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

"Keep an eye on the ravine," Zhu Han said. "I'm going to the back of the mountain."

The wind is stronger on the back of the mountain, and the rocks on the ridge are bared like teeth.

Two young men carrying medicine trays scouted ahead, their clothes flapping in the wind.

After turning a corner over a gray rock, looking down from the ridge, three newly built thatched huts stand out abruptly in a sheltered depression. Inside the huts are drying racks, ropes, and coarse sieves. A circle of burlap sacks surrounds the huts, with piles of grayish grass inside.

"This isn't a shed in our village!" the young man exclaimed.

"Don't make a sound." Zhu Han raised his hand and first used his eyes to scan the three sheds until they were clear.

In the first shed, a thin woman wearing a black veil was sprinkling fine powder onto the separated leaves with steady movements;

In the second shed, a man with a round face and short chin was holding a knife, slicing along the back of the stem, picking out the fibers, and applying oil, all in one go;
The third shed was empty, with a few sheets of paper hanging on the shelf. The paper had hand-drawn "stem and fiber diagrams", but the veins of Bupleurum and Gelsemium elegans were deliberately drawn to be similar.

"Wen Niang?" the boy asked in a low voice.

The thin woman looked up at the sound, her eyes peeking out from under the thin veil.

It wasn't Wen Li. Her gaze swept across the mountain breeze and landed on Zhu Han. She slightly cupped her hands, as if smiling, "Your Highness arrived quickly."

Zhu Han descended the slope, his steps steady, his tone calm: "Who are you?"

"My surname is Wen, and my given name is Ying," she said softly. "There's one more person watching the pot, so it won't make a difference if I'm not there."

"You've filled the kettle with 'fake water'."

Zhu Han said, “Your shed is called ‘cover’; that shed is called ‘modification’; and an empty shed is called ‘deception’.”

Wen Ying did not deny it. The round-faced, short-jawed man suddenly raised his knife, the blade flashing from the back of the leaf into the air, heading straight for Zhu Han's hand.

Zhu Han flipped his finger, and the bamboo skewer struck the back of the knife with a "snap." The blade then veered off course and struck a pillar, sending wood chips flying.

He kicked over the burlap sack next to the pillar, and seven or eight wax-sealed paper pouches rolled out of the sack, exactly the same as the ones he had seen at Fusheng Pharmacy.

"Qi Er," the boy said in a deep voice, "Don't run away."

The round-faced, short-jawed figure suddenly tried to break free, but Wen Ying blocked her way, her voice cold: "You can't escape the mountain."

Qi Er paused for a moment, then lunged toward the slope behind the empty shed, bumping head-on into two constables who had already circled around to the back of the mountain.

After a brief struggle, a bamboo skewer pierced his shoulder, causing him to clutch his shoulder and kneel down, the knife clattering to the ground.

Wen Ying didn't even look at him. She simply raised the powder sieve in her hand and tossed it into the air. The powder was blown away by the wind. She said indifferently, "This sieve is broken, so that others won't have to use it."

"Are you from Gu Shen's group?" Zhu Han asked.

“No.” Wen Ying shook her head. “He walked on the ‘road.’ I walked on the ‘shed.’

"Who is in charge of the shed?" the boy asked.

“The old ones are gone, and the new ones have not yet been established,” Wen Ying said. “Whether they are established or not depends on today.”

Zhu Han looked at her and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'll wait for you." Wen Ying brushed off the last handful of powder and gestured for the herbalists on the hillside to come closer. "You teach 'observing the silk,' I'll teach 'looking at the broken edges and oil lines.' You teach 'smelling the aroma,' I'll teach 'the changes in aroma after the powder is blown by the wind.' Once you've taught them, I'll leave."

"You're teaching?" the boy asked suspiciously. "Aren't you one of us?"

"I only know how to use my hands," Wen Ying said calmly. "I'll learn to use my hands from whoever has them."

