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

The fire was still half-burnt in the basin, and the wind had circled around it, as if it had touched the edge of the small stove again.

Zhu Han put away the light seal and turned to enter the side of the hall.

“Uncle,” Zhu Biao emerged from behind the curtain, “the seal is flat, and the seams are not leaking.”

"Let's go another thirty days," Zhu Han laughed, "and then the gate will be truly secure."

"Take half a step back."

"Back off." He stopped behind the door, his knuckles clenching and unclenching once. "I'll watch the wind."

The smith from the armory gathered the ashes, glanced at the city ridge, and said, "The wind is blowing from the northwest today, so the fire needs to be kept low."

“Remember this,” Chen Shu whispered, “'Northwest wind, keep the fire low.'”

"You wrote it so well, it's like a musical score," the stoker laughed.

"Written for the wind to see." Chen Shu smiled, but his hand never left the fire.

In the east wing of Fengtian Hall, the Minister of Rites jogged in carrying case files and whispered, "Your Highness, a document from the Imperial Clan Court says that someone from a collateral branch knocked on the door at night requesting an audience, and conveyed only two words—'Change the way.'"

"Whose door is this?" Zhu Han asked.

"The former residence of the Prince of Wei," the Minister replied. "The gatekeeper told him 'no,' and the man dropped two small coins and left."

"Where's the money?"

"I've accepted it." The Minister seemed a little guilty. "I'll have them hand it over."

"Take the money to the fireside near the Meridian Gate," Zhu Han said, "to let it get some smoke."

"I will obey."

Hao Duiying entered from under the eaves, his clothes damp with dew: "Those two minor officials in the Imperial Household Department didn't go out last night. Yan Jiu kept watch all night, but his hands didn't light up."

"He's safe for now," Zhu Han said. "Safe enough that someone's coming to knock on his door."

"Who's going to knock?" Hao raised an eyebrow at Ying.

"You're the one trying to extort money," Zhu Han said, stopping his voice. "Give me those two small coins first."

The bells and drums sounded in unison. The ceremony concluded, and the gates were sealed as usual. The procession dispersed. The gatekeeper announced loudly, "Verify—the money—"

Two small coins were placed by the fire, and a very thin black shadow was visible through the coin hole.

The tinderbox held the coin upright and blew on it with a "poof," causing the thread in the coin hole to retract upwards and then slowly return to its original position.

“Black silk,” the firesmith said, “but not burned, hidden shallowly.”

"Give me gold." Zhu Han turned his head.

Chen Shu flicked a tiny grain of tarnish, which landed near the coin hole. It remained motionless for a moment, then seemed to be sucked in by something.

A dark line appeared on the inner wall of the coin. The smith squinted: "The coin was coated with camphor to attract the gold."

"Whose hand is that?" Hao asked Ying.

“A copyist is not a warehouse clerk,” the firesmith said. “A copyist loves camphor.”

"Put the money in the middle of the table," Zhu Han said, arranging the two coins into the shape of the Chinese character "品" (pin). "Write two characters: 'Change the way,' and place them next to the coins."

"As you command." Chen Shu put down his pen, and as he pressed the character down, the edge of the fire flickered slightly, as if in response.

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper leaned closer, "the Ministry of Justice has sent someone back from Beizhen. The escort warrant says 'white line' on it."

"Where did this 'white line' come from?" Hao scoffed at Ying.

"The escorts only said it was handed over from 'Beidao Post Station'," the gatekeeper said.

"Post the plasters on the Meridian Gate," Zhu Han said. "First, display the people, then ask for tickets."

Two captains brought in a man of medium height, with a sallow complexion, neatly trimmed sideburns, and unwavering eyes.

Upon seeing the fire, he paused slightly, then stopped.

Hao Duiying took a step forward: "Who are you?"

"Bai Si," the man said in a flat voice, "Bai San's cousin."

"Do you name your children according to their birth order?" the fireman muttered.

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

"Sending thread." Bai Si took out a thin strip of silk, more than a foot long, so white it was dazzling, with a piece of even thinner black silk wrapped around it. "The people from Beidao Post Station asked me to bring this, saying 'the thread is back.' Let me show you."

"Show me?" Zhu Han raised an eyebrow. "Who's at the Northern Post Station?"

