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

"The path of the dead is the hardest to block." Zhu Han fell silent. "Blocking it is for the living to see."

"As ordered."

The stonemason changed the material, using hard lime mixed with fine iron filings.

The tinderbox rolled up his sleeves and said, "I'll take the picture."

"You're a craftsman," Hao smiled at Ying. "You love taking pictures."

The mortar clasped his hands together, pushing, smearing, pressing, and smoothing, the veins on the back of his hands bulging, the ash lines sharp as blades, piercing straight into the brick seams.

The wind swept around the edge of the fire, pressing a sliver of dim light onto the ashes, which was then smoothed out by a hemp brush.

The official wrote: "There is light on the gray."

As the stonemason was applying the mortar for the third time, Yan Jiu suddenly said, "Drill a hole."

"Where to?" Zhu Han asked.

"The angle between the second and third folds."

Yan Jiu raised his finger and tapped it on the brick pattern. "The hole is small, one and a half inches deep. After it's in, fill it with hemp ash."

"He's testing whether you're genuine," Hao whispered to Ying.

"Let's really fight." Zhu Han nodded. "Let's fight."

The stonemason changed to a pointed awl, and with a "thud," the stone was completed.

The ash was added, the cork sealed, the hammer pressed down, and the brush smoothed it. A gust of wind blew, and the eyeshadow disappeared. The firesmith let out a long sigh, lightly flicking his fingertip across the ash surface: "Tight."

"The sealing is complete," Zhu Han said. "The gatekeeper will write a plaque and place it on the side of the Meridian Gate. — Write 'Small road sealed'."

The Minister of Rites wiped away his sweat and repeatedly said, "I will remember." Yan Jiu took a step back, cupped his hands, and said, "This humble official begs for forgiveness."

“You’ve already been punished,” Zhu Han said, looking at him. “Go back and watch the warehouse. Don’t touch the mud again.”

"I will obey."

At this moment, the minor official rushed back from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, carrying an old map in his arms.

The gatekeeper took it and unfolded it on the table. It depicted the ancestral storehouse and the passageway, the ink was faint, the paper was old, and a small seal was imprinted in the corner: "Zhang Shao".

"Collect." Zhu Han rolled up the drawing and stuffed it into the box. "The Meridian Gate doesn't accept too many drawings. — Chen Shu, write a line: 'Drawings return to the gate, seams return to the ash.'"

The words were neatly written on the paper. A half-burnt brazier sat steadily beside it, as if watching the ash lines being flattened.

At the beginning of the month, in a corner room of the side courtyard of Ciyun Temple.

Yuekong, bound and sitting on a wooden stool, still laughed: "The wall will be blocked quickly."

The guard captain said coldly, "Shut up."

"I want to say something," Yuekong turned her head, "Who took that picture of the ashes by the fire at the Meridian Gate this morning? The veins on the back of their hand are quite striking."

"Make another sound and I'll gag you," the captain said impatiently.

Yuekong shut her mouth, waited for half a cup of tea, and then chuckled softly, "Amitabha."

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper whispered, "the head of the Imperial Clan Court is kneeling and trembling. Should we let him rest?"

"Stand." Zhu Han glanced at it. "Stand until Shenhou."

"Yes."

“He’s afraid of kneeling until he dies,” Hao Duiying scoffed, “but he won’t actually die.”

“With a fire nearby,” the fireman said, “you won’t die.”

“He’s standing,” Chen Shu said softly, “so his words are steady.”

The crowds outside the Meridian Gate dispersed in waves and then gathered again.

Yan Jiu stood at a distance, neither approaching nor leaving.

Lu Ting arrived, dressed in plain clothes with tight cuffs, standing at the back of the line. He glanced at the lime seam, then at the fire edge, and said softly, "The blockage is straighter than my writing."

"Zhongshu." Zhu Han nodded.

“I have a piece of paper.” Lu Ting took it out, “‘Blocking the Road’ document.”

“Read it,” Zhu Han said.

"For any cracks in the walls of the shrine, or hidden passages in the corners of the hall, if there are old diagrams, they should be dried in the sun before being stored away; when sealing, one must walk along the doorway and not seal at night; three days after sealing, check the wind once; ten days after sealing, remove an inch to check the ash, and then seal again." He paused at the end and concluded, "I am willing to request."

"Make a copy at the Meridian Gate and air it out," Zhu Han said.

"Dry it by the fire?" Lu Ting's smile faded. "Okay."

