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

"What if you have some old liquor at home?" someone asked.

“Don’t be afraid,” the boy laughed. “Drip some wine on the back of your hand and spread it. If there is a pungent, cold smell that hits your nose, then don’t drink it. If it’s just the smell of wine and medicine, warm and not pungent, then it’s probably fine.”

The shop assistant swallowed hard and handed over his porcelain bottle.

Zhu Han took it, sipped a little, spat it onto his handkerchief, and frowned: "Be careful. The worst stuff in the batch that came out of the distillery last night wasn't camphor, it was the powder that masked the bitterness of strychnine. Yours doesn't have a strong smell, but it's not clean either. Take the new one back, and destroy the old one here."

"Thank you." The shop assistant bowed repeatedly, his eyes welling up with tears.

"No need for thanks, go and polish the signboard."

The boy shook his sleeves and laughed, "Tomorrow, I'll put your shop's name on the 'Qualified' wooden sign so everyone can see it."

Before long, the constables escorted two men in blue robes into the venue; they were the burly men from the distillery.

The boy gestured for them to point out the shop where the powder was collected and the route.

They pointed to a place, and the village headman immediately wrote down the shop's name. He then turned around and shouted to the crowd, "Whoever bought medicine from this shop, bring the prescription to exchange!" Three or five people stepped forward, the line moved, and order was restored.

Just then, a clerk-looking man rushed towards the city gate, panting, and shouting as he clasped his hands in greeting, "Make way! Make way! A message from the government office—"

The crowd parted to make way for the clerk, who rushed to the desk and said in a trembling voice, "The government office has temporarily suspended the issuance of documents in accordance with the Prince's order, and the three customs offices have stopped issuing documents. Grand Tutor Sun requests that you come to court together with us."

"Has Chenzheng arrived?" Zhu Han asked.

"We've arrived." The clerk swallowed hard. "They're waiting in the hall."

"Let's go." Zhu Han flicked his sleeve, his steps unhurried, like a heavy stone being thrown out and silencing the ripples on the water.

Before mounting his horse, he turned back and said, "Boy, don't put away the picture, and don't stop the tea. If anyone asks, answer them the same way; if someone curses, offer them a drink of water first."

The boy agreed and bowed to him, saying, "Have a safe journey."

In the main hall of the government office, the shadow cast by the eaves stretched like a cold line from the entrance to the steps. The official holding the seal sat in a side seat, with newly sealed inkpads and an inkstone on his desk, and a brush washer beside him, the water so clear that one could see their reflection.

On either side sat officials and outer attendants, each with a different expression; some looked away, while others sat upright.

"Your Highness," the official in charge of the seal rose and bowed, "the suspension of signing today is in accordance with orders. However, official business has piled up these past two days, and if it is suspended for too long, it may disrupt the people's lives."

"What's misleading the people isn't the suspension of visas, it's the bad visas."

Zhu Han's gaze swept over the crowd, his voice low but clear, "Today, I will only ask three questions: Who dares to forge an official seal, who dares to borrow an official seal, and who dares to take dirty money."

The air in the hall seemed to have gained a pound of weight.

The official in charge of the seal tapped his fingers on the table, producing a barely audible crisp sound.

Zhu Han laid out the small seals he had found in Yongtong's secret room, placed the "price list wood piece" he had taken from the roof ridge next to it, and then took out the "Yongtong" cloth scrap he had picked up from Xiling Post Station and gently placed it next to the seals.

"Let's start with the seal."

He slowly said, “If any of these small seals match the official seal, the official in charge of the seal is responsible; if they match the seal commonly used by a certain official, that official is responsible. The sandiness of the ink paste and the consistency of the tung oil can be used to verify this. Please point them out.”

A hint of shame and anger flashed across the official's face, but he still reached out his hand.

Zhu Han had two inkstones brought over, one made of fresh clay and the other of fake clay that had been sealed away from his study the night before.

The officials took turns pressing their hands down, their five fingers touching the mud, leaving fine lines on their fingertips like fish scales.

