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

As he spoke, he kept an eye on the few figures carrying teapots moving around in the crowd, silently drawing three circles in his mind.

"The prince is here!" a sharp-eyed villager shouted.

The crowd spontaneously parted to make way. Zhu Han dismounted from his horse, his steps steady, but his face looked even more tired, and there was a hint of redness in his eyes that he couldn't hide.

He stood in front of the "suspicious" wooden sign and bowed to the people, saying, "Good morning."

Upon hearing a "Good morning," some people in the crowd laughed, and then they all replied in unison, "Good morning—"

Zhu Han placed the powder packets he had brought back from Xiling Post Station on the table, cut one of the packets open, rubbed a little powder into a white porcelain dish, dripped two drops of vinegar into the dish, and gently circled the edge of the powder with his fingertip, causing the edge of the powder to turn faintly black.

He said, “This isn’t medicine, it’s poison. It changed its clothes and disguised itself as medicine, hiding in your kitchen stove. We’ll strip it naked and show it to you in public. Remember this color, this smell, and don’t forget it even after the New Year.”

The wind blew across the drill ground, the flags fluttered in the wind, and the crowd did not become chaotic, but rather became even quieter.

A woman crumpled the paper in her hand into a ball, then suddenly released it and held it up again: "Your Highness, my family has changed the medicine. When I get home today, I will wash the pot three times."

"Okay." Zhu Han nodded, "Watching it three times is not too many."

Wen Li, holding the teapot, stood in the corner of the shed, looking at the scene with a rare gentleness in her eyes.

She poured the water from the pot into three porcelain cups and handed them to the boy. The boy carried them around the table to the front of the hall: "Please have some tea, Grandpa Sun."

Sun Yantong took the cup without his hand trembling at all.

He tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, then turned the glass upside down and gently set it down: "I told you, I admit it."

An invisible gust of wind swept through the crowd. Zhu Han waved his hand, signaling the constables to take a half-step back.

He spread the oil paper drawing he had brought from the darkroom on the table, and then laid out the small pieces of wood he had taken from the roof ridge one by one, saying softly:

"Gentlemen, I won't tell you everything about how these lines and inscriptions got the poison into your homes. What you need to remember is self-protection: check, smell, look, ask. Remember these four words."

He raised his eyes, his voice rising slightly: "And—if someone comes to offer 'Gengling,' just ask them their surname, family, and lineage. If they don't dare answer, then call for help!"

As the last word was uttered, a series of hurried footsteps echoed from outside the training ground.

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he took three steps to the side of the field, grabbing the sleeve of the tea-serving official.

The clerk's hand remained steady as ever, but his face had turned half an inch whiter.

A small, hard object fell from his sleeve with a soft tinkling sound, landing precisely at Zhu Han's feet in an arc.

The boy bent down and picked it up, showing it to everyone in his palm—it was a small, round particle about the size of a candle wax tear, wrapped in a thin layer of wax, with a faint brown hue inside.

"Whoever drops this in their teacup will become 'steady'," the boy said calmly. "Steady enough that it will never shake."

The minor official knelt down with a thud, his forehead hitting the muddy ground, and uttered only two words: "I—was wrong."

"Name," Zhu Han said softly.

The clerk's lips trembled as he gritted his teeth and named two people—one a clerk in the government office, and the other the owner of a small shop outside the city.

The boy quickly memorized it.

Zhu Han raised his hand: "Take him away, don't touch the training ground."

He turned back, adjusted his sleeves, and said, "Everyone, please continue."

The drill ground remained orderly. People lined up again, handed out their medicine packets, and received their appropriate medications back.

Some people were helping the elderly, while others were holding children.

The water in the pot was changed one pot after another, and the fire burned steadily in each stove.

In the afternoon, the wind subsided somewhat. The hall was filled with physical evidence collected from the docks, secret rooms, old temples, and granaries.

Stacks of ink, seals, and account papers; bags of cloth scraps, bamboo skewers, and powder bags.

Gu Shen was held in a corner, watching all this, and suddenly chuckled, as if he were laughing at the end of a long-running play.

Gu Lu'an didn't laugh. His face was as cold and indifferent as ice, with only a sliver of light in his eyes.

He looked at Sun Yantong and suddenly said, "If you admit it, then admit it to the end. I will also tell you everything I know."

"Speak," Zhu Han said without looking up.

“Outside Xiling Post Station, there is another ‘dry warehouse’ behind the winery outside the East Gate. Powder bags are changed there; ink paste is mixed with oil there; and seals are dried there. The signal for ‘borrowing a lamp’ is not just the bamboo hat lamp. There is also a ‘reflection sign’ under the bridge, which is for laymen to see—if you only look at the lamp and not the reflection, you will miss half of it.”

Gu Luan paused for a moment, then said, "You guys were pretty good at watching movies last night."

Wen Li held the teapot, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. She rarely heard anyone use the word "shadow" so bluntly. Zhu Han looked up and said calmly, "Are you finished?"

