, filled with confusion.

“What is this going to be?” Wei Lan asked a passing vendor. The vendor shifted the load on his shoulder, a basket of freshly steamed buns steaming with white mist. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he answered, “The Ji Wangfu said they want to build a medical school here. They’re going to invite eighty doctors to take care of people!”

The sound of tamping soil grew intense, like raindrops. Wei Lan looked up to see about twenty workers busy laying the foundation. She squeezed through the crowd and saw that the supervisor’s blueprint was fluttering in the wind. The ink lines outlined the shape of a pavilion with flying eaves. On the blank space of the blueprint were the neatly written characters: “Hui Min Medical School.”

Wei Lan’s heart skipped a beat as she stared at the characters, as though they had some magical power. She muttered to herself, “Hui Min Medical School…”

Wei Lan was filled with questions. Didn’t Prince Ji agree to build a school and promote rice cultivation? Why was he suddenly so active in disaster relief and reconstruction? Now, he was even taking the initiative to build a medical school? She couldn’t help but lean in and ask, “Brother, is this really the school Prince Ji is building?”

The worker turned back and smiled warmly, “Of course! Prince Ji said he wants the people of Changsha to be able to see a doctor. This school will teach the doctors how to save people!”

Wei Lan stood there stunned, her mind swirling. Prince Ji’s actions were truly unexpected. Could it be that he also sensed the impending fall of the Ming Dynasty?

Just then, an old man tapped her on the shoulder and smiled, “Miss, Prince Ji is doing good deeds! Just look around. Everywhere they are rebuilding houses, distributing food, and giving hope to the common people again!”

Wei Lan nodded, leaving the crowd and continuing her walk. Along the way, she saw busy figures and joyful faces. The street vendors were setting up their stalls again, and the sounds of their calls filled the air. Children chased each other in open spaces, their laughter ringing sweetly.

It seemed that, overnight, Changsha City had regained its former vitality.

When Wei Lan rushed into the courtyard, Liu Ming Yi was standing in front of the medicine cabinet, weighing licorice with a brass scale. He looked up and saw Wei Lan’s flushed face, supporting herself against the doorframe, panting with excitement. Her voice was filled with barely contained enthusiasm: “Hui Min Medical School! Prince Ji is building the Hui Min Medical School!”

The licorice in the scale trembled slightly, shedding a couple of fragments. Liu Ming Yi tightened his grip on the brass scale, asking in a deep voice, “Did you promise him?”

“I didn’t!” Wei Lan quickly walked to the tea table, grabbed half a cup of cold tea, and drank it in one gulp. Wiping her mouth, she said, “No matter the reason, it’s still a good thing.”

“Looks like the promotion of rice cultivation is also advancing,” Liu Ming Yi said as he picked up a fragment of licorice with bamboo tweezers. The scent of medicine lingered on his fingers. He noticed that Wei Lan’s eyes instantly brightened.

“I’m going to the fields right now!” Wei Lan grabbed her hat and was about to rush out.

“You’re so impatient,” Liu Ming Yi gently blocked her path with the scale rod. Slowly, he said, “Do you know which field to go to? Who will you ask? In the end, won’t you still have to go see…”

He stopped short, his throat tightening slightly. He had an uneasy look in his eyes. The yellow powder from the medicinal grinder lingered in the air with a bitter scent.

“Naturally, I’ll go ask Prince Ji,” Wei Lan replied matter-of-factly.

Liu Ming Yi’s fingers unconsciously brushed against the edge of the medicine cabinet. He knew this was a good thing, but when he thought about Wei Lan going to seek out Prince Ji, he felt an odd discomfort in his heart. He suppressed this feeling, telling himself not to be so narrow-minded.

“Grandfather,” he silently muttered, “I have a girl by my side now. Her past is unclear, and her fate is inscrutable. Will she… make it?”