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

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone held up a bundle of sealed seals: "Young sir, are these stamps fake?"

The boy took it and pointed to the edge of the inkpad to demonstrate how to wipe it. Sure enough, the red inkpad peeled off like scales. "Remember this 'sandy' texture—when you touch it with your fingertip, it feels like granules. Normal inkpad is smooth and won't leave any residue. If it leaves any residue, it's probably something fishy."

Several village leaders nodded and then led the way to maintain order, separating the people by village, which made the procession much smoother.

Outside the shed, several large iron pots were bubbling with water, and iron sieves and thin ropes were set up nearby.

The boy tied thin ropes into small loops and demonstrated how to loop them onto the stems of medicinal herbs: "The one that breaks cleanly and doesn't spin is Bupleurum, while the one that spins is Gelsemium elegans."

As he demonstrated, he joked, "Don't throw away this thin rope. Go back and make a few yourself. If anyone tries to put this or that in your bowls again, just use this rope to put the medicine in their mouth."

Everyone burst into laughter, their laughter filled with relief.

Out of the corner of his eye, the boy noticed two men in blue robes walking quickly behind the crowd. The seams on their sleeves were extremely fine, and they moved much more quietly than ordinary people. His heart tightened, and he subtly twirled the bamboo stick in his sleeve, but remained calm and focused on memorizing the direction of the two men.

He packed a batch of the replaced counterfeit medicine into a wooden box, closed the lid, and handed it to the bailiff: "Send this box to the backyard for safekeeping. When the prince returns, burn it in public." The bailiff acknowledged and left.

A man in blue robes, who had been watching with his arms crossed, suddenly turned to the side and secretly stuck out one foot to trip the constable. The boy, quick-witted and agile, shouted in a low voice, "Watch out!"

The constable stumbled a couple of steps but didn't fall; the man in blue, however, took the opportunity to step back and slip into the gaps in the crowd.

"Stop him—those two in blue!"

As soon as the boy raised his voice, the constables leaped out from behind the shed pillars, and the wooden poles crossed, immediately blocking the two men's escape route.

Seeing that the situation was not good, the man in blue lunged forward, and with a flash of cold light, he pulled out a thin knife as thin as a willow leaf from his sleeve.

The boy blocked the attack, and the bamboo skewer struck the back of the knife with a crisp "clang," sending the knife flying and embedding itself in the mud.

Another man in blue tried to dart out in the chaos, but the village headman caught him with his foot and he fell face-first into the mud.

The onlookers were in an uproar, but no one made a move. Instead, someone shouted, "Catch him! Don't let the bad guy get away!"

The boy walked over and ripped open the man's robe, revealing a cloth belt tied around his waist. A palm-sized leather pouch was sewn onto the belt, its contents bulging and granular to the touch.

He tore open a corner of it in front of everyone, and the dense pollen splattered out, releasing a fragrance—the crowd stirred, followed by angry shouts.

The man in blue was ashen-faced and gritted his teeth, saying, "It's just doing some business..."

Before he could finish speaking, two rough hands pressed down on the back of his neck.

"Send it to the back office," the boy whispered. "Offer it separately, so as not to disturb the drill ground."

He wiped his fingertips to prevent the powdery scent from reaching his nose, "Continue testing the medicine."

The wind on the drill ground grew stronger, the flags fluttered wildly, but the order under the canopy remained even more stable than the wind.

Someone slipped a hot bun into the boy's hand. He smiled, didn't take it, tightened his sleeves, and buried his head in identifying a packet of medicine.

Meanwhile, outside the south gate of the prefectural city, the road was muddy and the ruts were deep.

Zhu Han stepped across a newly repaired ditch, brushed the mud off his sleeves, and looked up at the city walls.

The city walls were high, and the flags on the arrow towers hung halfway down, cold and somber in the winter.

The accompanying constables held the reins, trying to restrain their imposing manner—the city gate officer, having seen the warrant, dared not obstruct them, but merely gave them a cautious look.

