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

The message was delivered to the Prince of Han's residence that very night.

After listening, Zhu Han only asked one question: "What were those pages that were taken out originally filled with?"

"The temporary transfer list," the spy replied. "Craftsmen, escorts, and some local officials."

Zhu Han nodded.

Sure enough.

On the third day, the military command reported a minor case: a fire broke out in an old house in the south of the city, and several charred wooden boxes were found buried underground while clearing the ruins.

The box contained mostly scraps of paper, the handwriting barely legible, but it was clear that they were old government accounts.

According to regulations, this matter should have only required filing and destruction, but for some reason, it was sent to the Ministry of Justice.

The Minister of Justice dared not make a decision on his own and sent the report to the palace.

After reading it, Zhu Yuanzhang coldly remarked, "South of the city, it's the south of the city again."

He did not order a thorough investigation, but instead had a copy of the briefing sent to Zhu Han.

Zhu Han received the document, and Zhu Biao was also present. After reading those lines, the Crown Prince's brows furrowed involuntarily.

"Uncle, these fires... it's too much of a coincidence."

“It’s unfortunate that the fire burned things that nobody was in a hurry to find,” Zhu Han said.

Zhu Biao remained silent.

Zhu Han put down the briefing without saying anything more.

That afternoon, the Qingli Office suddenly received a supplementary account.

The person delivering the money was an old official from the Ministry of Works. He was quite old, but he spoke very cautiously, saying that he had found it while cleaning the storeroom and was coming to make up for any omissions.

The old official stood in the hall, holding the account books in both hands, his knuckles white.

The ledger was not thick and used the old Ministry of Works format. The corners of the cover were worn, but the stains had been deliberately wiped clean, as if it had been specially tidied up before being sent away.

The clerk on duty at the Bureau of Civil Affairs turned two pages and frowned.

What year is this?

“Autumn of the eleventh year of Hongwu,” the old official replied quickly. “It was the surplus amount recorded in batches during the temporary repairs of the river that year.”

The person in charge looked up at him, but did not reply immediately. He simply told someone to put the bill aside for the time being and then sent a junior official to invite the people from the Prince of Han's residence.

When the news reached the Prince's residence, Zhu Han was looking at something else.

It's not an account.

It is a list of people.

The guards laid the list out on the table. On it were the names that could still be pieced together from the circumstantial evidence from the few pages of the temporary transfer list that had been removed.

There were only twelve people, seven of whom were dead, three were missing, and two remained.

“One of them works in the Ministry of Works,” the guard whispered. “The one who delivered the money.”

"What about the other one?"

"Under the command of the military headquarters, they are in charge of night patrols and deployments." The guard paused, "Their official title is not prominent, but they have the authority to mobilize troops in the southern part of the city."

Zhu Han tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

The line is starting to tighten.

"Whose idea was it to send the bills over?" he asked.

“We’ve investigated,” the guard replied. “It wasn’t that old official who acted on his own. Last night, he went to a teahouse in the alley outside the Shangyi Bureau and stayed for no more than a quarter of an hour.”

Zhu Han smiled gently.

Tea shops never sell tea.

He got up to change his clothes and didn't touch the ledger again.

"Let the Ministry of Justice follow the rules," he said. "Collect it first, don't dismantle it, don't object."

"And what about this side, Your Highness—"

I'm going to see someone.

The night patrol warehouse of the Military Command is located in the south of the city, near the river.

It's not noticeable during the day, but it gets exceptionally busy at night.

Torches were being distributed, roll calls were being taken, and officials and soldiers were coming and going in a chaotic manner.

Zhu Han did not use the main entrance.

He went around the riverbank, but his guards had cleared the way beforehand. The two soldiers guarding the warehouse were subdued in a flash.

The lights in the warehouse were dim.

The night patrol officer was copying names down when he heard footsteps. He instinctively looked up, and his expression changed instantly when he saw who it was.

"Your Highness?"

Zhu Han didn't sit down, but stood in front of the table, looking at him.

"The fire in the south of the city, you were the one who dispatched the patrol."

Zhu Han said in a flat tone, "It's not for putting out the fire, it's to let people get there first."

The man's lips trembled slightly; he wanted to argue, but no sound came out.

“You don’t need to say,” Zhu Han continued. “I only ask one question—who ordered you to burn the accounts?”

silence.

A night wind blew outside the warehouse, the wick crackled, and the flame flickered violently.

The man suddenly knelt down.

“Your Highness…” his voice was hoarse, “I was just following orders. Those boxes should have been gone anyway.”

"Whose life?"

The man pressed his forehead to the ground, and after a long while, he finally uttered a single word.

"……still."

Zhu Han's gaze darkened.

As the word "尚" fell, it felt as if someone was holding down Cang Zhong's breath.

Zhu Han did not immediately press for details.

He simply lowered his head, looking at the person kneeling on the ground, his tone even softer than before: "Which Shang?"

The man shuddered, his forehead pressed against the ground, his voice almost squeezed out from under the wooden board: "I... dare not say my full name."

"Are you afraid to say it, or unable to say it?" Zhu Han asked.

