Chapter 867 - Three Mountains Street

The grandeur of Nanjing left an indelible impression on Zhou Dongtian. Lingao was a mere county seat, hardly worth mentioning—but even Guangzhou, where he had once completed an internship, and Hangzhou, which he had visited previously, were both first-rate cities of this era. Neither could compare with the sheer scale of Nanjing's walls.

In the old timeline, Zhou Dongtian had traveled extensively, and Nanjing had been among his destinations. Even then, though the city walls lay in ruins, crumbling and weathered, they had filled him with admiration for the Ming Taizu's iron determination to fortify his capital—a vision he had pursued regardless of expense.

Nanjing's walls had been constructed in perfect harmony with the local terrain. They incorporated earlier Yuan Dynasty fortifications from when the city was called Yingtian Prefecture, while extensively utilizing the surrounding hills as integral elements of the defensive system. In some stretches, the mountains themselves served as foundations. The result was an irregular, organic outline: connected to Zhong Mountain in the east, anchored to Stone Mountain in the west, backed by Xuanwu Lake to the north, and threaded by the Qinhuai River to the south. Following the contours of mountains and embracing the curves of water, the walls possessed an extraordinary presence. Their foundations had been laid with extravagant quantities of granite and limestone blocks, while the outer faces were clad in massive bricks. The mortar binding them together was mixed with lime and glutinous rice paste—sometimes sorghum paste blended with tung oil—making the walls exceptionally solid.

By now, many years had passed without war, and Nanjing's walls and defensive works inevitably showed signs of deterioration. Yet the fortifications remained fundamentally sound. Zhou Dongtian was no soldier, but he knew perfectly well that the Army's current artillery could never breach these walls. Japanese artillery in the 1930s had failed to destroy them; the Fubo Army's smoothbore cannons, far more primitive than anything the Japanese had possessed, stood no chance whatsoever.

"If only the Southern Ming court had resisted with determination," Zhou Dongtian sighed. "The Qing armies could never have taken this city." When the Xiang Army had besieged Tianjing during the Taiping era, twenty thousand exhausted Taiping soldiers had held out for ages behind these very walls. Surely the Southern Ming had been in better shape than the Taiping. What a tragedy that a court exhausted by factional struggle had lost the trust of its own people and the world beyond, ultimately surrendering without a fight.

Mei Lin, meanwhile, was thinking about the Qinhuai River. His dreams of meeting the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai had been temporarily shelved. Before their departure, Zhao Yingong had given him a quick historical primer: one of the Eight Beauties had already passed away, and of the remaining seven, apart from Liu Rushi—born in 1618 and now barely fourteen—the others were genuine children.

"Could you really bring yourself to do it?" Zhao Yingong had asked pointedly. "Even Liu Rushi is too young."

Mei Lin was a modern man, after all. There were certain limits. Still, though the Eight Beauties were off the table for now, he remained eager to visit the Qinhuai River—that famous pleasure quarter of Ming legend, supposedly a gathering place of extraordinary women. What was it really like? He wanted to experience it firsthand. He also wanted to test whether the ancients' aesthetic preferences were truly as peculiar as rumored.

The prosperity of the streets made it difficult to believe this was the dying Great Ming, teetering on the edge of collapse. Though the activities of the Jianlu—the Later Jin—and the roving bandits appeared with increasing frequency in everyday conversation, and disasters struck region after region year after year, news of "lamenting geese everywhere" and "starving corpses lining the roads" circulating constantly. Even the horrifying reports of people "exchanging children to eat," once rarely heard, had become disturbingly common. Everywhere there was word of famine, military defeats, additional levies, and popular uprisings. The nation's situation grew more chaotic by the day. Even in Jiangnan, traditionally quite prosperous, rice prices had climbed to three taels of silver per shi—never in the Ming Dynasty's history had Jiangnan rice been so expensive. Yet none of this seemed to cast even the faintest shadow over this great southern metropolis.

And yet, the careful observer could find many unsettling shadows here too. The crowds speaking in accents from every corner of the empire included not only officials, gentry, and wealthy households, but also growing numbers of refugees and beggars—their presence on the streets had clearly increased and continued multiplying. In winter, the ward patrols within the city were collecting far more "road death" corpses than in previous years. Refugees fleeing famine from all regions, especially from Jiangbei and Anhui, had swelled to such numbers that the human markets outside the city gates were packed with people selling themselves into slavery. As a result, the price of human beings had plummeted.

The senior clerk from Qiwei's Nanjing branch, Cai Yibang, had been accompanying the sedan throughout their journey. Now he called for a halt. Lifting the sedan curtain slightly, he addressed Zhou Dongtian: "Master! Three Mountains Street lies just ahead. Which bookshop would you like to visit?"

Zhou Dongtian hesitated, uncertain how to answer. His purpose here was to survey the local book-carving industry. He had long known that Three Mountains Street was the publishing heart of Jiangnan during the Ming Dynasty, hence his journey. But as for which specific establishment to visit—he had no idea.

After brief consideration, he said, "Let's alight here and walk along the street for a look. Have the sedan bearers wait."

