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

The two old ropes under the bell were also broken into thin strands. The warehouse clerk reported: "A strand of silk was mixed in with the old rope, and it is slightly black in color."

"Pull it out," Zhu Han ordered.

The silk quilt was pulled out; it was about two feet long and as thin as a hair.

The tinderbox attached the wire to the wooden dowel, and when the tinderbox touched it, the wire did not ignite at first. After half a breath, it popped into three pieces with a "pop", and a very small amount of smoke came out of the ends.

“It’s medicinal threads,” the firesmith said. “They crack when heated, and the powder will disperse.”

"Let's air it out tomorrow morning." Zhu Han put away the three pieces. "Whoever touches it will make it shiny."

"Your Highness," the storehouse clerk leaned closer, "when Yan Jiu was in the Imperial Household Department, he often came to borrow the design of bell hammers."

"Borrowing samples is not a crime," Zhu Han said calmly. "What you use the samples for is what matters."

"understood."

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

A small lamp still burned beside the well. Li Gong disassembled the crossbow into two pieces and placed them on the stone.

The person in the shadows took a step closer: "Did he take back his word?"

“He accepted it,” Li Gong said. “He didn’t put away the fire.”

“He doesn’t need to extinguish the fire,” the man laughed. “He’s the only one who needs to watch over the fire.”

“That man from the Bell Tower yesterday went to the North Gate,” Li Gong said. “He’s still not convinced.”

"Take it slowly," the man sighed. "The wind is strong outside."

"The wind's strong in the city too." Li Gong closed the crossbow again. "Are you going to air the clock tomorrow morning?"

“I’m standing further away,” the man said. “You stand closer.”

"I'm standing on the bridge."

"The bridge isn't far from the Meridian Gate," the man chuckled to himself. "You can see it."

The light went out. The wind at the wellhead was as light and silent as if covered by a thin cloth.

Half a basin of fire, along with the bell rope, bell mallet, gong, and wooden tenon under the bell, were carried out and arranged on three long tables.

The gatekeeper shouted: "Sun-dry the bell!"

There were more onlookers than yesterday, and even several music officials from the Ministry of Rites stood at a distance, their eyes fixed on the gavel.

The official censor tucked yesterday's "Record of Sun-drying Mud" into his sleeve, opened a new sheet of paper, and wrote two words: "Zhong Yan".

The firesmith first unfolded the cotton core of the mallet in layers, then picked up a very fine black thread with his fingertips and held it up to the sun: "Medicine thread."

“Record.” The statement begins to be written.

The Junior Minister of the Arsenal then loosened the thin strands of the old rope and picked out three strands of black silk.

The tinderbox brought the tinderbox close; one strand of the tinder broke first, the second strand broke a breath later, and the third strand broke the slowest.

“Three families,” he whispered.

“Record.” The statement began.

One of the wooden tenons under the bell was pulled out; the tenon was hollow and contained very little black powder.

The fire-maker brushed the paper with clean paper, and a gray shadow immediately appeared on the back of the paper.

"Record it." Chen Shu put down his pen again, his gaze never leaving the desk.

"Yan Jiu." Zhu Han turned around and saw that Si Cheng had already stopped a step away from the fire.

"Your Highness," Yan Jiu bowed.

“Look,” Zhu Han said.

Yan Jiu remained silent and observed. The censor, Chen Shuji, wrote: "Yan Jiu: I will not retreat."

The wind slanted down from the city ridge, making the clock face emit a very faint and low hum.

The crowd fell silent for a moment. The smith raised his hand and slapped his mallet: "The bell tolls clear today."

"I'll write it down." Chen Shu smiled slightly, his pen still steady.

Lu Ting was also among the crowd.

He stood on the outermost edge, his sleeves tightly covering his face. His gaze moved over the hammerhead, rope, tenon, and gong, finally settling on the roll of silk inscribed with "Door Modification" on the brazier.

The silk was smooth at the corner, the thread flat. He suddenly stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said, "Your Highness."

Lu Ting spread out his words, immediately silencing the surrounding noise: "The sound of the bell has its rhythm, and there is a proper way to operate it. The method for inspecting the bell today is feasible for a long time, but there is one condition—all items under the bell must be sunned for three days, stored for one day, and then sunned for another three days; any replacement of the mallet rope must be carried out only after consultation between the Arsenal and the Ministry of Rites; anyone who requests to change the bell's path must first pass through the Meridian Gate and then enter the main hall. The last two words must be: 'I humbly request.'"