“They said it was a ‘handicraft shop’,” Bai Si replied, “but they didn’t say who it was.”

"'Handicraft shop'?" Chen Shu wrote two words on the edge of the paper, thought for a moment, and then added a small note next to it: "Suspected to be a hidden shop, selling handicrafts and thread."

"You think you can come back alive if you hand the thread to Beizhen?" Hao stared at him.

“I’m not delivering goods,” Bai Si said calmly. “I’m delivering messages. ’The line is back,’ ‘The fire should be kept low.’”

The fire should be kept low. Chen Shu glanced at the edge of the fire subconsciously, remembering what he had just written: "Northwest wind, fire should be kept low," and his heart skipped a beat.

He pressed down on the pen: "Ask him if there's anything else in his words."

"No." Bai Si shook his head. "I'll leave the line here and then go to the North Gate."

"Where to?" Li Gong had appeared by the doorway at some point, one hand resting on the leather sash at his waist.

“The bridge,” Bai Si replied. “Someone is waiting under the bridge.”

"Wait for what?"

"Let's wait and see," Bai Si said decisively. "If you're going to wait and see, we'll wait too."

Li Gong nodded: "I'll take care of the bridge."

Bai Si smiled briefly, the smile as short as a glint of light on his teeth: "That makes things easier."

He placed the silk strip and the black silk on the table and turned to leave.

The two captains stopped him briefly and turned to look at Zhu Han.

"Let him go," Zhu Han said. "Let him go to the bridge."

Bai Si bowed, said nothing more, and left cleanly and decisively. A moment of silence fell over the fireside.

Chen Shu noted down both "white line" and "hand shop," then looked up at the edge of the fire: "The fire is going to be really low today."

“I’ll press it down.” The fireman gently pushed the fork along the edge of the fire, flattening the protruding part. “Too low.”

“Return the thread.” Zhu Han stared at the section of black silk. “Try burning the end of the thread.”

The fire-maker pinched the end of the silk thread, pulled it away from the silk strip by half an inch, and with a flick of the tinder, the end of the silk thread split open with a "pop," revealing an even finer strand of silk.

The fire-maker's eyes lit up: "My heart is empty."

"It's fine as long as it's empty." Zhu Han said calmly, "It's hardest to put anything in an empty cable."

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper whispered, "the head of the Imperial Clan Court's leg is shaking terribly, but his hand isn't."

“He’s stood enough.” Zhu Han glanced at him. “Carry him to the entrance of the Ministry of Justice and let him sit for a moment, then come back to stand.”

The Minister of Rites presented a "Brief Record of the Palace Visit," and Zhu Biao copied a "Postscript to the Sealing of the Gate" under the window, which contained only two lines: "If the fire is not overhead, the gate will not be in chaos."

He looked up and said, "Uncle, I've heard of that 'hand shop' in Beidaoyi. It used to be a shop that checked handprint samples, and it changed owners twice."

"Which one is it now?" Zhu Han asked.

“Nominally it belongs to the Ministry of War’s external warehouse,” Zhu Biao said. “It’s unclear who it actually belongs to.”

“I’ll send someone,” Hao Duiying interjected. “Go through the ‘Liaoyou’ agency.”

"Those who travel through Liaoyou have light feet."

Zhu Han nodded, "Have him bring a piece of empty thread and show it to the people at the 'handmade shop'."

"What if the other party asks where the thread comes from?" Hao asked Ying.

“Just say ‘returning from the Meridian Gate’,” Zhu Han said.

"Understand."

The wind outside swept along the seal, like someone stroking it with the heel of their hand.

Zhu Biao looked at the light and said, "I'm going to the Imperial Ancestral Temple this afternoon, so I won't take a detour."

"No detours," Zhu Han laughed. "Just walk straight."

"Then you stay behind the door."

"I'm behind the door."

The smith spread out the two small coins to dry, but the dark shadow in the coin hole remained motionless.

"Like a blind man," the fire-maker spat. "This time, the copyist's hands didn't get anything good."

“He copied ‘borneol’,” Chen Shu reminded him.

“Even borneol can’t cover the gold,” the forge chuckled. “The gold just bounced right in.”

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper approached, "Yan Jiu from the Imperial Household Department requests an audience. He mentioned the words 'handicraft shop' and wants to say it in person."

