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

The monk hurriedly offered it with both hands. Zhu Han pinched it open, and inside was an extremely fine white powder, which looked like honey cream.

He lightly touched the edge of the seal with his fingertip. The white powder sank slightly upon contact with the mud, and a faint line immediately seeped in from the seam, forming a string of thin characters—"Yuekong".

The gatekeeper and the steward both paled. The monk's expression froze for a moment, then he clasped his hands together: "Amitabha, benefactor, you are wise. This humble monk—"

Before he could finish speaking, Hao Duiying grabbed him by the back of his collar, and with a flick of his sleeve, a short blade struck his wrist. A thin glove fell to the ground with a "thud," the inside of his palm covered in fine black dust.

"What you have in your sleeve isn't honey frost, it's charcoal powder."

Hao sneered at Ying, "You want to write on the seal?"

The monk lowered his eyes and did not reply.

"Ciyun Temple," Zhu Han said in a low voice, "call the abbot here."

"No need to call me that." The monk suddenly looked up, his smile fading. "I am the abbot."

The gatekeeper gasped: "Yue Kong!"

"Don't shout." Zhu Han waved his hand. "Take him away. — Gatekeeper's Record: Turn the seal over twice."

Before being led away, the monk glanced back at the gate of the Imperial Ancestral Temple, his gaze like a fine nail, unyielding even to the wind. He chuckled softly: "The gate will eventually open."

"The door we opened was the one we opened," Zhu Han said calmly. "It wasn't the door you wrote down."

The second round of sun-drying the clay. The clay in the central case is placed alongside the "gift slips," and the ink on the paper has faded slightly in the wind where it is not completely dry.

The official presented the document, gently pressing down the edges with a thin bamboo stick while reciting: "'Strangers are not allowed to stand near the fire,' 'When there is a lot of paper before the fire, it is advisable to start with thinner paper and then thicker paper...' in a soft, clear voice.

Lu Ting watched from afar in the west wing for a moment, but did not approach. The young boy leaned closer: "Sir, aren't you going to look?"

"Watch the fire." The redness in Lu Ting's eyes faded in the wind. "Don't look at the mud."

The child stared blankly: "Why?"

“Looking at the mud will remind me of my hands.” Lu Ting stopped talking. “Fire doesn’t recognize people, but mud does.”

He turned to leave, but before he could take another step, a sudden sound came from the side gate. Two junior officials from the Central Government carried in a large box: "Your Highness—the Northern Garrison has reported that they have intercepted a batch of misfit military equipment. The seal on the box matches the seventh piece of armor."

Zhu Han lifted the lid and immediately recognized it: "It came from Moku."

"Do you need—" Hao made a throat-slitting gesture to Ying.

"No rush." ​​Zhu Han put away the box. "Keep the ink storekeeper and the storekeeper in check, don't touch the craftsman."

"As ordered."

Someone in the crowd gasped and quickly made way.

Lu Ting stood on the periphery and saw this scene from afar. Something flashed in his eyes, but he suppressed it.

He bowed to the boy and said, "Go back to the manor and light the lamps."

"Didn't you turn off the light the day before yesterday, my lord?"

"Today's order," Lu Ting said, "I need to see the characters."

What words are you looking at?

“Look at that scroll of ‘gifts’ by the fire.”

The child didn't understand and followed suit.

The two secretaries of the ink treasury were brought before the table and made to kneel.

The woodworker turned over the third pile of old mud to show them, pointing to the seventh piece: "Can you feel it?"

One of the clerks raised his eyes, glanced at it for a moment, his eyelids twitched, and he quickly lowered his gaze: "I can't tell."

"Look again." The smith placed the piece to one side under the lamp, and the lead marks flickered faintly in the texture.

The clerk's Adam's apple bobbed, but he still stubbornly insisted, "I can't tell."

"Alright." Zhu Han ignored them. "Gold plastered on his hands too."

Hao flicked his finger lightly, and the gold dust landed on the backs of their hands.

The first person's hand immediately showed a shallow mark, and the second person's hand also showed a thin line after a slow half-breath.

Both of their expressions changed.

"You figured it out?" The firesmith raised an eyebrow.

“…I saw it.” The first person said in a trembling voice, “Yes, it was me—no.” He himself was confused.

