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

The wind came in through the left door, bypassed the fire, bypassed the people, and circled into the Fengtian Hall.

New door opened, old door closed.

Whoever goes out first will be the first to learn how to come back.

"Disperse." Zhu Han's hand fell, like a knife hilt being sheathed, his back pressed firmly against the ground.

He looked back at the fire at the Meridian Gate, and the flames flickered at him as if nodding.

He turned, stepped down the golden steps, and stood behind the door. A cold wind blew in through the crack in the door.

He put his hands behind his back, his knuckles slowly closing and then slowly opening.

The moment the seal pressed down on the main door, the wind seemed to be stopped, and it slipped in diagonally through the side door.

The fire in front of the Meridian Gate remained steady, and the firelight shone on the small blisters on the back of the fingers of the official, making them look like a shining eye.

"Take half a step back," the smith in the armory whispered.

"No refund, I can't remember." Chen Shu shook his head.

Flames licked the paper, the paper curled at the edges, rolled into a spine, and fell to ashes.

Chen Shu felt a lump in his throat and his palms ache, but he didn't move an inch.

Behind the Fengtian Hall, the corridor was sparsely lit.

Zhu Han brushed the snow off his clothes and ordered, "The gates will be sealed for three days. The Censorate is not allowed to write 'urgent,' the Imperial Clan Court is not allowed to write 'revise,' the Ministry of Rites is not allowed to write 'new,' and the Secretariat is not allowed to write 'lenient.' Whoever writes it, shall come to the Meridian Gate."

"I've got it." Hao replied to Ying.

“The treasury will be sealed for three days,” Zhu Han continued. “On the fourth day, it will be half-open and half-closed, only open for an hour. Let them stuff it full, and then burn it.”

"Understood." Hao smiled at Ying. "It saves trouble."

"It's not about saving trouble, it's about saving manpower."

Zhu Han looked up and said, "Fire more to burn scholars, less to burn people, and people will be more useful."

He turned and entered the west wing, pausing as he crossed the threshold: "Where's Lu Ting?"

“He’s inside the mansion,” Hao said to Ying. “The two sedan chairs at the gate are gone, and he’s turned off the lights.”

“Turning off the lights is a good thing,” Zhu Han said. “We’ll talk about it when he turns them back on.”

Night. A side courtyard of Ciyun Temple.

The host carried an oil lamp very quietly, the wick as thin as a hair.

Two figures squeezed through the crack in the courtyard gate, draped in coarse cloth, covered in mud and snow, their footsteps very light.

"Burn the paper money for the seventh day." One of them held up paper money, "to change the scene for the old lady."

"The main hall," the abbot smiled, his teeth gleaming with the aroma of oil, "is not open to the side courtyards."

"There are too many people in the front hall, it's too noisy." The man stuffed the paper money into his sleeve, revealing half a slender bamboo stick. "We only have one question: Is there a new coffin in the backyard tonight?"

"Where did this coffin come from?" The host held the lamp forward, the light shining on the side of the person's face, revealing rough, dark skin and bright eyes.

"There is no best." The man nodded, putting the thin bamboo stick back into his sleeve. "You love money, but don't love trouble."

"Amitabha." The abbot clasped his hands in prayer.

The two turned around. Just as the host was about to close the door, he noticed a small black mark on the corner of the wall, as if it had been lightly touched by a fingertip, leaving a trace of ink.

He brought the lamp closer, then pulled it back: —Never mind.

He closed the door and bolted it, then walked back. He reached into his sleeve and touched the origami crane, but the more he touched it, the more uncomfortable it felt. He wanted to throw it away, but he didn't dare, so he stuffed it even deeper.

After Zi, the old road of the Eastern Depot.

A single lamp flickers, its light like grass swaying in the wind.

A man was squatting beside the well, wearing armor but not bound, with a stern face but not harsh eyes—it was Li Gong.

“You’re too late,” he said.

Another shadow stopped in the wind. "You're too early."

The man's voice was indifferent. "The fox-fur men have returned to Yan. The head of 'Bai San' has been replaced in the city. Have you ever seen 'Bai San's' gait?"

“No,” Li Gong said, “but I recognize his hands.”

How do you recognize it?

“He whittles wood with a knife, the blade facing outwards,” Li Gong said casually. “He doesn’t dust off the shavings afterward.”