Zhu Han stared at each hand, his gaze like a knife, slicing through them one by one.

When it was the turn of a young clerk, his palms were sweaty, and the dirt between his fingerprints resembled bean curd residue.

Zhu Han remained silent, only gesturing for them to continue.

"Let's talk about money again." He laid out the map of the "dry warehouse" route provided by Gu Lü'an, pointing to several points circled in red.

"Who handled the money in these places? Was it the tea server outside the hall, the doorman, or the clerk? Explain clearly."

"Yes... it's the doorman." Someone's voice was weak.

“Incomplete.” Zhu Han shook his head, his gaze falling on Sun Yantong.

Sun Yantong understood, stood up, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and said clearly, "The tea server leads the way, the doorman receives the order with his short hand, the clerk writes the small slip, the outer hall approves, and the official with the seal stamps it. If any link in this chain breaks down, the whole thing will fall apart."

Some people in the hall blushed, while others lowered their heads.

The official in charge of the seal remained silent for a moment, then cupped his hands and said, "Your Highness, I am ashamed of this today and am willing to bear half the blame. However, my subordinates each have their own roles; some are good at writing, some are good at running errands, and some... are good at taking bribes."

"He who reaches out will first be bound by his own hand."

Zhu Han raised his chin, and the constables immediately stepped forward and escorted the minor official who had been arrested earlier for serving tea to the front of the hall.

Zhu Han placed the small, round granule coated with a thin layer of wax on the table, and tapped it open with the tip of his dagger, revealing a small amount of dark brown powder inside.

Sun Yantong leaned closer and sniffed, then whispered, "Poppy shell powder. If a person drinks it, their hands won't tremble, their heart will slow down, and they'll talk less."

"Who gave it to you?" Zhu Han asked.

The clerk's face was deathly pale, and his voice was barely audible: "...Gu Shen's men."

"And what about Gu Shen himself?" the official in charge of the seal suddenly asked, his eyes flashing with anger. "Dare he come into the yamen to feed people?"

“There’s no need for him to come,” Zhu Han said in a deep voice. “His men are outside the door. They’ve been there for a while, so they’ll know the way. Today, we’ve summoned all the tea vendors at the door and asked them who has close ties with the clerk and who has delivered ‘steady tea.’ We can find out with a simple investigation.”

He paused, "But today we're not here to arrest everyone. Today we need to cleanse the seal and wash our hands. Only when the seal and hands are clean can we begin to speak."

The official in charge of the seal nodded, as if swallowing a bitter pill: "What orders does Your Highness intend for us?"

"The printing room will be moved next to the drill ground tomorrow,"

Zhu Han said slowly and deliberately, “The official seal will only be used on three types of items: emergency medicine, items to be inspected, and medicine exchange certificates. All others will be postponed. A temporary table will be set up for ‘seal verification’ to check the authenticity. All clerks will take turns sitting in the office, changing every three days. From today onwards, one person will write the characters, one person will hand over the seal, one person will hold the ink, and one person will affix it. Everyone will keep an eye on each other, and no one should leave any loopholes for anyone else.”

"As you command." The official in charge of the seal clasped his hands, gathered his sleeves, and bowed his head, as if a weight had finally been lifted from his heart.

Zhu Han packed up the album, turned around, and left the hall.

Outside, the sky was already bright, and sunlight slanted down from the eaves, illuminating the cold lines of the lobby.

He had just stepped down the steps when someone rushed out from behind him. It was the young clerk, his face pale, but his eyes were surprisingly bright: "Your Highness... I am willing to go to the drill ground to verify the seal."

"Why?" Zhu Han stopped.

“I write,” the clerk gritted his teeth. “I’ve also reached out my hand. But I know more characters, so I can’t make any more mistakes.”

As he said this, his voice suddenly tightened, "My family runs a small shop in Dongchengkou. These past few days, my neighbors have been avoiding me. I don't want to avoid them anymore."

Zhu Han looked at him quietly for a moment, then nodded: "Go. Remember, you've only truly washed when the ink is cleaner than your face."