"Let him stand behind the fire," Zhu Han said. "Don't let him cross the fire line."

Yan Jiu stood a step behind the fire, his eyes clear: "The shopkeeper's surname is Shen, his given name is Jinsheng. He worked as a bookkeeper at the Jiangbei Weaving Bureau for two years last year. This man has clean hands, but not clean feet."

"Your feet aren't clean?" Chen Shu nodded secretly. "You walk a lot."

"Do you know him?" Hao asked Ying.

“I recognize him,” Yan Jiu said. “He came to the Ministry of Internal Affairs twice, borrowed old pages of the account books, and said he wanted to verify his signature.”

He paused for a moment, then said, "I couldn't stop him."

“Stop him now,” Zhu Han said. “If he comes again, make him stand by the fire for half a quarter of an hour.” “Yes, sir.” Yan Jiu bowed. “There is another matter today—someone in the Internal Affairs Department has accepted two ‘dragon brain coins’.”

"Who?" Zhu Han asked.

“Wang Ji,” Yan Jiu uttered two words, “the deputy of the Grand Treasury.”

"Bring him to the fireside," Zhu Han said. "Let him see the money."

"As ordered."

Yan Jiu retreated. A wisp of wind brushed past his sleeve, but the sleeve remained steady, no wind getting caught inside.

Chen Shu watched his back cast a shadow on the ground and softly wrote: "Yan Jiu: Do not panic after standing by the fire."

The wind blew through the underside of the bridge, making a hollow sound, like a gourd whose heart had been ripped out.

"Change routes?" the thin man asked.

"It can't be changed." Bai Si shook his head. "They've blocked the wall."

"Then replace the door?" the thin man laughed. "The door is still here."

"The door was left after the fire," Bai Si said calmly. "The door won't be replaced."

The tall, thin man stopped laughing and looked up at the wind.

After looking at it for a while, he tossed the thin box into his pocket: "Someone in Beizhen wants to look at the cable, I'm going back."

"Let's go back," Bai Si said. "Don't worry about the fire."

The tall, thin man glanced at him, then turned and walked away.

He walked very fast, like a thin needle unwilling to linger in the wind.

Bai Si watched him disappear around the alley corner before turning around and meeting Li Gong's eyes. Neither of them uttered a sound.

"The bridge is yours," Bai Si said first.

“The wind belongs to me,” Li Gong said.

Bai nodded and left.

The bridge is empty, only Li Gong remains. Two ripples appear on the water's surface, but a gust of wind smooths them out.

Wang Ji was taken to the fire by Yan Jiu.

He was holding a handkerchief in his hand, the corner of which was damp, as if he was afraid of sweat.

He instinctively took a half step back upon seeing the fire, but Yan Jiu pressed down on his shoulder, preventing him from retreating.

"Look at the money." Zhu Han placed two small coins in front of him.

Wang Ji's eyes twitched left and right, and his Adam's apple bobbed: "I don't recognize him. I've never seen him before."

"You've seen 'dragon brain' before," the firesmith said casually. "You have a bad taste in your mouth."

Wang Ji swallowed hard: "It's inevitable that some people will get some of the incense while storing it in the warehouse."

"You received two coins," Hao said coldly. "Who gave them to you?"

Wang Ji's hand trembled, and the corner of the handkerchief fell onto the edge of the fire with a "squeak" and curled slightly.

He was so startled that he pulled his hand back, his fingers almost brushing against the fire. Yan Jiu pressed down on his wrist and said in a low voice, "Speak."

Wang Ji closed his eyes: "...The people at the handicraft shop asked me to help him settle an old debt, saying that there was a 'pen debt' that needed to be made up."

"Which page?" Zhu Han asked.

“That year at the weaving bureau,” Wang Ji murmured, “it was Shen Jinsheng who took charge of the accounts.”

"Where is he?" Hao asked Ying.

"gone."

"Take him away." Zhu Han collected the money. "Yan Jiu, check the treasury. Wang Ji—Ministry of Justice, awaiting questioning."

Wang Ji's legs went weak, and he was dragged away.

Yan Jiu didn't speak, but bowed to Zhu Han, then stood back one step behind the fire, his gaze falling on the dark shadow in the coin hole as if looking at a small insect hiding in a hole.

