Daming: Brother, there is no future for monks, let's rebel

“Let them hang it themselves.” Zhu Han sat on the steps, his hand resting on his chin. “I’ll write three words: ‘Voluntary Hanging’.”

"Volunteer?"

“Yes.” Zhu Han smiled. “The door opens from the inside, and the hanging is also hung from the inside. Whoever is willing to hang it will have a stable business; whoever doesn’t hang it, no one will force them at knifepoint.”

"Will Shadow Division use this to his advantage?"

“Let him borrow it.” Zhu Han stood up. “The more he borrows, the brighter the light will be.”

“Uncle,” Zhu Biao suddenly lowered his voice, “I’ve thought of something.”

"explain."

"Imprinted in the heart, promised under the feet."

"Okay." Zhu Han nodded. "Go write it on the bridge tomorrow."

"Write it a little crooked?"

"Just tilt it a little, leave the rest to the wind."

In the latter half of the night, the old locust tree in Tu'an, on the northern outskirts of the city, rustled again.

No one knows who went there, but it is known that a piece of paper with the word "Zhen" (真, meaning genuine) has appeared at the entrance of the temple. It is crookedly written, and next to it is a line written in small characters: "Go back to see the lanterns."

At dawn, the moment the gates of Chengtian City opened, the wind pushed in from the foot of the mountain, making the paper "zhen" clang like gentle drumbeats.

“Your Highness,” Shen Lu said, standing beside the city gate, “the Shadow Division changed their tactics again last night.”

"Hmm." Zhu Han said with his hands behind his back, "Let him change it. We're not changing it."

"What don't you want to change?"

"I won't change the lights, I won't change the smiles, I won't change the 'truth'."

“Let’s go,” he said to Zhu Biao, “to write down your sentence.”

The two descended the city wall and walked forward on the bluestone.

The children laughed and gathered around, some holding sugar figurines, some clutching a string of "real" sugar candies, and one gently tugged at his sleeve: "Your Highness, is there another story today?"

“Yes.” Zhu Han nodded. “The story is called—'We are all under the lamp.'”

The children burst into laughter and ran after them.

That morning, he climbed the Chengtian City Tower and looked out. He saw that the sky in the southeast corner was turning white, and a wisp of smoke seemed to be shooting straight into the sky.

Shen Lu stepped forward quickly: "Your Highness, that's a warehouse in the suburbs—someone set it on fire last night."

Zhu Han's brow twitched slightly: "Is the fire out?"

"The attack occurred in less than half an hour, but nearly 30% of the newly harvested grain in the granary was destroyed."

"Where are the casualties?"

“Three servants were trapped. Two were rescued, but the remaining one…” Shen Lu paused, “was found already charred.”

Zhu Han was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Prepare the horses."

The ground outside the granary was charred black, the smell of burnt beans and wheat mixed with the earthy stench. Zhao Desheng led his men to examine the remains, their sleeves turning yellow from the charring.

“Your Highness, this man didn’t struggle much before he died.” Zhao Desheng squatted down. “It doesn’t seem like he was burned to death.”

“He died in the fire.” Zhu Han’s voice was calm. “Judging from his throat, it looks like he was strangled.”

He raised his hand and brushed aside the ashes beneath the charred body, revealing a copper button that gleamed faintly. It was a small waist tag engraved with the three characters "Market Management Office".

Zhu Biao's expression darkened: "They are our people."

Zhu Han took the waist token and rubbed it with his fingertips: "The one sent to guard the warehouse, his surname is He?"

Shen Lu examined the bamboo slips: "He Shou was ordered three days ago to supervise the entry and exit of grain and cloth."

"Investigate his home." Zhu Han put away his waist tag. "Start investigating from the moment he leaves the house."

Raindrops fell, landing on the ashes and turning into white mist.

He Shou's house was in an old alley in the south of the city. The gate was half-closed, and there were still lingering incense ash outside. Zhu Biao pushed the gate open and went inside. The house was quiet, and the cooking smoke had gone cold.

On the stone table in the corner of the courtyard, there was an oil lamp, its wick burned out, leaving only half an ashes.

Zhu Han picked up the lamp and smelled it: "It smells like hemp."

"What is he writing?" Zhao Desheng pointed to the side of the desk.