The night patrol officer's Adam's apple bobbed, and after a long pause, he said in a hoarse voice, "I told you, I won't live to see dawn."

Zhu Han smiled.

It wasn't a cold laugh, but a very faint, very short sound, like the gentle breeze ruffling the surface of a river at night.

"You think you can live until dawn?"

The man suddenly looked up, met Zhu Han's gaze, and as if he had finally realized something, his face turned ashen.

"Your Highness... I'm really just a messenger."

He said hurriedly, "The timing, patrol order, and evacuation procedures for those fires in the south of the city were all decided by the higher-ups. I was just following the schedule and didn't even see what was in the boxes!"

“But you know those things shouldn’t be kept,” Zhu Han continued.

The man paused for a moment, then lowered his head and did not deny it.

"When did the Shang family start interfering with the night patrols of the Military Command?" Zhu Han asked.

This sentence is heavier than all the previous ones.

The night patrol officer's lips turned white; he tried to speak several times, but swallowed his words back.

The bodyguard watched coldly from the side, offering no warning, yet hovering behind him like a drawn sword.

“…It’s not the Shang family.” He finally spoke, his voice trembling. “It’s the Shang faction.”

Zhu Han's eyes flickered slightly.

"continue."

“The Bureau of Ceremonial Affairs is just the surface.” The man gritted his teeth and said, “Underlying it are eunuchs, court officials, merchants, and… former nobles and officials. Most of the granaries, houses, and shops in the southern part of the city are inextricably linked to them. Burning the accounts is just clearing out a small part of the problem.”

"Who's up there?" Zhu Han took a step closer.

The man suddenly shook his head, a look of near despair on his face: "I truly don't know. Messages are always relayed using coded signals. Once the accounts are burned and the people disperse, the connection is broken. If it weren't for Your Highness's swift action this time—"

He stopped abruptly, realizing he had been too talkative.

Zhu Han had already heard enough.

"Take him away," he said calmly.

The guards stepped forward and dragged the man up. As the night patrol officer was led out of the warehouse, he looked back at the lights one last time, as if taking one last look at himself.

Zhu Han did not linger.

He returned to the city from the riverbank. The night was deep, and the wind from the south of the city carried dampness, making him feel inexplicably cold.

When they returned to the Prince's Palace, it was nearly four in the morning.

The study light was still on.

Zhu Biao was already waiting for him inside.

"Uncle," the Crown Prince rose, his gaze falling on the damp patches on the hem of his robes, "Any results from the south of the city?"

Zhu Han took off his outer robe and casually handed it to the eunuch beside him. After sitting down, he said, "A little." "The Bureau of Ceremonial Affairs?" Zhu Biao lowered his voice.

“No,” Zhu Han shook his head, “but I can’t break free from them.”

Zhu Biao frowned: "The Shangyi Bureau is originally for female officials in the inner palace. If it were just them, they would not be able to mobilize the military police to patrol at night."

“That’s why it’s called Shangxi,” Zhu Han said. “They’re just shells.”

Zhu Biao was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Does Father Emperor know?"

“He already knows half of it,” Zhu Han said. “He’s seen it all: the south of the city, the fire, the old scores. It’s just not time to act yet.”

"Then, Imperial Uncle, what's your move—"

“I’m untangling the wires for him,” Zhu Han interrupted, “untangling them until they can’t be left untouched.”

Zhu Biao looked up at him, a hint of hesitation in his eyes: "But in doing so, it's likely that more than just the Shang faction will be affected."

“I know,” Zhu Han said calmly. “Back then, the temporary transfer of personnel for the river works involved local authorities, the Ministry of Works, the inner court, and the treasury. It wasn’t just one line; it was a whole network.”

Zhu Biao gave a wry smile: "My imperial uncle always chooses the most difficult path."

Zhu Han glanced at him and suddenly retorted, "Do you think I had a choice?"

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent for a moment.

After a moment, Zhu Biao said in a low voice, "The ledger from the Ministry of Personnel has been sealed according to regulations. The old official from the Ministry of Works has been detained for questioning."

“He will insist that he was just making up for lost money,” Zhu Han said.

"What should I do?"

"Wait," Zhu Han said. "Someone might be anxious."

Sure enough, the anxious people arrived early on the third morning.

The Bureau of Ceremonial Affairs sent a respectful memorial, stating that the head of the Bureau, Aunt Shang, had been unwell recently and was in a state of panic and disorderly conduct, so she specially invited Prince Han to the residence to instruct him on the old rules of the inner court.

After reading it, Zhu Biao couldn't help but sneer: "She certainly knows how to make excuses."

“She didn’t ask for my guidance,” Zhu Han said, closing the document. “She wanted to see me.”

"Is the Imperial Uncle going?"

“Of course.” Zhu Han stood up. “Since she offered me a way out, it would seem guilty if I didn’t take advantage of it.”

The Imperial Ceremonial Bureau was located in the western part of the palace. The courtyard was small, but extremely clean. When Zhu Han arrived, Aunt Shang was already waiting in the main hall.

She was over forty years old, with a dignified expression, and performed the ceremony with meticulous care.

"Your Highness's presence is an honor to our humble abode." Her voice was gentle.

