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

Music cannot go on indefinitely, and eulogies cannot be drawn out indefinitely. The Minister of Rites could only slow down the next measure according to etiquette, but he could not go too slow. Beads of sweat slid down his temples, and his sleeves were full of moisture.

"Prime Minister Lu," Zhu Han suddenly spoke, "does your hand still hurt?"

Lu Ting paused, then asked, "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, the fire test was conducted at the Meridian Gate. Whose hands were burned by the fire? Who remembers it most clearly?"

Zhu Han's gaze shifted slightly. "If you want the seal, then I'll comply. If you want to use the seal to guide him, then I won't comply."

Lu Ting pressed his hand to his cuff, his face remaining still, but the corner of his eye twitched slightly.

A thought flashed through his eyes: "Ruoxi is in the Imperial Ancestral Temple—does he dare to release him?"

The drumbeats outside the hall quickened, and horns sounded from the direction of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Time weighs heavily on everyone's shoulders.

Zhu Han suddenly reached out and gently pressed half of the Crown Prince's seal onto the edge of the blank vermilion clay, then closed the seal box and turned to the Minister of Rites: "Continue according to etiquette, and receive the seal when it arrives."

The Minister, feeling granted a pardon, repeatedly said "Yes." The music began.

Zhu Biao raised his finger and followed the characters, his steps steady and his voice clear.

A quarter of an hour later, the gatekeeper came running from afar, carrying a black ebony box in his hands, followed by four people carrying a secondary table from the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

The ebony box is sealed with thick wax, and its red color is tinged with gold patterns. It is an "inner seal" used in ancestral temples.

The gatekeeper entered the hall, knelt down, and shouted, "The Imperial Ancestral Temple Seal—has arrived!"

The Minister of Rites' hand trembled slightly: "The secondary seal?"

"Under the throne, the main seal remains untouched," the gatekeeper reported. "According to regulations, for any urgent imperial decree, the secondary seal shall be used."

"Alright." Zhu Han nodded, then looked back at Lu Ting. "Prime Minister Lu, is the Vice-Minister acceptable?"

Lu Ting swallowed hard: "...Okay."

"Open." Zhu Han raised his hand.

The wax seal cracked, the secondary seal emerged from its box, the knob was carved with a unicorn, and the inscription on the bottom was sharp.

Zhu Han said nothing more, raised his wrist to grasp the seal, his four fingers steadily supporting the back of the seal, his thumb pressing lightly, and with a flick of his wrist, the seal fell into the vermilion ink, returning an inch to the surface. At the same time, the "Imperial Edict of Appointment" was presented on the paper table.

He neither looked left nor right, and pressed down.

“Yes.” The Minister of Rites’ voice was tense.

When the ink is applied, the vermilion paste is a vibrant red, applied in a layer that is neither too thick nor too thin, with no overflow at the edges.

Many people in the hall exhaled a small breath at the same time from their chests.

At that moment, everyone understood: the name had been decided.

"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees—" the Minister of Rites announced in a clear voice, "Crown Prince Zhu Biao will ascend the throne tomorrow morning. All civil and military officials, both inside and outside the court, shall immediately take up their posts."

Lu Ting slowly loosened his knuckles in his sleeve, knowing that he could no longer stir things up, so he could only take a half step back, lower his eyes and remain silent.

Zhu Han bowed again according to etiquette, and the music stopped. Zhu Han took half a step back, performed the subject's salute, and when he raised his sleeve, a tiny mark less than an inch deep was revealed inside, which was then quickly pulled back.

He looked at Zhu Biao: "Your Highness—"

"I," Zhu Biao changed his address, his gaze unwavering, "Uncle."

"Tomorrow I will ascend the throne; today I have only one matter to attend to," Zhu Han said softly. "Farewell, pass through the central gate."

Zhu Biao's gaze darkened, and he nodded slightly.

The ceremony ended. The palace door was half-closed, and light squeezed through the crack like a tightly bound rope.

As soon as Zhu Han stepped down from the palace steps, the Minister of Rites caught up with him and said in a low voice, "Your Highness, the Right Chief Secretary of the Imperial Clan Court has confessed."

"How to say?"

"Lu Xiang used him to add a loophole, intending to promote a side branch. The Right Chief Secretary said: 'Your subject dares not refuse to add a loophole.'"

"Send this to the Ministry of Justice, so the Censorate doesn't get credit for it." Zhu Han said.

"Yes."