"Where is Yongtong?" Zhu Han asked.

"At the end of Cloth Lane in Nanshi, next to the neighborhood," the neighborhood headman leading the way replied.

The alley was noisy with people, and the sounds of drums and music came and went. In the distance, there were cries of people selling pancakes.

Yongtong's storefront is not large, but the four characters "Yongtong Trading Company" on the lintel are written in a neat and steady manner. There are no shop assistants in front of the store to solicit customers, which makes it seem deserted.

Zhu Han didn't go inside, but went around to the back street. There was a small window in the back street, nailed shut with wooden strips, and a damp smell wafted out from the cracks.

There was a patch of newly applied plaster in the corner of the wall, the color of which was lighter, as if it had just been applied recently.

"Pry it open," Zhu Han uttered a single word.

The iron crowbar was driven into the crack, the wall bricks loosened, and a sliver of cool breeze wafted out from the back street.

Behind the brick hole is a narrow, dark passage with smooth inner walls, as if people often walk through it.

The constables filed in, keeping their heads down as they walked a dozen steps, until they found themselves at the end of a wooden ladder leading downwards.

Below the ladder was a low house, with wooden crates neatly stacked inside, each covered with a thin oilcloth.

Zhu Han opened the first one, inside were tightly sealed seals, wooden stamps of various characters, and packages of account contract templates labeled "Suzhou and Hangzhou", "Biandong", and "Xiling".

"Seal, signature, contract, powder, all prepared in one place." The accompanying constable gasped.

"Anything else?" Zhu Han asked.

The innermost box was very heavy, and it took several people working together to drag it out.

Upon opening the lid, one finds layers of hemp paper wrapped around medicinal powder, each packet covered with Buddleja pollen, with dark green fragments faintly visible in the corners.

Zhu Han picked up a small pinch of the powder with his finger and placed it on the tip of his tongue. The bitterness and coolness rushed up almost simultaneously. He spat it out, took out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and his face was so dark it could drip water.

"Collect," he said. "Put the account deeds back in order, don't mix them up."

The wooden seal will be packaged separately, and the opening will be sealed with three rope knots according to my method. We also need people at the shop—but not for now; we'll collect them together when we go to the stationery store in the East Market.”

"Your Highness, which stationery shop in the East Market?" the constable asked, understanding the question.

“Yes.” Zhu Han looked up. “Gu Shen’s materials likely come from more than one source; the writing implements are just one part of it. Also… take a look at the roof ridge.”

A row of small black wooden pieces, like the bones of a wind chime, were stuffed between the tiles on the roof ridge.

The constables climbed up and retrieved the pieces of wood, only to discover that each piece was engraved with tiny characters: "Thirty taels," "Fifty taels," and "One hundred taels." The reverse side was engraved with the abbreviation of the medicine and the date—this was actually a "price list and contract period," conveying information in the most covert way.

“Take them away,” Zhu Han said. “We’ll check their statements later.”

He walked around the cramped room again, his gaze landing on an old cabinet covered by a gray cloth in the corner.

Lifting the gray cloth, the cabinet door was half-closed, and inside, against the wall, were two long, narrow bamboo tubes, their openings sealed with wax.

He took one, peeled off the wax, opened it, and poured out a roll of oil paper.

Several patterns were drawn on the oiled paper, the style of which was very similar to the boy's earlier drawings, but the label was not "distinguish" but "route":
From the old nursery in the mountain valley to Juyicang, from Juyicang to Yongtong, and from Yongtong it was split up again, flowing to four different pharmacies. The "secret codes" marked along the way are also on it.

"Alright." Zhu Han rolled up the oiled paper and put it into his pocket. "This is the net."

Just as he put the bamboo tube back, a series of soft footsteps came from the entrance of the secret passage, as if someone was climbing down a wooden ladder.

The constables lowered their stance and gripped their sword hilts tightly.

Two figures appeared at the top of the wooden stairs, about to lean down, when suddenly a hand grabbed them—the person above whispered a scolding tone: "Didn't we agree to come at midnight? What's the rush?"