"Okay." Zhu Han nodded. "Make a copy at the Meridian Gate and air it out."

"Drying it by the fire?" Lu Ting's smile was not deep. "Okay."

"Zhongshu." Zhu Biao came from the side of the hall, his voice gentle and steady, "This letter can be kept in the rites."

"Your Highness," Lu Ting bowed, "I will obey."

He retreated to the side of the crowd and said no more.

The wind has thinned out all sound, leaving only a sliver of light remaining in the brazier.

The official presented a copy of the "Zhong Zha" and placed it in the center of the desk. The firesmith picked up the third slowly split thread of medicine and looked up: "Your Highness, this thread is slow, and the hand is even more delicate."

“Moku,” Zhu Han said, “Dong Jiao.”

"Me?" Dong Jiao, who was being watched by two captains not far away, raised an eyebrow upon hearing the voice and smiled, "It's me."

"You did it, and you didn't hide it?" Hao glanced at Ying.

"You can't hide it." Dong Jiao shrugged. "It's better to show it off than to hide it and let it rot."

"Beautiful?" the firesmith scoffed. "Fire doesn't make things look beautiful."

"Fire only matters if it's real," Dong Jiao scoffed. "Your method—is rather interesting."

“It’s enough that it’s ‘interesting’,” Zhu Han said calmly. “Take him back to the side of Yonghe Hall.”

"As ordered."

At the end of the day, the bell-drying ceremony was completed. The three tables were closed. The gatekeeper announced the end of the ceremony.

As the crowd dispersed, the area in front of the Meridian Gate suddenly became eerily quiet. Zhu Han looked at the fire as if it were a thread stitching the city together.

Hao whispered in Ying's ear: "Yan Jiu is waiting in the side corridor of Yonghe Hall. He will ask, 'Who will Dong Jiao belong to?'"

“Return to the Meridian Gate,” Zhu Han said.

He also said that the Ministry of Internal Affairs was keeping its hands under control and was willing to do one thing—block the 'path' behind the wall of the Divine Storehouse.

"He admitted it?"

"He's only half convinced," Hao said with a smile. "He's afraid it'll be too late."

"Tell him to block it." Zhu Han turned around. "After he blocks it, he should show his hand to Jin."

"I will obey."

At the beginning of the period, beside the Yonghe Hall.

Yan Jiu stretched out his hands, and the firesmith flicked two gold dusts onto his fingers. The backs of his hands remained clear and unlit.

He withdrew his hand: "I do things the right way."

“Even the righteous path must be exposed to the light.” Zhu Han sat down. “I will question Dong Jiao; you go back to the Internal Affairs Department to oversee the warehouse. You are not allowed to touch mud, borrow samples, or lend them to others.”

"I will remember." Yan Jiu cupped his hands in greeting.

“Furthermore,” Zhu Han raised his eyes, “who left the path behind the Divine Treasury wall?”

“Former prime minister.” Yan Jiu paused for a moment, then uttered two words, “Lu Duan.”

Silence fell over the room. Hao Duiying's eyes turned cold, then calmed down: "Dead."

“The path to the dead is the hardest to block.” Zhu Han stood up. “Go and block it.”

"As ordered."

Yan Jiu retreated. A sliver of wind blew in through the crack in the door, carrying a faint, cool fragrance.

Zhu Han looked at the line and said softly, "The crack in the door shouldn't be too big."

"Leave a crack for the road to pass through," Zhu Biao said calmly as he emerged from behind the curtain.

"I'm sewing after," Zhu Han laughed. "You're sewing before."

"Ah."

The alley outside the Imperial Clan Court.

Lu Ting's sedan chair was parked in the shadows.

He had the boy lower the sedan curtain, then stepped out and looked in the direction of the Meridian Gate.

The boy whispered, "Sir, they've dried your 'bell and treasury' in the sun."

“I see it.” Lu Ting stared at the half-burnt fire. “The words are by the fire, not on the paper.”

"Should we still write?"

“Write it,” Lu Ting said slowly, “Write it for Huo to see.”

"Can fire see?"

"Huo is watching." Lu Ting withdrew his gaze. "Let's go back to the manor."

"Yes."

He got into the sedan chair, the curtain fell, but before the chair started moving, Lu Ting suddenly ordered, "Turn the lamp at the door a little brighter."

"It went out the day before yesterday, was turned on yesterday, and is it on again today?" The child scratched his head.

“The wind is just right today.” Lu Ting closed his eyes. “Make it a little brighter so you can read the words.”

The sedan chair departed. A thin sliver of lamplight remained in the alley, like a nail driven into the corner of the wall.

