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

Zhu Han looked at him, "Three days from now, you will return to the palace to announce the will. Today, tomorrow, you will no longer be in this world—understand?"

Zhu Biao closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, his gaze more composed: "I understand."

"Good that you understand." Zhu Han lowered his voice. "There are two lines of people in the city looking for you. One is Lu Ting's faction, which wants to establish a collateral branch of the imperial family; the other is the spies on the Prince of Yan's side, who want to raise the banner of an 'empty palace'. The moment you show your face, you'll become a target."

Zhu Biao nodded, then his eye suddenly twitched: "Uncle, how do you plan to deal with this?"

“I gave them two answers using ‘sign-online’.”

Zhu Han handed him a three-page book from his sleeve. "Three days later, take these three pages and read them aloud while facing the ancestral tablet in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. You must read every single word. After you finish reading, someone in the hall will respond."

Zhu Biao took it and looked down at it: "They are all 'seal proofs for comparison,' not imperial edicts?"

"I will proclaim the imperial edict. You just need to be the crown prince."

The host's footsteps could be heard outside the door. His footsteps were unsteady, as if he had been drinking.

The bolt clicked once, but the door didn't open; the person outside then lowered it again.

"Sign in?" Hao asked Ying.

“No,” Zhu Han shook his head, “it’s a ‘fake signature’.”

He blew a soft breath on the candle, and the flame shrank, casting a shadow onto the wall.

A series of soft, mosquito-like buzzing sounds drifted over from outside—the chirping of a "net-swapping" machine. Three long, one short chirp: "Someone's in the alley outside."

"Take the Crown Prince into the side chamber." Zhu Han pried open the bottom of the coffin, revealing the lower compartment, which was clean and lined with a thin layer of straw. Zhu Biao lay down, and the lid was closed again, leaving the coffin as "dead still" as before.

The door opened.

The host smiled so hard his eyes narrowed into slits: "My lord, it's windy tonight, please light a lamp."

Zhu Han looked up: "You've had too much to drink."

"It's to celebrate the benefactor's good fortune." The abbot hid one hand in his sleeve and held up a small lamp in the other. "Today, a distinguished guest came to offer incense and inquired about a coffin. I said I didn't have one, and he slipped me an ounce of silver. I remembered that you said earlier, 'If you don't see a monk for three days,' then I haven't seen one."

"What kind of distinguished guest is he?" Zhu Han asked.

"Wearing blue cloth and a straw hat, he looked like a cloth seller." The host's fingers moved inside his sleeve. "His footsteps were silent, like a cat's."

"Let's go." Zhu Han moved the light aside and gently pointed back with the hand hidden in the host's sleeve.

That's the "borrowing finger" technique of "signing the net," which allows you to insert a tiny piece of lead sand into the skin texture simply by touching the back of your hand.

The host's eyelids twitched, he seemed to understand but not quite, and he turned and left.

As soon as the door closed, Hao Duiying pressed himself against the window paper, staring at a dark figure diagonally opposite.

The shadow moved, as if it had grown out of the ground, or as if it had been shaken off from the snow.

He didn't go inside; instead, he squatted on the porch, inserted an extremely thin bamboo skewer through the crack in the door, and tapped it on the ground.

The black liquid on the tip of the bamboo skewer left a dot on the brick.

The dots don't scatter or spread; they stick firmly to the brick joints.

This is the mark for a "fake signature".

"He applied some," Hao thought to himself. "Avoid it."

The dark figure left the courtyard, its footsteps as light as if they were falling on cotton.

Zhu Han calmly rolled up a corner of the coffin, pulled out the iron bead that had been pressed into the small hole, replaced it with another one, and put it back.

"Let the medicine simmer for another half an hour," he said. "Have them keep an eye on the empty coffin until dawn."

"Your Highness, shall we return to the palace?" Hao asked.

“Go back.” Zhu Han lifted his sleeve. “The next checkpoint is at the ‘Fire Well’ north of the Armory. We’ll get the ‘Fire Talisman’ there; we need it tomorrow.”

"Where will it be used?"

Meridian Gate.

The next morning, at the Meridian Gate drill ground, the snow was blindingly bright.