“Okay.” Zhu Han nodded and raised his hand to the herb farmers, saying, “First look at the ‘bad’ herb in her hand, then look at the ‘good’ herb in my hand. Touch both of them once, and do it ten times. Do it ten times today, and do it ten times again when you go back to the village tomorrow. Whoever learns the fastest can teach the neighboring village first.”

Wen Ying placed two leaves in a bamboo tray, one coated with oil and the other with clean water.

She explained in detail: the veins of leaves coated with oil reflect light, and the veins are clearly visible in the light; the leaves of leaves coated with water have a misty, moist color, and the veins are not glaring.

She then used a fine knife to lightly slice the back of the two stems. The cut of the Bupleurum was clean and sharp, while the cut of the Gelsemium elegans was stringy, with threads as thin as hair, which would easily become tangled with the slightest pull. The herbalists gathered around to watch, reaching out their fingers to touch each stem and bringing their noses close to smell them.

A gust of wind blew, scattering the powder and leaving a faint, cool scent—the lingering fragrance of Buddleja officinalis. The old herbalist squinted: "I'll remember that."

"Look at this picture again." Zhu Han spread the "stem and fiber comparison diagram" drawn by the boy on the ground, and then slapped the "deceptive picture" found in the empty shed next to it. "Can anyone tell me what the difference is between these two pictures?"

A skinny man scratched his head and said timidly, "This fake picture makes all the leaf veins straight. The back of Bupleurum leaf should be straight, but Gelsemium elegans is not straight, it looks like a fishbone. The fake picture makes it straight too, so people will think they are all the same."

“Yes.” Zhu Han tore up the “deceptive image” and said, “Copy the real one and stick it on the side of the shed.”

He turned to the boy and said, "Later, put a picture of the 'deceptive image' on the training ground so everyone can see it."

"Understood," the boy replied.

"Qi Er," Zhu Han turned to the round-faced, short-chinned man, "whose money are you using to build your shed?"

Qi Er was pinned to the ground, his eyes darting around, his lips pale: "Give me the one surnamed Gu, give me the one surnamed Sun... and the 'paper shop' outside the West Gate..."

"The paper trade?" The boy raised an eyebrow. "The paper trade is here too?"

“The paper shops are honest,” Wen Ying suddenly said. “They sell paper, but they sold the wrong kind of paper. Some people use their paper to make seals. Good paper makes even bad things look respectable. I overheard that on the way.”

"Whether the paperwork is clean or not, we'll see on the drill ground."

Zhu Han didn't argue much. "Take Qi Er away. Wen Niang—if you want to leave, leave now; if you want to teach, leave when it gets dark."

Wen Ying glanced at him, her gaze calm and indifferent, and simply nodded: "Teach until dark."

It was nearly noon when they came down the mountain. Each of the herb farmers had a thin rope tied around their waist and held a small knife in their hand, as if they were holding a newly learned book.

From a distance along the field ridges at the foot of the mountain, a village boy approached, panting, carrying two sun-dried leaves: "Your Highness! I can tell—the ones that turn gray after being sun-dried are Gelsemium elegans, I wasn't mistaken!"

"Remember your eyes." Zhu Han smiled and handed him his thin rope. "Remember your hands."

The crowd packed the edge of the tent. Zhu Han stepped onto the stage, his fingers sweeping over each square, his voice low but steady: "This road begins on the mountain, the path is clear on the mountain; it enters through the city gate, the gate is the first place to inquire."

When passing through the printing house, one washes their hands; when leaving the money shop, one keeps clear accounts.
Pass under the bridge, watch your reflection. What's yours is all here. If anyone encounters dirt on this road in the future, first look at what's laid out on this table and ask them.

If he can't answer the questions, take out the rope, plate, knife, and pot you have, and examine them yourselves.

The wind swept up a layer of air from the roof, causing the flag to flutter with a "whoosh".

