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

"Nobody called, yet you've been ordering for twenty years?"

"The incense belongs to my family; I'll light it myself."

“Your incense is well made.” Zhu Han looked at her. “The sea raft is not heavily mixed in, and there is a very small amount of mint powder mixed in with the sandalwood. When the wind blows, the fragrance will be half a finger higher than usual, enough for the wooden fish at the ferry to hear.”

Lu Qing's expression changed slightly, but he eventually calmed down: "Your Highness understands."

“I don’t understand.” Zhu Han shook his head. “I don’t understand incense, I understand wind. I only know that wind should not be defined by incense. On the river, one relies on the horn; on the embankment, one relies on the seal; incense can only be burned in the temple.”

As he spoke, his gaze fell upon the incense burner on the corner of the offering table. A thin line ran along the rim of the burner, with a faint silvery sheen around the edge.

He raised his hand and lightly touched the bright spot, his fingertip feeling slightly cool: "You even know how to use a stencil."

Lu Qing did not deny it: "I recognize the seal, I don't know how to grind it."

"Who's going to grind it for you?" Zhu Han asked.

“Yu Zhong from Yulufang,” Lu Qing replied. “He comes twice a year to teach me how to distinguish ‘borders’.”

“He teaches you to identify the edge, and you teach others to identify the wind.” Zhu Han said softly, “The wind edge and the seal edge are both edges.”

Lu Qing was silent for a moment, then looked directly into his eyes: "Does Your Highness want me to not light incense?"

“No.” Zhu Han shook his head. “You can still light the incense. But the incense is only lit inside the temple, not on the embankment or at the ferry. Outside the temple gate, the incense in your hand is ‘wind.’ Wind is not under the temple’s control.”

Lu Qing lowered her eyes: "I understand." She raised her hand and put the incense back into the bottle, her movements steady and unhurried. "Where's Liang Ting?"

“Sit all night,” Zhu Han said. “He changes clothes a lot at night, so he should sit during the day.”

“He didn’t take the silver,” Lu said softly. “He only dealt with the cards.”

"Managing the license plate is also an issue," Zhu Han said casually. "You watch him at night, and he watches you during the day. It's time to switch roles."

Lu Qing raised her eyes and suddenly said, "Your Highness, I have another 'old flame' to speak of."

"explain."

“Yan Zhong,” she uttered two words, “he nails reed nails. He’s not a bad person, he’s always been repairing locks, but things started to change last year. Last year, he owed money for salt.”

"Salt money?" Yin Yan frowned.

“The salt merchants forced him, so he accepted the offer,” Lu Qing said calmly. “If you want to take something, take it from me, not Yan Zhong.”

"You're going to take the blame for him?" Zhu Han asked.

“I recognize my fragrance, not his nails.” Lu Qing shook his head. “I’m only talking about him.”

“We need to capture him,” Zhu Han said, “but not to cut off his hand, but to make him pull out the nail. Only after he pulls it out will his hand be stable.”

Lu Qing remained silent, as if swallowing something back briefly, and gave a final bow: "This humble woman understands."

As I stepped out of the temple gate, the wind was low and the bells were silent. The grass on the embankment was covered with dew, and the dewdrops hung in strings.

Zhu Han stopped, his gaze falling on the tips of the grass: "It is people who pull out the heart of the reed, and it is people who mend the heart of the reed. Tonight, we will not arrest anyone, but repair the seal."

“The seal already has the character ‘止’ engraved on it,” Yin Yan said.

“One stroke is missing.” Zhu Han looked towards the mill, “Add a ‘刂’ under ‘止’—carve ‘止’ into ‘正’.”

“Virtuous and upright?” Gu Qingping understood. “New characters are added to the seal, and the old seal must be replaced.”

“If you change the seal, you have to change the hands,” Zhu Han said.

Before sunset, at the Xianshui Ferry mill, an old man brought out the carved stone seals and laid them out one by one on the ground.

The new seal is engraved with the two characters "贤正" (xián zhèng, meaning virtuous and upright), and the edge of the seal has the inscription "Fifth Wei" (五微, meaning the fifth subtlety) by Yu Zhongchuan. The lines are fine and the luster is not dazzling.

