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

“No,” Li Gong said. “It will only lie in the water and send us a message.”

What message should we send?

"The wind," Li Gong laughed, "it's still the wind."

The fire was extinguished, and the core of the thread did not curl, nor did the outer strands. The firesmith smiled: "Good thread."

"My heart is empty," Chen Shu whispered.

"An empty thread is best for piercing the heart," the fire-maker grinned.

"Don't say scary things." Chen Shu frowned, but his eyes remained glued to the screen.

The crowd slowly gathered. Yan Jiu was behind the fire, Lu Tingyuan was far away, and Dong Jiao remained at the side of Yonghe Hall.

Bai Si didn't come, and Li Gong wasn't at the door.

Hao Duiying leaned closer: "A letter from the Northern Post Station, written by Shen Jinsheng himself, is sent. He is willing to go to the Meridian Gate to prove the 'hand shop's' integrity."

"Let him come," Zhu Han said. "Stand behind the fire for a moment."

"The person who came might be an imposter," Hao said to Ying.

"The back of the hand, whether real or fake, will glow," Zhu Han said calmly. "Jin is here."

"Also," Hao said in a low voice, "someone lost money again at the residence of the Prince of Wei in the Imperial Clan Court, and it was exchanged for three coins."

"Keep it burning," Zhu Han said, "until it breaks his heart."

At the beginning of the day, Shen Jinsheng arrived.

He was thin, but his face did not show any fear. He bowed as he entered the room and said, "Your Highness."

"After the fire." Zhu Han pointed.

Shen Jinsheng stood slightly off to the side of Yan Jiu.

The blacksmith flicked the pyrography powder onto the back of Shen's hand, leaving it clean. Chen Shu wrote in his pen: "Shen: Hands clean."

"Does your 'handmade shop' accept silk thread?" Zhu Han asked.

"I'll accept them," Shen Jinsheng said frankly. "I'll only accept those with empty hearts, not those with full hearts."

"why?"

“Those who are honest are prone to hiding things,” Shen Jinsheng replied. “We only check samples, not the actual product.”

"Then what are you doing here?" Hao asked coldly.

"To avoid trouble." Shen Jinsheng's eyes lit up for a moment, then lowered again. "There's a group of people at Beidao Post Station who want to use our name to change people and routes. I'm afraid of being implicated."

"Are you afraid?" Hao Duiying scoffed.

"I'm afraid," Shen Jinsheng said, not trying to deny it. "I'm afraid of getting burned."

“You know fire.” The firesmith grinned.

“I know,” Shen Jinsheng said, looking at the fire. “A lower flame is even more terrifying.”

"Do you know the way?" Zhu Han asked.

"They only know the lines, not the roads." Shen Jinsheng shook his head. "The roads change so fast, we can't keep up."

“Alright.” Zhu Han nodded. “Stand for half a quarter of an hour, then return to the North Road Post Station. Go back and tell your manager that ‘empty heart line’ is allowed to pass, but not a single ‘solid heart line’ is allowed to enter the city.”

"I will remember." Shen Jinsheng cupped his hands in greeting.

"Yan Jiu," Zhu Han stepped aside, "You see him out."

"Yes, ma'am." Yan Jiu led Shen Jinsheng outside.

Before leaving, Shen Jinsheng glanced back at the half-burnt fire, his eyes reflecting a bright light, as if he were looking in a mirror.

"The money's here again." The gatekeeper brought over a shallow dish with three small coins lying on it, each with an identical black line through its hole.

The smith laid out the coins in a row, raised his hand and exhaled. The black images in the holes of the three coins resembled three startled little snakes, shrinking and then releasing at the same time.

"The same handicraftsmanship," the fire-maker scoffed. "It's probably the same person."

"Burn it," Zhu Han said.

"Don't rush," Chen Shu suddenly said, "Let it dry next to the 'thread note' for a while."

"Show off your money?" The fire-maker raised an eyebrow.

“Show it to the person who paid for it,” Chen Shu chuckled, “so that he can see his money is ‘afraid of fire’.”

"You little rascal," the firesmith clicked his tongue in admiration.

The crowd dispersed inch by inch, then closed up again inch by inch.

Sunlight streamed along the edge of the bank, the wind was gentle, and the fire was even lighter.

Hao whispered to Ying, "There's news from the other side of the bridge—Bai Si hasn't left; he's still standing there at the end of the day."

