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

He bowed to Zhu Han, his voice gentle: "Your Highness summoned me; what are your orders?"

Zhu Han said calmly, "Sit down."

Sun Yantong sat down as instructed.

Zhu Han gently unfolded the oil paper he had taken from Yongtong's secret room and pressed down the four corners: "Sun Waitang, do you recognize this picture?"

Sun Yantong's gaze swept across the map, paused, looked up, and still said gently, "I don't recognize it."

"Gu Shen," Zhu Han tilted his head, "who gave you this diagram?"

Gu Shen chuckled, his lips bloodless: "Someone brought him from the government office. I didn't see him; he just had Yongtong's people handle it."

"Who is Yongtong?" Zhu Han pressed.

"Gu Lu'an," Gu Shen said calmly. Gu Lu'an opened his eyes and did not deny it: "That's true."

Zhu Han lightly tapped his finger on the map: "Grand Tutor Sun, next to each route on the map are the words 'Checkpoint Inspection.' Which official is responsible for this 'checkpoint'?"

Sun Yantong's eyes flickered for only a moment before he calmed down: "The inspection at the prefectural city gate is mostly handled by the various departments and the granary gates, and is not under my jurisdiction."

“But I’m very familiar with the hook stroke of the character ‘彦’.”

Zhu Han's tone remained calm as he reached into his sleeve and took out a miniature copybook, which was Sun Yantong's approval document from a few days ago. The strokes, the endings, and the turns were exactly the same.

He folded the two sheets of paper together, and with a gentle glance, the subtle brushstrokes overlapped.

Sun Yantong was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "Your Highness is quite the writer." He stopped laughing and looked directly at him, "What does Your Highness want?"

“It’s not your ‘want’,” Zhu Han said, “it’s the lives of the people. When you were writing those words, did you ever think that a packet of medicine might be exchanged for a few shrouds?”

The hall was quiet; even the crackling of the charcoal fire seemed out of place.

After a long pause, Sun Yantong adjusted his cuffs and said in a low voice, "I only signed twice. The past accounts have nothing to do with you or me."

“You don’t have to pay back the debts from before,” Zhu Han said, looking at him. “You have to pay back these two debts.”

He placed the two small pieces of wood he had taken from the roof ridge on the table and carved the words "Hundred Liang" and "Xiling".

Sun Yantong's gaze finally fixed on something, no longer wandering away.

He looked at the piece of wood as if it were a thin rope around his neck.

"Gentlemen—" he exhaled, as if making a decision, "I will speak."

As night fell, the lamplight cast shadows like water in the hall.

Sun Yantong sat at the desk, his profile outlined by the lamplight, revealing cold, hard lines.

He pursed his lips, as if pulling the words out inch by inch from the depths of his throat.

“I’ve only ever dealt with accounts before,” he said in a low voice.
"Two months ago, someone sent a short note through Tongyuanhang, saying that they wanted to open a 'night road' outside the city's 'Juyi Granary'—specifically for transporting seasonal medicines, stockpiled medicines, and mixed medicines. The night road required passing through the city's checkpoint and needed a pass permit. I declined twice, and then he sent another letter with the words 'borrowing a lamp' written on it."

Zhu Han's eyes lit up slightly in the candlelight: "Borrow a lamp?"

“It’s a coded message from the docks.” Sun Yantong nodded. “When the night boats dock at Xiling Post Station, if the dock leader is willing to help the goods avoid inspection, he will hang a bamboo hat lantern at the end of the oar—from a distance, it looks like he’s borrowing someone’s light from a window. Since then, at the end and middle of each month, there will be two groups of carts that leave from Juyicang, go around the north alley of the city to Xiling Post Station. The signs outside the city say old rice and brine, but the medicine is actually under the carts.”

Who made the connection?

"Gu Lu'an and Gu Shen received goods from outside, and I presented the customs documents for both inside and outside the city—only twice."

Sun Yantong paused for a moment, then said, "I know this is a crime I cannot escape. I admit it."

