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

A steward from inside the prison gates greeted him: "Prime Minister Lu, please return."

"I'll identify the person," Lu Ting said calmly. "I'll leave after I'm done."

The person in charge dared not stop him. Lu Ting only stepped inside a foot and did not go any further.

“He copied words for money, kneeling down to show them to the characters,” Lu Ting uttered, then turned and left.

Outside the door, a child shivered in a corner. Lu Ting didn't look at him and got into the sedan chair.

As the sedan curtain closed, he blinked briefly, as if seeing the fire at the Meridian Gate through the curtain. The fire was not strong, only half a basin full, but it burned steadily.

At the beginning of the day (酉初), the Imperial Ancestral Temple and its storehouse were in operation.

The half-open door was now closed, and the seal was new.

A low table stood outside the door, completely empty, without even a piece of paper on it. The head of the Imperial Clan Court, his legs numb from standing, finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"What did they stuff in there today?" Hao asked Ying.

"Empty." The person in charge was taken aback. "They were all just trial hands."

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Zhu Han said.

"Will it still be open tomorrow?"

"Don't open it." Zhu Han shook his head. "That's enough. Let them go and add paper to the fire at the Meridian Gate themselves."

The person in charge didn't understand, but dared not ask.

Night, the side corridor of Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Biao sat by the window, his fingertips lightly touching the corner of the table. Zhu Han entered and placed a thin box in front of him.

"what?"

"One set of spare noodles for Dongnei Xiaoyin".

"I'll use it?"

“You don’t need to,” Zhu Han shook his head. “You can just look at it. I’ll take it back in three days.”

"You're leaving?"

"Take a half step back."

"And then?"

"Watch the fire."

Where's the door?

"I'm inside the door."

Zhu Biao gave a half-smile: "You're still not going out."

"What are you going out for?" Zhu Han looked up. "It's cold outside."

“Uncle,” Zhu Biao suddenly said, “you have frightened people.”

"It's not a person, it's a hand." Zhu Han waved his hand. "The hand must be steady first, then the person will move slowly."

"They will come up with a solution."

“Let them think about it.” Zhu Han stood up. “The door is here, the fire is over there, and the paper is in their hands. — That’s enough.”

He turned and stepped out of the corridor. The wind outside was calm, and the seal was affixed even more smoothly.

The fire at the Meridian Gate stood in the distance, its small eye wide open, like a night watchman who refused to sleep.

Deeper still, in the old alley to the left of the palace.

A sedan chair stopped, and the person inside, without speaking, first extended a hand, a silver ring flashing coldly under the lamplight.

A shadow darted out of the alley and crouched under the eaves of the sedan chair.

"Speak," the person inside the sedan chair said calmly.

"Bai San has been released."

"Did he deliver a message?"

"bring."

"say what?"

"Paper in the city is not kept overnight."

The person inside the sedan chair laughed, but the laugh was very light: "He's still stubborn."

The shadow dared not accept it.

"Send the man with the fox fur back to Yan." The person in the sedan chair lowered the curtain. "We'll find someone else in the city."

"Who?"

"I like writing."

The shadow gasped, nodded, and slipped away.

As the sedan chair drove away, only a wisp of gray smoke remained in the alley, like the wick of a lamp that had just been extinguished.

After Zi, the old road of the Eastern Depot.

A single lamp burned, its flame barely visible. By the well, Li Gong leaned against a stone platform, his eyes half-closed, as if resting.

On the other side, the footsteps were extremely light. The newcomer did not speak, but first placed a piece of wood on the ground. The piece of wood was engraved with the character "居" (ju), and a thin line was attached to the back of it.

Li Gong opened his eyes: "They've changed people?"

The newcomer nodded: "It's your turn."

"The city was quiet for three days."

"I will guard the north gate."

"Guard".

"What are you guarding?"

“I’ll guard the bridge,” Li Gong said. “The empty box is under the bridge.”

The newcomer glanced at him and laughed, "You're guarding an empty box too?"

“Even empty spaces can be stolen.” Li Gong stood up. “The wind is calm at night, you should go back.”

The fire was half-filled. The fireman, as usual, started it first, and the official, as usual, stood close by. The fireman looked at the back of his hand: "Is it done?"

"Alright," Chen Shu said softly, "I'll write something longer tomorrow."

"What does it look like?"

"Write down who is standing nearby."

The fire-maker chuckled: "You're going to include me in the list too?"

"You're by the fire every day."