Another person muttered, "I heard something happened in the county town, I'm afraid..."

The sound abruptly stopped—a flash of light, and the constable wielding the knife had already leaped up the ladder, swiftly placing it in front of the two men's necks. "Don't move."

The two men were dragged down the ladder, their faces ashen with fear. Zhu Han didn't waste a single word: "Where's the writing implement?"

“East Market…North corner of East Market.” One of them stammered, “Gu…Master Gu’s ‘Gu Shen’ often went there to fetch mud.”

"Who else?" Zhu Han asked.

“A woman wearing a black veil was collecting money in the old temple outside the West Gate.”

Another person squeezed out, "She doesn't see guests; she only recognizes people she knows."

Zhu Han's gaze sharpened slightly: "The woman in the black veil?"

He turned to the constables and said, “Two groups—you go to the East Market to collect the writing materials and seal the inkpads and seal stones; I will take some men to the Old Temple.”

"But what about the training ground..." the constable said worriedly.

“Tongzi can handle it,” Zhu Han said calmly. “Let’s go and come back quickly.”

Outside the west gate, the old temple walls are mottled and the temple gate is half collapsed.

The wind rushed into the doorway, stirring up the dust on the ground. Zhu Han raised his hand, signaling his men to disperse and enter from the side.

The offering table in the temple was empty, but two brand-new bamboo baskets were placed in the back niche, with the inside sealed with red paper.

On the table was a small charcoal brazier, its glow faintly red, and next to it was a narrow-mouthed copper kettle, from which steam rose and the faint scent of herbs wafted.

“She wants to smell the guests on their clothes,” Zhu Han said. “She will only talk if she smells a strong medicinal powder.”

Before the words were finished, a soft sound came from the back door, and a slender woman slipped in, her face covered by a thin veil, revealing only her eyes.

Seeing so many people standing in the temple, she paused only for a moment before leaping away.

Zhu Han had anticipated her agility. He turned sideways, his fingers like hooks, and grabbed the curtain line along the door frame, pulling the entire curtain down to cover her.

The constables surrounded her separately, but she didn't struggle. She just sighed softly and reached out to remove the veil.

It was a cold, aloof face, her skin as white as wax. She looked up, a half-smile playing on her lips: "Your Highness."

"What is your name?" Zhu Han asked.

"My surname is Wen, and my given name is Li. People call me 'Wen Niang'." She chuckled self-deprecatingly, "It's a name that doesn't bother me."

"Who are you collecting money for?"

"I'll pay for it." She glanced at the copper kettle on the table, as if genuinely worried the water would get cold, and gently reheated the fire.
"We'll take money wherever it's needed. Gu Shen is the 'hand,' Gu Lu'an is the 'face,' and I'm just the 'spouse,' I don't see anyone, I just breathe."

"Tone?" Zhu Han repeated.

"You can smell it too—Misty Buddleja pollen."

Wen Li said calmly, "The hardest thing in business is the taste. People remember smells, not faces. You shut down Yongtong and smashed the stationery, so naturally I'll take the teapots."

"Where's the teapot?" Zhu Han asked.

Wen Li raised her chin and pointed to a long, narrow wooden cabinet in the corner.

The constables pried it open, and inside were more than twenty cloth bags neatly hanging, each with a different pattern sewn on it. When opened, they were all filled with powders—Buddleja officinalis, patchouli, mint, sandalwood, and dried tangerine peel, all of which were fragrances that could mask the smell of medicine.

At the bottom of the cabinet lay a small booklet, with only two pages filled with descriptions of "the scent carried by the visitor's sleeves" and "comparable fragrances."

"Can you identify Gu Shen and Gu Lü'an?" Zhu Han asked.

“Of course.” Wen Li glanced at him. “There’s another person, the outer office manager of the granary in the government office—surnamed Sun. If he hadn’t given his approval, no one would have dared to do it so openly.”

The constables were startled by what they heard and exchanged glances.