The clerk's eyes were slightly red as he bowed and withdrew. The boy waited at the bottom of the steps and said, "Over at the drill ground, Wen Niang has already explained 'concealing the smell.' The villagers learn quickly and have even written your four characters on the door." "Good." Zhu Han raised his eyes, staring at the distant flags on the drill ground, and suddenly said, "Take me to Old Zhang's house."

The boy was taken aback, then understood: "You mean to see those people from last night?"

"Hmm," Zhu Han said. "Pharmacologically, although Gelsemium elegans and Strychnos nux-vomica are different, the antidote also needs to be adjusted. After changing the medicine last night, I was afraid that there might still be residual poison."

In Old Zhang's courtyard, the sunlight baked the broken tiles on the wall until they gleamed.

Several patients were able to sit under the eaves, and although their wrist pulses were weak, they were showing signs of recovery.

The woman, who had been unconscious last night, opened her eyes, and her vision was much clearer.

Zhu Han squatted down, placed his fingertips on her wrist, and adjusted his breathing inch by inch to match her pulse. After more than ten breaths, his brows slowly relaxed.

"Have half a bowl of thin porridge in the morning, and a little warm soup in the afternoon. Don't stay up late at night, and don't light any fires." He got up and instructed his family, "Is the pot clean?"

“We brushed it three times,” Old Zhang said, wiping his hands. “The Child Master told us to brush it three times, so we brushed it four times.”

"Hmm." Zhu Han smiled faintly, "One more time is always better than one less time."

He walked to the water vat in the corner of the yard, scooped up a handful of water, and gently sniffed it. The water was clear and had no strange smell.

He looked at the woodpile again; the firewood still had medicine residue stuck to it.

He pointed and said, "Don't use this pile of firewood. Throw it by the river, and I'll have someone send clean firewood over later."

"Yes, sir," Old Zhang readily agreed, turning to tell his son to carry the firewood. The boy muttered to himself, "Does the prince even care about firewood?"

"The powder from last night is most likely to stick to the edge of the pot and the ashes."

Zhu Han said calmly, "If the details are unclean, the rough parts will also be bad."

As they were talking, a tall, thin boy squeezed to the front and timidly spoke up: "Your Highness, I...I want to learn how to identify medicinal herbs. Could you give me one of your diagrams?"

The boy looked at him and laughed, "You dare to learn just because you have a picture?"

"I can still recite it," the boy said anxiously, reciting all the rhymes he had heard at the training ground yesterday: "'Smell the aroma, observe the silk, pick it up with your hand, ask the name,' and 'The blackness of vinegar reveals the fake,' I remember them all."

Zhu Han stared at him for a moment, then handed him a thin rope. "Don't memorize it yet, just do it. Use this to loop around the stem, then pull out the silk and discard it."

He then pulled out a small piece of Gelsemium elegans and a small piece of Bupleurum chinense from his sleeve and placed them in his palm. “Go back to your family’s well, put these two pieces in the sunlight, and observe the difference in color after an incense stick has burned. If you can tell me where the difference is, come to the drill ground to find me tomorrow.”

The boy's eyes lit up, and he gripped the two blades of grass tightly, nodding emphatically: "Looking for you!"

Zhu Han watched him run out of the alley, the aroma of food from the courtyard wafting in his ears, mixed with the fresh scent of porridge and vegetables.

He looked away and was about to turn around when a fast horse suddenly galloped past outside the door. A constable dismounted, clasped his hands, and said urgently, "Your Highness! An underwater wooden cage has been discovered at Xiling Post Station, containing powder packets and seals that had not yet been transported. Several newly carved seals were also found in the grass on the shore!"

"Imprinted on the water's edge?" The boy frowned. "How come it's not afraid of the dampness?"

“It’s a lithographic seal,” the constable replied. “The outer casing is coated with oil and wrapped with waxed cloth.”

Zhu Han's eyes darkened: "Some people think that a break of one night can be repaired. Let's go to Xiling Post Station."

On the shore, the tide lapped against the stone steps, splashing out tiny droplets of water.