Zhu Han offered neither comfort nor sneered, but simply asked, "And tonight?"

"At the eleventh watch tonight, 'borrow a lamp.'" Sun Yantong raised his eyes. "At the small wharf at the east end of Xiling Post Station, change boats three times. There is a floating platform with a hidden compartment where the cargo is located.

The boy quickly jotted down the notes and looked up, saying, "Your Highness, we can set up an ambush first."

"Yes." Zhu Han nodded. "Sun Waitang, you have to go with us."

Sun Yantong responded in a low voice, "Yes."

The screen behind the table rustled softly. Wen Li, carrying the narrow-mouthed copper kettle, walked halfway out before finally stopping outside the lamplight. Her gaze seemed to fall on someone's shoulder, or perhaps on the distant wind.

"If you go, don't just look at the lights. People on the water recognize the lights, and they also recognize the reflections. The reflections of people and lights in the water under the bridge are reversed; that's what they look for."

"Is there a way?" Zhu Han asked.

Wen Li placed the pot on the corner of the table, her fingertips brushing across the rim: "Turn the lamplight down, and the shadows will be shorter. If the enemy misjudges the time by the shadows, they will mistakenly think you are standing far away."

The boy's eyes lit up: "I understand." He broke off two pieces of candle wick, picked out half a wisp with the tip of his fingernail, lit it, and then extinguished it, leaving only a small red star-like flame.

Zhu Han stood up: "I'll leave the drill ground to you. Send a messenger to the neighboring county to inform them to also keep watch on the bridge. I need to go to Xiling Post Station."

"Your Highness," the boy said in a low voice, "Take care."

Zhu Han grunted in acknowledgment and stood up, flicking his robe.

The wind outside the hall made the flags flutter, and the night was deep.

The step he took across the threshold, his back straight, was like a knife plunged into the night.

The heat of the drill ground lingered. As night fell, the area under the canopy shone even brighter, the lights clustered together, illuminating every face clearly.

The boy pinned the diagram of the "stem-fiber matching method" to the wooden post. Holding a bundle of thin rope, he smiled and handed the rope loop to the village head: "Go and teach them by going around the rope. Don't be afraid of putting the rope loop on the wrong one. If you make a mistake, correct it on the spot."

A young man squeezed through the crowd, holding a packet of medicine in his hand, his eyes filled with panic: "Young sir, my mother suddenly started having severe shortness of breath after we just changed her dressing!"

The boy was startled: "Did you bring it?"

Behind the man, a thin old woman was being supported as she walked, her face bluish-purple, her chest heaving rapidly as if something was blocking it.

The boy immediately cleared a path for the old lady to sit down, placed his fingertips on her pulse, and frowned.

With his other hand, he pried open the old woman's teeth, and a fishy, ​​bitter taste wafted out—there was a bit of powder stuck under the old woman's tongue, probably the residue from what she had taken earlier.

"Water—warm water, not too much, just enough to moisten your lips."

He calmly gave the instructions, while untying the needle pouch from his waist and quickly pricking the "Shaoshang" and "Yuji" acupoints with his fingers. He then gently scraped the chest with the back of his fingers. The old lady couldn't cough at first, but after two breaths, she suddenly coughed up a mouthful of black foam, and her breathing became easier.

The boy raised his wrist to insert the needle, helped her lie on her side, and said to the man, "The 'fragrant flower powder' your mother drank before contained a little poison. You used the same pot when you were decocting the medicine. Go back and clean the pot, and boil it three times with boiling water. Don't give her any more medicine today. Feed her warm porridge water in half an hour, in small amounts."

The old woman's eyes darted around, and she grabbed the boy's sleeve, managing to utter two words with difficulty: "Thank...thank you..."

The boy pressed her hand down: "You're welcome. It's what I should do."

He raised his face and shouted, "Gentlemen—listen carefully! Who gave you 'pollen'? Who said it was 'more effective'? Remember the names, remember the shops, and report them all to the county government tomorrow! We're offering free medicine today, but tomorrow we'll demand payment and the perpetrators!"

