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

"The traveling monks from the north were distributing leaflets at the entrance of the City God Temple. When they distributed the third leaflet, they were blocked by the local militia and disappeared. Another group came from the post station and looked like brokers from the border regions."

“The brokers are faster than the officials.” Zhu Han straightened his sleeves. “Let’s go to the post station.”

Before dusk, the inn in the west of the city had already lit its lamps.

A horse neighed in the courtyard, and the sound of water splashing in a copper basin came from the next compartment.

The postmaster stood under the corridor and bowed to greet the three as they entered the courtyard, saying, "Your Highness."

Zhu Han waved his hand: "No need for formalities. Let us be the 'guests'."

The postmaster led them through the corridor and pointed to a small room at the back: "The broker stays here. He's been to the inn twice, both times in the afternoon, and he always changes lodgings at night. He arrived early today and has already ordered wine."

Gu Qingping nodded: "Who will pay for the drinks?"

The postmaster paused for a moment, then said, "Hisself."

"Not from the museum?" Zhu Han's smile faded. "Then it's not 'legitimate'."

Yin Yan went to push the door open, but it was not bolted.

Inside the room was a man in his early forties, with sharp eyebrows and narrow eyes, and an old scar on the bridge of his nose.

He was unpacking a small packet of dried meat when he saw someone enter. He was startled at first, then stood up and bowed, saying, "Master, you've come—"

"Sit down," Zhu Han said in a flat tone. "Have some water before we talk."

Gu Qingping closed the door and reached out to pick up a cover from the table.

The cover has no words, only a very thin layer of wax.

She pushed the wax aside a little and saw a small piece of paper tucked inside. The paper had a drawing of the "Eastern Palace Seal" pattern on it, and two lines of fine characters next to it read, "The vermilion seal must be heavy, and the floral pattern must be full."

The agent's Adam's apple bobbed: "It's just for show, a mere trifle."

"Play?" Yin Yan emphasized the word "play" very softly. "Who are you playing for?"

The broker's eyelids twitched, his smile faltered, and he stammered, "There's an emergency at the North Road warehouse, someone asked me to come—"

"Please take the sample to the capital for a walk." Zhu Han accepted the invitation. "Who's inviting me?"

"This..." The agent glanced sideways at the crack in the window. "His reputation is tainted, and saying anything would only hurt me. Sir... please go easy on me, I'm just asking for a toll."

Gu Qingping sealed the wax seal and placed it casually next to the broker, her voice extremely gentle: "The calluses on your hands are from pulling ropes, not locking locks. If you were just taking money for the road, you should have calluses from money, not from ropes."

The agent lowered his eyes: "Your Majesty is wise."

Zhu Han tapped the table with the back of his finger, his rhythm steady: "You brought Yang Zi to the capital, but who did you select? Where are they? What time? If you utter even half a wrong word, you won't have to go back to the North Road."

The broker gritted his teeth and after a long pause, finally uttered, "Longjing Lane, the back room of the cloth shop. Around 5 PM. They're looking for 'grain coupons,' saying they only need something urgent."

"Bu number?" Gu Qingping looked at Zhu Han. "If you want individual tickets, distribute them first."

"Go." Zhu Han turned around. "Innkeeper, keep him here, heat up the water, and borrow two of his clothes so he doesn't get cold."

The agent paused, a hint of suspicion flashing in his eyes: "Sir, please keep me here?"

Zhu Han smiled and said, "If you're not here, the smell of alcohol will be gone, and the people in the back room will be on alert."

The cloth shops in Longjing Lane are old and worn, with cracks on the door panels resembling a dry riverbed.

In the back room, there was a long table, behind which sat a tall, thin accountant wearing a black gauze hat and using an abacus.

A two-foot-long cloth sample hung on the wall; it was white with a grayish tinge and felt fine to the touch.

"Get the ticket?" The accountant raised his eyelids slightly, his voice as cold as water. "It depends on whose pledge it is."

The agent walked in through the door: the same gray-blue short jacket, the same brisk pace.

He pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve. The red ink on the paper was very dark, but it was covered with flowers.

The accountant took it, glanced at it sideways, and smirked: "Hua is too fat."

He placed the paper on the table, picked up the lamp, and shone the light through the back of the paper: "The paper is very thin, but the print is heavy on the back, as if it were hit with a stone."

Yin Yan scratched his head: "It was urgent, it got damaged on the way."

"Urgent?" The accountant clicked his tongue over the word "urgent." "I love hearing these two accents—the North wants silver, the South wants grain, and those in the middle are in 'urgent' situations. I don't accept this ticket. Go back and exchange it for half a coin."

Yin Yan said "Oh" and stepped back. A dark shadow flashed outside the door, then silence.

In the back room, the curtain moved slightly, and someone who was completely unseen pressed down the corner of the curtain.

She was dressed in plain white clothes with short sleeves and no bracelets on her wrists.

He picked up an account book from the table with his hand under his sleeve, turned a page, and then gently closed it.

As Gu Qingping walked along the wall, her steps were so light they seemed not to touch the ground. She pushed the closed account book back to its original place and said calmly, "Don't look at the account book yet."

The accountant looked up, saw her at a glance, and his face turned as if a cold wind had swept over him: "Your Majesty—"

"Don't call me Your Majesty." She sat down. "This is a cloth shop, not a palace."

The accountant couldn't hide his embarrassment, but still got up and smiled apologetically: "What kind of fabric does the young lady want? The back room can cut it."

“Cut your words.” Gu Qingping gently turned the tickets on the table. “You just said ‘the flower is too fat,’ and then ‘a stone smashes it.’ Are those phrases from the trade?”

The accountant remained silent.

Gu Qingping took the old rubbing of the "Shuntian Official Seal" from her sleeve and laid it on the table, with the rubbing side by side with the fake seal on the paper.

Under the lamplight, the details are clearly distinguishable—the cloud-shaped strokes on the old rubbing are half-hidden, while those on the fake seal are fully open; the seal script on the old rubbing has a returning stroke, while the seal script on the fake seal is straight and direct.

"You have a good eye; you can tell the difference between real and fake."

She whispered, "I just don't dare to say it."

The accountant twirled the abacus beads in his hand, as if trying to return a bead to its original position: "So what if I told you? Who cares?"

“The Crown Prince is in charge,” Yin Yan interjected from outside the curtain, his voice as cold as water hitting a stone. “But you don’t have to believe me. You can only believe your own accounts.”

The accountant's eyes flickered. Gu Qingping pressed down on the teapot: "You could have kept the ticket and rescinded the dispute tomorrow. Why did you return it on the spot?"

The accountant lowered his eyes: "This is the rule—refund only if the amount is full."

"There's another rule—people who want a refund have to go through the 'back door,' they're not allowed to leave through the front hall."

Gu Qingping stared into his eyes, "You broke the rules because you were afraid someone would see you accepting fake tickets, or because you were afraid someone would see you not accepting fake tickets?"

Silence held the house upright.

After a moment, the accountant's throat bobbed, he pushed the abacus aside, and whispered:
“Mother…Miss, there’s a real seal in the back room. Someone brought it over the other day, saying they wanted us to carve a ‘half-flower’ seal based on it. I saw it was real, so I didn’t dare touch it. That person also brought a booklet that says ‘Northern Route Urgent Payment of Silver,’ and they wanted us to copy it and write it down.”

"Whose hands is the real seal?" Yin Yan asked.

"It was in that man's sleeve. He didn't reveal his name, only saying that he was a 'grain protector' who came to collect 'half a flower' for two hours, and then distributed the sample tickets. If he could distribute them, he would go to the post station to get a statement; if he couldn't, he would change the cloth brand."

"Confession?" Gu Qingping seized on those two words. "Where do confessions come from?"

“Anji Shop outside Shuntian City. Someone wrote it down, saying that the Crown Prince urgently requested permission, and told him to read it aloud. To whom was it read? To the military commander in charge of the warehouse.”