Zhu Han simply nodded, showing no surprise: "Name, courtesy name."

“Sun Ce, courtesy name Yantong,” Wen Li said. “He was a clean person, and his handwriting was even cleaner; he usually only left his mark on documents. I only heard Gu Shen mention him by chance.”

"Why did you say that?" Zhu Han asked.

Wen Li paused, her voice becoming even more subdued: "It's cold in the temple, but there's a fire in the pot. By sealing these things, the medicinal properties absorbed by someone who drinks them will be reduced. That's enough."

Once she finished speaking, she was like a deflated wind chime, no longer saying a word.

Zhu Han lowered his gaze slightly and raised his hand to indicate, "That's all. Wen Niang, you should also go back to the county office."

Wen Li smiled silently, only nodding. The constables draped a cloak over her and took her away, cabinet and all.

At dusk, the evening drum of the prefectural city sounded three times.

The people from the East Market Office, the Yongtong Secret Room, and the Old Temple Pear, along with cartloads of sealed evidence, pushed and shoved their way toward the county government office.

Zhu Han dismounted, took the hot water handed to him by the village head, took a small sip, and felt a warm sensation in his throat.

He looked up and saw that the clouds on the horizon were tinged with pale gold by the setting sun, as if someone had carefully wiped away a layer of dust.

"Your Highness!" A hurried voice came from the street corner.

The constable, returning from the county town, was covered in dust and ran up to me holding a gray cloth flag. "Everything is fine at the drill ground. The boys have been arranged properly. We caught two peddlers who had blended into the crowd. The seals and powder bags are still there."

"Can the common people be tamed?" Zhu Han asked.

“Tame.” The constable panted, “Some people started cursing, but then they all fell silent, their eyes fixed on the three characters on the wooden plaque. No one made a sound.”

Zhu Han nodded, turned and walked towards the yamen: "We will not disperse tonight, and we will hold a trial overnight. Tomorrow morning, issue a notice: Yongtong will be temporarily closed, the stationery business will be suspended, and the Juyi Granary will be sealed; Gu Shen and Gu Lu'an will be escorted to the outside of the execution ground for inspection; Sun Yantong—" He paused, "first go to the yamen to ask for help."

"Please?" The constable was stunned.

“Yes,” Zhu Han said. “Invite him to the drill ground for tea.”

When he said "please," there wasn't a hint of a smile on his lips.

The attendants understood: they wanted someone to clarify their words in public, in broad daylight.

As the wind blew, the lights in the county government office gradually came on, and the two old, faded characters "Mingde" on the plaque above the gate became clear under the light. The shadows of the trees along the road swayed gently, like rows of silent applause.

The night grew deeper. In the back room, medicine packets were piled up like a small mountain, seals were pressed into small heaps, and Buddleja pollen was sealed in a thick porcelain jar with a note that read "Keep Away from Poison".

Gu Shen sat in the corner, head down and silent; Gu Lu'an closed his eyes, as if resting; Wen Li was placed behind the screen, still holding the narrow-mouthed copper kettle in her hands, the charcoal fire flickering on her fingertips.

A gavel struck the courtroom, and Zhu Han sat down, raising his hand and saying, "Introduce Sun Yantong."

There was a commotion of footsteps outside, and someone answered and left.

The boy entered through the side door, placed a stack of newly drawn "distinguishing sketches" on the table, and pressed down the corners: "Your Highness, I will demonstrate it again at the drill ground tomorrow, this time using the 'stem-fiber comparison method.' The people learn it quickly."

“Alright.” Zhu Han nodded. “Have the village head copy the map back to each village and post it at the entrance of the ancestral hall and temple. The medicine comes from the mountains, and the map goes down the mountain with it. We will light the way for him.”

A commotion suddenly broke out outside the hall, then silence followed.

Someone was brought in, dressed in a neat blue robe, his hair properly styled, and with a calm expression; it was Sun Yantong, the outer hall attendant of the prefectural government office. (End of Chapter)