“Then write it down.” The fireman moved the fork an inch. “Don’t make the fire too small when you write it down.”

"will not."

The bells and drums of Fengtian Hall sounded. The ceremony began, and music played. The red-robed official advanced to his position and proceeded accordingly; the deputy seal was placed on the tablet, and the imperial edict was proclaimed.

"I accept it with utmost respect."

The gatekeeper announced the sealing. The seal fell, and the mud line was smoothed out.

Zhu Han took a half step back and did not leave the house.

At dawn, a thin mist pressed down on the city's ridge. At the Meridian Gate, the fire was half-filled, the flames flickering like a subdued line.

The official was standing close by, and the cloth was no longer used to pad the back of his hand.

The smith from the armory wiped the ash from his fork: "No oil today."

“Write this down,” Chen Shu said softly. “‘Without adding fuel to the fire, the writing will naturally flow.’”

"You can even compose rhyming couplets," the fire-maker chuckled.

"I'll keep this for myself." Chen Shu put the pen in his sleeve, his eyes still fixed on the fire.

Inside the Fengtian Hall, the Minister of Rites reviewed the memorial submitted after the ceremony and reported to Zhu Han in a low voice: "This morning, three requests came from the outer government: one was for the 'collateral branch to be recognized,' one was for the 'change of ritual implements,' and one was for the 'change of the route for opening the hall.'"

"Which side should we hand them over to?" Zhu Han asked.

“The first route passed through the Imperial Clan Court, the second came from the Department of Internal Affairs, and the third, unsigned, entered through the alley to the left of the palace.”

"The third route is to the Meridian Gate," Zhu Han said calmly. "At dawn, burn it."

"As ordered."

The Minister withdrew. Hao Duiying approached from the corridor shadows: "The man from the Bell Tower has already left through the North Gate, with two riders following behind. Judging by his appearance, he is not an old spies from Yan."

“It’s been changed,” Zhu Han said. “Li Gong will guard the bridge, not the people.”

"clear."

As the drums sounded, Zhu Biao took his place and performed the rites in an orderly manner.

The secondary seal was pressed into the clay, and the imperial edict was issued as usual. The sealing ceremony remained unchanged, and the small seal in the eastern inner palace was pressed down, the clay lines smoothed out.

The ceremony concluded and the guests dispersed. The wind outside the door blew a line of incense ash out, which then fell back to the edge of the brazier.

A quarter before midnight, outside the gate of the Secretariat, Lu Ting stood on the steps, draped in plain black.

The servant whispered, "My lord, would you like a copy of the invitation letter from this morning?"

"With what?" Lu Ting asked without looking away.

“‘Please correct the collateral branches’.”

"To follow now is to borrow a knife; to stop now is to borrow fire."

Lu Ting slowly uttered, "Seal the old documents on the table and send them to the Imperial Clan Court. —I won't write them."

The child was startled: "Not writing?"

“Let them think I want to write it.” Lu Ting sneered. “Wanting to write it is more terrifying than actually writing it.”

The child didn't understand and just nodded repeatedly. Lu Ting turned and went inside, his back looking half an inch thinner than the night before.

At 9:00 AM, at the Meridian Gate.

The gatekeeper loudly proclaimed, "Fire test!" Three petitions were placed in front of the basin.

The official reviewed and verified the sealing cord, ink pad, and seal, noting each item down and burning them in order.

The first ritual, "Please Correct the Branches," is written on thick paper with concentrated ink, so it burns slowly. The second ritual, "Change the Ritual Vessels," is written on thin paper, so it crumbles at the slightest touch of the flame. The third ritual, "Open the Hall and Change the Route," is written on paper with oil seeping through the back, so the flame has to circle around before it gets inside.

“They came from the outer alley, and their backs were smeared with oil,” Chen Shu said.

"He who applies oil doesn't believe in fire." The firesmith scoffed. "He only applies oil because he doesn't believe in fire."

“Record.” Chen Shu pressed the last sentence to the edge of the page. The firelight flickered on the words, as if nodding slightly to the line.

As the crowd dispersed, Hao Duiying leaned close to Zhu Han and said, "The new head of the Imperial Clan Court handed over a 'Guardian Account of the Divine Treasury,' saying that it was half-open last night, with only one person able to pass through the doorway, and no one stuffed paper in it all night."

“They’ll only try to stuff things into the Meridian Gate if they can’t fit them into an empty box,” Zhu Han said. “They need to learn how to ‘go with the flow,’ so don’t teach them too quickly.” “Yes.”