A row of muskets and firearms was placed in the center of the drill ground, and the arsenal's smiths, wearing deerskin gloves, waited for orders, half-kneeling and half-sitting.

Lu Ting, the Left Chancellor of the Central Secretariat, and several censors stood cautiously to one side.

"What does the Marquis of Nan'an want to do?" Lu Ting asked.

"Burn the seal," Zhu Han said.

"Burning?"

"fake."

He reached out, and the craftsman handed him the "fire talisman" he had received from the "fire well" checkpoint the night before.

Zhu Han took it, lit a fire, lit the oil, sprinkled saltpeter, and the flame flickered, heading straight for the stack of "samples" on the table.

The "Cheng Yi's sample, Zhao Yuan's sample, Lu Duan's sample, and the Imperial Study's fake sample" rolled up and shrank into a ball in the fire, turning to ashes very quickly.

The wind blew it away, and the ash settled on the gold bricks, like a thin layer of ink.

“From this day forward,” Zhu Han stood before the fire, “anyone who dares to use these ‘samples’ again will be beheaded at the Meridian Gate.”

"What if anyone disagrees?" Lu Ting probed.

"Execute him at the Meridian Gate," Zhu Han repeated.

He looked at Lu Ting and said, "If you're not satisfied, it's the same."

Lu Ting choked, his Adam's apple bobbing, and finally bowed, saying, "I wouldn't dare."

The fire gradually died down. The area turned a deep, reddish-gray.

Hao Duiying suddenly lowered her voice: "Your Highness, the 'insect sound' is coming—"

He flicked his fingers twice inside his sleeve: "Two short ones and one long one."

Zhu Han's eyes narrowed: "What about the Crown Prince?"

"Two groups of people went to Ciyun Temple. One group was the spies of the Censorate, and the other group was—porters from Yan."

"Let them see the empty coffin," Zhu Han said.

"Then tomorrow——"

"Tomorrow at the Imperial Ancestral Temple." Zhu Han turned his head to the north, his expression calm. "Have them all come."

On the third day, at the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Incense smoke curled before the ancestral tablet.

Officials from the Imperial Clan Court, the Ministry of Rites, the Secretariat, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the Imperial Horse Administration gathered together, while Yan people mingled among the crowd, wearing the most ordinary leather hats.

Outside the corridor behind the hall, the wind lifted a corner of the curtain, revealing half of the blue bricks.

After the third beat of the drum, Zhu Han arrived first, holding only a red clay box in his hands.

Five drumbeats and three bell rings later, Zhu Biao appeared from the side door, dressed in plain clothes, his hair unkempt, his face pale, but his steps steady.

For a moment, Lu Ting's leather hat tilted to one side, and he nearly dropped the talisman in his hand: "Your Highness—"

Zhu Biao had already knelt before the ancestral tablet: "Your subject Zhu Biao, following the late Emperor's will, offered sacrifices to our ancestors and held a three-day mourning ceremony without uttering a sound. Today, I return to my throne."

"Where has the Crown Prince been for three days?" someone couldn't help but ask.

"Before the late emperor's spirit, I will not see anyone, nor speak a word." Zhu Biao lowered his head. "Today, I will only read words."

He unfolded the three-page booklet and read it word for word:

"The seal of the Central Secretariat—all seals, both internal and external, shall be examined here."

The small seal of the Eastern Palace—the opening and closing of the palace gates must be in accordance with the central control.

The calligraphy samples from the Imperial Study—the copies were destroyed, and nothing else remains.

The pronunciation is flat, like a pebble falling into water, creating ripples that spread outwards.

After reading the third sentence, dozens of people at the rear of the hall suddenly responded in unison with a "Yes!"—it wasn't the response of officials, but the "signature net's" hidden agents responding from their designated positions. The voices weren't loud, but they were orderly.

"They've made it into position," Hao whispered to Ying from behind.

Zhu Han took a big step forward, placed the red clay box on the stone platform under the ancestral seat, opened it, and found it to be empty.

"Where is the imperial edict?" Lu Ting asked instinctively.

"It's with me." Zhu Han looked up at him. "For you?"

Lu Ting's throat tightened, and he dared not utter another sound.

Zhu Han turned to Zhu Biao and said, "Crown Prince, accept the throne."