Zhu Biao unfolded a tattered piece of paper, on which were hastily written: "On the night of the fire, there was... a person behind the lamp in the granary—"

The second half of the sentence was burned.

Zhu Han's eyes darkened: "It's 'the one behind the lights' again."

Shen Lu said, "Your Highness, before the fire broke out last night, a merchant was loitering outside and was driven away by the patrol soldiers."

"Investigate him."

In the afternoon, the East Market was bustling with noise. The vendor, dressed in a gray shirt, was brought to the market entrance, looking bewildered.

"What were you doing in Cangqian last night?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Your Highness, I... am bringing you hemp rope."

"To whom?"

"Inspector He."

When was it sent?

"In the dead of night."

Shen Lu said coldly, "Third of the night? The warehouse door is locked long ago, how did you get in?"

The vendor stammered, "The person with the key...come and collect it."

"Who?"

"I couldn't see clearly, only a corner of a purple robe."

Purple robe.

Zhu Han's gaze shifted slightly: "In the official system of Chengtian Prefecture, only officials of the third rank and above wear purple robes."

Shen Lu's expression was solemn: "The Market Regulation Bureau has no such regulation."

“So—it’s someone from the outer office,” Zhu Han said slowly.

As night deepened, the main hall of the government office was deserted, with only the flickering lamplight under the eaves. Zhu Han led Shen Lu and Zhao Desheng to sneak into the backyard.

Inside the seal storage room, the seal molds were neatly arranged, untouched by dust. Zhu Han took down the wooden box at the bottom, opened it, and found it empty.

“We’re missing a mold,” Shen Lu said in a low voice. “It’s the ‘warehouse mold’.”

Zhu Han sighed, "Just as I expected."

He raised his hand and closed the box lid, his expression calm: "From the fire to the counterfeit seal, only one night passed. Someone used the fire to burn the seal and destroy the evidence."

Zhao Desheng gritted his teeth: "That He Shou... was made a scapegoat!"

“Yes.” Zhu Han’s gaze darkened. “But there are still people who want to use his death to incite unrest among the people.”

"Stir up trouble?" Zhu Biao frowned. "The people are at peace now, why stir up trouble again?"

“Because we’ve written too much ‘truth’,” Zhu Han said softly. “The more we write, the more restless the shadows become.”

The next day, rumors circulated in the city: "The fire in the granary was not a natural disaster, but a plot by the officials."

Someone secretly posted a note that read: "The granary was destroyed in the night, and the seal was lost in the fire. Does the Prince's Mansion bear no responsibility?"

Shopkeeper Gu glanced at it from the shop entrance, frowned, and tore it off.

"Who put this up?" he asked.

The boy shook his head: "In the darkness, a man wearing a straw hat."

"It's him again," Manager Gu cursed. "These people don't even spare the innocence of the dead." As he spoke, he threw the note into the fire, watching the flames slowly devour the words.

At this moment, Zhu Biao passed by, saw this scene, and stopped.

"Shopkeeper, do the people believe it?"

Shopkeeper Gu sighed, "Some believe, some don't. Those who believe are mostly afraid, afraid that the fire will start again in the night."

Zhu Biao smiled: "Then let them not be afraid."

That night, Zhu Han ordered a high platform to be erected in the center of the city. The platform was filled with oil lamps, each engraved with the character "真" (zhen, meaning truth).

As the wind rises, the lamps sway, their light forming a continuous golden wave.

Zhu Han stood on the platform and proclaimed loudly, "The granary was destroyed by fire, and the fire originated from thieves! If the Prince's Mansion is ruined, I am willing to bear all the blame!"

The crowd fell silent. Zhu Han raised a lamp: "This is He Shou's lamp—"

He placed the lamp in the center of the platform and turned it on.

"He died innocently. He died upholding the truth." The lamplight reflected on everyone's faces, their eyes filled with tears.

Zhu Biao took the other lamp and said loudly, "The people are innocent, but the granary casts a shadow. Today, the lamplight illuminates the true shadow!"

"The true 'shadow' is revealed!" the crowd echoed in unison.

The lights spread out with the wind, extending from the stage to the streets and alleys. Some people spontaneously carried lanterns, while others knelt down to pray.