“No.” Gu Lu’an looked at him. “There’s also—there are several pharmacies in the city that don’t know about the adulteration. They’re just being pressured to lower prices and forced to ‘exchange old stock.’ If you completely shut down the pharmacies, another batch of people will starve to death. I’ll accept that you’re changing the medicine for free; I’ll accept that you’re sealing off people and warehouses. But… leave a way out for the clean ones.”

There was a moment of silence after he said that.

The boy's eyes flickered slightly, and he was about to speak when Zhu Han spoke first: "We'll leave a way. How you go is not up to you."

He turned to the county magistrate: “List the three pharmacies that have been compliant since last night and have them supply the people with clean medicine at market prices. Before the official granary is re-inspected, these three pharmacies will take turns delivering medicine. Anyone who dares to raise prices during the chaos will have their own signboard smashed.”

The magistrate hurriedly agreed, but secretly breathed a sigh of relief: at least the road has been preserved for the people to have a pharmacy.

"Also," Zhu Han said to the boy, "move the 'medicine inspection shed' to the city gate, with two shifts during the day and one at night. It's not a new thing; we tried it last year, but this time it's more important. Don't change the three columns on the wooden plaque, and don't collect the designs. Anyone can come and inspect them. Let's not make empty promises; let's do things steadily."

"I've got it." The boy replied, scratching the tip of his pen; the pen was so sharp it could tear the paper.

The wind blew across the drill ground again, lifting a page of paper. The four characters on the paper, "smell, observe, pick, ask the name," were flipped slightly by the wind before falling back onto the table.

As evening fell, the golden light faded from the gaps in the clouds, and a chill settled in the air.

People sat on the stone steps in front of the county government office, waiting for news. They held the medicine they had received and hot porridge in their hands. Some whispered the prescriptions, while others gently coaxed their children to sleep.

In Old Zhang's courtyard, the smell of medicine wafted through the window frames. Several people who had been harmed by the poisonous herb were now able to sit up on their own, and their breathing was no longer like that of bellows.

The old lady also woke up a bit, reached out and touched her grandson's head, her eyes filled with loose wrinkles.

Zhu Han stood outside the courtyard gate, glanced at it quietly, and then retreated back into the alley.

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, as if trying to filter out the sandstorms, medicine powder, and firelight of the past few nights.

The boy approached quietly and placed a steamed bun in his hand: "Have some."

He looked down at the hot bun and actually smiled: "You can eat it yourself."

“I’ve already eaten two.” The boy shrugged. “If you don’t eat any more, the people at the drill ground will probably scold you for being ‘selfless’.”

Zhu Han finally took a bite. The dough was soft, and the filling was fragrant with meat and scallions.

He swallowed, a warmth spreading through his heart. He glanced at the sky and said softly, "I'll make another trip to the East Gate Wine Shop tonight."

"Going again?" Tongzi's eyes widened. "Another night without sleep?" "How can you sleep?" Zhu Han finished his bun, patted the crumbs off his hands, and said, "Let's stop this now, it's not too late to sleep later."

The boy didn't try to persuade him further, but simply moved the cloak on his shoulder an inch closer to him, as if adding a wall to block the wind for him.

"Let's go." Zhu Han lifted his foot.

The alley behind Dongmen Wine Shop is narrow and long, with peeling paint on the walls that flakes off in the wind.

In the brewery, a row of large vats were arranged along the wall, their mouths covered with gauze lids, and the dark liquid rippled slightly in the moonlight.

The sour aroma of the fermented grains couldn't mask a strange coolness—like Buddleja pollen being steamed by heat, with hints of mint and camphor in the aftertaste.

"Don't start a fire." Zhu Han raised his hand, his voice extremely low. "Check on the people first."

The boy nodded, and the two constables silently dispersed, one going around to the back door and the other climbing onto the roof.

A tiny flame, no bigger than a bean, shone through the small window on the east side of the brewery, casting flickering shadows, as if someone were sifting something.

Zhu Han approached and lightly tapped the window frame with his knuckles. The person inside immediately stopped and the firelight dimmed.

A moment later, the wooden door creaked open, opening about half a finger's width, and a shrill voice asked, "Who is it?"

"Catching a night rat," Zhu Han replied casually, pushing the door open with his hand. The latch snapped, and the wooden door swung open with a bang.

Inside the house, two burly men were carrying a sieve tray filled with fine grass clippings. Next to them, a stone mortar was half-crushing powder, with a cloth pressed against the mortar's opening, the cloth gleaming with a subtle green sheen.

"Don't shake it." The boy stepped into the room, stepped on one of the people's insteps, and gently nudged him with his elbow, causing the sieve in that person's hand to fall lightly onto the table, scattering powder everywhere.

The other man tried to run away, but was pinned down on the shoulder by a constable who jumped down from outside the window.

They glanced at each other and then shut their mouths.

"Whose distillery is it?" Zhu Han asked.

"The owner... his surname is Xu." The burly man's eyes darted around. "He runs a legitimate business; grinding flour at night is just..."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhu Han had already lifted the gauze lid, lightly touched the surface of the wine with his fingertips, brought it to his nose to smell, and frowned: "Camphor, dried tangerine peel, mint, and flavoring powder has been added to the wine."

