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

The third day was the final time for drying the mud. The three cases remained the same.

The man was still standing by the mud. The official turned the "Letter of Rites" back to the first page, placed it on the four characters "Follow the old rules and be careful in your duties," and murmured, "Follow, be careful."

The smith put the calcining powder back into his small bag and tucked it into his sleeve: "Don't use it today."

"Why?" Chen Shu asked.

"You've already gone too far," the fireman said, blocking the bag's opening. "If you keep flicking it, you'll be flicking your face."

“Remember this,” Chen Shu laughed, “'Gold may stop, but the wind need not stop.'”

The gatekeeper shouted: "The mud-drying is finished!"

The wind smoothed out the mud patterns one last time. The Junior Minister of the Arsenal retrieved the seventh piece of armor and sealed it in its box.

Zhu Han said to the gatekeeper, "Clear the way, disperse."

The crowd parted, and the fire remained steady in the wind, as if waiting for the last word to fall.

"Your Highness," Hao whispered to Ying, "the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Ink Treasury have detained seven people. Zhou Xing has confessed; the abbot of Ciyun Temple just smiled and denied it."

“There’s no need for him to acknowledge it,” Zhu Han said. “Let him stay in the side courtyard and not move—until March.”

“Lu Ting…”

"Go back to the manor, light the lamps, and look at the writing," Zhu Han said calmly. "Give him time to let the ink dry."

"clear."

The half-burnt brazier in front of the Meridian Gate is still burning, the flames lying dormant like the end of a thread.

The official carefully put away the previous day's "Record of Sun-drying Mud," with a thin bamboo stick tucked into his sleeve.

The smith at the ordnance bureau gathered the ashes: "They've been dried in the sun for three days, and the wind has found its way here."

“Write this down,” Chen Shu said. “'The wind knows the way, the mud knows the person.'”

“You,” the fire-maker chuckled, “you’ll get marks on your lips too.”

The corner bell of the palace struck softly once.

Inside the east wing of the Fengtian Hall, the Minister of Rites recited the day's rites again, and then lowered his voice to Zhu Han: "Within three months, the fire in the half-burnt basin shall not be removed; within three days, the ancestral storehouse shall not be disturbed. I have already copied this into the red book."

“Add another clause,” Zhu Han said, “‘The gatekeepers work in two shifts and check the seals against each other once a night,’ so that no one can switch the seals at night.”

"As ordered."

Hao Duiying came down from the eaves and said in a low voice, "The Ministry of Justice reports that Zhou Xing has implicated his superiors—Yan Jiu, the Vice Director of the Ministry of Internal Affairs."

"Yan Jiu?" The Minister of Rites was startled. "He's in charge of silks and brocades, how did he get involved in this mess?"

"The more hands you have, the more paths you'll have to take," Zhu Han said calmly. "Have someone keep an eye on him, but don't touch him. Let him experience the consequences firsthand."

"Touch?" Hao raised an eyebrow at Ying.

"The hands of someone who touches the mud will shine."

Before he could finish speaking, there was a sudden commotion outside the door. The gatekeeper led in a junior scribe from the Imperial Ancestral Temple, carrying a square cage with a roll of old silk inside.

Xiao Shi knelt down: "Your Highness—a breeze arose from a crack in the wall of the Divine Treasury, blowing out this scroll."

"Who picked it up?" Zhu Han asked.

"The little one."

"When?"

"End of Yin"

"Give it to me." Zhu Han unwrapped it; the silk was extremely thin, with a black thread sandwiched in the inner layer, the end of which was hidden in the center of the roll.

Zhu Han gently tugged, and the thread traveled half a circle along the back of the silk, revealing two faint characters: "Change Door".

The Minister of Rites gasped: "Those with ulterior motives are even eyeing silk."

"Writing in fire, the writing is on the back of the paper; writing in the temple, the writing is on the silk."

Hao sneered at Ying, "They're all the same."

"Don't burn it." Zhu Han rolled it back and put it in the box. "Let it dry by the Meridian Gate and see who gets it first."

"As ordered."

After the sealing ceremony, Zhu Biao remained silent, took a step towards the central gate, and the gatekeeper counted off, while all the officials watched him go.

Before leaving, he glanced sideways at the direction of the Meridian Gate—the fire was stable, the case was cleared, and the wind was fair.

His gaze returned, and his footsteps landed on the edge of the gold bricks, neither too deep nor too shallow.

Class dismissed. Zhu Han went to the Meridian Gate and personally placed the scroll of "Gate Change" silk on the edge of the central table, weighing down the corners of the silk with two small stones.