In the afternoon, at the outer storehouse of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

The seal was fresh, and a few low wooden tables were set up outside the door, but they were empty.

The sunlight was blocked by clouds, unable to penetrate the crack in the door. The head of the Imperial Clan Court stood with his hands hanging down, his legs numb.

"Who's keeping watch?" Zhu Han asked.

"The gatekeepers from Shift A and Shift B have changed shifts and are both present," the clerk replied.

"Very good." Zhu Han handed a small box to the gatekeeper. "Put it in the third row, seventh from the west."

"It was the same spot last night." The gatekeeper swallowed hard.

“Last night was empty, and tonight is still empty.” Zhu Han glanced at him. “Just look at the hands, don’t look at the box.”

"As ordered."

Hao Duiying couldn't help but ask, "Your Highness, what's the point of keeping the empty box lying around?"

"People love to fill their pockets," Zhu Han said calmly. "The emptier the space, the more likely someone is to take advantage of it. —Only when they take advantage do they reveal their claws."

No sooner had the words been spoken than an elderly man dressed as a monk walked out from the corner of the corridor, his clean clothes incongruous with the place.

He clasped his hands in a respectful gesture: "Benefactor, is it permissible to burn paper money here?"

"No," the gatekeeper said.

"I'll only burn one," the old man laughed. "It's fine if you don't burn it. This humble monk is willing to stand here and guard the gate for you."

The gatekeeper hurriedly waved his hand, saying, "No, no."

The old man turned his head to the side, a hint of coldness hidden in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, which quickly faded into a smile: "Very well. Amitabha."

He clasped his hands together and gently pressed the back of his hands against the crack in the door.

A very fine speck of black, like a grain of ink, stuck to the edge of the seal.

Zhu Han noticed this and said in a low voice, "Turn the seal over."

The gatekeeper understood, peeled off a finger's width, flipped it back, and pressed it down again with his small seal.

The black spot was pressed inside. The old man's smile remained unchanged, and his sleeves hung even more neatly.

"Which temple?" Zhu Han asked.

"Ciyun Temple," the old man replied.

What is the host's last name?

"Yue Kong."

"What about the side courtyard?"

"quiet."

"Go," Zhu Han waved his hand. "Don't come over tonight."

The old man lowered his head and retreated, disappearing into the shadows, only then did the smile vanish from his eyes—completely and utterly gone.

"The Ciyun Temple has come to inquire again," Hao said to Ying.

"Let him investigate," Zhu Han said. "The gatekeeper will do it. Change the seal three times tonight."

"remember."

At the beginning of the day, in a side room behind Yonghe Hall.

Zhu Biao removed his official hat and sat down at the desk. He pushed the seal box with his fingertip, but the lid did not budge.

He looked up: "Uncle, Lu Ting hasn't moved."

“He’s waiting,” Zhu Han said. “He’s waiting for the fire to stop.”

"Fire stop?"

"If the fire at the Meridian Gate is half-filled, he'll think about removing it after half a month. You should know—once the fire is removed, they'll have more paper."

"Whether you withdraw or not is up to you."

"It's up to you," Zhu Han corrected. "You are the door. I'll just clean up behind the door."

“Then we won’t leave,” Zhu Biao said.

"No need to finish it," Zhu Han shook his head. "Leave half a basin, and let it sit for three months."

"You decide."

Zhu Han glanced at him and smiled, "It's up to you."

The two smiled briefly before their expression softened. Outside the curtain, the wind was so gentle it felt like walking on a felt mat, utterly silent.

Zhu Biao placed his finger on the edge of the seal box and tapped it lightly: "From tomorrow onwards, you will take a step back."

"Retreat." Zhu Han nodded. "Retreat behind the door and continue watching the fire."

"it is good."

At the hour of Xu (戌), the old alley to the left of the palace gate.

The sedan chair carrying the silver ring arrived again. The person inside remained silent, while the shadow offered a paper pouch. The person rubbed the pouch between their fingers; it was so thin it seemed empty. The person inside chuckled, "Empty?"

"Empty."

"Which one to vote for?"

Meridian Gate.

“Throwing blank paper will also burn.” The person inside the sedan chair closed the curtain. “Let them bother us.”

The shadow should be, slipping away.

As soon as the sedan chair started moving, a dark figure at the corner of the alley pulled his straw hat down even lower and followed silently, like a shadow carrying another shadow.