"You have an interesting eye for people."

The shadow chuckled, paused for a moment, and said, "Don't leave the north gate for the next two days. Stay and guard the city."

“I’ll guard it,” Li Gong replied. “What will you guard?”

"I'll watch the door." The shadow turned around. "If he tries to open it, I'll close it."

The light went out. The wind at the wellhead paused for a moment, then continued its descent.

Chou Zheng, in the backyard of the Censorate.

Chen Shu picked at the small blister on his palm for the third time, sweating profusely from the pain.

He wrote "Record of the Fire at the Meridian Gate", changing "anonymous submission" to "external copy", and his pen strokes were a little heavier, with a bit of oil seeping through the back of the paper.

The person outside the wall coughed softly.

"Come here," Chen Shu said softly.

"Don't be afraid," the person outside the wall said. "Tomorrow, write 'Fire test completed,' not 'doubt,' not 'or,' and not 'report.'"

Why?

"Those words are light."

"Take it easy."

"You need to start over too."

Chen Shu smiled, but the laughter didn't escape his throat. "Okay."

As his footsteps faded into the distance, he put down his pen, sat down against the wall, and the pain in his palms subsided.

At the beginning of Yin hour, outside Shenwu Gate.

The snow hadn't completely melted, leaving a thin layer of ice on the ground. An empty box remained in a small crevice under the Stone Buddha Bridge, its surface polished even brighter by the wind.

A person stood on the bridge, his straw hat pulled low, with a little red thread showing through his sleeve.

Hao lifted his hat to look at Ying: "Your turn?"

The person opposite laughed: "My turn."

“Someone harassed Ciyun Temple last night, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

"None of you did anything."

"Playing dead is good."

"each other."

The two shadows each took half a step back, and the wind squeezed between them, carrying a hint of alcohol and a cool fragrance, which mingled together.

"We'll ascend the throne tomorrow," Hao said to Ying. "Don't use paper in front of the door."

“We don’t like paper either.” The man pressed his hat down again. “Paper will burn.”

Will he come?

"Who?"

"Fox fur".

“Those who like crossbows will always come back.” The man’s smile vanished. “Your door has been sealed for three days; he’ll come and try kicking it.”

"Mistake."

"If you can't hit them, kick them instead."

"Give it a try."

The two said no more and retreated into their respective shadows.

At the end of the day (卯未), at the Meridian Gate (午门).

The brazier was lit first. As usual, the official stood nearby, and the fireman from the Arsenal muttered, "This time, you better not get bubbly," but he ignored him.

The fire blazed up, like a thread stitching the sky shut.

The bells and drums sounded in the inner courtyard, the officials lined up, incense was lit, and the drums stopped.

As soon as Zhu Han passed through the Meridian Gate, he caught a glimpse of Chen Shu still standing by the fire, his hands conspicuously red, but his eyes steady.

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

In the Fengtian Hall, the curtains were half-drawn, and light slanted in through the opening, illuminating the edge of the golden table.

Zhu Biao entered according to the rhythm, the Minister of Rites sang praises, the music master followed the score, and the drumbeat stopped at the third strike.

“Receive—the Seal—”

The secondary seal is taken out of the box, the clay is smooth, the seal is applied, and the brush begins to move.

"I accept it with utmost respect."

As soon as the four words were uttered, a drop of frost that had fallen from the roof beam melted into a drop of water, which fell along the beast's mouth and landed perfectly in the crack of the gold brick without making a sound.

"Seal the gate!" the gatekeeper chanted.

Under the seal, the central gate was closed three times, while the left and right gates remained unchanged. The officials watched in silence.

The ceremony ended. As Zhu Han stepped down the stairs, an imperial messenger rushed over: "Your Highness, someone delivered a note outside the Imperial Ancestral Temple's treasury, saying that the jade tablet is missing an inscription and requesting Your Highness to personally verify it tonight."

“Throw it away,” Zhu Han said. “Reply with: There are gods in the Imperial Ancestral Temple, so I dare not wander around at night.”

"As ordered."

As he turned around, a gust of wind from the foot of the corridor blew snowflakes across his face.

Hao Duiying stepped aside to block him: "Your Highness, Sang Er has gone missing from the Lu Ting residence."

"Missing?"

"His last public appearance was in an alley outside the Imperial Clan Court."