A gust of wind blew, causing the silk to ripple slightly, while the black thread remained still.

The official stepped forward half a step, his gaze almost touching the line, as if guarding a fish in shallow water.

"Don't touch it," Zhu Han said. "Watch your eyes today."

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper approached, "Yan Jiu from the Imperial Household Department entered the palace this morning to request an audience."

"Tell him to see me again after noon," Zhu Han said, then added, "Tell him to wait by the fire at the Meridian Gate."

The gatekeeper left. Hao raised an eyebrow at Ying: "You want him to stick his arm to the fire?"

"If he feels guilty, he will back down."

A middle-aged man with a dignified appearance stood a step away from the fire, his collar perfectly straight and his gaze calm.

He didn't look at the fire or the table, but stared at the direction of the city ridge.

The official recorded: "Yan Jiu: Do not approach, do not speak."

"Minister Si," Zhu Han said from the side, his voice flat.

Yan Jiu cupped his hands in greeting: "Your Highness."

"The old mud from the Ordnance Bureau, how many times did you touch it last night?"

Yan Jiu raised an eyebrow: "This humble official was not at the Ordnance Bureau and did not touch it."

"Who will you send to touch it?"

"That's a very direct question." Yan Jiu smiled faintly. "I have always been impartial. Why would I send someone to smear mud?"

"Your hand isn't shiny," the tinderbox whispered from behind. "It's clean."

Yan Jiu glanced sideways: "What does this craftsman have to say?"

"Your Ministry of Internal Affairs loves perfumes and powders." The firesmith shrugged. "The powder is thick, so the gold doesn't show."

Yan Jiu smiled without changing his expression: "The craftsman flatters me."

"Minister Si," Zhu Han said calmly, "are you going to the palace this afternoon?"

"If fate allows."

"First, place an incense stick by the fire."

"Lixiang?" Yan Jiu was slightly surprised. "What do you mean?"

"As is customary," Zhu Han said, "everyone passing through the Meridian Gate must offer incense today."

Yan Jiu stared at the fire for a moment, then finally reached out and took the incense offered by the Military Equipment Bureau.

The incense stick was plain white, without silk or reed. Yan Jiu inserted the incense stick into the sand at the edge of the basin and took a step back.

Flames lick the incense burner's roots, smoke rises in a wisp.

Yan Jiu kept his gaze fixed on the line without looking away.

The official wrote down "Li Xiang" and also noted Yan Jiu's retreat: "retreat one inch."

"Minister Si," Zhu Han interrupted his gaze, "you've looked enough."

Yan Jiu cupped his hands in greeting: "This humble official has always been cautious."

"A cautious person doesn't get involved in muddy situations," Hao said calmly to Ying.

Yan Jiu did not answer.

"Go wait in the side corridor of Yonghe Hall." Zhu Han stopped talking. "See you in the afternoon."

Yan Jiu bowed and withdrew. A moment of silence fell around the fire.

As the official presented the incense stick, which had burned halfway down and whose ash had fallen precisely onto the edge of the brazier, he murmured, "It can move."

“You can see it moving,” the fireman said.

At 1-3 PM, in the side corridor of Yonghe Hall.

The sneeze was extremely soft, like someone shaking their sleeve behind a curtain. Yan Jiu stood behind a pillar, his eyes cold and aloof.

The eunuchs shuttled back and forth, serving tea and announcing the time.

He glanced into the hall, and seeing no one summoning him, he turned and walked to the end of the corridor, bending down to look at the pool.

The surface of the pool was rippled, and in his reflection, the corners of his mouth were pressed flat.

"Minister Si," a gentle voice came from the corner of the corridor, "Water's cold."

Yan Jiu turned around and saw Lu Ting standing in the shadows of the corridor, dressed in plain clothes without a fur coat. He cupped his hands and said, "Zhongshu."

Lu Ting nodded: "I need to see you this afternoon."

"Is the Grand Secretary going to plead on my behalf?"

"Say one thing, listen to one thing." Lu Ting's gaze was indifferent. "Don't touch the mud in the Armory; don't touch the Sacred Warehouse in the Imperial Ancestral Temple; no writing is allowed by secret agents near the fire at the Meridian Gate."

Yan Jiu smiled faintly: "Has the Secretariat learned to read fire now?"

"The fire isn't for me to see," Lu Ting said, turning around. "It's for them."

Yan Jiu's gaze sharpened for a moment, then he whispered, "You're afraid too."

“I’m afraid the characters will get rotten.” Lu Ting stopped looking at him. “You protect your archives, I’ll protect my records.”