The accountant pointed to the eaves, "They were listening outside, and when they heard something, they sealed the warehouse doors for two days, saying they were waiting for the tickets. Sealing them every two days means the grain ships will stop, and the city will definitely be in a panic."

Gu Qingping looked at Zhu Han. Zhu Han slowly folded up the old seal and put it into his sleeve, saying calmly, "Invite the 'grain protectors' over for tea."

The accountant stared blankly, clearly puzzled.

Zhu Han gently pushed the tickets on the table: "The north wind is dry, the south tea is sweet. Invite him to have a cup of south tea, with less salt."

It was late at night, and the wind was howling outside the teahouse.

The tea-selling waiter deftly added charcoal twice, and the fire glowed a bluish-red. The curtain was lifted, and a pale-faced, beardless man entered, his shoulders straight, a short wooden ruler tucked into his belt—a ruler for counting grain.

He looked around as he entered, noticing two or three figures behind the woodpile, but didn't pay them any mind.

"Please sit down, you grain protector." Gu Qingping poured him half a cup of tea. "A little tea."

"You're too kind, young lady." He held the cup in his hand but didn't drink, his eyes fixed on a corner of the table. There was a small clay seal on the table, different from the ones he was used to. The words on the seal read "Shuntian Capital Transport Office Seal".

"Have you seen it before?" Zhu Han asked.

The guard put down his teacup and forced out a voice from his throat: "Greetings."

"where is it?"

"Official post station." He wiped his tongue on his dry lips. "Half-flower."

Who took it?

“Me.” He looked up, a hint of smugness in his eyes. “It’s a pity that half of the flower wouldn’t be written on the paper.”

Why not?

He said the inkpad had frozen and couldn't be spread.

Yin Yan clicked his tongue: "Late spring, and the ink is frozen?"

The guard's eyes narrowed, realizing he'd been exposed, and he chuckled dryly, "I was just talking nonsense."

"You're not talking nonsense, you're greedy."

Zhu Han pushed the seal an inch closer to him. "You need to use the Crown Prince's name to get a sum of money for expediting the release of goods. Once you get it, give 10% to the 'cloth shop,' then to the 'broker,' and then to the people behind you. Once the North Road warehouse is sealed, go back and urge them even harder. The harder you urge, the more valuable the goods will be."

The man guarding the grain pulled his hand back into his sleeve, as if he had grasped something: "Why are you saying this to me, sir?"

"Based on the wooden ruler in your hand."

Gu Qingping spoke casually, "The person counting the grain should have salt frost on their measuring tape, but yours is clean. You haven't been counting the grain these past few days, only the people."

The guard stared at her for a while, then suddenly pulled out a wooden ruler and slammed it on the table: "Good eye. Fine, I admit it. So what if I admit it? You can take me? You can take me, but you can't take Beilu."

“We don’t want to take the North Road.” Zhu Han slowly stood up, his tone calm. “We want the North Road to take you themselves.”

The grain guard chuckled: "The northern route is thousands of miles away. Who would know if I were drinking salty tea here?"

"The Shuntian Capital Transport Office knows." Zhu Han moved his hand in his sleeve, and the seal was revealed again, this time on a different side, a rubbing of the intaglio script.

There is a small gap in the fine texture—that gap only appeared after the printing was changed this spring; it wasn't present in the old printing.

The grain protector's expression changed, like a piece of root being pulled out of the mud.

His throat felt dry and itchy, and he finally reached out, picked up the half-cup of tea, and gulped it down.

"Speak," Yin Yan pushed a small cloth bag over. "Write your name, nothing else. If you write even one wrong character, your wooden ruler will be drying on the Shuntian City gate tower tomorrow night."

His hand trembled twice as he guarded the grain, and he wrote down two characters: Wang Bin.

The teahouse was quiet for half an incense stick's time.

Zhu Han put the paper away and asked casually, "Who is Wang Bin?"

The voice protecting the grain lowered: "The guards of the Northern Garrison are stationed along the grain route."