"Where did this perfume powder come from?" The boy picked up some powder from the stone mortar and rubbed it in his palm. "Was it made according to a writing brush recipe?"

The burly man gritted his teeth and remained silent.

Zhu Han closed the door and turned to look at the row of low cabinets behind the brewing pot: "Master Xu probably doesn't know. You used the distillery as a cover, grinding powder at night and using the aroma of wine to mask the smell during the day, stuffing the powder into the straw bags delivered to various shops, didn't you?"

The burly man's eyelids twitched, but he still didn't answer.

The boy quietly placed three small white porcelain dishes on the table: one with a drop of vinegar, one with water, and one empty.

Zhu Han took out the powder packet he had brought back from Xiling Post Station from his bosom, put a little into a dish of clear water, took some from the stone mortar and put it into a dish of vinegar, and then picked up a few pieces of powder from the corners of the brewing vat for the third dish.

After a short while, the edges of the vinegar dish turned slightly black, the powder in the water dish floated and separated into layers, and the powder in the third dish gradually clumped together.

"Tung oil and glutinous rice paste were added, and the clay for making the seals was also mixed here."

Zhu Han said calmly, "Open the back gate."

The backyard was a blocked alleyway, with two empty wine jars standing against the wall, stuffed with hemp rope and sealing paper.

There was hardened red mud on the hemp rope, and the seal paper was pressed with the undried stamp.

Zhu Han lifted the bottom of the urn and touched a thin wooden plaque. He rubbed it with his fingertip, and a layer of fine powder fell off—Buddleja officinalis.

"The wiring is tight."

He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the two burly men. "You don't have to say anything. Tomorrow, the wine will be tested in public at the training ground. Everyone from the distillery will be there. We'll see if you admit it yourself, or if the owner will take the blame for you."

He paused, then said, "If you speak up, the master can be spared; if you don't speak up, the master still can't be spared."

The two burly men exchanged a glance, and finally one of them couldn't hold back any longer, his throat dry: "The powder... came from the secret room of 'Yongtong'. Master Gu told us to make it at night, mix it according to the quota, and send it out in the distillery's cart. The owner only knows how to transport wine, he doesn't know what kind of stuff it is."

"Which families will they be sent to?" the boy pressed.

"There are about ten companies in the east and west markets. Some of them were pressured into accepting the offer. They didn't dare to refuse it even if the companies insisted."

The burly man lowered his voice, "There are two other companies that came to us themselves, saying they couldn't sell medicine without this powder."

Zhu Han nodded and instructed, "Take these two away, record their confessions first, then take them to the identification site. Seal the distillery for now, but leave half a stove open for the owner to cook for—don't let the family go hungry."

"What about the powder?" the boy asked, looking at the stone mortar.

"Soak it, seal the jar, and announce it tomorrow," Zhu Han said.

When we left the distillery, the air was already damp with the scent of early morning.

The sky outside the East Gate was turning a pale white, and the wonton stall on the street corner had set up its stove, steaming hot.

The boy turned his head and looked around, then smiled and whispered, "Your Highness, would you like a bowl?"

"Wait a minute." Zhu Han stopped and stepped aside to avoid the crowd in front of the stall.

His gaze wasn't on the steam, but rather fixed on the distant silhouette of the night watchman—the watchman struck his clapper, his steps steady, his shadow stretched long by the morning light.

The rhythm was different from the clapper sound at the dock last night. The dockworkers' clappers were light and the sound was faint; the city watchmen's clappers were heavy and the sound was solid.

A subtle feeling swept through Zhu Han's mind—this city should get used to the sound of reality.

"Back to the yamen," he said. "The drill ground needs to be opened."

As dawn broke, the sound of voices filled the drill ground.

The three wooden plaques from yesterday are still there, and another one has been added today, which reads "Wine".

A young man was cranking the bellows next to the iron pot, and flames rose up, making the pot's edge shine.

Wen Li sat in a corner, holding the teapot. Her eyes were swept away by the smoke, but she didn't flinch. She simply moved the lid of the teapot an inch to let more steam rise.

Sun Yantong stood behind the desk, holding a brush in his hand, recording the changes in shop names and the accounts that came and went.

"First test the powder, then the wine," the boy announced. "Anyone who had doubts last night, come forward. We will explain everything to you one by one. If you don't understand, you can ask. And if you do understand, don't laugh at others."

A few low laughs came from the back of the crowd, not mocking, but more like a sigh of relief.

The first person to come up was a shop assistant with hives on his face and bloodshot eyes from staying up all night.

He held a small packet of powder and a porcelain bottle in his hands, the bottle containing the leftover medicinal wine from the previous night.

The boy sprinkled the powder onto a white porcelain dish, then dripped some wine onto another dish, demonstrating how to distinguish the powder from the oily sheen on the surface of the wine: "See this slightly bluish sheen? This isn't wine oil; it's mixed with camphor or something similar. Authentic medicinal wine is yellowish with clear edges." (End of Chapter)