"Don't separate us," Zhu Han said calmly. "Tell us where we came from."

The two clerks exchanged a glance and finally prostrated themselves on the ground: "Zhou Xing from the Ministry of Internal Affairs handed us old noodles and told us to 'renew our tattoos,' saying that they would be used after the ceremony. We dared not ask any questions and simply did as we were told."

"Where is Zhou Xing?" Hao asked Ying.

"...I don't know." Both of them trembled. "He always comes and goes at night."

"The Ministry of Justice will interrogate him again in the middle of the night."

Zhu Han turned around and said, "The Ordnance Bureau should take all the old and new fabrics that were released from storage last month and bring them to the Meridian Gate to be dried in the sun for three days."

"Sun-dry for three days?" The fire-maker raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunately, it's cloudy."

“It’s sunny even in the shade,” Zhu Han said. “Wind is more accurate than sunlight.”

Zhu Biao sat at the desk, flipping through the "Fire Regulations." Outside the window, the wind was steady, and the seal remained flat.

Zhu Han entered and placed two small items on the ground: a tiny iron spring and a very thin piece of silk.

"This is—" Zhu Biao asked in confusion.

"The incense burner at the Meridian Gate this morning, and the words on the silk."

Zhu Han gently scraped a corner of the silk with the back of his fingernail. "You can't see the ink, but when the fire touches it, words appear."

"They're going to write in the fire?" Zhu Biao raised an eyebrow.

“Write ‘Open the temple and change the route’,” Zhu Han said, pointing to the silk. “It was burned long ago.”

"You can see it?"

“I saw feet,” Zhu Han said. “The feet paused for a moment in front of the incense, then retreated an inch. The person who retreated an inch was not offering incense, but lighting the fire.”

Zhu Biao nodded: "I understand. I'll go through the middle gate tomorrow."

"Alright." Zhu Han chuckled. "Tomorrow, you'll enter through the middle gate. They'll count the steps. Walk slowly and don't make a sound."

I will remain silent.

"There's only one thing everyone needs to know—the door is yours."

Zhu Han packed up the iron reed and silk, saying, "No one else can write on it."

At the beginning of Hai hour, in a side courtyard of Ciyun Temple.

Yuekong was held in a corner room with his hands tied behind his back, but he still smiled and said, "Your teachings are so powerful that I, this old monk, am completely defeated."

The captain guarding the area said expressionlessly, "Shut up."

Yuekong, however, insisted, "I bet you'll be sun-drying mud again tomorrow. Mud takes three days to sun-dry, how many days will it take to sun-dry people?"

No one paid him any attention. Yuekong sighed, clasped his hands together, and softly recited two lines of scripture, his nasal voice so light it was almost imperceptible.

A gust of wind blew through the window paper, the lamp flame flickered, and then went out.

Li Gongli stood beside the well, and footsteps approached very quietly in the darkness.

The newcomer didn't speak, but first placed something on the stone. Li Gong touched it; it was a crossbow.

"His crossbow?" Li Gong asked.

"Yes." The voice from the shadows was faint. "Here's the crossbow. Give him a word."

Which sentence?

"The door is behind the fire, so don't shoot the fire."

Will he listen or not?

"If he doesn't listen, give him back the crossbow." The person in the shadows chuckled. "Let him try it himself."

“Try it once and you’ll die,” Li Gong said.

"Try it once and you'll survive." The person in the shadows said calmly, "Fire avoids the wind. But people don't necessarily escape fire."

Li Gong didn't ask any more questions and put the crossbow back into its sash: "I'll watch the north gate, and I'll guard the empty box under the bridge."

"Okay." The figure receded into the distance. "Come again tomorrow night."

The three cases remain unchanged.

Today there was one more item – the Ordnance Bureau's self-reported "old and new items from last month", a total of forty-six pieces, neatly numbered.

The official presented the "gift letter" pressed firmly against the corner of the table.

The smith divided the calcining powder into small packets for each of the two gatekeepers: "Don't spill it, be careful."

"Sun-dry the mud—" the gatekeeper sang loudly.

The wind rippled the mud. The lead mark on the seventh piece of the axle looked like a lost thread in the wind, stretched an inch by the sunlight.

As the crowd watched, a middle-aged man in a blue jacket squeezed to the front of the table, his eyes fixed on the piece, his toes trembling slightly.