"Yes, Master." Cai Yibang replied. At his commands in the local Nanjing Mandarin, the sedan turned sideways. Zhou Dongtian emerged and stretched his limbs—the sedan bearers certainly had a difficult job, but sitting in a sedan for extended periods was hardly pleasant either. The interior wasn't a sofa, wasn't even a wicker chair. It was a standard hardwood straight-backed seat. The passenger could only sit rigidly upright, unable to shift freely. To onlookers it appeared dignified and comfortable; in truth, prolonged sitting left legs and back equally numb.

Stepping out of the sedan, Zhou Dongtian surveyed the street before him. Three Mountains Street was considerably quieter than the bustling market district they had just traversed. The narrow flagstone lane had few pedestrians, and most were clearly "people of status," predominantly dressed in long robes. The few in short working clothes were servants dispatched by their masters to purchase books.

The moment the two men alighted, they drew the attention of passersby. Compared to those around them, they were quite distinctive: robust builds, dark complexions, and noticeably taller than average.

Mei Lin felt somewhat uncomfortable. He hadn't undergone specialized training at the Intelligence Bureau, having spent only a week in a crash course before departure. The long robe constantly felt ill-fitting, and the hair knot and headcloth seemed perpetually on the verge of falling off. His hands and feet had nowhere natural to go.

Zhou Dongtian managed better. After all, he served in the intelligence community. According to Joint Security Council regulations, intelligence personnel were required to undergo a certain amount of cross-training, and he had studied within the Farm system.

"Let's go," Zhou Dongtian said to Cai Yibang. "Lead the way. We'll simply browse around."

"Yes, Master."

The air carried a delicate fragrance of ink—genuine ink, with the scent of pine soot. Zhou Dongtian had once caught this same fragrance in the rare book vault of a library—the distinctive perfume of fine Song Dynasty block-printed books. Here it was even more intense.

Both sides of Three Mountains Street were lined almost entirely with bookshops, large and small. The largest establishments boasted five jian of storefront; the smallest had only one. But regardless of size, every shop featured remarkably high eaves. Peering in from the street, one could see row upon row of tall bookshelves against the walls, filled with volumes of every description.

Each bookshop displayed its own name and signboard. Most were "comprehensive bookstores" selling all categories of books. Some specialized in particular areas—Buddhist sutras, Daoist texts, and other religious works. Others focused exclusively on weimo: the eight-legged essays, examination poems, and policy essays from successful imperial examination candidates. In old-timeline terms, they specialized in supplementary examination materials. Though people of refined taste looked down upon weimo, the demand created by the imperial examination system was substantial. In both Ming and Qing dynasties, book publishing was typically slow—from manuscript completion to carving and printing took at least three or four years. Only the imperial examination essays were selected, compiled, and carved immediately after each examination ended. This alone revealed how fierce the demand truly was.

Zhou Dongtian knew from Grand Library lectures that these specialized weimo bookshops were almost universally operated by Jiangxi natives. Beyond selecting, compiling, and carving examination essays, their other primary business was facilitating examination fraud—serving as intermediaries between chief examiners and examinees. Except for minor routine examinations and children's tests, they could arrange connections at virtually every level of the imperial system. By the Qing Dynasty, this had become their principal business.

Apart from some shops that only sold books, almost every larger establishment maintained its own carving and printing workshop, storing vast quantities of printing blocks. Such bookshops invariably followed a "shop in front, workshop in back" model. Standing outside the shop, one could hear the sounds of printing workers in the rear courtyard—rubbing, inking, brushing. Sometimes, when the doors between front and back stood open, one could even glimpse the carving and printing workers busily at their craft.

Zhou Dongtian strolled along with keen interest, observing the various establishments. This place somewhat resembled the book markets in old-timeline cultural districts, but without that chaotic clamor. The quiet atmosphere mingled with the faint fragrance of ink and paper, filling him with a sense of pleasure.

But this pleasant mood would not shake his determination to personally destroy Three Mountains Street's printing industry. As long as books were published and printed by traditional methods, they would forever remain cultural luxuries accessible only to a tiny elite. The Elder Council had to smash this system completely. Making knowledge cheap and universal was a necessary condition for all that was to follow.

With such thoughts in mind, he wandered into a bookshop. Mei Lin and Cai Yibang followed him inside.

This establishment wasn't the largest on Three Mountains Street, but its storefront was spacious—three jian wide, tall and bright. The book collection was abundant. Tall shelves covering three walls displayed volumes of every variety: classics, histories, philosophical works, collected writings, examination essays, model compositions, plays, novels, medical texts, painting albums, wine records, tea treatises—truly comprehensive.

The bearing and attire of Zhou Dongtian and Mei Lin marked them as no ordinary customers. The shopkeeper hurried over attentively, inviting them to sit. He instructed his clerk to brew tea and set out a fruit plate, then inquired after their names and native places.

"My surname is Zhou, from Guangdong," said Zhou Dongtian. "Traveling here for study."

"By the look of you, Master Zhou must surely hold examination credentials?" The shopkeeper's deferential expression betrayed a hint of pride. "My humble shop doesn't dare claim to have every book, but on this street, our selection is considered quite complete."

"Zìpù" [字铺]: At the time, residents in the five districts of Nanjing were organized into groups of 100 households under the baojia system, numbered using the Thousand Character Classic. The Military-Civil Mounted Patrol selected chief constables and fire wardens for each ward patrol, responsible for local fire prevention and public order.