Chen Shu wrote down "Wang Ji" and added a line at the end: "The coin hole does not move."

Behind Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Biao changed into lighter clothes and sat down at his desk, flipping through "Du Ji" and "Zhong Zha".

Zhu Han entered and cupped his hands in greeting: "Let's not sever the connection with the 'handicraft shop' for now."

"Keep it?" Zhu Biao looked up.

“Let him think he can switch doors,” Zhu Han said. “Let him run into the fire.”

"Killed in a crash?"

"Just a little burn is enough," Zhu Han said calmly. "If you die, your hands will disintegrate quickly."

"Can Yan Jiu stay calm?" Zhu Biao asked.

"It's stable for now," Zhu Han said. "His hands are clean, but his heart may not be. We need to let him stand behind the fire for a while."

"how long?"

"Stand for thirty days," Zhu Han laughed, "like fire."

Zhu Biao laughed, "You're going to write 'thirtieth day' again."

"Write it down for them to see." Zhu Han turned around. "I'm going to the Meridian Gate."

A figure stood still in the shadows of the doorway; it was Lu Ting.

He didn't move forward, but only glanced at the small box of "dragon brain coins" on the table through the fire, then at the "white thread," and finally at the fire. After a moment, he spoke: "Your Highness."

"Zhongshu." Zhu Han came out from the side corridor.

“I have a note,” Lu Ting handed it over, “a ‘thread note’.”

“Read it,” Zhu Han said.

“The thread has a return, the road has a break, and the door has a crack. All foreign threads entering the city must first be examined for their heart, then their head; all money clips must first be smoked, then dried in the sun; all paper from the handmade shops must first be burned, then printed. The last two words: ‘Willingly request.’”

"Collect it at the Meridian Gate, and dry it in the sun." Zhu Han nodded, "Dry it next to the 'Dragon Brain Coin'."

"Okay." Lu Ting withdrew his hand and took a step back. "I won't go out tonight."

"The other side of the bridge will move tonight," Zhu Han said.

“I’m not going,” Lu Ting said calmly. “I’ll watch the lanterns.”

He turned and left. Chen Shu copied the "thread slip" and placed it next to the small box.

The moonlight was thin. Bai Si stood leaning against the railing, and a shadow emerged from the darkness on the other side: "You came back quickly."

“The bridge isn’t far,” Bai Si said.

"Where's the money?" the shadow asked.

"Burn it." Bai Sixiao said. "If you want money, go to the Meridian Gate and fish it out."

The shadow didn't laugh: "It's hot in the city."

"The fire isn't big," Bai Si shook his head. "The fire is weak."

“It’s hot even at a low temperature,” Shadow said.

"It's better when it's hot," Bai Si said softly. "You'll only let go when your hand is burned."

Shadow paused for a moment: "The 'Handicraft Shop' in Beidaoyi is changing its manager."

"Change slowly," Bai Si said. "Don't rush it."

"Why?" the shadow asked alertly.

"If you panic, you'll make a mess of things," Bai Si said. "A mess of things will break the thread."

Shadow touched the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, then said nothing more. He tugged at his cloak: "Aren't you leaving?"

"Stand a little longer." Bai Si looked at the water. "The bridge can talk."

"What did the bridge say?" the shadow asked.

“Speak of ‘wind’,” Bai Si replied.

A sliver of light shone beside the well. Li Gong lifted a thin brick from under the stone platform and pulled out an old pen holder with an extremely fine brush inserted inside, its tip round and sharp.

He held the pen handle between his fingers, looked at it, and then put it back.

The person in the shadows laughed: "You're learning to write too?"

“I can hold the pen steadily, and I can hold the crossbow steadily too,” Li Gong said.

“There’s a lot written over there at the Meridian Gate,” the man said.

“I’ll only look at the bridge.” Li Gong put his hands behind his back. “The wind will be favorable tonight, and it will turn around at the end of the day.”

"how do you know?"

“The sound of the water is different.” Li Gong held up a finger. “Listen.”

Neither of them made a sound. There was a very faint hum underwater, like a small piece of iron hitting another piece in the water.

That was the sound of the door spring he had left behind the night before clattering together between the stones.

Those one or two touches were so light that they disappeared with a gust of wind.

"Will the door spring get up?" the man asked. (End of Chapter)