Zhu Han squatted down, picked up a piece of paper, looked up and asked, "Do you know what '正' means?"

The old man nodded: "I know. Horizontal, vertical, upward, and downward strokes are all straight."

“Print the back of the dike, press down square by square,” Zhu Han said. “Cover all the hidden ditches completely. Put away the wooden sills, seal the grooves, and pull out the reeds. If anyone dares to change the cards at night, move the card table to the temple, light incense and watch.”

"Yes," the old man replied readily.

“Liang Ting.” Zhu Han turned around.

Liang Ting had been sitting all night, his face pale. He stood up and said in a deep voice, "Here."

“At night you follow the old man to press the seal, and during the day you patrol the fields, no longer patrolling the ferry.”

Liang Ting took a breath, as if someone had pulled a splinter out of his chest: "Yes, sir."

"Where is Yan Zhong?" Zhu Han asked.

“At the locksmith shop on the east side,” Liang Ting replied subconsciously. “They grind locks in the afternoon and hammer nails at night.”

“Tell him—don’t call again at night.”

Zhu Han said, “Keep the nails, then pull them out. For each nail pulled out, exchange it for a ‘Virtuous and Upright’ seal.”

He looked at Yin Yan and said, “Watch him pull out the nail all night. After he’s done, send the nail to Shuntian and write ‘Yan Zhong pulled it out,’ not ‘Yan Zhong hit it.’”

“Your Highness,” Yin Yan nodded, “I understand.”

Gu Qingping looked at the back of the embankment and whispered, "Your Highness, there are lanterns at the river mouth, seals at Xianshui, granaries in Beizhen, and scripts in the capital. This time, it's like we've tied the four things together: the wind, the seal, the granary, and the lanterns."

"Just tie it up, don't tie it too tightly." Zhu Han smiled. "If it's tied too tightly, it won't be able to move."

As night fell, the wooden steps of Xianshui Ferry were removed, and the reeds were pulled out one by one.

Yan Zhong had delicate hands; when he pulled out the nails, the veins on the back of his fingers were taut. When he pulled out the fifth nail, his hand trembled and almost broke.

Yin Yan didn't say anything, but handed over the bamboo ruler. He pressed the back of the ruler against the nail root and used the force to pry it open, driving the nail out half an inch.

Yan Zhong looked up, glanced at him, gave a short "hmm," and continued pulling.

As the night passed, the reeds were completely cleansed.

The stone seals, bearing the characters "贤正" (meaning "virtuous and upright"), are pressed down on the back of the embankment, their edges clearly defined.

As dawn broke, dew gathered around the edge of the new seal, as if adding light to the characters.

Zhu Han stood on the top of the embankment, watching rows of "Xianzheng" fall into the mud.

He could hear the wind whistling past his ears, neither hurried nor slow. He placed the wind gauge in his palm and flicked the end of the gauge gently—a very low "ding".

—"Check-in: Xianshui Ferry. Received: One volume of 'Ten Techniques for River Engineering'. Attached: Seal, nail, footstool, reed, ditch, sand, stone, wood, rope, sign."

He closed the roll and tucked it back into his sleeve.

“Your Highness,” Liang Ting stepped forward, his voice hoarse, “the wooden shovels are put away, the reeds are pulled out, the seal is pressed down, and from now on, the cards will not be changed at night.”

"You're not allowed to change it during the day either." Zhu Han looked at him. "The old practice of crossing at night is no longer in effect. Your old skills are perfect for moving seals. From today onwards, you'll be called 'Seal Inspector'."

Liang Ting paused for a moment, then nodded: "I'll remember."

“At the Lu family’s place,” Gu Qingping interjected, “the incense is only burned inside the nunnery. Outside the nunnery gate, there is a seal with the inscription ‘Xianzheng’ (meaning ‘virtuous and upright’). When the incense smoke drifts by and sees the character ‘zheng,’ the incense won’t go to the embankment.”

“Alright,” Zhu Han said, “Let’s look at each other.”

Hao Duiying emerged from under the grass on the embankment, her sleeves damp with dew, and smiled brightly: "The prince is calling."

"Record it." Hao nodded to Ying, took out a short pen and wrote, his pen moving smoothly and leaving just the right amount of blank space.

