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

The apprentice didn't understand; he just felt like he'd heard those words before.

Yu Cao waved her hand to dismiss him, then raised her head herself.

There was an old lamp hook nailed to the wall behind the counter. The light was off, but the hook was lit, and it had just been oiled.

“Lamp hook…” Yu Cao stared at it, then her smile suddenly faded. “Du Xing, Du Xing—your lamp hook is for summoning souls.”

The door creaked open, and someone entered through the back door, their footsteps light and their voice even softer: "Brother Yu, the supply line has been cut off. The guy at the east gate wants us to take over."

Yu Cao didn't turn around: "What are you collecting?"

"ending."

"How to collect it?"

"You sell them yourself."

As soon as the man finished speaking, a short blade flashed from his sleeve.

Before the knife was fully drawn, his wrist was already caught by a thin bamboo ruler. With a gentle flick, the short blade fell to the ground with a "click." The man winced in pain but did not cry out.

"Who!" He turned around abruptly, meeting a pair of eyes as cold as washed stone.

“The Prince of Ning’s mansion has come to you to ‘mediate’.”

Yin Yan pressed the bamboo ruler down on the table, the end of the ruler bounced up and down again, "Yu Cao, go make a trip."

Yu Cao neither argued nor defended herself, but instead adjusted her robes and laughed, "Your Highness certainly knows how to pick a day. The Crown Prince's ship is to depart tomorrow, and you're stopping me tonight."

"You know?" Yin Yan frowned.

"I know. You're late; I was waiting to deliver a letter."

He raised his hand and slapped under the counter, and a thin box popped out, inside which was a half-flower shadow on a piece of paper with silver powder on the edge.

"To whom?"

Yu Cao smiled without changing her expression: "Give it to the blue stone east of Jiangkou Pavilion. The blue stone has words on it; once it's opened, someone will come."

"Who's coming?"

"The 'boss' you're looking for."

"name."

I only call him 'guest'.

"Where to stay?"

“In Chengnan Lane, outside the Qingmen Gate, stands the ‘Borrowing Wind Pavilion’.”

Yu Cao paused for a moment, then said, "There's a chessboard in the Borrowing Wind Pavilion, but one corner is missing. That corner is in his sleeve."

Just as Yin Yan was about to ask another question, a soft sound came from outside the door, like a piece of paper falling to the ground, or like a shoe heel scraping against a bluestone.

Yu Cao's eyes flickered, and suddenly she raised her neck, about to ram her head against the edge of the table.

The bamboo ruler crossed first, and his forehead slammed against the back of the ruler with a "bang," causing him to faint from the pain.

“Alive,” Yin Yan muttered.

"Only the living can find a way out." Zhu Han emerged from the shadows, silently closing the thin book in his sleeve.

He glanced down at the silver powder on the table, lightly rubbed it with his fingertip, and brought it close to his nose to smell it.

A faint medicinal fragrance wafted from the silver powder; it wasn't from tamarisk, but from wood chips called "sea pine."

Sea fumig is commonly found in Buddhist temples south of Haimen and is used for blending incense.

"Guest, you're a Buddhist." Zhu Han shook off the powder, turned around, and said, "Let's go to the Borrowing Wind Pavilion."

The Borrowing Wind Pavilion is not located on a prominent street, and its name is not clearly written either—the two characters "Borrowing Wind" are in old seal script and hang on the eaves, not visible at night.

Inside the building was a chessboard, its edge missing a corner. A half-cup of tea lay on the table, its surface slightly wrinkled, a sign that someone had just gotten up.

“The person has gone out,” Yin Yan said.

“He hasn’t gone far.” Zhu Han looked into the house. “He didn’t bring chess pieces, only incense.”

A breeze blew in through the window, causing the corner of the curtain to flutter slightly.

A barely perceptible shadow flashed through the gap in the curtain, like a stick of incense.

A moment later, a figure flashed past the alleyway downstairs, moving extremely fast and disappearing in an instant.

"Go from the back." Zhu Han went out and turned into an unnamed wall behind a narrow alley. Behind the wall was an extremely narrow ditch.

There was a stepping stone on the ditch, with incense ash imprints on it. The ash was very fresh, and the footprints were very deep.

"To the river mouth." He stepped onto the stepping stone, turned his clothes, and was no longer where he was.

The river mouth is quiet at night, the water surface like a blank sheet of paper.