Many eyes scanned the table, taking notes. A child secretly reached out and touched the "floating board," but his mother pulled him back. The child grinned, as if he had discovered some secret. "The Fengheng account thread is here!" The village headman ran in carrying a pole with a string of silver notes strung at the bottom, each note ending in "seven," connected by a long red thread.

The portly shopkeeper followed behind, panting and wiping his sweat as he ran: "Your Highness, I've brought the two heads you requested. The paper shop owner and the engraver are also here."

"Place them next to the 'money shop' section," Zhu Han said. "First, match each 'seven' to a piece of evidence and see where it came from and where it went. After you've finished matching them, I'll say one more thing."

The money and tickets were quickly matched, and the red thread went from "Yongtong" to "Juyicang", then from "Juyicang" to "Dongmen Wine Shop", and finally landed under the names of two pharmacies.

The portly shopkeeper stood to the side, his palms sweating, but he didn't back down: "Your Highness, I only recognize 'seven' as a code. Now that the flow of money has been clarified, I am willing to establish a 'clear code'—whenever a pharmacy pays for medicine or a money exchange issues a ticket, the last few digits will be split into 'five' and 'six'. Five is genuine, and six is ​​suspicious. Suspicious tickets will be immediately transferred to the training ground. Anyone who uses 'seven' again, I will nail their name to the door of our money exchange."

“What you say doesn’t count,” Zhu Han said calmly. “Whether the people use your ‘open code’ is up to them. Just take out the ‘seven’ and lay out the ‘five and six’ clearly, and that’s enough.”

The chubby shopkeeper knelt down with a thud: "I'll do it."

"Get up." Zhu Han looked at him. "Clean up your accounts, and your hands will be clean."

The fat shopkeeper's eyes reddened, and he nodded emphatically.

At the end of the case, the paper shop owner stepped forward cautiously, cupped his hands, and said, "Your Highness, our paper is sold to many trades. Some people bring it to make seals, but I don't recognize it. These past two days, people have been spitting on our door, and I'm not happy about it."

Having seen this case today, I am convinced. From now on, my shop will no longer sell its seals to anyone outside the trade. When the printing shop comes to collect them, my shop will publicly write down the purpose, who it was sold to, and how many were sold; I will not keep a single one for myself.”

"Keep this in the books," Zhu Han said. "Bring me a pen."

The young clerk immediately wrote down his promise and pressed it between the two spaces labeled "Wenfang" (文房, stationery) and "Zhihang" (纸行, paper).

Wen Li gently tapped the lid of the teapot, as if to say "good".

"Your Highness!" The bridge workers, carrying the small plates from last night and the damp cloths from the bridge surface, gathered around. "We've smelled the 'cool fragrance of aged vinegar' and washed the bridge surface three times. From now on, two people will patrol the bridge every night, and more often when it's windy. Whoever sprinkles powder, we'll lift up their collar."

"Don't lift it, shout it first." Zhu Han smiled slyly, "Stand in front of the 'real' sign and shout 'Come and smell it.'"

The bridge workers were taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Yes!"

“Sun Waitang.” Zhu Han turned around. “You sit at the ‘seal verification’ table. When it’s your turn, remember what you promised—no shaking hands, no crooked characters, and no fake seal.”

"Yes," Sun Yantong replied, taking a sip of tea, the aroma spreading between his brows.

"Wen Niang," Zhu Han looked to another corner, "where were you in your explanation of 'masking smell'?"

Wen Li raised her eyes and said softly, "When it comes to 'fake fragrance doesn't go to the stomach,' they all learn to take the bowl away and smell it again."

“Okay.” Zhu Han nodded. “Next, let’s talk about ‘oil lines and breaks’.”

He paused for a moment, then said, "Later, you'll come back to the mountain with me. Wen Ying is still on the ridge. She has a bad case, you have a good one. One good, one bad, and you'll finish teaching this season."

Wen Li hummed in agreement, and the white steam rising from the spout rose another inch.

“Now,” Zhu Han turned his gaze back to the table, “connect the four spaces: ‘Yongtong,’ ‘Juyi Granary,’ ‘Dongmen Winery,’ and ‘Xiling Post Station.’”