Zhu Biao glanced at him, his gaze as cold and indifferent as if a storm had passed. He reached out, took the empty box, and closed it.

Suddenly, the wind in the ancestral temple seemed to take a step back. Outside the hall, the sound of horses' hooves pressed down on the stone steps, making crackling sounds as they struck the snow.

An armored messenger strode in, followed by two gunmen: "Urgent report from the Yan residence—Please, Your Highness, receive the imperial edict."

"What edict?" Zhu Han asked.

"An edict to quell the rebellion," the messenger began, "By order of Emperor Taizu—"

Before he could finish speaking, a dark shadow fell from under the beam, pressing down on his wrist and firmly sticking the scroll in his hand to the corner of the table.

Hao Duiying raised his hand, lifted a corner of the scroll, and said coldly, "No seal."

"How dare a Yan person forge documents and enter the Imperial Ancestral Temple?"

Zhu Han's voice was as cold as a knife just pulled from the snow, "Drag him out, give him forty strokes of the cane, and banish him from the capital region."

The envoy turned pale, his legs went weak, and he was dragged away by the Imperial Guards.

The hall was completely silent, except for the soft patter of incense ash falling onto the edge of the bronze incense burner.

“Now,” Zhu Han looked at Zhu Biao, “please have the Crown Prince proclaim the imperial edict.”

Zhu Biao raised his hand, and a roll of genuine 'fine yellow' sash slid out from his sleeve. The wax seal was inconspicuous, but the inscription read: "The Emperor's Seal".

His palms were clearly sweaty, but his voice remained steady:

"By the late Emperor's will, Crown Prince Zhu Biao shall succeed to the throne. All princes, both inside and outside the capital, shall be subject to his authority. The central government shall appoint a regent and shall be dismissed after three months. Those who disobey shall be punished according to the law."

At that moment, no one dared to move or even breathe.

Zhu Han stepped aside, giving Zhu Biao his place.

"Your Highness, take the throne here and ascend the throne tomorrow."

He said, “Today, you only need to do two things: read the ‘copy’ again and keep the small seal in the East.”

Zhu Biao nodded: "Uncle, three months later?"

"The central hub is gone. The net remains." Zhu Han said in a low voice, "You don't need to know where it is, just know that it exists."

If anyone asks?

"I don't know."

Zhu Biao clasped his hands together, took a step back, and turned to kowtow before the ancestral tablet.

"It's over," Zhu Han thought to himself.

Night, the library of the Marquis of Nan'an's residence.

Hao Duiying placed the last "signature tooth" on the table, like a black stone: "Your Highness, nine signatures were made, nine receipts were issued, five fake signatures were removed, and the two slips that slipped through the net have been marked. At Ciyun Temple, the abbot accepted the 'no-signature' and said nothing more."

"Very good." Zhu Han put the small metal teeth back into the box. "Seal the box."

Who will be on duty at the left gate tonight?

"No one's here." Zhu Han glanced at him. "Que Zuo will not close its gates tonight."

"Your Highness—"

"Let the people of Yan see the empty gate one more time. Tomorrow, they will know that there is a master in the palace."

Hao Duiying remained silent for a long while: "Your Highness, won't the Crown Prince suspect something if we use the signing net like this?"

“He only sees the result,” Zhu Han said calmly, “but not the path.”

"This is the 'check-in system'?" Hao scratched the back of his neck. "Arrival time, arrival, receipt, distribution, instructions, achievement... it's like bookkeeping."

"Doing accounting is like risking your life." Zhu Han tossed the winning cards into the hidden box. "You can learn it sometime when you have time."

"My brain can't keep up with learning."

If you can't learn it, then memorize the rhythm.

Hao smiled at Ying, tapped his knuckles three times on the edge of the table, paused twice, and then tapped once more.

The wind outside billowed the window paper, and the two looked up at the same time.

"Someone's there." Hao Duiying's smile vanished instantly.

The person outside didn't come in, but paused under the eaves and whispered, "Sign in."

"Receipt," Zhu Han said.

A palm-sized stone slab was thrown in from outside the door, with a line of words engraved on it: "At midnight, on the old road of the Eastern Depot, someone will meet you."

"Who?"

"The signature is a single character—'Gong'," Hao read aloud to Ying. "Li Gong?"