“Someone will carry his sedan chair,” Zhu Han said calmly. “We’ll know where it ends up tomorrow.”

"Should we go and look for it first?"

"Don't flip it." Zhu Han looked at the sky. "Wait for him to call it himself."

At the beginning of the day, in the Secretariat.

Lu Ting sat alone in his study, the stove fire burning softly, smoke swirling under the beams.

He pulled his hand out from his sleeve; the blisters on his palms had burst, and the edges were peeling.

He stared at the white mass, then suddenly smiled, though the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"My lord," the boy at the door whispered, "someone is here."

"Who?"

"It's said to be... Sang Er."

Lu Ting suddenly looked up: "Let him in."

The child hesitated, "He...was carried in by someone else."

"Backpack?" Lu Ting stood up. "Where did the backpack come from?"

Before he could finish speaking, the curtain was lifted, and two people carried in a man whose face was ashen, lips blue, eyes open, but chest not moving. "Dead?" Lu Ting's Adam's apple bobbed.

“It doesn’t look like it.” One of the men carrying the load put his hand under Sang Er’s nose. “He’s still breathing.”

"what happened?"

"It was intercepted midway and stuffed under the car, where it was covered in dust."

"Ash?"

"The ashes from the brazier at the Meridian Gate."

Lu Ting's Adam's apple bobbed, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of cold snow: "Put it down."

The two men threw Sang Er onto the couch.

Lu Ting approached and found a thin piece of paper pressed against Sang Er's chest. The paper had only four words on it: "Fake, burn."

His pupils contracted, his fingertips trembled, and the paper slipped from his hand, landing on the edge of the charcoal brazier. A spark flew, and a small black spot appeared on the corner of the paper.

"Get out," he said hoarsely. "All of you, get out!"

The two men exchanged a glance and left. The child shrank back in the doorway, not daring to utter a sound.

Only Lu Ting and the half-dead Sang Er remained in the room.

He sat down, his gaze vacant for a moment, and then gently pressed his hand against Sang Er's chest.

Sang Er gasped for breath, uttering two broken syllables: "My...my husband..."

"Don't speak." Lu Ting raised his hand, then lowered it again. "Get out and don't come back."

Sang Er's eyes blinked, as if he understood but didn't.

Lu Ting dragged him to the side door and had Xiao Tong find two people to carry him out.

"Where are we taking it?" the child asked.

"At the entrance of the Criminal Investigation Department." Lu Ting closed his eyes. "Kneel."

"Master!"

"He said he was paid to copy characters, so they made him kneel down and show the characters to him."

The boy dared not say anything more and did as instructed.

Lu Ting stood there for a long time, then suddenly raised his hand and kicked over the charcoal brazier.

Sparks scattered, he stomped out one by one, and then closed the door tightly.

The room went dark for a moment, as if someone had turned off the light from his heart.

At the hour of You (5-7 PM), at the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

The seal on the treasury remained untouched, and the new head of the Imperial Clan Court stood outside the door, his legs numb.

A soft rustling sound came from inside, like someone pulling something out of a wooden compartment.

"Who!" he shouted.

"Just a gatekeeper," the person inside said calmly.

"The door is sealed!"

"You can still see it even if it's sealed off."

As soon as he finished speaking, a jade tablet was handed out through the crack in the door; the paper in the lining of the tablet's back had already been removed.

Just as the official was about to reach out and take it, the scepter retracted itself.

"you--"

"Don't shout." The person inside chuckled. "If you shout again, I'll throw the scepter in your face."

The person in charge opened his mouth, but didn't dare to utter a sound.

After a while, the person inside the door handed out the tablet again, this time with a blank piece of wood tucked under his back.

"Take it back," the person inside said. "Tell your superior—on the fourth day, keep it half-open and half-closed."

"Who are you!" the person in charge couldn't help but ask.

There was no sound from inside the door, only the sound of footsteps fading into the distance. The steward, holding his tablet, stood in the draft, his palms sweaty.

At the beginning of the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), behind the Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Biao changed into his everyday clothes and remained silent until the window paper turned completely white. Then he looked up and said, "Uncle, I will only say a few words on the occasion of your ascension to the throne tomorrow."

Which two sentences?

"Follow the old rules and diligently perform your duties."

"That's enough," Zhu Han said. "What about the third sentence?"