"You've been showing off your calligraphy these past few days," Hao teased Ying.

"If you don't expose the words to the sun, they'll rot quickly," Lu Ting said calmly.

"Try spraying a mouthful of ash at you?" the fireman grinned.

"Stop fooling around." Zhu Han's smile faded. "Zhongshu, do not go out tonight."

“I don’t want to go out either,” Lu Ting said. “The wind is strong.”

Li Gong stood in the middle of the bridge for a moment, his fingers gripping the reins, listening to the wind.

The water rippled slightly, and a faint echo emanated from beneath the bridge arch.

A figure stood against the wall in the shadows, whispering, "You've gotten into the habit of guarding this place, haven't you?"

"The wind is blowing in the right direction," Li Gong said calmly. "Once it makes a sound, the whole city will know."

The man laughed, "That patch of gray at the Meridian Gate was photographed beautifully."

"Whether it looks good or not is none of my business." Li Gong turned around. "I'll guard the bridge."

"Are you going behind the wall tonight?"

“They’re going to block the Meridian Gate,” Li Gong said. “I’ll stay here and see who goes astray.”

"You stop people just because they've gone the wrong way?" the man asked.

"Stop them." Li Gong wrapped the reins around his hand. "Stop them over to the fire."

"Blocked up to the fire?" The man grinned. "Interesting."

Dong Jiao stood under the eaves, his clothes unchanged. Two captains sat against the wall at the end of the corridor, taking a nap.

Dong Jiao glanced at them, his smile expressionless.

He saw Yan Jiu stepping over the steps from afar, his steps neither fast nor slow, as if each step was on a visible line.

"Minister Si," Dong Jiao raised his hand, "you're still here."

“You’re here too,” Yan Jiu said. “The lines you wrote are covered in dust today.”

“The ash will crack,” Dong Jiao said softly. “The wind is strong, and the ash will crack.”

"The wind is strong, and the dust is thick." Yan Jiu looked at him. "Don't write anymore."

"Afraid I'll write it on your back?" Dong Jiao laughed, a thin laugh. "You knew it was me all along."

"It's not early." Yan Jiu shook his head. "I only found out by the fire at the Meridian Gate."

Whose eyes are you looking into?

"The prince's hand."

Dong Jiao said "Oh," and then added, "Then you shouldn't touch the mud either."

“I won’t touch it,” Yan Jiu said.

“Then I’ll write it on your hand.”

Dong Jiao raised the back of his hand, as if to press on Yan Jiu's sleeve. Yan Jiu didn't flinch, he just watched.

Dong Jiao's hand fell half an inch before stopping. He smiled, put his hands back in his sleeves, and said, "I'm not writing anymore."

“Even if I write it down, it will be exposed online,” Yan Jiu said.

“The people who hang their calligraphy out to dry are quite interesting.” Dong Jiao looked up at the eaves. “I thought I was the only one who liked to hang things out to dry.”

“You like to show off your deception.” Yan Jiu turned around. “They show off their truth.”

Dong Jiao didn't reply, his gaze fixed on a point of golden light in the direction of the Meridian Gate, as if someone was sharpening an extremely fine knife there.

At the beginning of the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), in the rear courtyard of the Censorate.

The official unfolded the paper and wrote "Blocking Record." A soft cough came from outside the wall; without looking up, he said, "Here."

A voice from outside the wall whispered, "Have you come any closer?"

“Stand,” Chen Shu laughed. “Today it’s gray, yesterday it’s clockwork, the day before yesterday it’s mud, I’ve stood close to it all.”

"Stand again tomorrow," the person outside the wall said. "Someone wants to change the route. Write 'Sealing the Gate Ceremony' as 'Opening the Palace Path.' Remember that."

"Who?"

"We haven't seen the hand yet." The person outside the wall paused. "Maybe it's the person writing, maybe it's the copyist."

"Come on, all of you." Chen Shu wrote two words with force: "Come on, all of you." He blew the ink dry and pressed the paper under the inkstone.

"That roll of silk by the fire," the man outside the wall continued, "is something someone wants to steal."

“It can’t be stolen,” Chen Shu said. “The wind is watching.”

A soft laugh came from outside the wall: "You've even learned to talk about the wind now."

"I want to write about the wind."

"Write," the person outside the wall said. "Write softly."

The footsteps faded into the distance. Chen Shu rubbed the back of his fingers; it didn't hurt.