Outside the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

The gate remained sealed as before. The head of the Imperial Clan Court was copying the gate register when a figure quietly stood before him.

The official looked up and saw that it was Li Gong.

"You're supposed to be guarding the north gate, what brings you here?" the steward asked in a low voice. "I need to watch my step," Li Gong replied calmly. "If someone knocks on the wall at night, don't open it."

"Who's coming?"

"I don't know," Li Gong said, looking at him. "Just remember it."

“Record it,” the person in charge replied.

Li Gong turned and left. A gust of wind swept across the wall of the Divine Storehouse, bringing down a few specks of dust, like clearing one's throat.

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

Zhu Biao read through the "Zhong Zha" once and then put it back on the table.

Zhu Han gathered his sleeves: "The fire will burn as usual tomorrow. We'll only do one thing at the Meridian Gate—place the 'Zhong Zha' on the central table."

"You'll take half a step back?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Retreat." Zhu Han laughed. "Even if you retreat, you'll still be inside the door."

"it is good."

He left the hall. The wind in front of the corridor gently lifted the seal by half a finger, then lowered it again.

The half-burnt fire on the side of the Meridian Gate resembled a patient little beast, breathing evenly.

At the end of the Hai hour, north of the city.

An unnamed car was parked by the bridge.

Two thin wooden plaques were placed on the cart. The backs of the plaques were clear, and the fronts were engraved with "Jia Qi".

The driver handed the card to a shadowy figure in the darkness and whispered, "Take this to North Town to exchange for your man."

Shadow took the card but didn't move it: "Can't change it."

"why?"

“It’s been dried by the fire.” Shadow sneered. “’Jiaqi’ knows people, not goods.”

The driver clicked his tongue, threw the sign back into the rickshaw, turned around and drove off, cursing under his breath.

The shadow glanced towards the center of the bridge; there was no one there, only the wind.

The wind brushes across the water's surface like the back of a knife.

The lamp by the well was still there. Li Gong disassembled the crossbow, as if doing something that could never go wrong.

The person in the shadows laughed: "You've stood far enough away today."

"The Meridian Gate is full." Li Gong crossed his crossbow and pulled the trigger. "I'll stand on the bridge."

"Will he fire again?"

“No,” Li Gong said. “He knows now that the fire will watch over him.”

"Who doesn't get tired of watching fire?" the man asked.

"Fire doesn't get tiring," Li Gong laughed. "The gatekeepers will get tired."

Are you tired?

"I'm not tired." Li Gong put the crossbow back in his sleeve. "The wind is still blowing."

Half a basin of fire was lit at the Meridian Gate; the fire was lit first, and the fireman gathered the ashes.

The official stated that he placed the "Zhong Zha" (a type of ancient Chinese document) in the center of the table, right on the line that read "Sun-dry for three days, hide for one day".

The gatekeeper announced loudly: "Zhong's Inspection Record - Sunbathing."

The wind swept across the table, the mallet was gone, the rope had been pulled back, and only the note remained steadily by the fire.

There weren't many people; those who came only glanced at the crowd before leaving.

Yan Jiu stood at a distance, squinting, as if he were arguing with the wind. Dong Jiao remained by the Yonghe Hall, not coming out.

Lu Ting didn't come either; he's probably writing under the lamp.

Zhu Han stood at the foot of the steps, his gaze fixed on the edge of the fire.

Hao Duiying approached: "Director Yan Jiuwen, may we remove half of the basin in three days?"

"We won't withdraw," Zhu Han said calmly. "Let's see in thirty more days."

"Record it." Hao smiled at Ying. "I'll record it for Huo."

“Record for the Wind,” Zhu Han corrected.

He turned and entered the house with his hands behind his back. The seal was affixed flat, the incense ash was light, and the sound of the bell was distant.

The fire rim of the Meridian Gate resembled a ring of fine gold, held still by the wind.

The official stated that he pressed the second page of "Zhong Yan Ji" on the desk and stuffed an extra short bamboo stick into his sleeve.

The smith from the armory tapped the fork tip twice on the edge of the fire and lowered his voice: "Today we're not drying mud or clocks, we're drying the walls."

“Write this down,” Chen Shu laughed, “'The wall cracks can be used as a test.'”

“Your mouth,” the stoker grinned, “gets straighter and straighter as you write.”