The boy quickly drew a clean line with red ink. He then said, "Connect 'mountain garden,' 'herb farmer,' 'training ground inspection shed,' 'printing room rotation,' and 'bridge porter night patrol.'" The boy then connected these with a single line of black ink.

"Did you see it clearly?" Zhu Han asked.

The crowd responded in hushed tones, "We see it clearly now."

"This red path is the route the medicine took from poison to your pot over the past two months."

Zhu Han's voice remained calm, "The black path is the route from today onwards, where the medicine will travel from the net back into your bowls. The red path is broken, and the black path will take its place. You must follow the black path."

"Let's go!" someone shouted first, followed by a chorus of responses.

"Finally," Zhu Han picked up the small plate from "Xinqiao," handed it to the end of the red string of "Qianzhuang," and put it down. "The last digit 'seven' is also placed here. Whoever sees 'seven' should ask first, and try to get it to be 'five' or 'six'. If you can't get it to be 'seven', then you take this 'seven' and nail it under the 'fake' sign, and let it blow in the wind all night."

Someone in the crowd whistled, and laughter rose and fell, rolling outwards before quickly receding, like the tide washing over the shore, receding and then returning.

Even as the sun set behind the eaves of the city wall, the drill ground remained crowded.

The wooden signs stood there like silent flags. The village heads added a line of small print next to the road map: "Night inspection of the sheds: one round at 9 PM."

The bridge keeper replaced the night patrol clapper with a more solid one, making a "thump-thump" sound when he tapped it in his palm.

The people in the printing room carried the inkstone to the side of the shed. The young clerk sat up straight, his eyes bright and his hands steady.

The money shop staff carried ledgers back and forth, and the fat manager, sweating profusely, smiled and said to everyone he met, "Bring me the ones ending in 'seven,' we'll take a look first."

The city sounds are warm, but the wind is cool, chilling to the bone.

Zhu Han stood behind the desk, his gaze passing over the "road map," over the wooden sign, over the crowd, and landing on the city gate in the distance, which was gradually darkening.

The boy handed him a bowl of hot porridge: "Your Highness, have some."

He hummed in agreement, raising his hand to drink, when suddenly a series of light, rapid footsteps echoed from the side alley. A boy burst from the crowd, running towards him—it was the village boy from the foot of the mountain, panting and barely able to speak.
"Your Highness! Someone has dug a pit near the shed on the mountainside and buried two new jars! We didn't touch them as you said, and we're waiting for you here!"

"Let's go." Zhu Han put down his cup, took the box into his sleeve, and tossed out a single sentence, "The drill ground remains the same, the 'road map' remains in place, and an extra shift for the 'inspection' is added. Boys—"

"I'll guard this side." The boy raised his hand, his smile tinged with fire. "You go up the mountain. Remember to bring back those two jars; I want to smash them in the training ground for everyone to see."

"Alright." Zhu Han flicked his sleeves, stepped out of the tent, his steps unhurried, as if he had measured each step carefully.

The crowd spontaneously made way, and the children raised the thin ropes in their hands, like holding up a row of simple flags.

Zhu Han walked briskly along the cobblestone path, a newly arrived list in his hand.

The sunlight was gradually warming up, but the mountain breeze still carried a chill.

Through the gaps in the trees in the distance, he could see the ancient temple hidden in the forest, with rolling mountains behind him, and in front of him was the place where his current task was located—the herb field.

The mountain road winds its way up, and in the bends, the shadows of the trees are dappled, and the sunlight appears and disappears intermittently.

He remained vigilant, every subtle sound was enough to make him stop and assess whether it was a sign of hidden danger.

The attendant followed closely behind, his steps light, as if afraid of disturbing his master's thoughts.

Today, there's new activity in the medicinal herb field.

Since he uncovered the poison routes along this road, the herb farmers and merchants in the county seem to have become much more cautious. (End of Chapter)