He pulled out the bamboo skewer and lightly drew a line on the back of the paper, as if leaving himself a small gap.

Yan Jiu stood under the lamp, his gaze falling on the empty wooden shelf; the old picture book was gone.

He raised his hand and said to the two minor officials, "You are not allowed to touch the treasury tonight. If anyone asks, just say it is locked in the hands of the Prince."

"Yes," the two clerks replied. Yan Jiu turned and walked outside.

He stretched out his hand and looked at the back of his hand; it was clean and white.

He suddenly lowered his voice: "Your Highness."

Footsteps came from the shadows. Zhu Han emerged from the corridor.

"Minister Si," Zhu Han said, "it's too late."

"Your Highness," Yan Jiu bowed, "Tomorrow, leave one of the plaques used to seal the gaps by the door."

"Keep."

"I'll take it back and seal it accordingly."

"Seal it inside the door," Zhu Han said. "Don't seal it at night."

"I will obey." Yan Jiu raised his eyes. "There's one more thing—former Prime Minister Lu Duan left behind a small seal, similar to your Eastern Palace seal, but it's a penny lighter." "Where is it?"

“It’s in my hand.” Yan Jiu opened his hand, and a small inkpad box held a seal in his palm, its surface polished smooth.

Zhu Han flicked his finger, tossed it under the lamp for a glance, and then put it back in his sleeve: "Check it at the door tomorrow."

"Yes." Yan Jiu took a step back. "This humble official may leave."

"Go back," Zhu Han waved his hand. "Go check the warehouse."

The well lamp was extremely small, and the wind pressed the flame down to a thin thread.

Li Gong leaned against the stone platform and heard two soft footsteps in the darkness—the person who came did not speak, but placed a small cloth bag on the stone.

Li Gong opened it, and inside were two thin iron pieces, each the size of a fingernail, so thin that fire could pass through them.

"What is this?" Li Gong asked.

“A door spring,” the man said. “Someone wants to add a spring to the seal, to open it a little, and then close it again.”

"Will they be able to open the door?" Li Gong asked.

"I won't open it." The man laughed. "Even if you turn the seal over three times, the spring won't come out."

"Then what are you going to do with me?"

“Throw it into the river,” the man said. “When you throw it, don’t look at the water, look at the wind.”

"Okay." Li Gong put it away. "I'll throw it away."

The lights went out, and the wind flattened the darkness by an inch.

Li Gong walked along the bridge to his heart, raised his hand, and the iron piece disappeared with a "ding".

The water surface rippled only slightly, then returned to calm.

"Yan Jiu." Zhu Han turned his head. "Bring the official seal."

Yan Jiu stepped forward and handed over the small seal that weighed one qian.

The fireman took it, first pressing it onto the edge of the wet mud, then onto the edge of the dry mud, and finally onto the corner of the seal.

The lower half of the seal is lighter, while the upper half is clearer. The blacksmith looked up and said, "It's a penny lighter; it can't hold the clay."

"Fake?" the Minister of Rites exclaimed in a low voice.

“The old-style ‘hand-held seal’,” Zhu Han said, “only pressed paper, not clay.”

"Put it away." Zhu Han put the seal away. "This seal must not be seen again at the Meridian Gate."

"Record it." The official's pen fell a little faster.

Just then, a burly man draped in coarse cloth squeezed through the crowd outside the door, holding up a folded piece of paper and shouting, "A man outside presents a request—please clear the way—"

The gatekeeper tried to stop him, but the man suddenly threw the folded paper towards the fire.

The paper was lifted half an inch by the wind in mid-air and landed on the edge of the fire.

The fire-maker grabbed it, pressed the back of his hand against the fire, and the paper sizzled and rolled up, turning into a black line.

He threw the paper back into the basin and said coldly, "Get out."

"Arrest him." Hao waved his hand at Ying.

The two captains pinned the man down, twisting their arms around him. The man cried out in pain, and his curses turned into muffled groans.

"Whose hand?" Zhu Han asked.

The man's face paled: "...My own family."

"Even my own hands get paid."

Hao Duiying kicked him aside, "Drag him away."

The official finished his statement with a final stroke, writing: "The document was presented to the outside world and burned."

The wind swirled around the edge of the fire. Then, silence returned to the area in front of the Meridian Gate.

Zhu Han looked up at the roof ridge; the seals were flat, and the golden light shone intermittently.

"Disperse." He waved his sleeve.

Behind Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Biao wrote a short sentence on his desk, only two lines: "Patch the cracks in the door, test the wind in the sun."

