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

On the third night, a thin fog descended upon the capital.

The fog wasn't heavy, but it was sticky, blurring the outlines of the streets and alleys.

The sound of the drum traveled very slowly, as if it were being held back by the fog.

The small gate in the back garden of the Prince of Han's mansion opened quietly once at 9 PM, and then quickly closed again.

There weren't many people who went out; only two riders.

The horse's hooves were wrapped in cloth, making almost no sound as it walked on the stone road.

Zhu Han did not wear the dark cloak commonly used in the Prince's mansion, but only a regular night-wearing short cloak, with the brim of his hat pulled low, his face hidden in the shadows.

The old salt warehouse in the north of the city looks like a forgotten stone in the fog.

The number of guards outside the warehouse gate was twice that of the previous day, but they were all standing loosely.

The seal is still there, the old style, the old color, hanging there, which actually makes people feel more at ease.

Zhu Han did not approach the warehouse door, but instead went around to the side and back.

There was a drainage ditch half-covered by weeds, with its mouth covered by stone slabs of varying ages along the edges.

He dismounted, squatted down, and gently ran his finger along the edge of the stone slab.

The dust was thin, but it had been cleaned.

“Someone came by last night,” Chen Shu said in a low voice.

Zhu Han nodded but did not reply.

He got up, walked along the warehouse wall for a while, and stopped in front of an inconspicuous crack in the wall.

The cracks in the wall weren't wide, but they had been filled with fresh plaster, making the color slightly lighter.

Zhu Han reached out and pressed his hand on the wall. With a little force, a thin crack appeared in the gray surface.

It's not for reinforcement.

It was to cover it up.

"Make a note of the location," Zhu Han said. "Go back."

They didn't linger and turned to leave.

The fog thickened, and the old salt warehouse was swallowed up by the night again, as if nothing had ever happened.

The following day, the Ministry of Works suddenly delivered a routine document requesting the sealing of a batch of old iron parts that were "no longer of use." The reasons were written in an extremely formal manner, with almost no faults.

The document was sent to the Eastern Palace.

After reading it, Zhu Biao did not approve it, but only ordered a postponement.

The news reached the Ministry of Works in the afternoon.

The atmosphere in that mansion in the south of the city was even more tense than it had been a few days ago.

"Sealed off?" someone whispered. "They're cutting off their escape route."

"Not necessarily." The leader shook his head. "It's just stalling."

"How long will it drag on?"

The man didn't answer; he just looked out the window.

The fog had dissipated, but the sky was still not clear.

That night, no further orders were issued in the city.

The same thing happened on the third and fourth days.

It's like a game of chess where both sides have stopped playing.

On the morning of the fifth day, Zhu Han went to court as usual, but did not leave immediately after the court session. Instead, he was kept behind by Zhu Biao.

This time, it wasn't in the East Palace's warm pavilion, but in a side room at the back.

The side room had no extra furnishings, only a table and a lamp.

Zhu Biao closed the door himself and turned to look at Zhu Han.

“Uncle,” he said, getting straight to the point, “I have retrieved all the accounts for the salt warehouse in the north of the city.”

Zhu Han remained calm. "What did you see?"

“I could tell they were too afraid to move,” Zhu Biao said. “But I don’t know what they were waiting for.”

Zhu Han walked to the desk and pointed to one of the account pages.

"Wait for this."

Zhu Biao looked down and saw that it was a small expenditure that had been repeatedly misappropriated and then replenished. The amount was small, but it appeared far too frequently.

"This is--"

"Hush money," Zhu Han said. "It's not for the people below, it's for the person who delivers the message."

Zhu Biao was taken aback.

“Things have come to this point, someone has to confirm one thing for them,” Zhu Han continued, “confirm whether they are really being watched.”

Zhu Biao was silent for a moment. "Then how do they confirm it?"

Zhu Han looked at him and said calmly, "They will try it themselves."

How do we test it?

“Just one movement,” Zhu Han said, “just a very small one.”

As if to prove this point, that night, a small warehouse in the west of the city was quietly opened for half an hour.

Only one box of iron parts was shipped.

Not many, inconspicuous, taking the most ordinary path.

But this movement was like throwing a pebble into the water.

The box of iron parts was intercepted outside the city the next morning.

There were no sealing documents or official letters; it was simply a "routine inspection" and was temporarily detained.

When the news reached the city, the entire city seemed to hold its breath.

Zhu Han did not show up.

In his residence, he flipped through the old hydraulic engineering manual, read the last few pages, and then put it back in the hidden compartment.

The system notification did not reappear.

no need.

The line is already fully drawn.

As evening fell, someone from the Eastern Palace came to invite Zhu Han to his residence.

Zhu Biao stood under the corridor waiting for him, his expression calmer than in the past few days.

“They know,” Zhu Biao said.

"Know what?"

"I knew it wasn't a false alarm," Zhu Biao replied.