"He asked you to come to Beijing?"

“He sent his ‘agent.’ I only protect him.”

A hint of resentment flashed in the eyes of the grain protector. "Sir, it's not just me who wants to eat. There are too many other people on this road who want to eat as well."

"So you need to borrow the name of the Crown Prince."

Gu Qingping straightened the cup, "You know, by using these two words, you can make people dare not ask."

The grain protector's throat bobbed, but he remained silent.

The wind outside picked up a bit, and the curtain was lifted by a corner with a "whoosh" before falling back down.

"Okay." Zhu Han patted his sleeves. "You can go now."

The guard protecting the grain froze: "I...leave?"

“Go back the way you came; if you dare to turn into the South Lane, someone at the entrance will borrow your wooden ruler to measure your leg.”

Zhu Han paused for a moment, then said, "When you get back, please pass on this message for me: 'A half-bloomed flower will wither on its own.'"

The man protecting the grain didn't understand what he meant, but he knew he had been spared.

He clasped his hands in a fist salute, stepped back, and walked to the door, but couldn't help turning back again: "Master, Wang Bin... is not someone to be trifled with."

“I won’t provoke him,” Zhu Han laughed. “Let his ‘half-flower’ provoke him.”

The next day, as dawn broke, two pieces of news began circulating in the city at the same time: one was that "the Crown Prince does not recognize the full-flower ticket," and the other was that "Shuntian is changing the seal, and the old tickets are invalid."

The storytellers in Fangkou described "full flower" and "half flower" so vividly that the children started to imitate them.

In the Eastern Palace Academy, Zhu Biao received two items sent from the Prince of Ning's residence: a rubbing and a piece of white paper with the words "Wang Bin" written on it.

He examined the two items closely, placed them on the table, closed it, and instructed, "Today, focus solely on the book; ignore everything else."

Gu Qingping smiled at him: "The lamp is still there."

Zhu Biao nodded: "The lamp is still there."

That afternoon, a courier dispatch from Shuntian arrived in Beijing at top speed: the official seal had been changed, and the old dispatch did not involve the Crown Prince.

Attached is a small note: "Someone on North Road borrowed my name; this has been investigated."

The paper was short, but the words were clear. Zhu Han finished reading it and smiled faintly: "Half-Flower helped me."

Yin Yan asked, "What's next?"

"Next, let the wind from the north carry away the dust from the north road."

Zhu Han said, "Yin Yan, go to the East Market and find three people who can write fine small regular script. Have them write this 'Wang Bin' three times and give it to three different people: one is the Prefect of Yingtian Prefecture, one is the Postmaster of Shuntian Post Station, and one is the Transport Commissioner of Nanhe. Each person writes their own words and seals their own mouth. Remember, no one is allowed to see anyone else."

"promise."

"Qingping, go to the Imperial Household Department and make a rubbing of the half-flower seal of the Eastern Palace. Send a document to all departments—only the word 'half' is genuine. Let the embroiderers in the city's brothels know as well."

Gu Qingping laughed and cried at the same time: "Even the embroiderer is being told?"

“The embroiderer is skillful and quick to spread the word. Besides, these people from the north love to say ‘urgent’ in that place.”

Zhu Han's eyes held a cold, ambiguous smile. "When they say 'urgent,' they should first consider whether the flowers are in full bloom."

Three days later, news came from Shuntian: Wang Bin was ordered to return to his hometown to treat his illness, and the wooden ruler used to protect the grain was returned to the government treasury.

The gates of the northern warehouse opened, and the grain ships untied their mooring ropes one by one.

The storyteller in the city changed his words: "A half-bloomed flower can protect the city; a full-bloomed flower is easy to rot a person."

On the small platform of the Prince Ning's mansion, the wind blew the bamboo shadows in clumps.

Zhu Han unfolded the old rubbing again, his fingertip gently tracing the small notch.

Gu Qingping handed him a cup of tea: "No salt needed today."

"Mmm." Zhu Han took a sip. "Sweet." (End of Chapter)