At the beginning of the day of Hai (亥), the rear warehouse of the Military Equipment Bureau.

The smith was turning over and examining a stack of old inkstones.

The warehouse clerk pointed to the last stack: "This stack is a bit heavier."

"Heavy?" The blacksmith placed the seal face in his palm and weighed it. "Half a coin." He held the seal face up under the lamp, and the lamplight illuminated the clay patterns as fine lines—the lines held the cold light of lead dust.

"Lead adulterated?" The warehouse clerk's face turned pale.

"A bit mixed in." The smith tossed the seal back into the wooden box. "It's not completely ruined; it's half-dead."

Who changed it?

“Inkwell,” the smith said without hesitation. “This hand is for copying characters, not for craftsmen.”

"Report?" the treasury clerk asked.

“No report.” The firesmith closed the box. “We’ll replace the clay and keep half of that lead.”

"Keep it?" The warehouse clerk didn't understand.

"Let him think it's still on us." The fire-maker squinted. "Tomorrow morning, by the fire at the Meridian Gate, we'll see who has the lead in their heart."

At the beginning of the day, the old road of the Eastern Depot was used.

The lamp flickered dimly. By the well, Li Gong tucked half a fish-shaped tally into his breast belt.

Above the well, the wind blew the thin snow into circles. He spoke: "You've followed me for two nights."

The shadow in the darkness chuckled: "You're only admitting it now?"

“You stepped on the bridge twice, leaving no footprints,” Li Gong said. “My foot left half a footprint.”

"You want me to show myself?"

"I'll only ask one question—who are you guarding the door for?"

“The door isn’t mine.” The man lifted his straw hat a crack. “I’m showing it to ‘Fire’.”

"Fire?" Li Gong raised an eyebrow.

“He taught me to stand closer,” the man laughed. “So I stood closer—so close that all I could see in my eyes was fire.”

"Are you an informant for that lowly clerk in the Censorate?" Li Gong asked.

“No.” The man shook his head. “He was standing by the fire, and I was standing behind him.”

“Alright.” Li Gong pulled his cloak up. “You stand your ground, I’ll guard mine.”

"Guarding an empty box?" the man couldn't help but ask, "Why bother?"

“Even an empty space must be guarded,” Li Gong said. “An empty space is the easiest to fill up.”

The two gazed at each other for a moment, then disappeared.

A half-filled basin of fire is enough to ignite the flames. The official, standing close by, pen in his sleeve, eyes on the fire, gives his report.

The fire-maker picked up a fork and gathered the ashes, muttering, "Today we're going to burn empty paper."

“Even blank sheets of paper must be burned,” Chen Shu said.

"What are you burning?"

"Burning the oil in one's heart."

The fire-maker paused for a moment, then laughed: "You've written too much, and your mouth has grown too long."

Chen Shu smiled but didn't reply.

As dawn broke, the bells and drums of Fengtian Hall sounded in unison. The ceremony was as it was yesterday, the seal was as it was yesterday, and the sealing strips were as it was yesterday.

The difference was that after the class ended, the Secretariat sent a long letter signed "Lu Ting" and asked him to read it aloud in the afternoon.

"He moved." Hao smiled at Ying.

“Let him read it,” Zhu Han said, “in front of everyone.”

In the afternoon, the side corridor of Fengtian Hall was still crowded. The Secretariat presented a memorial, which contained more than three thousand characters. Lu Ting, dressed in plain black, stood at the entrance of the corridor and bowed inward: "I wish to present this memorial."

“Read it,” Zhu Han said.

Lu Ting received the letter, and spoke in a low voice, each word like a knife, pressing line by line onto the stone: Respect sacrifices, uphold ancestral rules, be cautious in conduct, be prudent in human affairs... Every sentence was within the bounds of propriety, every word conformed to classical texts.

Upon reading "Can the fire be stopped?", pause slightly: "Since the fire serves as a warning, it should be stopped gradually—"

"Wait," Zhu Han interrupted, "You want to cease fire?"

“The fire cannot be kept burning for long.” Lu Ting raised his eyes. “If it burns for too long, people will become complacent, and complacency will lead to laziness. I request that the fire be withdrawn after half a month.”

"Turn off the fire, and the paper will be ready," Zhu Han said.

"The paper can be chosen."

"Who will choose?"

"I request to make a joint selection with the Ministry of Rites and the Secretariat."

"You choose the paper, I'll choose the fire," Zhu Han said calmly. "The fire will last for three months." (End of Chapter)