“He’s waiting for the wind to change,” Zhu Han said.

"how do you know?"

“Li Gong is standing too.” Zhu Han looked at the fire. “They all heard the two small pieces of iron in the water clattering together.”

The sound of the water had indeed changed, now carrying a slightly softer rustling sound.

Bai Si leaned against the railing, listened for a while, then turned to Hei Li and said, "Come out."

"What's coming out?" The shadow didn't move.

"You're hiding too closely," Bai Sixiao said. "Qiao knows."

Shadow clicked his tongue, revealing a section of his shoulder: "Your hearing is that good?"

“The Fire Cult,” Bai Si said.

The shadow didn't take it, instead playing with a small, light seal in its hand.

Bai Si glanced at it: "One coin less?"

"Half a coin lighter," the shadow said slyly. "The new version."

"Let me touch it." Bai Si reached out his hand.

"No." The shadow shrank back. "I'm afraid you'll fall into the river."

Bai Si didn't reach out again, but tugged at his collar: "If you're going to play with seals, then stay away from fire."

"The fire isn't big," the shadow probed. "Low."

“Low is enough,” Bai Si said.

The shadow laughed, but its laughter was half-swallowed by the wind blowing through the bridge.

After the coins had been exposed to the sun for a moment, the fire-maker tossed all three coins into the fire's edge with one hand. The paper squeaked, and the rim of the coins turned black. The official wrote in his report: "The coins rolled up themselves."

Yan Jiu returned to the fire and stood still. Lu Ting, standing at a distance, dusted off his sleeves, glanced at the "thread tokens," and then at the "dragon brain coins."

"Your Highness," the gatekeeper reported, "that person from Ciyun Temple has sent another message, still saying 'the wall is not a door.'"

“Burn the words,” Zhu Han said. “Tell him—'The door is in the wind.'”

"As ordered."

Dong Jiao was escorted from the side of Yonghe Hall to the Meridian Gate, where he stood at a distance.

As the firelight flickered, his eyes lit up a little: "Your Highness, give me a pen."

"What should we write?" Zhu Han asked.

“Write the two characters ‘心空’ (Xin Kong),” Dong Jiao laughed. “Write them on the ground outside the door.”

"What are you planning to do after you finish writing this?" Hao asked warily.

“It depends on who steps on it,” Dong Jiao replied. “The person who steps on the words has a heart that is not empty.”

"Your method is scarier than ours," the stoker said, scoffing. "Don't try it."

“I won’t learn,” Dong Jiao shook his head. “I’ll only write.”

“Give him a blunt pen,” Zhu Han suddenly said.

"Your Highness?" Hao asked, puzzled.

"A dull pen written on the ground will scatter with a gust of wind," Zhu Han said calmly. "It can't be kept."

"Understood." The smith took out a worn-out short pen from his sleeve and handed it over.

Dong Jiao took it and wrote a line on the stone bricks outside the door. Sure enough, the characters were blunt and the edges were scattered.

A gust of wind blew, and the stitching became smudged. He stood there for a moment, then smiled and said, "I wrote this for myself."

"Go back when you've seen enough," Zhu Han said.

"Yes, sir." Dong Jiao returned the pen and retreated to the side of the hall.

Zhu Biao slowly closed the "thread note" and pressed it onto the "bell note" and "block mark".

Zhu Han entered: "The wind has shifted over the other side of the bridge," Li Gong reported, "No She."

"They've stopped firing?" Zhu Biao asked.

"They know fire can be detected," Zhu Han laughed. "So they switched to playing with money, lines, and seals."

"Don't go too far," Zhu Biao said softly.

"We can't outmaneuver the wind." Zhu Han straightened his sleeves. "The wind blew their hands out."

"Take half a step back."

"I'll step down." Zhu Han nodded. "Tomorrow I'll stand behind the door more often and by the fire less."

“I’ll stand inside the door more often,” Zhu Biao said.

"That's good." Zhu Han turned and walked out of the corridor. "Don't go to the Imperial Ancestral Temple at night."

"I do not go."

The Censorate.

The official put away the "Investigation Record," blew out the wick, and then lit it again.

He coughed lightly outside the wall and whispered, "Here."

The person outside the wall lowered their voice: "Tomorrow someone will change the words 'willing to invite' to 'dare to invite'."

"Who?" Chen Shu asked. "Like the group of con artists."