Zhu Han nodded. "Then it's not up to them to decide what to do next."

Zhu Biao looked at him and suddenly asked, "Uncle, why were you willing to go this far?"

Zhu Han did not answer immediately.

After a moment, he spoke: "Because I saw it."

It's not a matter of responsibility, nor is it a matter of reason.

I just saw it.

Zhu Biao did not ask any further questions.

The night was deeper.

It started to rain in the city, not heavily, but frequently. The raindrops tapped on the tiles, making a soft, continuous sound, washing away all the traces of the day.

Some people, however, cannot sleep.

The lights in that house in the south of the city stayed on all night.

People came and went in the room, their footsteps hurried, but they deliberately kept their voices down.

The city defense map that used to hang on the wall has been taken down, and the table has been replaced by stacks of old and new account books, some with torn corners and some with rewritten page numbers.

The leader sat at the table, motionless all night.

Just as dawn was breaking, the sound of horses' hooves suddenly came from outside.

Not in a hurry, but steady.

The expressions of everyone in the room changed simultaneously.

"Who?" someone asked in a low voice.

no respond.

The horse's hooves stopped outside the door, followed by a knock.

Not too hard, not too light, three times.

The room was deathly silent.

The person in the lead slowly stood up, straightened his sleeves, and went to open the door himself.

The person standing outside the door was neither a member of the military command nor a night patrol captain.

He was a middle-aged civil official dressed in an ordinary blue robe, with a thin face but extremely cold eyes, and only two attendants behind him.

"May I ask for a place to talk for a few minutes?" the clerk said, his tone gentle but without any intention of negotiation.

Everyone in the house recognized him.

The Ministry of Revenue's Department of Auditing Officials is responsible for investigating old accounts.

The door was opened.

At that moment, many people understood in their hearts—

This is not an arrest.

This is roll call.

At the same time, the seals on the old salt warehouse in the north of the city were re-applied.

new.

All stamps are complete, and all documents are in order.

The old seal was carefully peeled off and placed separately in a wooden box.

Inside the Eastern Palace, Zhu Biao stared at the wooden box for a long time without saying a word.

“My uncle has already paved the road,” he said in a low voice.

Gu Qingping stood to the side and asked softly, "And what's next?"

Zhu Biao closed the wooden box and looked up. “Next,” he said, “it’s time for someone to step forward and acknowledge who walked this path.”

In the afternoon, Zhu Han received the news at his residence.

When Chen Shu entered the study, his expression was more solemn than usual.

"Your Highness, the area in the south of the city has been specifically named."

"How many?"

“Three are openly operating,” Chen Shu paused, “and the ones operating covertly are still going strong.”

Zhu Han nodded without further reaction.

“There’s one more thing,” Chen Shu continued. “The box of iron parts that was intercepted last night has been disassembled and inspected.”

"result?"

“There’s an old mark inside,” Chen Shu said in a low voice, “the same one that the prince had us write down before.”

Zhu Han finally looked up.

“Send it to the Crown Prince’s Palace.”

"Yes."

The study fell silent again.

On the third day after the rain, a "minor incident" suddenly occurred in the city.

A body was found floating under Yong'an Bridge in the west of the city.

The coroner quickly concluded that the person had taken a slow-acting drug before death, and that entering the water was merely a cover-up.

The message didn't travel fast, but it reached the ears of those who needed to hear it precisely.

When Zhu Han heard this, he was in his residence listening to Chen Shu's reply.

"Have you found out his identity?" he asked.

“On the surface, he’s a merchant from the south,” Chen Shu replied, “but our people recognize him.”

"Who?"

"The accountant at the salt warehouse in the north of the city, the one who 'died of illness' three years ago."

Zhu Han paused for a moment.

"Was there anything on the body?"

“Yes.” Chen Shu took out a small piece of oilcloth from his sleeve. “It was sewn very discreetly into the sole of his boot.”

Zhu Han unfolded the oilcloth.

It doesn't contain accounts or letters.

It was a fragmented old symbol, from the same system as the seal he left when he sealed the letter that day, but half of it had been deliberately worn away.

Zhu Han closed the oilcloth, his expression finally turning cold.

“This is not a warning,” he said.

"What is that?" Chen Shu asked in a low voice.

"A cry for help," Zhu Han said, "is also a test."

He stood up and walked to the window.

"They are forcing a choice."

That afternoon, the Crown Prince's Palace received three memorials in succession.

Different content, but pointing to the same thing—

Please investigate and clean up any remaining reservoirs from the old waterworks system.

It wasn't impeachment, it wasn't indictment, it was a "recommendation".

It's too neat.

After reading the memorials, Zhu Biao did not immediately summon anyone. Instead, he spread out the memorials one by one and studied them for a long time.

“This is forcing me to move,” he said.

Gu Qingping looked at the three memorials and said softly, "What, are we not going to do anything about it?"

Zhu Biao raised his eyes: "If we don't move, even more people will die."

