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

Hao Duiying picked up the pen, and lightly touched the edge of the inkstone with the tip of the pen, as lightly as falling rain.

He didn't ask about the price or the fate, but simply straightened the paper: "Which performance would Your Highness like to begin with?"

“Start with ‘the end of the salt route’.” Zhu Han placed the thin booklet from his sleeve on the corner of the table. “The salt tickets were changed to paper, the silver stamps were fixed, and the order of the three stops was written as the ‘key points’, and two more ‘hidden lines’ were hidden.”

"Hidden meaning?" Hao raised an eyebrow.

"Write a couple of lines for the people on the river to see, but not for the court."

"Understood." Hao Duiying's smile faded, and he put down his pen.

The first line reads: "Field A: East of the River Mouth Pavilion, the small pavilion stands silent, yet the wind comes of its own accord."

The second line reads: "Field B: Jinghai, Haimen, Dasha, ships not in formation, horns in formation."

The third line reads: "Category C: Salt tickets are made of thin paper, but the silver stamps are heavy. One is light and the other is heavy; the heavier one is genuine."

When he wrote the "hidden dialogue," he paused, picked up his pen, and inserted two extremely fine words between the lines: "The wind blows to the dike, but the dike does not move; the boat reaches the shore, but the shore remains silent."

Then, at the end, he added: "At night, I don't care about people's names; during the day, I only recognize the seal."

The brush was put down, the ink settled. Hao Duiying put down the brush: "What the prince wants is not the play, but the rules of the stage."

"It's good that you know." Zhu Han picked up the paper and blew on it. "Your handwriting has both oil and strength. The oil is used in the 'wind' stroke, and the strength is used in the 'stop' stroke. If a stroke is missing, it won't look good."

Hao smiled at Ying: "Your Highness should also write something about it."

"I won't write it." Zhu Han handed the paper to Gu Qingping. "She will sign it on my behalf."

Gu Qingping did not push it away. She took the silver scepter and pressed it lightly. Half of the flower landed on the edge of the character "齐" in "号角齐". The silver light pressed against the ink, making the black surface shiny.

She raised her eyes slightly: "The script is finished."

Zhu Yuanzhang watched the whole scene from behind the screen. He coughed lightly behind the screen, took two steps forward, and stared at Hao Duiying: "You are the owner of Jiefeng Tower?"

"I am Hao, a commoner, and my pen name is Duiying." Hao Duiying stood up and walked with proper etiquette. "Greetings, Your Majesty."

Zhu Yuanzhang did not tell him to dispense with the formalities, but only said, "Duìyīng, how many years have you been stirring up trouble on the river?"

"Five years."

"I told you to write, not to do," Zhu Yuanzhang said, pointing to the lamp. "This lamp is low; can you see it yourself?"

"I can see it," Hao replied decisively. "The light shines on the words, not on the face."

"Alright." Zhu Yuanzhang waved his hand. "Hao Duiying, from today onwards, you will hold the position of 'Shadow Historian' in the Eastern Palace. You will not sign your name, will not be assigned to any post, and will only be given a lamp, a brush, ink, and a box of sand. If any outsider asks for your name, you will only say 'the one who copied plays'."

"As you command." Hao bowed to Ying.

Zhu Yuanzhang turned to Zhu Han: "Brother Han, there are people copying the plays and people pressing the river, so you don't need to go to the dock every night."

"I never intended to go every night," Zhu Han laughed. "It's just that when no one's around, you need someone to keep you company."

"Hmm." Zhu Yuanzhang glanced at him, a rare warmth in his eyes. "By the way, last night the eunuch reported that someone at the Silver Bureau was asking about 'Half-Flower Mother's Formula.' Did you know that?"

"I know." Zhu Han turned to a page in the booklet and tapped his fingertips twice.

—"Check-in: Silverwork Bureau Alley. Received: One copy of 'Silver Seal Mother Pattern Identification Manual', with 'Eight Minor Marks on Seal Edge' attached."

The whisper in his heart was so faint that no one could hear it.

He turned the booklet over and replied, "The person asking isn't asking about Fan, but looking for Fan. Fan isn't at the Silver Workshop, he's in Sanjing Lane."

"What is your basis?" Zhu Yuanzhang asked.

"Of the eight micro-carvings in Fanbian, only the fifth micro-carving can be found in Sanjing Lane."

Zhu Han said calmly, "Below the sixth level, you need a skilled jade craftsman, and you can't find one in the capital right now. If the person asking is in a hurry, they might stop at the fifth level."