Before he could finish speaking, hurried footsteps sounded from the east corner of the corridor. A minor official stumbled over, holding a piece of oiled paper in his palm, inside which was a piece of black wood.

The clerk fell to the ground: "Your Highness—the Imperial Stables have caught fire! We found a wooden frame with a blackened lead core, which wasn't completely burned."

Zhu Han took it, pinched it with his fingertips, and the black wood cracked, revealing the lead core. Hao Duiying frowned: "The same old routine again."

"The old ways can't be burned out because someone is protecting them."

Zhu Han tossed the black wood back onto the oil paper. "Who reported the fire?"

"The warehouse clerk, Luo Sheng."

"Bring Luo Sheng here." Zhu Han stepped forward. "To the Imperial Horse Stables."

Outside the Imperial Horse Stables, the smell of burning was pungent.

A half-dried pool of water was spilled on the ground, with ash and half a charred wooden sign floating in it.

Luo Sheng knelt under the eaves, his hands covering his head, his legs trembling.

"Speak," Zhu Han said, standing beside his shadow. "Who handed you the card?"

“…I don’t recognize them.” Luo Sheng kowtowed. “They said it was someone sent by the Lu family, and that I should put these two wooden plaques in the corner of the storeroom, and someone would come to pick them up tomorrow.”

"Who from the Lu family?" Hao asked, pressing the shadows.

"He didn't say his name, but he stuffed fifty taels into my hand."

Luo Sheng lowered his head even further, his voice dry, "I thought... I thought those two tiles didn't look like good items, so I called for help."

"You've managed to keep your mouth shut until now, so there's still hope for you," Zhu Han said. "Return the silver and give me the name."

Luo Sheng trembled as he pulled a small leather pouch from his bosom, dumped it on the ground, and gleaming silver coins rolled all over the floor.

He then pulled out a thin strip of paper from the sole of his shoe. The paper was damp and pasted on, and when unfolded, one line of text could be made out: "Wang Nan, the card reader; Sang Er, the card taker."

"Sang Er?" Hao Duiying was taken aback. "The personal clerk of the Secretariat—the one we pulled back from the muddy beach last night?"

“He has two tricks up his sleeve,” Zhu Han sneered. “One for Lu Ting, and one for the Yan people.”

"Which one should we take this time?" Hao asked Ying.

"Take Lu's down first," Zhu Han said, "so that Lu Ting is handless. We'll deal with the Yan people tomorrow."

He turned and left, the wind blowing the embers into a single red glow, which was then extinguished in an instant.

As dusk approached, the area behind the Fengtian Hall was partially obscured.

Zhu Biao changed out of his court robes and lowered his shoulders by half an inch. He had just sat down when a soft cough came from the doorway.

Zhu Han entered and closed the door behind him.

"When Xi arrived, your eyebrow twitched slightly," Zhu Han said. "I managed to suppress it."

Zhu Biao nodded: "I remembered that you pressed the Crown Prince's seal first."

"Pressing that half-mark means locking the door."

Zhu Han placed a small box on the table and said, "When you ascend the throne tomorrow, do not speak."

“He only said ‘I respectfully accept it,’ and nothing else,” Zhu Biao repeated. “I remember.”

"And another thing," Zhu Han raised his eyes, "the fire at the Meridian Gate will be lit again tomorrow morning. Who it's for is none of your business."

"How long will it burn?" Zhu Biao asked.

"They burned until they forgot to ask themselves."

Zhu Han pushed the box an inch. "Inside are two items: a spare printing plate for the Eastern Palace Seal, and a 'Guide to the Way.' You don't need to understand it, just remember the time of entry and exit. I will take this box back in three days."

Zhu Biao looked at the box, his fingertips lightly touching it: "Uncle, when are you leaving?"

“After you ascend the throne, I will retreat half a step,” Zhu Han replied. “Three months later, I will retreat two steps.”

"And then what?"

"It depends on you," Zhu Han said. "If you remain calm, I will stay hidden. If you are not calm, I will remain inside."

"Inside the door?" Zhu Biao chuckled briefly. "I thought you were outside the door."

"It's cold outside." Zhu Han turned around. "It's not warm inside either."

He opened the door half a finger's width, and the wind squeezed in through the crack, carrying a bit of incense ash and the smell of iron.

He suddenly stopped and turned around: "Someone is coming to ask you to leave at night—saying there's a change of date at the Imperial Ancestral Temple. The person may or may not wear a bamboo hat. Remember, don't see them."