“Chengyuan.” Zhu Han turned his head. “Change to two strings of Xianshui bells, with the ‘Sixth Micro’ nail embedded in the bell tongue.”

"Yes," Chengyuan replied. "Keep the old bell inside the temple, but don't hang it outside."

"Yu Zhong," Zhu Han looked to the other side, "teach the 'Sixth Subtle' again, and put away the 'Seventh Subtle.' Don't use the Eighth."

"Understood." Yu Zhong smiled, his smile full of the cleanliness of a craftsman. "Even if I don't teach the seventh one, my hands won't get messy." "Old man," Zhu Han said to the mill owner, "you carve the seals until your hands ache, and when you rest, you roll the rice twice so that the people on the embankment are well-fed."

The old man smiled and said, "I understand."

As dawn broke, the Xianshui Ferry Terminal was completely clear.

A wooden stool lay across the base of the mill wall, reeds were piled up in the corner of the courtyard ready to be burned, and Liang Ting carried the seal, walking step by step along the embankment.

Lu Qing closed the temple gate halfway, put incense in a vase, and did not go out.

Yan Zhong stood in front of Shuntian Post Station, holding a bundle of nails, waiting to be escorted.

Everything seemed to have been moved back to its original place by an unseen hand. It wasn't a rearrangement, but a convergence.

The caravan turned back south. When they passed Xiaowan, the water at the mouth of the bay had already receded.

Willow branches droop down, obscuring the old boat tracks.

Gu Qingping, perched on the embankment, glanced back and said, "Your Highness, the lanterns at the river mouth should be more stable tonight than last night."

“Steady,” Zhu Han said. “The lamp base of the East Palace is inlaid with the sixth micro, ‘Virtuous and Righteous’ is pressed against the back of the embankment, and ‘Uneven’ is in the horn. People just need to follow the script.”

"Back to Beijing?" Yin Yan asked.

"Return." Zhu Han pulled on the reins, turning the horse south. "Take the 'Ten Techniques of River Engineering' to the copyist's desk and have him copy it onto the last page of the 'Anonymous Scripture.' On the last page, write the line—'The dike's test is silent, its imprint is in the mud.'"

"Yes, sir." Yin Yan smiled. "This page won't be noticeable if you copy it."

"The less obvious the copy, the longer it can be used." Zhu Han glanced at the sky; the wind was favorable, and the clouds were thin. "Let's go."

The cavalry headed south in a single line. They entered Nanjing in the afternoon, where the city gate horns still sounded at three different times: near, middle, and far. The different times were not uniform, but the rhythm was so pleasant that it brought peace of mind.

The low lamp behind the East Palace desk is still there. The silver nails on the lamp base are so small that the light is invisible, yet they stabilize the entire flame.

After listening to Xian Shuidu's report, Zhu Biao only said four words: "Imprinted in the mud."

He spread out the paper, picked up his pen and wrote a line of small characters, then placed it on the desk: "The common people should not be disturbed, and night crossings are not permitted."

Hao Duiying put the paper into the "Nameless Script" and stamped it with Gu Qingping's silver seal.

Chengyuan hung the new bell on the small window behind the shadow table. Yu Zhong was teaching the clerk at the shadow table in the outer courtyard how to identify the "sixth subtlety".

Yin Yan stood under the eaves, tapped the railing with a bamboo ruler, and said with a smile, "On the river, behind the embankment, and behind the desk, each has its own 'fixed place'."

The next day, at the Eastern Palace. The door to the study was half-closed, and Zhu Biao stood behind the desk, holding a clay seal in his hand.

The seal face is still damp, and the characters are new: "Virtuous and Upright".

“Uncle King.” He held up the seal, his smile faint. “I saw ‘the seal in the mud.’”

“Very good.” Zhu Han nodded. “Mud seals are more reliable than paper slips.”

“I’d like to add a line to the ‘script’.” Zhu Biao put down the seal, picked up a pen and wrote: “Seal pressed with mud, boat according to number.”

“Add,” Zhu Han said, “These are your words.”

After Zhu Biao finished writing, he looked up and asked, "Is Uncle Prince leaving again?"

"I'll walk for a while," Zhu Han replied. "When the wind blows back, I'll come back."