He got up, walked to the window, and spoke in a low but clear voice.

"They are not afraid of being investigated."

What they fear is—who will investigate?

In the evening, Zhu Han was invited into the Eastern Palace.

This time, it wasn't a side room, but the inner study.

Zhu Biao didn't exchange pleasantries and simply placed the broken talisman on the table.

"Under the bridge in the west of the city."

"Who is he waiting for?" Zhu Biao asked.

Zhu Han remained silent for a moment.

“Wait for me,” he said, “but I can’t go.”

Zhu Biao was taken aback.

“If you go,” Zhu Han continued, “this matter will become ‘I’m investigating,’ not ‘you’re investigating.’”

Zhu Biao remained silent for a moment.

Only one lamp was lit in the inner study. The flame was small but steady, making the chipped edge of the broken talisman on the table even more glaring.

The notch wasn't from natural wear and tear; it looked as if someone had repeatedly scraped it with a fine tool, deliberately erasing it, yet not daring to erase it completely, as if leaving a trace for those who truly understood it.

"Then why did he insist on keeping this?" Zhu Biao finally spoke, his voice very low.

Zhu Han looked at the broken talisman but didn't reach out to touch it. "Because he has no other way out."

Zhu Biao looked up.

Zhu Han continued, "If he wants to live, he can only pass the thread out; but if he passes it out too obviously, he won't live to see anyone; if he passes it out too subtly, no one will dare to take it. He can only gamble—gamble that someone recognizes the symbol, and gamble that someone can understand the way he left it."

“So he died,” Zhu Biao said.

“So he died.” Zhu Han responded without avoiding the question.

There was a moment of silence between the two under the lamplight.

Gu Qingping, who had been standing a little distance away, said softly, "Now, the clues have been handed out, and the person is dead. The choice they wanted is now laid out before them."

Zhu Han turned to look at her, his gaze showing no surprise.

“Yes,” he said. “They just think the choice is only with you.”

Zhu Biao's eyebrows twitched slightly.

“Actually,” Zhu Han said slowly, “they made their choice a long time ago.”

Zhu Biao did not immediately refute, but simply reached out and put the three pleas back into the box, placing them together with the old seal.

“Uncle,” he looked up, “which place do you think I should investigate?”

Zhu Han did not answer directly.

He looked out the window. After the rain stopped, the sky was overcast, the clouds were low but not chaotic, as if someone had arranged everything in advance, just waiting for the final touch.

"Don't check the database," Zhu Han said.

Zhu Biao was taken aback.

"And don't investigate anyone," Zhu Han added.

Gu Qingping frowned slightly: "Then what should we investigate?"

Zhu Han turned around, his tone still calm: "Check the route."

"Road?" Zhu Biao repeated.

“That’s right.” Zhu Han nodded. “Whether it’s the old-style waterworks, salt warehouses, ironwork, or account books, these things never exist in isolation. They have to move, they have to move.”

He reached out and made a faint line on the table.

"Who, when, under what pretext, and from which place to which place, will leave traces as long as the route exists."

Zhu Biao pondered for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“But since they dared to force me to act,” he said, “they must have been prepared.”

“What we’re preparing is the accounts, not the road,” Zhu Han said. “Accounts can be changed, but the road is very difficult to change.”

Gu Qingping suddenly realized something: "So that's why they were in such a hurry to name Chengnan?"

"Yes." Zhu Han glanced at her. "Those families in the south of the city are old grievances that are on the surface. Dealing with them will be enough to give the court an explanation and make most people think that the matter has been settled."

"And what about those in the shadows?" Zhu Biao asked.

Zhu Han did not answer immediately.

He took a thin letter from his sleeve and placed it on the corner of the table.

“This was delivered to the manor this morning,” he said. “It was unsigned.”

Zhu Biao picked up the letter and unfolded it.

The letter contained few words, but the handwriting was extremely steady. It wasn't a denunciation, but a very brief account: In a certain month of a certain year, at a certain section of the river, a temporarily conscripted work team was ostensibly there to repair the dike, but in reality, they were transporting goods. Their whereabouts are unknown.

"This is... an old waterworks worker?" Zhu Biao looked up.

“Yes,” Zhu Han said, “and it’s the batch you mentioned in your report.”

Zhu Biao's fingers tightened.

Who sent it?

"I don't know." Zhu Han shook his head. "The letter came from the north of the city, but the person isn't there."

"you sure?"

“My people have investigated,” Zhu Han said calmly. “The messenger went through three intermediaries, and the last person on the way was a charcoal seller.”

Zhu Biao chuckled, but quickly composed himself.

"They started scrambling to pass the wire."

“Because they are afraid,” Zhu Han said.

"Afraid you'll check the road?"

"I'm afraid you'll be too accurate in your investigation," Zhu Han corrected.

The room fell silent once again.

After a long while, Zhu Biao took a deep breath. (End of Chapter)