Zhu Yuanzhang scoffed, "Your mouth is like a scale. Go and settle this matter as well."

When I left Zhaowenzhai, it was already bright daylight. The palace servants were still walking in an orderly fashion on the imperial road, and the wind rustled the treetops.

Gu Qingping rolled up her sleeves and put the "Unnamed Script" into the box: "Your Highness, some people will not like Hao Duiying entering 'film history'."

"Even if you don't like it, you still have to look at it." Zhu Han said calmly, "If we don't make people dislike us, how can we be sure we've done something?"

"Over there in Sanjing Lane?" Yin Yan caught up.

"Let's not go to Sanjing Lane first," Zhu Han said. "Let's go to Zhongshan."

“Zhongshan?” Yin Yan was taken aback.

"Zhongshan has many temples, incense burns in the temples, and fine stones lie beneath the incense."

Zhu Han stopped. "The wind carries the fragrance, and the fragrance comes from the stone. Look at the stone first, then knock on the door."

The moss along Zhongshan Temple Road is still wet, and birdsong is scattered in the woods.

Zhu Han remained silent and climbed the old stone steps.

Midway along, there was a side well with a wooden grid covering the opening. A tiny silver piece was embedded in one corner of the grid, almost invisible unless one crouched down.

He gently lifted a corner of the wooden frame, and the water in the well rippled slightly.

—"Check-in: Zhongshan Side Well. Received: One 'Jiangkou Wind Measurement Ruler'. Note: Half a li is a section, and it will sound when the section is full."

With that thought settled in his heart, he put the wooden frame back in its place and looked up at the sky. The sun had not yet pierced through the forest, but the wind had already changed direction.

"Your Highness?" Yin Yan didn't understand.

“Someone is testing the air in the well.” Zhu Han patted the corner of his clothes. “Zhongshan has plenty of incense and water. The person testing the air is in the temple, not in Sanjing Lane.”

"That 'model mother' of Sanjing Lane—"

"It's just a smokescreen to draw attention away from the problem."

Zhu Han strode forward, saying, "Tonight we'll walk through the temple, tomorrow we'll walk through the alleys."

As dusk settles, the sound of wooden fish drums echoes slowly and steadily within the Hongji Temple at the foot of Zhongshan Mountain.

The temple was small, with firewood piled up against the wall and three strings of wind chimes hanging in the corner.

As the wind blows, the bells ring softly, producing three distinct sounds—the first clear, the second muffled, and the third the shortest.

"A wind-tracking ruler." Zhu Han stood outside the door and listened for the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea before whispering, "A sound every half mile indicates someone is keeping track of the steps beneath the incense."

Gu Qingping looked at the three strings of bells: "Who remembers?"

“…An old friend who sees the shadow.” Zhu Han’s gaze fell on the central courtyard, where a monk dressed in old gray cloth was washing his hands by the well. His fingers were calloused, and his hand holding the bell rope was very steady.

“Please ask him,” Zhu Han said.

The monk turned around, his gaze calm and unperturbed. He clasped his hands together and said, "Please, guest."

"Buddhist name?"

"Chengyuan".

“Chengyuan,” Zhu Han smiled slightly, “you’ve remembered the wind for five years, do you still want to remember it?”

"Remember the wind, remember the heart."

“You don’t need to remember my heart.” Zhu Han raised his hand. “Remember the ‘half-lace’—the tiny mark hanging from the silver seal, called ‘edge eight micro’. How many micro’s can you see?”

Cheng Yuan was taken aback: "Three." He paused, then added frankly, "Sometimes four."

“That’s enough.” Zhu Han nodded. “Come to the Prince Ning’s residence tonight, copy a couple of lines from the opera, and exchange them for two strings of bells. These three strings on Zhongshan Mountain are too noisy.”

Cheng Yuan remained unmoved, his expression calm: "If Your Highness wants the people from the nunnery to go to the Prince's residence, there must be a 'way'."

"I'll give you the way." Zhu Han turned to Yin Yan and said, "Before returning to the city, go around Sanjing Lane and borrow someone."

"Who to borrow?"

"Old Ma, who was polishing a whetstone next to the silver-borrowing scheme. His hands were very steady, and he could polish the 'fifth micro'."

"Oh."

Inside the stone mill in Sanjing Lane, the warmth of the heating system carried the metallic scent of iron as Old Ma used a small pair of iron tongs to sharpen the corner of a stone.