He put down his pen and looked at the refracted light from the seal outside the window.

Zhu Han entered and cupped his hands in greeting: "All bets are done. Only one item left for today."

"Which one?" Zhu Biao looked up.

"Seal the old drawings in a box and store them by the door."

Zhu Han placed the small box on the table. "Take a look at it, but don't worry about it."

Zhu Biao nodded, opened the box, glanced at it, and then closed it again: "I'll go through the middle door."

"Let's go." Zhu Han smiled. "The wind is just right today, making it easier to walk."

"Uncle, take half a step back."

"I'm backing out."

"And then what?"

“Look at the bridge,” Zhu Han said. “Look at the windy road over at the North Gate.”

"Li Gong?"

“He’s here.” Zhu Han pulled up his sleeves. “He lost two door springs.”

"Where to throw it?"

"In the water."

"Alright." Zhu Biao closed the box. "Are you going to the Meridian Gate this afternoon?"

“Go,” Zhu Han replied, “take a look at the bellows.”

“I’ll go too.” Zhu Biao smiled slightly. “I’ll stand far away.”

"Stand inside the middle gate," Zhu Han said. "Don't make a sound."

The bellows were still there, and the paper fan turned slowly and steadily.

The fireman touched the edge of the fire with the back of his hand, as if petting a docile little animal.

The official put away the "block record," replaced it with new paper, and wrote two words: "Sewing securely."

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper whispered, "that person from Ciyun Temple requests an audience—he says he only wants to say one sentence."

“Every word he says now is super long,” Zhu Han said. “I’m not seeing him.”

He sent someone with a message saying, "The wall is not a door."

“A wall is not a door,” Zhu Han said calmly. “A door is not a wall either.”

"Your subordinate has returned."

"Reply with: 'There's wind inside the door, and dust inside the wall.'"

The gatekeeper obeyed. Hao Duiying leaned closer: "What else do you want to sunbathe this afternoon?"

"Sun-dry your hands." Zhu Han looked at the fire. "Sun-dry Yan Jiu's hands once, and then press that small, one-coin-sized mark again."

"Aren't you reassured?"

“I don’t trust his courage,” Zhu Han said. “If he gets too bold, he’ll reach out far.”

"Understand."

The sound of bells rolled in from the other side of the city wall, thin and clear.

Smooth winds, stable fire, even ash, and no gaps.

The official pressed down on the end of his pen and smiled, "No blisters today."

"Your days of blistering are over," the fireman scoffed. "From now on, you'll be blistering with your brains."

“You don’t need to soak your head,” Chen Shu whispered, “You need to keep your head steady.”

"You have such a sharp tongue."

The two exchanged a glance and fell silent simultaneously. The fire flared slightly, as if nodding.

After Shen, the bridge outside Shenwu Gate.

Li Gong stood in the middle of the bridge, his eyes close to the water.

The person in the shadows approached quietly: "Three miles outside the north gate, someone is scouting ahead, twirling a thin seal in his hand."

"One coin less?" Li Gong asked.

"One coin less."

"Take it down."

“He’s fast,” the man laughed. “Guess where he’s going.”

Ciyun Temple.

"Smart." The man grinned. "Are you going or not?"

“I will guard the bridge.” Li Gong put his hand back on the reins. “The gate is at the Meridian Gate, and I am on the bridge.”

“Then I’ll go.” The man turned around. “Discard his seal, not him.”

"Throw it into the river," Li Gong said. "Watch the wind when you throw it in."

Why do you always send people to keep watch for the wind?

"Because fire is judged by the wind," Li Gong laughed. "I only look at the bridge."

The wind passed over his shoulder, creating two thin ripples on the water's surface, like two very short lines of text, which were quickly smoothed out by the wind.

Yan Jiu stood by the fire again and washed his hands as usual.

The smith pressed the small seal, which weighed a coin, onto the edge of the wet mud, leaving a faint imprint.

He tried it on the corner of the seal again, and the imprint was faint.

The official document states: "Leave a light imprint, without pressing it into the mud."

Dong Jiao was brought over and placed on the far edge, glancing at him before looking away.

Lu Ting stood on the outer edge, extending a finger from his sleeve and lightly pressing down on the corner of the paper, as if pressing down a wisp of hair for the fire.

"Disperse," Zhu Han said.

The gatekeeper announced the end of the procession. The crowd dispersed. (End of Chapter)