The crowd was silent at first, then a series of low growls rolled by.

Someone shouted, "I've got it!" Someone else replied, "Report!" The sound was like a tide, pushing the lights in the area to shine even brighter.

The boy wiped his hands clean and poured the next packet of medicine into the white porcelain dish.

The blade sliced ​​through the veins of the grass roots, his fingertips as steady as a taut string.

At Xiling Post Station, the river water was dark and cold. The shadow of the old bridge was torn apart by the night wind and carried downstream to even greater darkness. At the end of the dock, a bamboo lantern hung from the stern of an oar, its dim yellow light shattered into fragments of gold on the water.

"Borrow a lamp," Sun Yantong whispered.

"Make the lamp smaller," Zhu Han said. The constable pulled his cloak over the lamp, shrinking the flame to a tiny point, making it look more like the distant fishing lights.

They avoided the shadows, crouching close to the dark wooden beams under the bridge, their breathing so light it was almost imperceptible.

Before long, three narrow boats quietly glided in.

An old boatman stood at the bow of the leading boat, his straw hat pulled low, his posture stiffer than that of an ordinary person.

He made a gesture, and the two boats then towed the pontoon plank under the bridge's shadow.

Two men in black, one carrying a bag and the other lifting a heavy box, moved nimbly as if they were used to this kind of work.

"Get up," the old boatman uttered a single word.

The water beneath the bridge rippled gently—that was the mist sprayed from the cavalrymen's horses' noses in the water.

The old boatman's eyes twitched. Before he could even let out a roar, a bamboo skewer whistled through the air and pierced the brim of his straw hat. By a hair's breadth, the brim fell off, revealing a face with old scars underneath.

“Gu Shen’s men.” Zhu Han’s voice was cold. “Seale the water!”

The officers who had been waiting on both sides threw out the hemp ropes they had tied, and the iron claws at the ends of the ropes hooked onto the gunwale. With a "crack," the narrow boat sank painfully.

The man in black drew his knife to cut the rope, and flames suddenly rose on the bridge. More than a dozen torches fell like shooting stars, and sparks sizzled on the water's surface—the light and heat carried an oppressive force.

The man in black flicked his wrist, and the knife didn't strike.

"Don't cut it." The old boatman suddenly smiled and threw the knife on the board. "You can't cut it. I saw his bamboo skewers last time outside the North Gate."

"Tie it up." Zhu Hanyue boarded the boat and pried up the buoy.

Sure enough, a shallow hidden compartment was pulled out from under the board, containing several tightly sealed packets of medicinal powder, each covered with a fine layer of Buddleja pollen.

He brought one of the packets to his nose, his brow furrowing slightly: "The taste is off."

Sun Yantong also lowered his nose and sniffed: "It's mixed with camphor and dried tangerine peel. They're trying to mask other bitter tastes."

"What are you covering up?" Zhu Han asked.

"The 'fishy bitterness' of Gelsemium elegans, the 'astringent bitterness' of Vinegaria spp., and a little bit, like Strychnos nux-vomica."

Sun Yantong's expression changed. "Be careful with this thing."

"Seal everything," Zhu Han said. "The boatman will escort the goods to the county government office, where they will be inspected tonight."

The old boatman suddenly sighed, "Your Highness, in all my years on the road, I've never seen anyone like you. If you had come sooner, this river would be cleaner."

“I’m not here to clean the river,” Zhu Han said. “I’m here to rescue people.”

The old boatman fell silent, his hands were twisted behind his back, and he was led ashore. The three narrow boats were dragged into the shallows of the dock, guns pointed at the gun barrels of each boat, and no one dared to make a move.

"Your Highness!" A constable rushed over from the other side of the bridge. "Someone has set fire to the woodshed at the east end of the dock!"

Zhu Han's eyes turned cold: "Two of you come with me, the rest remain sealed off!"

The fire spread rapidly at the other end of the woodshed. With a gust of wind, the flames leaped over the eaves, and the bright orange-red light turned a section of the river into daylight.

A figure darted about in the firelight, sparks fell, bounced up, and fell again.