“I’m here,” Zhu Biao said softly. “The lamp is on the table.”

"Hmm." Zhu Han smiled and turned to leave the hall. A breeze swept through the corridor, carrying the soft sound of bells, the distant horns, and the near sound of water. All the sounds were in their proper place, neither vying for attention nor diminishing in strength.

He put his hands behind his back and walked at a leisurely pace.

The shadow fell on the corridor bricks, thin and steady. Three steps from the hall door, he paused, turning back to look at the lamp—its flame was low, yet it had never gone out.

“Let’s go,” he said. And then he really left.

On a crisp early winter morning, the wind in Jiangnan still carried a dampness, and the water rippled gently.

The bell of Mingguang Temple rang softly in the distance, conveying a tranquil and solemn atmosphere.

Zhu Han stood by the river, his gaze fixed on the distant green mountains where the river met the water. The air was filled with the damp smell of earth and sand.

A breeze swept across the embankment, bringing with it a touch of early frost. The grass and trees drooped low, and the fishing boats lay silently moored in the middle of the river.

Gu Qingping took a few steps closer and asked softly, "Your Highness, are we really going there today?"

Zhu Han's gaze remained fixed on the water. He nodded slightly and said, "I've been there many times already. This will be the last time."

After he finished speaking, Gu Qingping did not ask any further questions, as if she already knew what he was thinking.

She stood beside him, silent, only glancing at the rising sunrise over the river out of the corner of her eye, and took a soft breath: "If what Your Highness says is true, this trip is to settle some matters."

“What’s been decided isn’t just the matter at hand,” Zhu Han turned around, his gaze deep and his voice low, “but also the people.”

At that moment, the air seemed to freeze. Gu Qingping was slightly startled, turned to look at him, but did not ask any further questions.

Not far away, Yin Yan had already prepared a carriage, and Liang Ting and several accompanying soldiers stood aside, waiting for Zhu Han's instructions.

Zhu Han took a few steps forward, nodded to Yin Yan, and signaled to set off.

"Let's go," he said softly, his steps steady and decisive.

The wheels rolled over the slippery ground with a dull thud, and the rhythm of the horses pulling the carriage shafts echoed the ripples of the river, gradually leading the carriage off the main road and towards the somewhat quiet outskirts of the town.

Zhu Han got out of the car and walked towards the temple with Gu Qingping. Several soldiers who accompanied them kept their distance and followed silently.

The temple remained silent, with moss creeping over the ancient roof tiles, and the eyes of the stone Buddha statues still deep, as if watching over every passerby.

Zhu Han walked steadily toward the main hall of the temple.

He pushed open the temple door, and a pungent smell of incense wafted towards him.

The main hall was spacious and solemn. A golden Buddha statue was placed on the altar, with several incense sticks burning beside it, and faint smoke rose into the air.

Zhu Han stood in the hall for a moment, his gaze passing through the incense smoke to the Buddha statue opposite him, and suddenly said, "We came here many years ago."

Gu Qingping stood quietly beside him and said softly, "Yes, Your Highness. What happened back then is in the past."

Zhu Han's eyes flickered for a moment, then he suddenly turned around and asked, "Gu Qingping, what do you think of this temple?"

She looked at the temple, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "Ancient, but not decadent."

“Yes.” Zhu Han took a deep breath, seemingly relieved of something. “That’s why it’s the most suitable place to hide.”

Gu Qingping turned to look at him, a hint of doubt in her eyes, but remained silent.

He smiled gently: "There are too many unknown things hidden here. What we need to find is not just gold, silver and power."

At this point, his voice suddenly lowered: "Instead, it's the 'traces' of people."

Gu Qingping was slightly taken aback, but then she understood what he meant. She nodded and said no more.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, Zhu Han stood by the ancient well behind the temple and remained silent for a long time.

“This is where they’re hiding,” he suddenly said.

Gu Qingping approached and looked down at the ancient well.

The well was deep, and some dark water still lingered inside. She looked at Zhu Han with a puzzled expression: "Here?"

Zhu Han did not answer, but walked to the well and gently moved a stone slab at the wellhead with his hand.

With a soft sound, the stone slab quietly loosened, revealing a narrow crack. (End of Chapter)