Zhu Biao hummed in agreement. "Who is it?"

"Anyone could be," Zhu Han said calmly. "If you don't see me, then you're nobody."

The door is closed.

Another night. The Secretariat.

Lu Ting sat under the lamp, his fox fur coat rolled up, one hand resting on the table, the other hidden in his sleeve, his fingertips twitching slightly from time to time.

He stared at the flames for a long time before finally pulling his hand out of his sleeve and opening it.

Sure enough, a blister formed on his palm, red at the edges and white at the center. "Husband," the boy said, standing on the doorframe, "Sang Er is back."

"Get him out of here." Lu Ting closed his eyes. "Tell him to go to the Censorate and turn himself in."

The young boy was too frightened to enter the room: "Husband, he said... he can't go."

"Dead?" Lu Ting opened his eyes, the light in his pupils instantly fading. "Or is it broken?"

“…neither.” The boy stammered. “He said what was burned at the Meridian Gate today wasn’t things, it was people.”

"Get out!" Lu Ting overturned the inkstone. "Tell him to get out!"

The child ran away, his footsteps kicking up wood chips by the threshold, not daring to utter a sound.

There was a loud "bang" behind me, like something had broken.

Lu Ting buried his face in his sleeve, his chest rising and falling very slowly.

The wind whistled across the roof tiles outside, and in the darkness, someone stood motionless in the corner, neither going in nor leaving, just standing there.

A thin shadow fell at the base of the wall, like an extremely thin line, skimming along the ground.

At midnight, in the backyard of the Censorate, a censor named Chen Shu popped a small blister on his hand, wincing in pain.

He put down his pen, straightened up, and suddenly heard someone cough softly from the other side of the wall.

"Who's there?" he whispered. "No unauthorized entry at night!"

"Don't go in," the person outside the wall replied. "Here's a piece of advice—if the Meridian Gate catches fire again tomorrow, don't hide. Stand closer."

"Near?" Chen Shu subconsciously looked at the blisters on his palm and gasped. "I still want this hand."

"Your hands will have to write sooner or later." The person outside the wall chuckled. "Let the fire teach you to remember."

Chen Shu listened along the wall; the footsteps outside were extremely light and disappeared after a few breaths.

He stood for a while, sighed, tidied up the table, blew out the lamp, lay down, but kept his eyes open.

After a while, he sat up again, changed one word in the few lines he had written, and changed "'Anonymous Submissions' Book" to "'External Inquiries' Book".

After making the corrections, he tucked the pen into his sleeve and then lay back down.

His palms started to hurt, as if a small insect was biting inside.

But it was precisely this pain that made him remember a certain time and a certain phrase. He silently murmured to himself, "It's fake, it's burning."

Ugly and upright. Pine resin is added to the brazier in front of the Meridian Gate.

The smith from the Ordnance Bureau held a tinderbox in his hand, with two rolls of gunpowder piled up beside him.

Before dawn, the fire had already created a steady layer of light.

The footsteps in the distance merged into one, like a tide pushing forward, rolling to the door and then retreating.

Dawn was breaking. The doors of Fengtian Hall were still closed, but light was already filtering through the cracks, casting a thin, bright line along the floor.

A bird landed on the golden nail, flapped its wings twice, and flew away, its wing shadow sweeping across the facade like a wave.

"Your Highness," Hao said, clenching his fist, "all the guests are present in the hall."

"Just one sentence today," Zhu Han said. "If it's fake, burn it."

What happens after it's burned?

"Close the door," Zhu Han said calmly. "Open a new door."

He took a step forward, his toes pressing against the bright line, and looked up at the palace gate.

The palace gate slowly rose an inch in his line of sight, like the rise and fall of a person's chest as they slowly breathe.

He didn't rush, but simply took another step forward.

At this moment, all eyes in the city were turned in the same direction, as if a thread had been drawn around the center.

Gather, then loosen—

The door opens. Music begins. Incense rises. The brush falls. The fire blazes.

"By the order of Heaven—" the Minister of Rites' voice rang out clearly, "At the enthronement ceremony, perform the rites!"

Zhu Han turned around and said only to the person next to him, "Watch the door."

The man responded. The firelight flickered beneath the Meridian Gate, as if nodding.

Three drumbeats and five bell strikes.

The golden nail door of Fengtian Hall slowly opened inward, and light fell through the crack, like a white line cut open by a knife.