"On which note should it be changed?" Chen Shu's palm tightened.

“Zhong Zha”.

Chen Shu glanced at the copy on the table, then reached out and placed a small pebble on top of the words "I wish to request": "I'll keep an eye on it."

"Stand closer."

“Stand up,” Chen Shu laughed. “If we stand close enough, the words won’t dare to wander.”

The footsteps faded into the distance. Chen Shu dipped his pen in very diluted water and made two barely visible dots next to the words "please," as if marking himself.

Yan Jiu sat alone, and under the lamp, he copied down the dimensions of the wooden plaque he had learned at the Meridian Gate that day: "One foot and three inches high, four inches thick, and eight feet long."

He folded the paper and tucked it into his sleeve. A soft sound followed, and someone outside stopped. Yan Jiu looked up: "Who is it?"

"Me." Zhu Han entered through the crack in the door, glancing around at the surroundings. "The warehouse is clean."

"This humble official dares not be dirty again," Yan Jiu said, bowing.

“Go back later, and don’t take the side door,” Zhu Han said. “Take the side path from the main gate, so someone can see you.”

"I will obey." Yan Jiu suddenly whispered, "Your Highness, if one day the fire is only half extinguished—"

“No,” Zhu Han interrupted, “the fire in the half-basin will not change for thirty days.”

"Understood." Yan Jiu lowered his head. "This humble official can breathe a sigh of relief."

"I'll give it to the wind," Zhu Han laughed. "The wind remembers it better than fire."

Li Gong disassembled the crossbow, and the slender crossbow string was twisted into a dark silver wire under the lamp.

He tapped it gently, his voice very low, as if he were talking to his own ear.

The man in the shadows said, "Bai Si won't go across the bridge."

"Let him stand," Li Gong said.

"Aren't you going to stop them?"

"What are you blocking?" Li Gong closed the crossbow. "People who are standing are the easiest to be seen by the wind."

"Seeing it makes you feel at ease?"

"Remember what you see." Li Gong put the crossbow back into its sheath. "If you remember it, you'll be safe."

"You sound like a tinderbox," the man laughed.

"I'll only look at the bridge." Li Gong turned off the light. "The wind will still be blowing tomorrow morning."

The wind swept around the well platform, as if an invisible hand had smoothed out the darkness.

The seal on the Meridian Gate lay flat, and a sliver of golden-gray sunlight shone through the gaps in the edge of the desk.

The fireman gently stirred the flames with his fork, and the flames rose an inch before falling back down.

"His Highness got up early this morning," the official said in a low voice.

"Watch the wind early." Zhu Han's voice was calm, yet it echoed like a stone. "The wind may change, but the fire must not be moved."

He stood behind the desk, his clothes neat and his cuffs tight.

For more than thirty days, the wind passed by him, yet not a speck of dust was visible on him.

When Chen Shu looked at him, he always had a strange feeling—that the man was like a stone after a fire: warm, but untouchable.

"Is the Grand Secretary here?" Zhu Han asked.

"Prime Minister Lu stayed by the side of the palace last night," Chen Shu said. "He hasn't said a word yet."

“He wants to write.” Zhu Han smiled. “Let him write. The more he writes, the steadyer his hand will become.”

His gaze shifted to the gold bricks outside the Meridian Gate.

Last night's rain had lightly soaked the surface, leaving the bricks dry and evenly coated, with the faint reflection of the firelight illuminating them.

"The fire is low enough," he said softly.

The stoker laughed: "The wind has gone down."

"The wind never blows low," Zhu Han turned his head. "It just goes with the flow."

As soon as he finished speaking, a gatekeeper entered and reported: "His Highness summons you to the Fengtian Hall to inquire about the 'Sealing of the Road' matter."

Zhu Han raised his hand: "Prepare a sedan chair, and do not allow any attendants to bring firearms."

"I will obey."

He glanced at the “thread notes,” “block records,” and “bell notes” on the table, and then instructed: “Chen Shu, after the fire has burned for three breaths, reduce it by half, and do not let it go out.”

“Remember this,” Chen Shuying said.

Zhu Han walked out of the Meridian Gate. The firesmith watched his retreating figure and sighed, "Fire reflects people, and people reflect fire."

Zhu Biao sat in the hall, his sleeves neatly arranged.

Civil and military officials lined up on both sides. Zhu Han entered the hall and bowed.