“Each protects their own interests.” Yan Jiu nodded. “Okay.”

He turned and walked back into the corridor.

Lu Ting watched as his back slightly swayed, then straightened up, before finally stepping inside a moment later.

At the beginning of the day, beside the Fengtian Hall, an inner eunuch announced loudly that Yan Jiu had entered.

Behind the screen, Zhu Han did not sit, but stood with his hands behind his back under the window.

Zhu Biao sat upright with his sleeves neatly tucked in.

“Minister of the Ministry of Personnel,” Zhu Biao spoke first, “the silk in the treasury and the inkpad are unrelated.”

"Yes." Yan Jiu cupped his hands. "I have been implicated in this matter and have faced many inconveniences. However, the seal of office is under the jurisdiction of the Armory, and I dare not overstep my bounds."

"It was just one transgression," Hao said coldly to Ying.

Yan Jiu ignored him and stared at Zhu Biao: "Your Highness, the roll of silk by the fire at the Meridian Gate came from a crack in the wall of the Divine Treasury. I wish to request that it be temporarily kept and inquired about its origin."

“Items from the Meridian Gate should be kept there first,” Zhu Han interrupted. “They can be retrieved from the warehouse in three days.”

“The Meridian Gate is on fire,” Yan Jiu said. “If the wind blows, even the silk will catch fire.”

"The fire is half full, no oil added," Zhu Han said. "I'll keep an eye on it."

Yan Jiu hesitated for a moment, then said, "This humble official is willing to protect himself."

"Protect what?" Zhu Han asked.

"Protect the treasury," Yan Jiu said, "Protect the people."

"What about the thread?" Zhu Han pointed to the window. "Where did the black thread on the silk come from?"

Yan Jiu's gaze sharpened. After a moment, he slowly said, "Former members of the Inner Court."

"Name," Hao demanded in a forced voice from Ying.

“…Dong Jiao.” Yan Jiu uttered two words, “Last year, he worked as a copyist at the ink storehouse, and then resigned. This person is skilled at hiding threads on the back of silk, writing opera scripts and engraving characters, and also writing…other characters.”

"Where is Dong Jiao?" Zhu Han asked.

"I don't know," Yan Jiu said, bowing his head. "He doesn't belong to me."

"This afternoon, someone will go to see that roll of silk by the fire at the Meridian Gate."

Zhu Han said, "If he comes, take a look, but don't say anything."

Yan Jiu raised his eyes: "Can this official tell?"

“You can tell,” Zhu Han said, falling silent. “He looks into your eyes, and you look into his hands.”

Yan Jiu said in a deep voice, "I will accept your instruction."

A slight breeze stirred. The silk handkerchief bearing the inscription "Change Door" on the central table fluttered slightly, the black thread still lying flat.

When presenting a statement, the official would turn the paper to a blank page and place it next to the silk to prevent dust from falling on it.

The smith squatted down, his eyes following the back of the silk to examine the tenon joints of the table legs.

The crowd outside the gate was sparse, mostly officials and servants who glanced at the entrance and left.

Yan Jiu stepped to a stop one step from the fire. His gaze remained fixed straight ahead, as if he were once again displaying his usual cautious demeanor. The official Chen Shu noted: "Yan Jiu arrived and stood still."

The man in the brown conical hat slowly squeezed his way in from the edge of the crowd, stopping just two steps away from the edge of the silk-covered wall.

The person under the straw hat was not tall, with a slightly hunched back, and his cuffs were spotless.

He didn't look up at the fire, but instead gently rubbed his thumb and forefinger together with the back of his fingers in the wind—a habit only people with folded hands have.

"That one," Hao whispered to Ying behind the fire.

Zhu Han remained unmoved: "Take another step closer."

The person under the straw hat had indeed taken another half step closer.

Yan Jiu's eyelids lifted almost imperceptibly, then fell back down.

The man stopped, chuckled softly, and muttered to himself, "The wind isn't very good."

"The wind is just right." Zhu Han took half a step forward, standing between the silk and the fire. "Dong Jiao?"

The person under the bamboo hat froze, the smile still on their face, but their voice had become hoarse: "Your Highness has mistaken me for someone else."

"The character '走' (walk) always leans to the right."

Zhu Han said in a flat tone, "You put the corner trim of the silk edge on the 'change' radical, not the 'door' radical."

The straw hat was slowly lifted, revealing a thin face with clear whites and bright eyes.

He glanced at Yan Jiu, but Yan Jiu didn't move. Dong Jiao chuckled, "The Chief Clerk is here too."

