Great Ming: In the End, I Couldn't Save Empress Ma

On Zhuque Street outside Yingtian Prefecture, in the summer of the fourteenth year of Hongwu's reign, the cicadas' chirping tore through the sweltering air. Hong Wen tiptoed to hang the plaque of "Forget-Worries Pavilion" upright. Sweat dripped from the hemp rope onto the camphor wood, spreading into dark brown spots. The stench of rotting fish wafted from the direction of the East Market, mingling with the dust kicked up by carriages on the official road, sticking to his skin like a layer of paste. "This damned dynasty," he muttered, tearing open the stiff, coarse cloth collar of his coat, his neck burning with pain. Three days ago, he was still mixing antibiotics in the laboratory; now, he opened his eyes to find himself the owner of a dilapidated tavern, fifteen strings of cash in debt—pawn tickets lay in the counter drawer, even the copper cauldron used for brewing wine had been pawned.