“You said it.” Zhu Biao looked at him. “You said ‘It’s fake, burn it.’”

Zhu Han smiled and said, "I won't tell."

Why?

“If you say too much, they’ll think fire only burns paper.”

Zhu Biao paused for a moment, then understood: "I get it."

"And another thing," Zhu Han lowered his voice, "the moment you ascend the throne, someone will be tempted to commit suicide amidst the merriment."

"Where to move?"

"Bells and drums."

"How do we solve this?"

"Replace the drumhead beforehand and remove the fuse under the bell."

"They'll fill it up again."

"Let them stuff it in, then we'll draw it all out at once."

Who will go?

"I go."

"Aren't you going to back down half a step?"

"You took half a step back, but your feet are still inside the door." Zhu Han turned around. "Just stand firm."

At the end of the year of Hai (1907), the Military Equipment Bureau was established.

The firesmith flipped open the two drum skins by an inch, inserted his fingers, and pulled out two extremely thin threads of fire.

The fuse was cold and wouldn't produce ash. He rolled the fuse into a coil and put it into the box.

The box is sealed with clay, and the seal face is the small seal of the East Inner Palace.

"Your Highness." The firesmith presented the box to Zhu Han.

"Check again at dawn tomorrow."

Zhu Han put away the seal and said, "Drain all the tinder under the bell."

"Yes, Your Highness." The fire-maker wiped his sweat. "Your Highness, you've been using fire as your primary tool these past few days."

"Fire works well," Zhu Han said, turning and leaving.

At the beginning of the day, under the Stone Buddha Bridge.

The empty box is still there, and there's a little bit of fine white powder on the crack in the small stone.

Someone stepped on the bridge and then lifted it up, leaving no mark.

Li Gong turned from the opposite bank, stopped in the middle of the bridge, and listened carefully. There was no faint sound of crossbow strings in the wind.

He looked up at the bridge arch; it was dark and quiet.

"Aren't you coming?" he whispered. "Then I'll wait for you to come back."

The reeds on the opposite bank swayed twice, as if someone had nodded.

At dawn, at the Meridian Gate.

The fire first ignites, then a roll of pine resin and half a roll of nitrate are prepared.

As Chen Shu approached, the fireman handed him a damp cloth, which he accepted this time. He placed it on the back of his fingers and held it close to the fire to examine the flame.

"It shouldn't be bubbling today," the fireman muttered.

"Today, I should remember who came in and who left," Chen Shu murmured.

"Who?"

"Everyone."

The smith glanced at him and chuckled, "Such arrogance."

“A writer needs to be bolder.” Chen Shu smiled, his smile like a wisp of smoke by a fire.

In the Fengtian Hall, bells and drums resounded, music began, and incense was burned.

Zhu Biao ascended the golden steps to the sound of music, paused, bowed, and rose. The secondary seal was affixed, the edict was received, and the proclamation was proclaimed.

"I accept it with utmost respect."

The four words fell to the ground, as still as a broken thread.

The gatekeeper shouted, "Seal the gate!"

The small seal is pressed into the mud inside the east chamber and placed under the seal.

The officials bowed their heads, but some secretly glanced up and saw a sliver of white light through the crack in the door, cut in two by the seal.

The meeting ended. Zhu Han stood below the steps, watching the officials leave, then turned to Hao Duiying and said, "Keep that old scribe at the entrance of the Ministry of Justice until the afternoon."

"Gou San?"

"Yes. Let him see the fire once, then kneel down again."

"Kneel again?"

"After they kneel down, carry them inside."

"clear."

He had just turned around when a short horn sounded from the direction of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

An imperial messenger rushed in: "Your Highness—outside the Divine Treasury Gate, someone has been arrested. In his hand is an old piece of paper tucked under the back of a jade tablet."

"Who?"

"A brief history of the clan's mansion."

"Who does he recognize?"

"I can't say."

"If you don't recognize him, make him kneel." Zhu Han said succinctly, "Meridian Gate, by the fire."

The eunuch responded and left. Hao turned his head to Ying: "Your Highness, the man with the fox fur..."

"They haven't arrived yet."

"Where did he go?"

"Go find the crossbow."

Who is he going to shoot?

"Shoot the fire." Zhu Han looked towards the Meridian Gate. "If he misses, he won't be convinced; if he hits the fire, he'll be even more dissatisfied." (End of Chapter)