“Uncle,” Zhu Biao looked up, “the walls were sealed, the roads were blocked, and the firewood was dried. There has been no disturbance for half a month. Has the storm subsided?”

“The wind is uneven,” Zhu Han replied, “it just goes with the flow.”

"Which direction should we go?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Head north,” Zhu Han said. “There are old warehouses in Beizhen that haven’t been investigated. The ‘hand shop’ of the Ministry of War’s outer warehouse is registered there. Although Shen Jinsheng has confessed, there are still other hands behind him.”

Zhu Biao paused slightly: "It's hands again."

"The more hands you have, the more popular you become," Zhu Han replied.

The hall fell silent.

Zhu Biao suddenly asked, "How long are you going to keep this fire burning?"

"The fire is half-burnt, yet it won't go out." Zhu Han's gaze was calm. "The deadline is thirty days. If the wind is still blowing after thirty days, then another thirty days will be needed."

"Aren't you tired?" Zhu Biao asked.

Zhu Han laughed: "The fire isn't tiring, but the person is, and they don't complain."

Zhu Biao nodded: "I heard that a 'handicraft shop' was changing owners last night."

"I put it there," Zhu Han admitted. "I changed it quickly, that's when my feet were exposed."

"Then you want to see my feet?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Look at the feet, look at the shadows, look at the wind."

Zhu Han's gaze fell on the bronze incense burner in front of the hall. "Those who are in the aftermath of the fire see the most accurate reflections."

Zhu Biao remained silent for a long time before saying, "What if the wind still doesn't stop after thirty days?"

Zhu Han looked at him and said, "Then let's look at the water instead."

"Water?" Zhu Biao asked in surprise.

"Fire reveals shadows, water reveals forms," ​​Zhu Han said softly. "Fire illuminates the fake, water leaves the real."

Zhu Biao sighed softly: "You want to switch from fire to water?"

"If the dust gets in the air for too long, it needs to be washed off," Zhu Han laughed. "Otherwise, the fire will go blind."

Zhu Biao slowly stood up: "Uncle, go wash up."

Zhu Han bowed and said, "I will obey."

At 9:00 AM, Zhu Han returned. The fire was still burning in the half-filled basin.

Chen Shu stepped forward and said, "The wind is favorable, but the fire hasn't been started yet."

"Alright." Zhu Han nodded, his gaze sweeping across the table, then suddenly asked, "Where's the 'Zhong Zha'?"

"Put it at the very bottom," Chen Shu replied.

"Climb up," Zhu Han instructed.

Chen Shu did as instructed. The edges of the paper had been worn smooth by the wind, but the writing remained clear.

Zhu Han gently stroked the dot of the character "钟" with his fingertip, saying, "This character should make a sound."

"Your Highness," the stoker couldn't help but ask, "how many hours of sleep do you take care of the fire this month?"

Zhu Han laughed: "When the fire is asleep, I'm awake; when the fire is awake, I watch. When many people sleep, their dreams are chaotic."

"You don't dream?" Chen Shu asked.

"The dream isn't far away," Zhu Han said calmly. "The dream is behind the door."

He suddenly turned around: "Chen Shu, tell me about the wind from last night."

Chen Shu turned the book: "The north wind was strong at the beginning of the night, calmed down after 9 PM, turned northwest at midnight, and lowered slightly at the beginning of 3 AM."

“Alright.” Zhu Han nodded. “From today onwards, Li Gong will no longer guard the bridge north of the gate.”

"Then who will guard it?" Chen Shu asked.

“Me,” Zhu Han said.

The stoker paused, taken aback: "The prince is going in person?"

"We need to look at the wind more closely." Zhu Han tucked in his sleeves. "Now that we've checked the fire, it's time to check the water."

The wind was as thin as silk. The moonlight slanted across the bridge.

Li Gong stood guard to one side, watching Zhu Han walk slowly towards him, accompanied only by one attendant.

The image of fire flashed across his face, like fire burning in his eyes.

"Your Highness, the bridge is cold." Li Gong bowed.

“The fire is warm,” Zhu Han replied, standing in the middle of the bridge and looking down at the water.

The two door springs underwater were still gently touching.

"They're still ringing," Zhu Han whispered.

“This sound was left by the Prince,” Li Gong said.

"This is also my reply," Zhu Han said, looking at the water. "Their threads, their seals, their money, their hands—in the end, they all come back here." (End of Chapter)