On the steps of the hall, Zhu Han paused for a moment, then raised his hand to signal: "Gatekeeper, step back half a step; Music Master, step forward; Ritual Master, chant praises."

The sound echoed between the beams and the ceiling, suppressing the cold wind.

"By the mandate of Heaven—" the Minister of Rites declared in a clear, rhythmic voice, "Perform the grand enthronement ceremony!"

Zhu Biao approached from the East Gate, his hair tied up in a plain bun. He was not yet in his imperial robes, and was still dressed in simple clothes to show that he had not yet ascended the throne.

He stopped three steps in front of the golden table, bowed to the ancestral tablet, and then bowed to the officials outside the hall.

The music started, the drums stopped, and the array was as neat as the stitching in the cracks between bricks.

Beyond the Meridian Gate, the brazier burned steadily.

The flames were low, like a lamp following the rules. Chen Shu, a censor from the Censorate, stood close enough that the blisters on the back of his fingers swelled up even more.

The smith from the armory glanced at him, but he did not back down.

Someone whispered, "Get away."

He shook his head: "Look carefully, remember clearly."

Inside the hall, the Minister of Rites held the imperial edict: "First go to the Imperial Ancestral Temple, then receive the imperial seal."

Zhu Han raised his eyes: "The secondary seal of the Imperial Ancestral Temple is on file—to be used in accordance with precedent."

An ebony box was carried to the side of the gold table by two eunuchs, and the cracks in the wax seal were clearly visible.

Zhu Han remained silent, raised his wrist to take the seal, and pressed it lightly. The inscription "Imperial Edict of Succession" on the paper was covered with a layer of vermilion ink, neither overflowing nor missing.

"By imperial decree: Crown Prince Zhu Biao shall ascend the throne tomorrow morning. The central government shall temporarily assist him for three months. All departments, both inside and outside the capital, shall perform their respective duties."

"I accept it." Zhu Biao bowed. "I humbly accept it."

"Congratulations!" the courtiers shouted, their voices echoing over the golden bricks and up the roof ridge like a hammer blow.

Before the shouts had even faded, a sudden, loud noise arose from the east corner outside the hall, like porcelain being crushed in the palm of a hand.

Two men wearing leather hats squeezed toward the incense table, each holding a thick stick of incense with a silk ribbon wrapped around its end.

The Imperial Guards rushed forward and stopped them.

"Offer incense to the heavens!" a man shouted, "The new emperor has just been enthroned; it is proper to offer incense as a ritual—"

"Put it down," the Imperial Guard shouted.

Suddenly, the man gripped the incense burner, and the silk ribbon tore open with a "hiss," revealing a thin copper spring.

"Retreat!" Zhu Han waved his sleeve.

The bodyguard strode forward and stomped on the spring, breaking it.

The embers hidden in the incense burner were abruptly cut off before they could burst forth.

Seeing that the matter had been exposed, the man reached into his sleeve and found his palm covered in black ink.

Hao flicked two fingers at Ying, crushing the black pill in mid-air, the powder flying back to the other's face.

"Cough!" The man's eyes and nose immediately stung and watered, and he knelt on the ground, scratching wildly. Another man was pinned down by the Imperial Guards, and the incense was taken away.

Zhu Han said in a deep voice: "Drag him down, give him twenty strokes of the cane in the back of the hall, and hand him over to the Ministry of Justice for further questioning."

The Minister of Rites' voice remained perfectly clear: "Proceed to the second section—the revision of the register and the receipt of congratulations."

The master of ceremonies announced the names of the officials, who then stepped forward in turn to present their congratulatory memorials, maintaining order as they withdrew.

Zhu Biao remained silent, his gaze unwavering, as if walking along an invisible line.

At the end of the line, Lu Ting stepped out of his class.

He cupped his hands in greeting and said in a low voice, "Your subject, Lu Ting, offers his congratulations."

Zhu Biao nodded slightly: "Qing, remember the etiquette."

Lu Ting took a half step back, the red veins in his eyes as thin as needles.

He saw that the secondary seal on the table had been returned to its box, and that the crown prince's seal still had half an imprint in the vermilion ink—that half was not missing, but rather "closed."

He suddenly understood Zhu Han's intention earlier, and a chill ran down his spine.

After the ceremony, the guests dispersed.

Zhu Han only said, "That's all for today. —Guard the gate."

The gatekeeper responded. (End of Chapter)