The blue stone east of the pavilion gleamed coldly.

Zhu Han stood beside the stone, listening intently to the wind.

A flute could be faintly heard in the wind, one or two notes, extremely short.

After the flute music, a small paper package peeked out from behind a pavilion pillar, and was carried by the wind to land right next to the bluestone.

Zhu Han didn't look at the paper package, but at the shadow of the pavilion pillars.

A person stood in the shadows, dressed in black, not tall, walking very lightly, as if afraid of disturbing the water.

"Guest," Zhu Han said, his two words flat.

The man remained motionless, a half-smile playing on his lips: "Does Your Highness recognize me?"

“You have a corner piece in your hand,” Zhu Han said. “The missing corner of the chessboard from the Borrowing Wind Pavilion is in your sleeve. Only by filling in the missing corner can the game be complete. You like completeness.”

The man in black was silent for a moment: "Your Highness, have you come to take 'me' or 'horn'?"

“The horn isn’t worth much,” Zhu Han said, looking at him. “You’re worth it.”

The man in black suddenly laughed: "Even if it's worth it, I won't sell it."

With a flick of his wrist, a wisp of smoke escaped from his sleeve and flew straight towards Zhu Han's face.

The smoke was extremely light, like mist. Yin Yan was about to make a move, but Zhu Han did not. He simply closed the thin book in his sleeve, as if stamping a small seal.

The smoke curled around him and then dissipated.

The man in black stepped back into the pavilion, then turned and headed towards the embankment.

There is a small boat below the embankment. There is a lamp on the boat.

The lamp was not lit, only a tiny ember remained, but it was enough to cast the shadow of a bamboo ruler.

The ruler flashed, and the man in black was lightly hooked at the ankle, losing his balance.

He braced himself on the ground with his left hand, and drew his sword with his right. Before the sword was even drawn, the scabbard was pressed down by another hand. That hand was weak, yet steady.

Gu Qingping stepped aside to block the view from below the embankment, her eyes icy cold: "Don't let the knife come out."

A flicker of surprise crossed the man in black's eyes. He quickly glanced around and, seeing no soldiers in sight, sheathed his sword and smiled faintly: "Your Highness has brought the 'Crown Princess' to stop me?"

“She’s not stopping you,” Zhu Han said as he approached. “She’s here to hear what you have to say.”

The man in black's smile faded further: "I have nothing to say."

“You’re a Buddhist,” Zhu Han said. “You use sea rafts to make incense. You send prayer beads to the people of Haimen, Jinghai, and Dasha. You have them exchange ‘half-flower shadow’ tickets for silver, and then use incense to dispel the smell of silver powder. You do all this not for money.”

The man in black gave a soft "hmm".

"For whom?"

The man in black didn't answer, but instead asked, "Doesn't Your Highness ask who I am?"

"Since you call yourself a 'guest,' why should I break your name?"

Zhu Han placed the thin booklet on the bluestone. "I only have one question: On the third day of the autumn inspection, at the river mouth pavilion, who wants to see the Crown Prince?"

The man in black's gaze sharpened, and after a moment, he uttered two words in a low voice: "Empty gate."

"People from the temple?"

“It’s not a temple,” he said softly, “it’s a gate. Under the blue stone east of the river mouth pavilion, there’s a small crack where you can put incense. Once the incense is lit, the wind on the river turns, and the boats naturally dock.”

"Where to lean?" Yin Yan asked urgently.

The man in black raised an eyebrow: "Move closer to where you want to—the small pavilion prepared by the Prince. The Crown Prince will offer incense and say a few words. Keep it brief, and the wind must be favorable."

Gu Qingping's heart skipped a beat, recalling what Zhu Han had said to Zhu Biao last night about the "rudder." She looked at Zhu Han. Zhu Han glanced at her, as if to say: It's time.

"You put the incense under the stone, and the wind comes?" Yin Yan asked, puzzled.

“The incense is just a marker,” the man in black laughed. “It’s all about manpower. I’ve been using those boats on the river for five years. If Your Highness had come to arrest me a few years ago, I would have run away. Tonight—I won’t run away.”

"Why?"

The man in black looked out at the river, where a thin sliver of moonlight shone: "Because it's time to end it."

"Finish what?"