"Stop." Hao stepped aside to block Ying.

The middle-aged man was startled and quickly took half a step back, his voice hoarse: "I...I was just watching."

The firesmith squinted, flicked his wrist, and gold dust bloomed into a pale flower on the back of his hand.

The tone was faint, but there was something there. The middle-aged man immediately lowered his eyes, his shoulders slumping: "...Zhou Xing, the junior treasurer of the Internal Affairs Department."

"You're finally here," Zhu Han said. "How many times did you touch me last night?"

Zhou Xing's Adam's apple bobbed: "Twice." "For whom are you showing it to?"

"……Own."

"Hands are honest, but mouths aren't," Hao sneered at Ying. "Put your bet."

Zhou Xing was pushed down, and the crowd silently dispersed in a circle, like the wind passing around a fire.

The official quickly jotted down notes, adding a line at the end: "Zhou Xing showed signs of fire."

“Let it dry in the sun until late afternoon.” Zhu Han raised his hand. “After three winds, the mud will be collected once. In the afternoon, turn to the ‘gift note’ ​​and place it in the center of the table, on the line ‘a half-burnt fire lasts for three months without change’.”

"Yes, ma'am." Chen Shu responded, folding the paper along that line and pressing it down.

The gold dust on the back of his fingers rubbed off a little dust, turning into a thin layer of dirt.

He didn't wipe it; his hand remained steady. The fire, in his eyes, was neither large nor small, just enough to align the mud lines and paper edges in one direction.

The wind pressed down diagonally from under the city ridge, causing the mud surface to ripple slightly.

The Junior Secretary of the Ordnance Bureau reported: "This is the third time it will be aired."

The official in charge of the case looked up and said, "This is the third time."

The smith smiled, a hint of weariness in his expression: "Put the seventh piece of armor back in the box. Don't let them have anything to eat."

"Let it dry for another quarter of an hour," Zhu Han said. "We'll bring it in after it's done."

"As ordered."

A burst of laughter flashed by at the side gate, like someone scratching porcelain with their fingernail.

Two eunuchs rushed over and whispered, "Your Highness—there is a man kneeling outside the Censorate, who calls himself Gou San and wants to identify 'Moku Road'."

"Make him stand," Zhu Han said. "Kneeling too much will only make his eyes water."

"He said he wouldn't speak unless I knelt," the eunuch said cautiously.

"Then kneel for a moment, and raise a finger for every sentence you say, raise a person for every three sentences, don't let him act."

Zhu Han fell silent. "Tell him: The 'gift card' by the fire is being read."

"Yes, sir." The eunuch withdrew.

Hao turned his head to Ying and said, "Your method will scare him."

"That's why I speak briefly, because I'm afraid," Zhu Han said calmly. "There's more to a long story than meets the eye."

Another gust of wind blew by. The official pressed down the corner of his paper, then suddenly his fingertips tightened: "Your Highness—"

He lifted the paper upwards, revealing a very thin black line on the back, emerging from under the character '改' in "火半盆三月不改" and extending to the corner of the paper.

The stoker rolled his eyes: "Someone is writing under the paper!"

Hao Duiying instantly reached out, lifted the paper, raised the table, and with three fingers like hooks, caught a black thread slightly thicker than a hair on the table surface. The black thread was pulled out an inch, one end connected to the bottom of the table, and the other end leading to the shadow of the table leg.

"Dismantle the case!" Zhu Han said in a deep voice.

The gatekeeper stepped forward and snapped the tenon joint of the table leg with a "crack." A thin box slid down from the inside of the table leg, revealing a small wad of ink cotton inside. Fine threads were wrapped around the cotton, with the ends of the threads sticking to the back of the paper.

“Playing with tinder,” the tindersmith sneered. “Black, trying to ‘write’ from the back of the paper.”

"Who touched the case?" Zhu Han looked around.

Two minor officials from the Ordnance Bureau knelt down in unison: "...We changed the case yesterday."

"Who gave you permission to change it?"

"...No one allowed it."

"Take it down." Zhu Han's eyes darkened. "The Gatekeeper's Records state: 'Ink cotton was hidden in the corner of the desk,' and the Ministry of Justice lists it as the 'Fire Cotton Case.'"