Zhu Han took two steps, and a bamboo skewer flashed out from his sleeve like lightning, pinning a dark figure to the shoulder and back.

The man groaned and fell to the ground, still clutching the tinderbox in his hand.

The other man turned and ran, leaping into the river—the water bubbled and splashed, and then he surfaced again with a "plop," as if caught in a net.

Two officers underwater worked together to haul in the net, tightening it tightly. He struggled twice, but then stopped moving.

"Put out the fire." Zhu Han stepped through the ashes, picked up a half-burnt strip of cloth from the fire, shook it to reveal a rough piece of cloth with the word "Yongtong" written on it.

With a flick of his finger, he tucked the scrap of cloth into his robes.

The moon peeked out from the clouds, and the wind blew through the stone steps of Xiling Post Station, carrying a hint of grassy smell.

Zhu Han stood on the bank of the post station, looking down at the water that was reddened by the fire, his eyes deep and silent for a long time.

By the time they returned to the county government office, the rooster had already crowed twice.

The crowd had not yet dispersed from the training ground, and people were still half asleep, leaning against fences and shed pillars, their hands still tightly clutching prescriptions.

The boy's eyes were red, yet he was full of energy.

He stepped forward and lowered his voice: "Your Highness, the exchange is almost complete. Separate the arrested people and record their statements separately."

“Okay.” Zhu Han laid out the “Yongtong” cloth scraps and powder packets from the floating platform’s hidden compartment that he had retrieved from the dock on the table.

Wen Li glanced at the screen and said softly, "You cleaned up very well tonight."

“It’s not over yet,” Zhu Han said. He looked at Sun Yantong, “Of the ‘borrowing lamps’ you mentioned, one has already been broken. The rest are in the prefectural city.”

Sun Yantong nodded: "Inside and outside the government office, the early shift changes at 7:00 AM. If you want to find someone, it's better to go before 7:00 AM. At that time, the duty officer hasn't settled in yet, people are restless, and their footsteps are disordered, making it easiest to give yourself away."

He paused, then said, "I will testify."

Zhu Han neither praised him nor stared at him, but remained as calm as if he were a nail driven into a chopping board: "Explain clearly who submitted the signature, who affixed the seal, and who received the money."

"The person who submits the document changes, there is no fixed one. The seal is mostly done by the clerk; the person who collects the money..."

Sun Yantong suddenly smiled, a bitter smile, “Just keep an eye on the people outside the hall who are getting tea. Whoever gets the most tea is the one with the steady hand.”

The boy paused for a moment, then understood, a hint of suspicion flashing in his eyes: "I see."

"Go," Zhu Han ordered. "Take three people with you. Remember the one with the steady hand, and also his route and the person he will meet with."

The boy accepted the order and turned to leave.

After a brief silence in the room, Zhu Han said to Wen Li, "Would you be willing to explain the method of 'masking pollen' to the people at the drill ground?"

Wen Li paused for a moment, then nodded: "Okay."

"Boil another pot of water for me," Zhu Han said. "I'll invite Sun Waitang for tea later."

Wen Li understood what he meant. Her lips twitched slightly, but she didn't smile. She turned around to stir the charcoal and keep the fire burning.

Before dawn, the sound of horses' hooves could already be heard at the city gate.

The stationery store in Dongshi was sealed off, with four seals affixed to the door; the doors of Yongtong were removed, revealing empty cabinets inside.
The gate of the Juyi Granary was held in place by thick wooden beams from the inside, and the dark, empty granary was visible through the cracks in the windows.

People in the streets and alleys gathered around to watch; some whispered among themselves, some walked away to avoid them, and others stood even closer.

On the drill ground, the boy replaced the "Discerning the Draft" with a new one, adding a few more strokes: one thin line for "smelling," another for "observing the silk," and yet another for "picking it up"—he explained each line to the people, instructing them to copy the drawing and place it beside door gods, wellheads, and outside ancestral halls, wherever there was a wall, so that everyone could see it. (End of Chapter)