Seeing Yin Yan enter, he looked up and smiled, "What are you dawdling about, sir?"

“Grind the ‘micro’.” Yin Yan placed a thin piece of silver on the table. “The fifth of the eight micro.”

Old Ma's smile didn't waver. He held the silver piece between his fingers and pushed it upwards with his fingertips: "You always talk about eight micros, but here, with a slight tremor of the hand, it becomes nine micros."

"Nine?" Yin Yan raised an eyebrow.

"The better the hands, the more you get." Old Ma handed the silver sheet back. "You asked the wrong place. Sanjing Lane only goes up to level five. If you want to grind it further, you have to go to 'Yulufang' in the west of the city. The people there grind jade and silver."

"Who did the grinding?" Yin Yan pressed. "The surname was Yu, I don't remember the given name, but his hands were always very clean."

Old Ma wiped the cloth, "A clean person leaves not a trace of ink."

Yin Yan's heart skipped a beat: "Fish... Yu grass?"

"No," Old Ma shook his head. "Yu Cao's hands are dirty, and she likes to wear powder. Yu, on the other hand, doesn't wear powder."

"Thank you." Yin Yan clasped his hands in thanks and hurriedly left.

Night, the small study of the Prince of Ning's mansion. Under the lamp, two strings of new bells were placed, each with a tiny silver nail embedded in its clasp. The nail had a pattern, the end of which was "Fifth Micro".

Chengyuan sat at the desk copying words. He wrote the "Second Act of the Script for the Reclining Scene," adding three lines of introduction: "One step before the temple, one foot below the well; three numbers on the river, two stops by the embankment."

After reading it, Gu Qingping nodded: "Clean."

"Cleanliness is essential." Zhu Han placed the "wind gauge" on the window frame, with the end facing outwards, "Waiting for the wind."

The wind outside the window had indeed changed. Though I couldn't hear a sound, there was a rhythmic rustling that came from afar, like a horse walking on a stone path.

After three strikes, the ruler's tail flicked, producing a very soft sound.

Immediately afterward, a shadow swept past in the outer courtyard, and an attendant reported: "Someone from Yulufang in the west of the city requests an audience."

The man who came was a thin, middle-aged man with long fingers, short nails, and no calluses on the back of his hands—a jade polisher.

He bowed as he entered and said, "Yu Zhong greets Prince Ning."

"Have you ever done 'half-lace' trimming?" Zhu Han asked.

Yu Zhong did not answer, but raised his sleeve to reveal his wrist.

There are extremely fine silver marks on the inside of my wrist, forming a circle that doesn't close completely, like the seventh micro-step in the "Eight Micro-steps of the Edge". Those are the marks left on myself by the person who has been grinding.

"Seventh?" Yin Yan exclaimed in surprise.

“Seventh,” Yu Zhong said. “The eighth difficulty was a little short. Someone asked me to hone the ‘mother’s technique, but I didn’t agree. The one in Sanjing Lane is an apprentice’s hand; I’ve only taught him once.”

"Who's looking for you?" Zhu Han asked.

Yu Zhong was silent for a moment before answering, "Borrowing the wind from the tower to 'face the reflection'."

The room fell silent. Gu Qingping's gaze flickered slightly; Hao Duiying was in the side room, but showed no intention of lifting the curtain.

He neither dodged nor answered, but simply slowly sharpened a pen under the lamp.

"Aren't you afraid?" Zhu Han asked Yu Zhong.

"I was afraid," Yu Zhong said honestly. "I was so afraid that I only dared to come today."

"What are you doing here?"

“Let’s complete the ‘seventh micro’.” Yu Zhong raised his eyes. “If we can achieve the eighth micro, there will be 30% fewer counterfeit seals in the world. I don’t want to be the model for counterfeits, but I can teach the ‘edge’ of genuine seals.”

"Who should we teach?" Zhu Han asked.

Yu Zhong looked at Gu Qingping: "Teach the 'person who signs the seal'."

Gu Qingping was taken aback, then realized—she was the one who had taken the seal. She smiled slightly: "Learn."

Zhu Han did not stop her, but instead pushed the silver coin into her hand: "Stop learning until the sixth level."

"Why stop?" Cheng Yuan couldn't help but ask.

"Eighth, no one can tell the difference; both truth and falsehood are a source of suffering."

Zhu Han said calmly, "Sixth, people can discern that falsehood is not easily approached, and truth can be upheld."