Zhu Han looked at her but did not sit down immediately.

"The fire in the south of the city is quite large," he said.

Aunt Shang remained expressionless, only letting out a soft sigh: "Your Highness is joking. The south of the city has always been chaotic, and fires are common."

"Does it often involve burning old scores from the ground up?" Zhu Han countered.

This time, Aunt Shang finally looked up.

She looked at Zhu Han with a steady gaze: "If Your Highness has come for those old matters, I'm afraid you will be disappointed. The debts from the eleventh year of Hongwu have long been settled."

"Settle the debt, or settle it?" Zhu Han asked.

The air tensed up instantly.

Aunt Shang was silent for a few moments, then suddenly smiled: "Your Highness is indeed straightforward."

She waved her hand, and all the female officials standing in the hall withdrew.

"Then I won't beat around the bush," Aunt Shang said. "The accounts have been burned. The people were moved by our people. But Your Highness, who do you think this was for?"

Zhu Han did not respond.

"In order to prevent the old river works from causing new trouble."

Aunt Shang said slowly, "Your Highness knows how many people died and how much silver was lost during the temporary relocation of the river works back then. If it were all brought up, the Ministry of Works would collapse, the local areas would be in chaos, and even the imperial court would be shaken."

"So you're just cleaning up after the imperial court?" Zhu Han's tone turned cold.

“It’s not on behalf of the imperial court,” Aunt Shang shook her head. “It’s on behalf of the world.”

"What a fine 'acting on behalf of the world'!" Zhu Han stood up. "Those twelve people on the temporary transfer list, some dead, some missing, are they also acting on behalf of the world?"

Aunt Shang's expression finally changed.

"What you're afraid of isn't chaos."

Zhu Han approached step by step, "I'm afraid that someone will follow the accounts, the regulations, and the people to find out where the real accountability lies."

After a long silence, Aunt Shang suddenly whispered, "Your Highness, do you really want to drain this river?"

“It’s not that I wanted to lift it.” Zhu Han stopped and looked at her. “It’s just that it should have been empty a long time ago.”

Footsteps suddenly came from outside the hall.

An official hurried in and whispered, "Aunt, someone from the palace has arrived."

Aunt Shang was taken aback.

Zhu Han had already turned around: "It seems there's someone more anxious than you."

By the time they returned to the Prince of Han's residence, it was already dark.

In the study, the guards were already waiting, and three newly delivered secret reports were spread out on the table.

Zhu Han didn't rush to look, but instead asked, "Has there been any movement from the Crown Prince's residence today?"

The guard paused, then whispered, "When the Crown Princess entered the palace in the afternoon to pay her respects, she stayed in Kunning Palace for an extra half hour."

Zhu Han looked up.

With whom?

"The people from the Imperial Ceremonial Bureau are here to serve you."

Zhu Han smiled gently.

Shang Xi's influence indeed extended beyond the outer court.

Does the Crown Prince know?

"His Highness the Crown Prince is unaware. After the Crown Princess returned to her residence, she only said that Her Majesty the Empress had asked her to speak with her."

Zhu Han nodded and reached out to pick up the first confidential report.

That was a list.

They are not court officials, but people who have been transferred to the Eastern Palace's official system within the past three years.

There were twenty-three people in total: clerks, stewards, stewards of the inner treasury, and attendants.

Seven of them were from the old system of the Imperial Ceremonial Bureau.

"They planted a spy in the Eastern Palace," the guard said.

“It’s not burying,” Zhu Han said calmly. “It’s mending.”

"repair?"

"Fill in a spot they thought would be empty."

Zhu Han pushed the list back onto the table, saying, "They feel that Zhu Biao might not be able to hold his position."

The guard felt a chill run down his spine.

This is no longer a matter of accounts.

"The second one."

The guard handed it over.

This is a draft of an anonymous petition, which was intercepted halfway through its delivery.

The content directly points to the disorderly dispatch of the night patrols of the Military Command, implying that someone set fire to and destroyed accounts, and that the Prince's Mansion was behind it.

The inscription was unsigned.

"They're after me." Zhu Han glanced at them, "but not right now."

"Then why write it?"

"Keep it." Zhu Han closed the box. "We'll hand it over when the time is right."

The guard hesitated: "If we really hand it over, Your Highness's reputation..."

"Reputation is for others to see," Zhu Han said calmly. "Fate is what truly belongs to oneself."

He reached out and picked up the third one.

This one is the thinnest.

But that's the most dangerous thing.

These are internal records of transactions within the Qing Dynasty's Bureau of Personnel, marking which old accounts were quietly "approved" in advance.

Zhu Han's finger stopped on one of the names.

“Gu”.

The guard was taken aback: "The Crown Princess's Gu family?"

“It’s not Gu Qingping,” Zhu Han shook his head. “It’s her second uncle.”

The Gu family is an old family in Jiangnan, and they were involved in river engineering and salt tax in their early years.

Three days later, the morning court session began.

Someone submitted a memorial to the throne proposing to "rectify the expenses of the Crown Prince's palace," arguing that "old debts have not been settled, and new debts cannot be established." (End of Chapter)