That night, the liveliest place in town was the night market. Located on West Street, the market was packed with vendors selling incense, toys, and cakes. Oil sizzled in the pans, and the aroma of sugar figurines wafted on the breeze.

Laughter, hawking, and the sounds of stringed instruments mingled together, like a flowing river.

Zhu Biao followed his uncle through the crowd. He had changed into civilian clothes, with a copper bell hanging from his waist, and walked under the lamplight.

"Uncle, the people are mostly at peace now. But..."

“It’s just that you’re afraid of peace lasting too long.” Zhu Han’s eyes lifted slightly. “If peace lasts too long, people will forget what ‘chaos’ tastes like.”

"The leads regarding the Shadow Division have not yet been thoroughly investigated."

"They are hiding in the city. The night market is brightly lit; if they want to make a move, they will make one tonight."

Zhu Biao nodded: "I understand."

They had just passed the incense and candle stall when a commotion suddenly broke out ahead.

In the noisy area was a street performer, dressed in a light blue long robe, with a pale face, and holding a zither in his arms.

He sang an old song: "The moon shines on the cold river, the traveler has not returned; a thousand lamps enter my dream, illuminating the lonely pass." His voice was extremely soft, as if it came from underwater.

The crowd was drawn by the singing and stopped to watch. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew by, and the string on the man's zither snapped with a "ding," the end of the string curling back towards his wrist and leaving a bloody mark.

The crowd gasped in surprise. The performer lowered his head and smiled, as if he felt no pain, and simply lifted the broken string, slowly wrapping it around his fingers.

Zhu Han watched this scene, his eyes flashing. "Shen Lu," he said in a low voice, "this string is not silk, it's iron wire."

"Scatter!" Zhu Han shouted.

Zhao Desheng pounced first and pinned the man to the ground.

The man struggled a few times, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he still smiled: "Your Highness... the light is too bright."

Before he could finish speaking, his neck twisted to the side, and he died.

“He’s dead.” Zhao Desheng gritted his teeth. “His tongue was bitten off.”

Zhu Han squatted down, pulled aside the deceased's sleeve, and saw a very faint character tattooed on his wrist—"Yin".

"Launch?" Zhu Biao frowned.

“The ignition, the fuse, the draw,” Zhu Han murmured. “He is the ‘fuse’.”

Shen Lu examined the corpse and pulled out a thin copper piece from the bottom of the coffin. It was inscribed with the words: "Fire breaks out in the granary, lamps go out in the city."

"They're going to burn down the night market." Shen Lu's expression changed.

Zhu Han stood up and looked at the streetlights: "No, they want to burn—people's hearts."

News of the actor's death spread extremely quickly. Half an hour later, everyone in West Street had heard that someone had "died before the prince's eyes."

As night market vendors began packing up, some whispered among themselves, "Is this divine retribution?"

"The fire in the warehouse had just been extinguished, and now people are dying again. This place is cursed."

An uneasy feeling began to creep into the air.

Zhu Han did not suppress them. He ordered the troupe to continue selling and singing, and even commanded them to perform the daytime play "Selling the Truth" again. The troupe leader trembled with fear, but gritted his teeth and obeyed.

He cleared his throat on stage and sang the first line: "Selling the truth doesn't fear the long shadow of falsehood, for the longer the shadow, the brighter the light."

As the song began, the audience fell silent for a moment.

Then, someone shouted, "The Prince is here!" That shout was like a spark falling into oil, and the whole street became lively.

Vendors rearranged their goods, children ran to buy candy, and even broken lamps were repaired.

Zhu Han stood outside the crowd, his expression unchanged, and simply said, "Shen Lu, search all the barbed wire."

"Yes."

The night market had closed, and the streets were deserted. Shen Lu brought back a bag of wire, all of which he had collected from under the incense and candle stall. Each wire was as thin as a hair, yet it was covered in poisonous rust.

“This isn’t a musical instrument string; it’s a crossbow trigger.” Shen Lu said coldly.

Zhu Han nodded: "His singing is just a cover. The real fire is not in the warehouse, nor in the lamp, but in the iron."

"Iron?" Zhu Biao asked, puzzled.

"Iron dealer." Zhu Han turned around. "Summon the iron merchant manager tomorrow."

He looked up at the sky. The sky was clear after the rain, and the moon was whitened by the wind.