Yu Zhong nodded: "Your Highness understands."

“Then I will teach you,” Zhu Han said. “Teach the seven subtleties in three days, and the eighth will not be used.”

"Follow it."

For three days, nothing happened in the inner courtyard, and the wind in the outer city remained the same.

Hao Duiying copied only one page of the play each day, and Chengyuan rang only one string of bells each day.

Zhu Biao walked to the river mouth, said three brief sentences according to the script, and then withdrew.

In the Shuntian government office, Qian Zongli confessed, and Du Xing recruited people.

Yu Cao was taken away to testify, but Hao Duiying, under the lamp in the East Palace, signed the first line with the words "Shadow History": "The preface to the river mouth is finished, and the salt road is concluded."

It seems that everything is going according to the "script".

But the winds on the river may not always be favorable, and the city may not always be peaceful.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, a report suddenly came from the palace: the Silver Workshop was missing a piece of "old mold".

"The old model?" Yin Yan raised the bamboo ruler in his hand higher. "Not the mother model?"

"No," the eunuch gasped, "it was a discarded model from last year, which was to be disposed of as usual, but it was missing this morning."

"What's the use of abolishing Fan?" Yin Yan frowned.

“It works.” Yu Zhong raised his hand. “The old mold can be used to trace the edges. Just trace the old edges onto the paper, then rub it, and it will be closer.”

"Who took it?" Zhu Han asked.

The eunuch stammered, "I don't know. I only know that last night a person dressed in blue cloth climbed over the wall of the palace, and his footsteps were extremely light."

“Blue cloth.” Zhu Han looked at Gu Qingping. “Go to the East Market and find the manager of the silk shop ‘Guihefang’. Bring the blue cloth that was delivered a few days ago for us to examine. If the edges of the blue cloth have a sea raft fragrance, then it’s not from the silk shop.”

"Alright." Gu Qingping stood up. "Call Duiying along as well."

An hour later, in the back room of the silk shop in the East Market.

The shopkeeper carried out stacks of blue cloth, a total of twelve bolts.

Gu Qingping touched each piece of cloth, stopping at the ninth. She pressed her fingertip against the edge of the cloth, then raised it to her nose, where a very faint medicinal fragrance wafted in: "Hai Fu."

Hao looked at her, smiled, and said nothing. The shopkeeper's face paled slightly: "This horse was ordered by a customer the day before yesterday. He came to pick it up this morning, but left without paying, saying he was going home to get some money..."

"Which gate?" Gu Qingping asked.

"back door."

Which street does the back door lead to?

“Tong Dao Fang Xiang”.

"Knife Workshop Alley," Yin Yan murmured, "the alley for sharpening knives."

"Sharpening knives and molds, the same hands."

Gu Qingping put down the cloth: "Lock the shop door and do not touch the goods. If the owner comes to collect them, let him sit in the back room for half a cup of tea."

"Yes."

Hao Duiying took a step back and whispered to Zhu Han, "Your Highness, I have an old acquaintance in 'Knife Workshop Alley'. He likes to sharpen knives by the light of a low lamp, and there is a crack in the lamp's base. People call him 'Little Cracked Lamp'."

"What hand?" Zhu Han asked.

“The judge outside the Shuntian case office,” Hao replied to Ying. “He sharpened his ‘document knife’ very quickly.”

“Please ask him to come over and work on the script,” Zhu Han said.

"Refine the script?" Hao raised an eyebrow, then understood. "Got it."

As dusk approached, "Little Crack Lamp" indeed arrived, dressed in gray cloth, with calluses on his fingers where he gripped the knife.

As soon as he stepped into the back room, his nose twitched, as if he could smell a faint scent of seaweed.

As soon as he steadied himself, he glanced at the table out of the corner of his eye—a very thin piece of paper was sandwiched between the stack of blue cloth, with a little silver powder sticking out from the edge of the paper.

"You've come to pick up the cloth?" Gu Qingping asked.

Xiao Lie Deng lowered his eyelids slightly: "Take it."

"Where's the silver?"

"Go home and get it."

"Then have half a cup of tea first." Gu Qingping handed over the tea.

Xiao Liedeng took the tea, but before it reached his lips, his wrist was pressed down by a hand that was neither heavy nor firm—it was Yin Yan.

He laughed, a laugh laced with sarcasm: "Little cracked lamp, cracked base, scented cloth, powder on your hands. Are you going to use this cloth to make a 'rubbing of a discarded mold'?" (End of Chapter)