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

"Do you remember this page of the ledger?" Zhu Han said calmly.

Zhao Yuncheng's throat tightened: "Your Highness... this humble official was merely following orders back then."

"On whose orders?" Zhu Han asked.

Zhao Yuncheng opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Zhu Han didn't urge him.

The wind rustled through the corridor outside, and the lamplight flickered gently.

"I won't ask you for money," Zhu Han suddenly said, "nor will I ask you for grain."

"I only have one question for you."

Zhao Yuncheng suddenly looked up.

"That year," Zhu Han looked at him, "who told you that you could sign off on the Ministry of War's accounts?"

Zhao Yuncheng's face turned completely pale.

Outside the inn, the night wind swept across the riverbank, carrying the fishy smell of water. The lamplight flickered on the paper window, casting an ebb and flow of light on the old account book inside.

He ultimately did not reveal the name.

It's not that I'm afraid.

Rather, it's not possible.

Zhu Han looked at him for a while but didn't ask any further questions.

"Send him back." Zhu Han stood up, his tone calm. "Remember that you were here tonight, but don't let anyone remember what you said."

Zhao Yuncheng felt as if he had been granted a pardon and responded repeatedly before being led away.

Zhu Han did not leave the post station immediately.

He walked to the window, pushed open a slit, and looked at the Qingjiang River in the distance.

South of Yingtian City.

As dawn broke and the city gates were not yet fully open, long queues had already formed outside the city.

Those pushing carts, carrying loads, and leading children were all villagers from nearby towns and villages who came to sell grain, vegetables, and firewood.

The tax collectors at the city gate hadn't even come out yet, but the procession was already getting restless.

Why isn't the door open yet?

"Wasn't it opened at this time yesterday?"

"I heard something happened at the Ministry of War."

"Shhh-keep it down."

The murmurs were low, yet like undercurrents beneath the surface of water.

An old man selling millet stood in the middle of the line, pushing a broken wooden cart.

His car wasn't big, but the bags were packed tightly, clearly indicating that he had brought everything he could sell from home.

He looked up at the city gate, then down at his carriage, and sighed.

A young man nearby came over and asked, "Grandpa, where did you get this grain?"

"Ten miles north of the city, Li Family Village," the old man replied.

"Sending them into the city at this hour?" the young man asked in a low voice. "Aren't you afraid of being investigated?"

The old man gave a wry smile: "If I don't send any, my family will run out of food."

"I heard the city has been cracking down hard lately."

"It doesn't matter who they investigate, right?" The old man shook his head. "We don't have accounts for them to investigate."

The city gates finally opened.

There were twice as many soldiers guarding the gate as usual. Each cart entering the city was inspected, but the grain sacks were not thoroughly examined; the number was simply recorded.

The old man visibly breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed his cart into the city.

But he hadn't yet gotten over it.

A commotion suddenly broke out at the street corner.

"The Embroidered Uniform Guards are here!"

The crowd tensed up and instinctively dispersed to both sides.

Several captains rode up and stopped at the street corner.

The leading captain glanced at the grain-selling line and gestured, "Continue."

No one was arrested.

There was no grain inspection.

It simply allows the team to keep moving forward.

The people looked at each other in bewilderment, but dared not ask any questions. They could only push their carts toward the market.

But soon, they realized something was wrong.

Three grain shops in the market area have closed down.

The remaining shops had their doors open, but they lacked the usual liveliness.

"Why won't you accept it?" The old man asked, pushing his cart in front of a shop.

The shopkeeper stood inside the door, his face pale: "I dare not accept it."

Why?

"The accounts haven't been settled." The shopkeeper lowered his voice. "The higher-ups said that if old accounts aren't settled, whoever collected the grain will be held responsible."

The old man was stunned.

"Then what should we do with all this grain?"

The shopkeeper gave a wry smile: "I don't know either."

The street corner gradually became lively.

afternoon.

Zhu Han's carriage stopped in front of an inconspicuous teahouse in the south of the city.

This tea shop is small and has an old storefront. It usually only sells coarse tea, and the customers are mostly porters and porters.

Zhu Han got out of the car without any attendants, only having someone wait for him at the street corner.

Inside the teahouse, several porters were drinking tea around a table, talking about what had happened at the market that morning.

"I heard that grain shops are no longer buying grain."

"Even if we buy them, we dare not sell them."

"Then what do we do? We can't just go hungry."

"Who knows? With the Ministry of War in such a mess, who would dare to touch the accounts?"

Zhu Han sat down in the corner and ordered a bowl of tea.