In the east wing of Fengtian Hall, the Minister of Rites presented the three documents that had been delivered the night before: "Your Highness, the gatekeeper's logbook of the Imperial Ancestral Temple recorded two things at midnight: one was that the brick outside the wall was knocked three times and then stopped; the other was that cold air was coming out of a crack in the wall at the north corner of the Divine Storehouse."

"Who remembers this?" Zhu Han asked.

"Chief of the Imperial Clan Court".

"What about people?"

"Outside the door."

"Let him stand by the fire at the Meridian Gate." Zhu Han folded the paper. "Stand there until late afternoon."

"As ordered."

Hao Duiying lifted the curtain and came in, shaking off the frost from her sleeves: "Yan Jiu, the Director of the Internal Affairs Department, replied: 'The small path' has been sealed by stonemasons, only the last section is missing, and we need to change the night."

"We won't seal it at night," Zhu Han said. "We'll seal it at the Meridian Gate."

"At the Meridian Gate?" The Minister of Rites exclaimed in surprise, "Flying lime, it's unsightly."

"Let them see," Zhu Han said calmly. "It's sealed in the wind; only a well-sealed seal will prevent it from collapsing."

"I will obey."

The bells and drums sounded in unison, and the ceremony proceeded as usual. After the sealing ceremony, Zhu Biao exited through the central gate without uttering a single word.

The work is over. The gatekeeper announces loudly, "The road is closed— proceed!"

Three carts came from the west, each carrying a square trough containing quicklime, river sand, and fine hemp.

Two stonemasons, two gatekeepers, two armory clerks, and two eunuchs, each carrying their tools, stood by the fire at the Meridian Gate.

Yan Jiu, dressed in plain clothes, approached from a distance and bowed, saying, "Your Highness."

"Minister Si," Zhu Hanli said from behind the desk, "wash your hands first."

The fire-maker brought out a cup of clear water, on which two specks of gold floated.

Yan Jiu dipped his hand in, flipped it over and over, and then took it out and dried it.

The official in charge glanced at it, moved his pen, and wrote: "Yan Jiu: Clean hands, no trace."

"Move it." Zhu Han raised his hand. "Build a section of that 'narrow path' in the Divine Treasury according to the same dimensions."

The stonemasons responded, each holding a trowel, first laying the base coat, then applying the mortar, their movements steady.

Three wooden plaques stood by the fire, which read "1.3 feet high, 4 inches thick, and 8 feet long." The gatekeeper read the numbers from the plaques.

The wind pressed down the ash and incense, preventing the powder from drifting away, and more than thirty eyes stared intently.

"This is teaching people how to build walls," the Minister of Rites said in a low voice.

“They love to learn,” Zhu Han said calmly. “Once they learn it, they won’t dare to build it haphazardly.”

Yan Jiu watched, his eyes unmoved.

After a moment, he turned his head slightly and said, "Your Highness, there is not one 'narrow path,' but two."

"You only remembered it at night?" Hao glanced at Ying.

“The old prime minister Lu Duan dug one, and later another one was added.”

Yan Jiu said, "I only blocked the old one last night. Looking at the map this morning, the second one is at the north corner of Shenku, turning three times and going underground."

"Where's the map?" Zhu Han asked.

"It's in the small storeroom." Yan Jiu cupped his hands in greeting. "I'll fetch it."

"If you won't take it," Zhu Han said, pointing a finger. "Have someone take it."

Yan Jiu nodded and ordered the junior official to hurry to the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

The stonemason adds water, fills the joints, hammers the tenons, stretches the hemp thread, and smooths the mortar surface.

The official wrote two dots on the paper: "The gray is flat, and the lines are straight."

"Alright," Zhu Han said. "Test the gas before sealing the second one—Ordnance Bureau, move the bellows!"

Two storehouse clerks placed a four-cornered wooden box on the table. The box had a round hole in its surface, and a small paper fan was placed over the hole.

The fire-maker blew a breath of air onto the brick sample in the shrine wall, and the paper fan slowly spun, while the fine sand inside the box hummed softly.

The fire-maker blew in the opposite direction again, and the paper fan paused for a moment before turning back slightly.

The official stated in a low voice, "There is ventilation inside."

“Painting,” Zhu Han said.

The gatekeeper used a charcoal pencil to draw a three-fold line on the edge of the brick pattern.

Yan Jiu glanced at it and continued, "The first bend is three feet, the second bend is one foot and eight inches, and the third bend goes straight into the ground two feet."

"Whose responsibility is it?" Zhu Han asked.

"Zhang Shao, former head of the Imperial Household Department's warehouse."

Yan Jiu hesitated for a moment, "The person died two years ago." (End of Chapter)