“A scheme.” He turned around. “The Prince’s scheme, my scheme, the Crown Prince’s scheme. When the schemes work together, all is well. When they don’t work together, the winds of war blow. In recent years, the Prince has allowed too many ‘shadows’ to be cast on the river. With too many shadows, one becomes truly weak. It’s time to stop.”

He slowly pulled a small object from his sleeve. It wasn't a knife, but a chess piece.

He placed the chess piece on the bluestone and respectfully bowed slightly to Zhu Han: "Your Highness, I'm returning the chess piece to you."

"Where did you get this from?" Zhu Han asked, taking the chess piece.

“The owner of the Borrowing Wind Pavilion,” the man in black laughed. “The owner’s surname is Hao, and his nickname is ‘Shadow-Facing.’ He took matters from the Shuntian Bureau of Investigation, using Du Xing’s hands, Qian Zongli’s feet, and Yu Cao’s mouth. It was only after the prince had traveled all the way here that he saw me. In fact, I am just a ‘wind-blower’.”

"A reflection." Zhu Han read it softly. "Good number."

He held the corner piece between his fingertips and twisted it back onto the board—no need for the board, no need for the platform, this corner piece should have been on the board in his mind.

The corners closed, and there was a very light "tap" from the fingertips.

"Where are you going?" he asked the man in black.

“Go to the temple.” The man in black laughed. “If the prince doesn’t want to kill me, I’ll go and strike the wooden fish.”

"Don't knock too loudly," Zhu Han said.

The man in black was taken aback, then chuckled, took two steps back, and disappeared into the shadow of the pavilion. The shadow shifted, and the shadow vanished.

"Where is he?" Yin Yan asked in surprise.

"Let him go." Gu Qingping put away the bamboo ruler.

"Release the tiger...?"

“He’s not a tiger.” Zhu Han put the booklet back into his sleeve. “He’s the wind. When the wind stops, he’ll naturally have nowhere to go.”

The next day, Zhu Biao arrived on time in the alleyway by the side gate of Fengtian Hall.

An ordinary-looking servant brushed past him, a piece of paper slipping from his sleeve and falling gently to the ground.

Zhu Biao didn't look, he tucked his sleeves in, and without stopping, entered through the side door.

The autumn inspection proceeded as scheduled. On the third day, east of the river mouth pavilion, the incense under the bluestone had been changed, the river breeze was favorable, and the boat docked.

Zhu Biao, dressed in light blue casual clothes, climbed the pavilion and stood there for a while.

Gu Qingping held onto his sleeve and stepped aside. Zhu Han wasn't there, but the words she wanted to read lay quietly beneath his sleeve.

Zhu Biao pulled out the paper and flattened it. There were only seven characters on the paper:
"The wind blows over the pavilion, and the water flows to the boat."

After reading it, he put away the paper, turned around, and addressed the soldiers on the river and the people on the embankment, saying loudly: "From now on, when boats dock, they should use the river mouth as the reference point. Do not disturb the people at night, and do not leave boats unattended during the day. As long as there is wind on the river and people on the embankment, it is safe."

As soon as he finished speaking, three bugle calls sounded on the river, and the soldiers responded. A child under the pavilion clapped his hands, and the grass on the embankment bowed slightly.

The wind rises and falls, the sound of water is rhythmic.

At that moment, the boats on the river moved like a person's breath, from rapid to slow, from chaotic to calm, as if an unseen hand was gently pressing down on the rudder.

Returning to Jinling at night, the lanterns at the gate of the Prince Ning's mansion were half-closed.

Zhu Han did not drink any wine, but simply spread the thin book from his sleeve on the table and tapped it lightly with his fingertip.

Deep within my mind, another soft sound echoed:
—"Check-in: East of Jiangkou Pavilion. Received: 'Map of Boats on the River' (one scroll). Note: The three crossings can be combined, and the pavilion can be fixed."

He put the scroll away and his gaze fell on the silver seal half-flower on the corner of the table.

The half-flower is cold, the lamp flame is warm; the two side by side look like a nail in the water.

Gu Qingping came in, stood opposite him, and asked softly, "Are you done?"

"It's not over yet." Zhu Han smiled slightly. "There's also 'reflection'."

"Master Hao of Jiefeng Tower?"

"Hmm." He looked up, his eyes showing no weariness, only a sliver of light. "When the wind stops, the shadows will dissipate."

"Where did they go?" Yin Yan asked from outside the door.

