In the blink of an eye, ten days had passed, and the New Year arrived. The streets and alleys were adorned with lanterns and decorations, brimming with festive cheer.
In the backyard of the Governor’s Office, Li Shu wore a vibrant red New Year outfit, her hair adorned with dazzling jewels, radiating beauty. She cradled a chubby little girl, also dressed in a red New Year outfit, with sparse hair tied into a tiny braid adorned with a small red bow. The little girl was full of energy, flailing her arms and legs, the golden bells on her wrists and ankles jingling nonstop.
Beside Li Shu, Hua’er wore a pink New Year outfit, holding a chubby boy in a red New Year outfit. Though not as plump as the girl, the boy was still round and cuddly, content to be held, his dark, ink-like eyes curiously observing his surroundings with an innocent, lovable expression.
“Happy New Year, my precious Changyue, Changle,” Zhu Ping’an said, dressed in festive New Year attire. He leaned in to kiss the daughter in Li Shu’s arms, then the son in Hua’er’s arms.
Zhu Changyue.
Zhu Changle.
These were the names Zhu Ping’an had given his two children, chosen before the Ten Households Plaque and Mutual Responsibility Law was enacted.
Naming the twins had been no small feat for Zhu Ping’an. He’d thought that with his modern education and years of studying the Four Books and Five Classics in the Ming Dynasty, naming his children would be a breeze. But when it came time to actually do it, he realized he’d underestimated the task.
Naming children was complex. The names had to sound pleasant and be easy to say, while also aligning with the children’s birth charts, the five elements, and carrying auspicious meanings.
And, of course, there was the matter of generational naming.
In this era, clan genealogies were taken far more seriously than in modern times. Names had to follow the clan’s generational character sequence, passed down through generations, or the clan wouldn’t recognize them. The Zhu family had its own genealogy: Zhu Ping’an’s father’s generation used the character “Shou” (守), Zhu Ping’an’s generation used “Ping” (平), and the next generation’s character was “Chang” (长).
Since the twins’ birth, Zhu Ping’an had nearly worn out his copies of the Four Books, Five Classics, and Songs of Chu, pondering names in every spare moment. He finally settled on names for his children on the day the Ten Households Law was implemented.
**Zhu Changyue.**
The name “Yue” was chosen for two reasons. First, the twins were born in Shaoxing, and “Yue” is the historical abbreviation for Shaoxing, once called Yue Prefecture. The ancient state of Yue was centered around this region, one of the Spring and Autumn Period’s prominent states.
Second, “Yue” carries the meaning of “surpassing” or “crossing over.” The name “Changyue” embodied Zhu Ping’an’s hopes for his eldest son: to grow and surpass, to continually improve and excel.
Boys, after all, were expected to shoulder responsibilities.
**Zhu Changle.**
For his daughter, Zhu Ping’an chose “Changle” for its heartfelt meaning: “long-lasting happiness.” He wished for his precious daughter to grow up joyful, always happy, and to live a life of enduring bliss. Additionally, his little girl was a bundle of joy, always eating and laughing, radiating happiness every day.
Thus, Zhu Ping’an named his daughter Zhu Changle, hoping she would live a life of joy and contentment.
Girls, he thought, should simply be happy forever.
That was the story behind the twins’ names.
Little sister Changle was very cooperative, squealing with excitement after Zhu Ping’an’s kiss, stretching out her arms for him to hold her, babbling happily.
Big brother Changyue, on the other hand, seemed a bit grumpy. After being kissed, he waved his little hand as if shooing Zhu Ping’an away.
Zhu Ping’an and his family went to pay New Year’s respects to his father-in-law. Li Shu, Changyue, and Changle each received red envelopes with lucky money.
Zhu Ping’an looked hopeful, thinking he might get one too, but all he received was a nod from his father-in-law and a “well done.”
Li Shu, seeing Zhu Ping’an’s disappointed expression, covered her mouth and giggled.
After paying respects to his father-in-law and two brothers-in-law, Zhu Ping’an headed to the front office to receive New Year’s greetings from his subordinate officials.
“My lords, the Department Head specifically instructed that you may come to pay respects, but no gifts are allowed. If you insist, the Department Head said to send you back where you came from, gifts and all,” announced the gatekeeper of the Governor’s Office, an old servant brought by Li Shu, who strictly enforced Zhu Ping’an’s no-gift policy.
All morning, Zhu Ping’an’s face nearly froze from smiling as he welcomed wave after wave of officials offering New Year’s greetings.
“How is the implementation of the Ten Households Plaque and Mutual Responsibility Law going? Since its enforcement, how many reports have been received? How many have been verified? How many suspected pirate collaborators have been dealt with, and how many confirmed? Have the rewards for initial reports been fully distributed?”
With each visiting official, after exchanging New Year’s pleasantries, Zhu Ping’an diligently inquired about the implementation of the Ten Households Law in their jurisdictions.
The law had proven highly effective. In less than ten days, hundreds of reports had been received.
Over a hundred individuals had been investigated and confirmed as pirate collaborators, with dozens of mutual responsibility units punished under the law’s collective responsibility clause.
To prevent wrongful accusations, Zhu Ping’an ordered dual verification by two levels of government. Once collaboration was confirmed, the implicated individuals were detained in jail.
Further handling was centralized under the Governor’s Office, which strictly applied the *Great Ming Code* and other laws to determine punishments.
Overall, the Ten Households Law had shown remarkable results in its early stages, and Zhu Ping’an believed its effectiveness would only grow with continued enforcement.
However, a problem had emerged: all reported cases so far involved ordinary commoners, with no gentry or officials among them.
This was likely because the law was still new, and the public remained cautious. Zhu Ping’an was confident that as rewards and punishments were consistently applied, this hesitation would fade. Catching a few high-profile cases would show the public that *anyone* colluding with pirates—regardless of status—would face punishment, and any unit failing to report would be penalized, with no exceptions.
This would make it clear to the people that, for their own and their families’ sake, compliance with the Ten Households Law was non-negotiable.
While families celebrated the Lunar New Year, in the pirate stronghold of Tuolin, the Japanese pirates were also in high spirits, decorating and reveling in the festive season.
“Boys, Happy New Year! The bosses say today we eat well, drink well, and have a great time. Tomorrow, we’re going to pay our ‘New Year’s visits’ to the locals!” a pirate leader announced.
“Hahaha, we can’t go empty-handed, can we? Bring your gear—swords, spears, clubs, axes, hooks, and don’t forget the muskets. While they’re all gathered for the holiday, we’ll pay them a visit.”
“We’ll bring our ‘gifts’ to their doors. The locals can’t let us leave empty-handed, right? Their daughters, wives, chickens, ducks, pigs, sheep, gold, silver, and valuables—we’ll take it all.”
“And in the end, it’s the New Year, a time for reunions. We’ll send them to reunite with their ancestors and set off a grand ‘firework’ by burning their houses to the ground!”
The pirate leaders rallied their men, urging them to feast and drink heartily, preparing for tomorrow’s raid to exploit the villagers’ holiday gatherings and plunder to their hearts’ content.