“Li Gong, a former general of Beizhen.” Zhu Han’s eyes turned slightly cold. “The one Cheng Yi wants to transfer to the capital.”

"count?"

"Go." Zhu Han stood up. "Sign in."

He took two pages out of the three-page book from his sleeve and put the remaining page into a hidden compartment.

As my fingers brushed over that page, a line of extremely small characters appeared on the back of the paper. It was the "system's" "internal note": "Next draw: Old East Depot Road, Zihou, Yideng".

"There's still one light tonight," he whispered. "It's time."

"Yes," Hao replied to Ying.

The door was slightly ajar, and a gust of wind, carrying the metallic scent of snow, slipped in through the crack.

The old road of the Eastern Depot, after Zihou.

The wind made the withered reeds rustle loudly.

Amidst the broken bricks and crumbling walls, a thin layer of ice had formed over the ditch, producing a very faint "crack" sound when stepped on.

Deep in the old road, there was indeed only one lamp lit, its wick thin and its light unsteady, as if it might go out at any moment.

“Rhythm.” Zhu Han counted his fingers in his sleeve, one long and two short.

The echo reverberated through the stone wall, two short and one long.

The signature was correct.

Under the lamp stood a tall man, his armor still loose, a cloak draped over his shoulders, his face gaunt, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and calloused hands.

He carried no knife, only a black leather rope at his waist, with a worn-out half of a bronze fish-shaped tally tied to it.

“Li Gong?” Zhu Han asked.

The newcomer looked up, neither kneeling nor bowing, but simply clasped his hands in a respectful bow: "This humble general is Li Gong, a former soldier of the Northern Garrison."

He held the half of the fish-shaped talisman up to the lamp, and the lamplight reflected the gap in the talisman's edge into the crack in the wall, making it look like a crescent moon.

"How did you get to Beijing?" Hao asked Ying.

“Cheng Yi summoned him,” Li Gong said succinctly. “He was intercepted by ‘Qianwang’ en route and had to change his route. ‘Yideng’ was the target you assigned.”

"You believe it?" Hao raised an eyebrow at Ying.

"I believe you." Li Gong said calmly, "According to the old ways of the Eastern Depot, those who can light this cup are either eunuchs or people in the shadows. Eunuchs wouldn't only light one cup."

Zhu Han stared at him, getting straight to the point: "What did you bring?"

Li Gong lifted his cloak, revealing a short brown undergarment, fastened half of the fish-shaped tally to the hidden clasp on the inside of his breast sash, and with a twist of his fingertips, took out a flat wooden box.

The wooden box is seven inches long and half an inch thick, sealed with wax without any mark, and has two tiny black nails nailed to the opening and closing.

“I have half a register of official documents from Yan,” Li Gong said. “The ‘travel records’ from Yanmen, Zijing, and Juyong are updated every ten days. This half of the register is taken from Yanmen. It’s missing the second half of the page, but the first half is enough to see who entered at night and who left during the day.”

"You'll intercept them?" Hao Duiying didn't believe it. "Yanmen Pass is heavily guarded, with soldiers as numerous as a comb. How can you possibly intercept them?"

“Me,” Li Gong said, pointing to himself. “After the three battalions of Beizhen dispersed, the eighty-seven men who followed me were assigned to work as cart drivers, cooks, and chamber pot cleaners under the three gates. We would take the books from whichever bamboo strip the books were hung on the rack.”

"Why did you give it to me?" Zhu Han asked.

"Your 'signing net' saved my son half a year ago."

Li Gong's voice was calm, yet it carried a hint of harshness: "Outside the city on the southern slope, the Yan people's spies have mistaken the person for someone else."

"Name?" Zhu Han asked.

“Li Qin,” Li Gong said, “the child with the ‘tooth mark’ carved on his finger.”

Zhu Han replied, "I remember."

He took the wooden box, twisted open the black nails, and the lid came off. Inside was a stack of extremely thin paper, the edges of which were pressed with stone powder so they wouldn't stick to his hands.

At the top is written "Yanmen Pass - Internal Records," below which are a dozen or so lines of smaller characters, listed by day, by hour, and by "cart/horse/foot." A column after that reads "Recommendation," and another "Seen." (End of Chapter)