"Did you accept the ring?" Yan Jiu asked indifferently.

"I've accepted it," Dong Jiao replied. "I dare not wear it."

"What are you doing here again?" Zhu Han asked.

"Watch the fire." Dong Jiao raised his hand slightly, the back of his fingers trembling in the wind. "This humble official has been away from the fire for a long time."

"People who are separated from the fire element tend to write words on their backs."

He made an inappropriate remark while giving his statement, which surprised even himself.

Dong Jiao glanced at him, his smile thinning further: "This young clerk has quite the sharp tongue."

"Say less," Zhu Han said. "Turn your cuffs up."

Dong Jiao rolled up his cuffs; the lining was new and clean. Zhu Han reached out his hand. "Jin Lai."

The smith understood and lightly flicked a grain of burnished gold powder onto the back of Dong Jiao's hand.

When the gold dust fell, there was no immediate abnormality. After half a breath, a very faint dark line, like an earthworm, appeared at the junction of the finger bones.

Dong Jiao blinked: "Coincidentally."

"Coincidentally, you didn't need to wipe it with ash last night."

Hao Duiying stepped forward and gently patted his shoulder. "Let's go."

"Where to?" Dong Jiao asked.

"Stand by the fire first," Zhu Han said, "and stand there until the beginning of the twelfth lunar month."

Dong Jiao's smile faltered for a moment, then he relaxed his shoulders: "Stand then."

He stood on the other side of the silk.

A wisp of wind passed between the two, causing the corner of the silk to twitch, but the black thread remained still.

The official in charge of the document paused his pen on the paper and wrote: "Dong Jiao: Standing beside the silk, silent."

The sky darkened slightly. The crowd thinned out, and the half-eaten fire blazed steadily.

The Vice Minister of the Arsenal patrolled back and forth, checking the seals on the clay boxes from time to time. Dong Jiao stood there all afternoon, his clothes never disheveled, only occasionally glancing up to see the wind direction.

Yan Jiu stood a little further away, his gaze never meeting Dong Jiao's.

"Take him away." Zhu Han raised his hand.

Two captains stepped forward and led Yan Jiu and Dong Jiao respectively.

Yan Jiu cupped his hands in greeting: "Your Highness, Your Highness—may I return to my duties at the Imperial Household Department?"

"No." Zhu Han said coldly, "Temporarily move to the side corridor of Yonghe Hall to be questioned."

"Yes, sir." Yan Jiu bowed his head.

Dong Jiao grinned: "May I kneel at the entrance of the Ministry of Justice for two hours?"

“You won’t kneel,” Zhu Han said, looking at him. “You’re kneeling to your own words.”

Dong Jiao gave a soft "Oh," and said, "Then I won't kneel."

The two were taken away. The official finished writing his report, and the fire-maker patted the rim of the basin: "The wind is good today; there's no need to dry it tomorrow."

"We'll air out the other ones tomorrow," Zhu Han said.

What are you sunbathing?

"Sun-drying the clock."

The smith was taken aback for a moment, then grinned and said, "Okay."

Zhu Biao sat upright, twirling a small iron spring in his hand, the same kind as the one in that fragrant day.

Zhu Han entered and cupped his hands in greeting: "Yan Jiu is not tough, and Dong Jiao is not soft. They've both stopped by the fire."

"Just stop," Zhu Biao said softly. "Are you going to air out the clock tomorrow?"

"Hidden silk under the bell, hidden powder inside the bell, these are all popular games these days."

Zhu Han said, "They'll behave for a while after being exposed to the sun once."

"How long will you behave?"

"It depends on the wind," Zhu Han laughed. "Wherever the wind blows them, that's where they'll stand."

"Where are you standing?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Behind the door." Zhu Han's smile faded. "You stand inside the door."

“I’ll stand here.” Zhu Biao nodded. “How will you air out the clock tomorrow?”

“Carry the rope, mallet, and gong under the bell to the Meridian Gate, dismantle them, and dry them in the sun.”

Zhu Han said, "The bell doesn't move, but the area beneath it moves."

"The tolling of the bell will change."

"The changes are noticeable."

"Alright." Zhu Biao paused. "Lu Ting will remain silent today."

"He's watching the fire," Zhu Han said calmly. "Let him watch it."

"He will write it down after reading it."

"Finish writing before posting," Zhu Han said, cupping his hands in greeting. "I'm going to the Ordnance Bureau."

At the beginning of the Hai day, the Military Equipment Bureau was established.

The smith brought out the bell mallet, disassembled the mallet head, and emptied the cotton wick. (End of Chapter)