Two constables carried up a wooden cage filled with powder packets wrapped in oiled paper, the ends of which were newly replaced.

Several stone seals were stacked together nearby, their surfaces engraved with cold, hard, intaglio characters, depicting small stamps commonly used in various places.

Beside the wooden cage lay a broken porcelain cup, its contents still containing tea-colored residue, with a ring of greasy yellow oil clinging to the surface.

"The same 'steady hand' medicine oil as the clerk's."

The boy gasped. "Who's in such a hurry?"

"It's not that we're in a hurry, it's that we're used to it."

Zhu Han reached out and picked up a packet of powder. The temperature under his skin was half a degree lower than room temperature. "After being soaked in water, the powder is finer and less likely to clump when spread out. Last night, the water was blocked, so they changed their route and submerged the goods that hadn't been transferred in underwater cages, waiting for the storm to pass before retrieving them. It's a pity the river overflowed this morning, and you patrolled there."

"Your Highness, what should we do?" the constable asked.

"Open it to the public," Zhu Han said. "This afternoon, we will conduct the seal inspection, powder inspection, and wine inspection all at the drill ground. We will also display this stone seal and have the seal maker take a look. Craftsmanship can sometimes save lives and sometimes harm them. Between saving lives and harming lives, craftsmen must also make a choice."

He turned to look at the river. The winter sun was thin, and the water was somewhat dazzling under its light.

He stood in the wind, his clothes fluttering in the breeze like a thin, straight line pressed against the water.

"Your Highness," the boy suddenly whispered, "you haven't slept for several nights."

"A good night's sleep comes after things are settled," Zhu Han said with a faint smile. "I'm not in a hurry. The ones in a hurry are those who haven't had their dressings changed yet."

As soon as he finished speaking, an old woman leaning on a cane approached from the shore. Her face was deeply lined, and her eyes were full of anxiety: "Your Highness, they said at the drill ground that they will still help inspect the pots today?"

"Test it." Zhu Han turned around, his voice softening slightly. "Give it to me."

The old woman immediately told her grandson to take off the basket, revealing an old iron pot that had been polished to a shine.

Zhu Han rinsed the pot with water, brought the bottom of the pot close to his nose, sniffed it, and then scraped off a little black ash with his fingernail and rubbed it in his palm.

He nodded and smiled, "Clean. Go back and cook some porridge, cook it a little longer."

The old woman's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she thanked her repeatedly.

Zhu Han waved his hand, his back once again standing in the river breeze.

In the afternoon, the drill ground was once again in an uproar.

The stone seals were laid out in order, and a wooden sign next to them read "Craftsmen are welcome to come."

Sure enough, several engravers timidly stepped forward to the stage, examining the knife marks and touching the seal surface. Some blushed, while others lowered their heads and remained silent.

Wen Li placed the copper kettle on the corner of the table, and gently tapped the lid with her finger, producing a crisp sound, like the end of a sentence.

Zhu Han stood between the three wooden plaques, holding a thin rope in his hand.

The crowd quieted down. He looped the rope around a blade of grass, pulled, and it broke; then he looped it around another blade, pulled, and it wouldn't budge, just slivers of grass.

“This is what ‘observing silk’ and ‘hand-picking’ means.” He raised his head. “You may forget what I say, but you will not forget what you do. Once you have learned it, go and teach your neighbors and relatives. Explain it here today, explain it in the ancestral hall tomorrow, and explain it at the door the day after tomorrow. When your ears are tired of hearing it, your hands will become skilled.”

Some people laughed out loud, some nodded, and some pushed the child forward so that he could see clearly.

"There's more." Zhu Han held up the packet of powder he had fished out of the water cage, pried it open a little with the tip of his knife, and the powder dispersed into a wisp of smoke in the air.

He handed the white porcelain plate to the front of the crowd, letting the closest few people smell it. "Remember this smell: a pungent coolness, a fake fragrance, it goes into your nose but doesn't go into your stomach. If you encounter this smell, never tell yourself to 'endure it.' Take the bowl away and ask the shopkeeper, ask the customers, until they can't answer." (End of Chapter)