Orthodox Era

In the forty year of Zhaoxian's reign, spring. Thirty-seven new graves were added to the mass graves outside Guyuan City. Li Shitou, a small flagman from the border army, squatted by the grave and ate cold cornbread. He served as a soldier for twelve years, with a monthly salary of eight dollars. He sent 300 yuan back to Pingliang. The letter home from the trustee only said: The salary was paid on time. Commander-in-Chief Gu Changyan took the blunderbuss in his hand, looked at it again, and asked if it had been blasted. Li Shitou said not yet. Gu Changyan handed the gun back: It will explode. There are 32,164 people on the dianmao list, and 18,762 are standing in the snow. The Ming Dynasty, which lasted for more than two hundred years, is still huge, but it has become increasingly difficult to promote. This year, the old emperor came to the end of his life, and the new emperor took over. In the court hall, there were people clearing land and tracking military pay, walking step by step between the old system and people's hearts; under the side wall, there were people holding twelve-year-old guns, waiting for a paycheck that they didn't know when they would be delivered; in the workshops, there were also people guarding the fire, trying over and over again those roads that no one had ever walked before. No one knows whether what they did can save a dynasty. No one knows who will own these mountains and rivers a hundred years from now. Dynasties rise and fall, mountains and rivers rise and fall. But there is always something that needs to be passed on.