"Scattered throughout the court." Zhu Han gently tapped the silver seal on the table. "Hao Duiying will not stay on the river; he will enter the palace and change his name."

"Replace it with what?"

"—A 'film history' for the Crown Prince."

"Film history?" Yin Yan was completely confused.

"His shadow remains, yet his name is not revealed. His history endures, yet his name is not known." Zhu Han stood up, walked to the window with his hands behind his back, and said, "He is useful there. Once he is done, he is gone with the wind."

Outside the window, the plane trees sway gently, their leaves shimmering. In the distance, the tolling of palace bells echoes, deep and resonant.

Zhu Han looked at the pale moonlight, as if he were looking at an invisible line that circled from the river mouth to Fengtian Hall, then back to the Prince Ning's residence, and finally landed on the silver seal in his hand.

He put the seal back into the box, closed the box, and said softly, "Enter the palace tomorrow."

"What are you doing?" Yin Yan asked.

“Take the ‘shadow’.” Zhu Han turned around, his gaze slightly cold. “Bring him out of the wind and under the lamplight, so that His Highness can have a visible ‘shadow’.”

How do I invite them?

“Ask him to write something,” Zhu Han laughed. “Write a ‘Nameless Script’—nameless on stage, famous off stage. Once the script is finished, sit quietly on the river for five years.”

"He's willing?"

“If he refuses, I will not allow him to see the temple gate.”

Gu Qingping looked at him: "Does Your Highness really intend to force me?"

“It’s not coercion, it’s invitation.” Zhu Han’s gaze was calm. “He’s good at using the wind, I’m good at gathering the wind. We’ll each use our own methods once.”

The morning dew had not yet dissipated, and a layer of water glistened on the bricks of the side gate of Fengtian Hall.

As the bell tolled for the third time, a palace attendant announced, "His Majesty summons Prince Ning to the Wende Pavilion."

Zhu Han wore a small round-necked blue satin robe, without any court attire, and was accompanied only by one person and one shadow, his steps extremely steady.

The window of Wende Pavilion was half open. Zhu Yuanzhang was not sitting on the dragon throne. He stood under the window with his back to the light, looking at a scroll of paper with only four words on it: "The wind comes and the water arrives."

"Brother Han." He put the paper back on the table, his tone not harsh, "These four words, were they what you told Biao'er to say?"

"Yes." Zhu Hanxing bowed.

“What a fine ‘wind comes, water flows’,” Zhu Yuanzhang said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Effortless, yet useful. The river mouth is clean now.” He paused, but his hand didn’t leave the four characters. “And the reflection?”

"The host, Hao Duiying, arrived this morning and is currently waiting at Zhaowenzhai."

Zhu Han replied, "Your subject dares not speak first, awaiting your elder brother's instructions."

Zhu Yuanzhang glanced at him and said, "You've been doing too much underhanded work these past few years. It's both reassuring and unsettling for me."

“My duty as your younger brother is to ‘understand your elder brother’s heart.’ If your elder brother is worried, then I will let him see it.”

Zhu Han raised his eyes, "Today, let my brother witness a 'shadowy rendezvous under the lamplight'."

Zhu Yuanzhang chuckled: "Alright, I'll see."

Zhaowenzhai was not large; the room contained only a small couch, a few brushes and inkstones, and a short lamp.

The lamp was not the tall palace lamp commonly used in the palace, but a cup holder commonly seen at the mouth of the river, with a low flame and concentrated light.

Hao Duiying sat by the couch, dressed in simple, plain clothes, like a gentleman from the streets.

He looked up at Zhu Han, the smile in his eyes exactly the same as it had been at the Jiangkou Pavilion the night before: "Your Highness really knows how to pick a place. Few people, low lights, and the words are clearly visible."

"Writing is meant to be displayed," Zhu Han said, "but a person doesn't have to be."

Hao cupped his fists at Ying: "'Nameless Script,' how many scenes does Your Highness wish to perform?"

“One is enough.” Zhu Han sat down, not arguing with him about etiquette. “The script doesn’t include names of people or officials, only the events. We’ll proceed with whatever steps are written down.”

"Who is it written for?"

"The Crown Prince." Zhu Han reached out and moved the lamp back, casting a slanted shadow on the paper. "You're writing 'film history,' but he needs to read 'plain language.'" (End of Chapter)