“The Shadow Division is not dead,” he whispered. “They’ve just changed their skin.”

The next day, the iron merchant was brought to the government office. He was tall and strong, with a bronze complexion, and he nodded slightly when he bowed.

"Where did you get the wire you laid down?" Zhu Han asked.

"It was a gift from the merchant," the shopkeeper answered quickly. "He said it came from Jiangbei and is used to make locks."

Are there any well-known businesses in Jiangbei?

"None, only signed 'Shadow Wind'."

Shen Lu asked in a deep voice, "Yingfeng?"

Zhao Desheng angrily said, "You even dare to use 'Shadow' in your name? You're courting death!"

"Don't get angry," Zhu Han said, pressing him down. "The more they expose themselves, the more panicked they'll become."

He turned to the shopkeeper: "When you received that batch of goods, was anyone with you?"

“There was a young clerk who said he was ordered to inspect the goods.”

"An order from above?" Zhu Han sneered. "Which government department?"

The shopkeeper swallowed hard: "...Ministry of Revenue."

The hall fell silent.

Zhu Biao looked up and lowered his voice: "Ministry of Revenue, it's the Ministry of Revenue again."

"Hmm." Zhu Han narrowed his eyes. "Guo Sizhi is still alive, and someone else has taken over the case."

He gazed into the distance, a cold glint in his eyes: "It seems that the people who will be wielding the brush this time are not just in the palace."

That night, the people of Chengtian spontaneously lit lamps in front of their doors, not to worship fire, but to illuminate their hearts. Mr. Weng returned to the stage, his voice hoarse, yet he sang even brighter than before:

"A long shadow under the lamp does not startle people; a real fire does not burn while a fake fire shines."

If one's mind shines even amidst the dust of the world, the kingly way will bring peace as naturally as the wind.

Halfway through the song, he suddenly saw Zhu Han standing in the crowd. The lamplight shone on the prince's eyebrows and eyes like a golden thread, flickering but never going out.

After listening, Zhu Han simply turned and walked into the night wind. Zhao Desheng followed behind, whispering, "Your Highness, won't you say something? The people are watching."

Zhu Han shook his head: "If the light is truly bright, I don't need to say anything."

He paused, then said very softly, "They will speak for me."

The wind swept through the street, igniting countless paper lanterns.

As night fell, Shen Lu urgently reported: "Your Highness! Three corpses have been found in the northern part of the city—all were clerks from the Ministry of Revenue."

"How did you die?"

"A line along the throat, eyes wide open and never closed. There are fake marks on the waist."

Zhu Han tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his voice low and deep: "They've started silencing them."

"People from the Shadow Division?"

"Not necessarily." Zhu Han's gaze darkened. "Perhaps it's someone closer."

"Closer?"

"Within the palace walls."

A gust of wind blew through the window cracks, extinguishing a corner of the lamp. Zhu Han reached out and relit it.

"Shen Lu, go to the palace tomorrow."

"Under what name?"

"Offer sacrifices to the granary fire."

Zhu Biao looked up at his uncle: "Uncle, is there any danger on this trip?"

Zhu Han smiled faintly: "If you want the light to work, someone has to blow the ashes."

Before the first spring thunder, the air in Jinling was already stiflingly thick. The stone lions in front of the palace gate were damp with mist. Zhu Han dismounted and his footsteps landed on the blue bricks with a very soft "thump".

The palace walls were towering, and crows flew up from the rooftops, a dark shadow sweeping over his head.

Shen Lu and Zhao Desheng stopped outside. Zhu Han did not turn around, but said indifferently, "The winds within the gate cannot be shared."

After saying that, he stepped into the Qianqing Gate alone.

The candlelight flickered in the hall. Zhu Yuanzhang sat behind the dragon table, wearing a crimson robe, his brow furrowed.

Zhu Han walked to the front of the hall, bowed, and said, "Your subject pays respects to Your Majesty."

Zhu Yuanzhang's gaze was deep, as if he had been scrutinizing him for a long time, before he spoke: "The matter of the fire in the warehouse has been settled."

"Your Majesty, I have investigated and determined that the fire originated from a counterfeit seal, caused by the resurgence of the old faction within the Ministry of Revenue." (End of Chapter)