The clerk took a deep breath, pressed down on the paper, and repositioned the line precisely in the middle, his fingers steady.

He added a line to the last line: "The embers on the back of the paper were revealed."

"After you've finished airing it out," Zhu Han said calmly. "Disassemble all the mortise and tenon joints on the table legs and air people out."

"Showing off people?" Hao raised an eyebrow at Ying.

“Even if people don’t stand by the fire, they still have to be exposed to the heat. — Take the minor official from the Arsenal, Zhou Xing from the Department of Internal Affairs, and the clerk from the Ink Warehouse to the Meridian Gate and make them stand by the mud until dusk.”

"As ordered."

The crowd retreated in one circle, then squeezed back in. The wind blew the fire steadily.

At the beginning of the day (around 5-7 PM), outside the Ministry of Justice prison.

Gou San was helped up. His mouth was dry and his eyes were wet. He looked up at the direction of the Meridian Gate, as if he were looking at a place where he had talked with Huo.

The person in charge approached: "Say a word, raise a finger."

Gou San swallowed hard before uttering his first sentence: "I taught Mo Ku the 'Continuation Pattern'."

The person in charge raised his hand and untied one of his fingers.

"The second sentence."

“Zhou Xing touched me twice at night, and I let him touch me a third time.”

Another interpretation is that it refers to a finger.

"The third sentence."

"Prime Minister Lu... doesn't know."

The person in charge looked at Zhu Han. Zhu Han remained silent. Hao whispered to Ying, "Say one more sentence."

Gou San closed his eyes and gritted his teeth: "The money comes from—Ciyun Temple."

The person in charge paused for a moment, untied a finger, and said coldly, "That's enough."

"Bring him back," Zhu Han said. "Don't let him die."

"Yes," the person in charge replied.

Beside the Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Biao sat upright, lightly tapping the corner of the table with his fingers.

Zhu Han entered, bringing with him the black silk and ink cotton that had been removed from the fire, and placed them in front of him.

"Is this what happened today?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Yes.” Zhu Han tapped the cotton with his finger. “The person who writes ‘revise’ on the back of the paper can’t write it. — Once the wind goes away and the fire is stable, his words die behind it.”

"If you leave a person in the mud, they will move."

"Let him move. If he moves even an inch, the wind will see it."

Zhu Han said calmly, "Just go through the middle gate."

"I see."

"The fire will not be extinguished for another three days." Zhu Han put the black silk stockings away. "The door will not be changed."

"Alright." Zhu Biao nodded. "Three more days, and you'll have to back down."

"retreat."

"Where to retreat to?"

"Behind the door," Zhu Han laughed. "Watching the fire from behind the door."

“I’ve heard you say the same thing over and over these past few days.” Zhu Biao looked up. “Fake, burn.”

"I won't say anything tomorrow." Zhu Han closed the box. "Let the fire tell me itself."

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

The sedan chair with the silver ring stopped in the shadows. The shadow handed over a paper pouch and whispered, "Dry the 'sample' by the fire for three days, and the 'person' for half a day."

The person inside the sedan chair chuckled: "If you stay in the sun too long, your skin will fade."

“He makes it impossible for people to fade,” Shadow said. “Every time he exposes them to the sun, he adds a note.”

Who are you sharing these notes with?

"Let the fire see it."

The person inside the sedan chair sighed softly, "What a magnificent fire."

He paused, then lowered the curtain: "Withdraw the hand of Ciyun Temple and change the thread."

Which one?

"Above the inkwell—and one more way up."

The shadow didn't ask any questions, nodded, and left.

After Zi, the old road of the Eastern Depot.

Li Gong packed up his crossbow, looked up at the city ridge, and felt the wind blowing from the north, carrying a bit of salt.

The man in the shadows stood at another corner of the well platform and whispered, "He kept quiet, but he refused to put out the fire."

"Whether to put out the fire or not is not up to him." Li Gong tightened the crossbow string. "It's up to the door."

Who's at the door?

“The door is behind the fire.” Li Gong turned around. “I’ll guard the bridge, you guard behind the fire.”

How long should we hold out?

"March," Li Gong smiled. "I'll take over after March."

As the lights dimmed, the shadow on the well platform shrank by half an inch. Peace reigned in the city; the fire still burned halfway, and the wind remained gentle. (End of Chapter)