The tea is very bitter.

He sipped his drink slowly, listening to these words without interrupting.

Until the old man who sold millet also entered the teahouse.

The old man parked his car at the door, sat on the threshold, holding a bowl of tea, but didn't drink a drop.

"Can't they sell?" someone asked.

The old man nodded.

What's going on in the city?

No one could answer that.

Zhu Han put down his teacup, stood up, and walked over to the old man.

How much do you want to sell this grain for?

The old man was taken aback and looked up at him.

Zhu Han's clothes were inconspicuous, yet he stood very steadily.

"At the usual price," the old man said hesitantly.

Zhu Han nodded: "I'll accept it."

The old man was stunned: "You...can accept this?"

“We can take it,” Zhu Han said, “but not here.”

He gave me an address.

It is the old granary in the south of the city.

The old man hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"I believe you."

This sentence was said very softly.

But it drew the attention of several people around them. It was evening.

The old granary south of the city.

This place has been abandoned for many years, and even beggars don't come here on ordinary days.

But on this day, there were several more carts.

The old man's car has arrived.

Then came the second one, and the third one.

They were all scattered people, pushing their own grain carts.

No one made a sound.

No one tried to take it.

Zhu Han stood outside the warehouse, watching the grain being unloaded bag by bag.

Someone couldn't help but ask, "Who are you... collecting this for?"

Zhu Han's answer was simple: "Collect it for those who are entitled to food."

Nobody understood.

But no one asked anymore.

As night fell, a small pile of grain sacks had already accumulated in the old warehouse.

not much.

But it's very real.

Zhu Han turned around and whispered a few instructions to his attendant.

The mud outside the old warehouse in the south of the city was soft from being trampled, and several shallow ruts gleamed wetly in the moonlight.

Zhu Han did not return to his residence.

As dusk settled and darkness fell, Zhu Han stood at the gate of the old granary in the south of the city, dressed in an ordinary blue cloth robe with an old cloak over it. His simple appearance made him seem like an inconspicuous passerby in the city.

He stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the last bag of grain, watching several villagers struggling to carry it into the granary.

"Young Master Wang..." The attendant whispered cautiously from the side.

Zhu Han slightly raised his hand, indicating that his attendants did not need to say anything more. His calm demeanor exuded an innate sense of authority.

Inside the warehouse, two oil lamps emitted a dim, yellowish light. The wicks were pressed low, and although the light was not bright, it shone steadily, adding a touch of warmth to the somewhat gloomy warehouse.

Several villagers were helping to sort the grain sacks. They moved slowly, each movement showing seriousness, as if they were handling their own precious grain reserves.

The old man selling millet was among them; he was bent over, laboriously stacking the sacks of grain.

Sweat streamed down his forehead, soaking his clothes, but he showed no sign of stopping, focusing intently on his work.

Zhu Han stepped into the warehouse, his footsteps echoing in the silent space.

Hearing the voice, the old man subconsciously looked up and saw that it was Zhu Han. He was taken aback for a moment, and a hint of doubt flashed in his eyes: "You haven't left yet?"

"Take a look," Zhu Han replied simply, his gaze sweeping across the warehouse.

The old man rubbed his calloused hands, looking somewhat uneasy: "The grain... has all been stored."

"Thank you for your hard work." Zhu Han nodded slightly, his tone calm but sincere.

The old man quickly waved his hand, his face full of humble smiles: "It's no trouble at all, no trouble at all."

He hesitated for a moment, then finally mustered the courage to ask, "May I ask, can you really deliver this grain to where it's supposed to be?"

Zhu Han looked at him quietly, his gaze deep and calm: "Where do you think we should go?"

The old man was taken aback by the sudden question. He paused for a moment, thought for a while, and then lowered his voice: "There's a soup kitchen in the west of the city, and it's been crowded these past few days. There are also a few elderly people living alone in the south of the city, and I heard they've run out of food."

Zhu Han nodded slightly, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes: "You remember it very clearly."

The old man gave a wry smile, a smile tinged with helplessness: "They're all neighbors, we see each other all the time, how could I not remember them?"

“Then let’s do as you say,” Zhu Han said calmly and firmly.

The old man looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief: "Really? Really?"

"Really." Zhu Han nodded again, his tone still calm. "If you're worried, you can go see for yourself tomorrow."

The old man's eyes suddenly reddened, and tears of emotion welled up in his cloudy eyes.

He wiped his face vigorously with his sleeve, his voice a little hoarse: "Then...then I'll definitely go see him tomorrow."

Zhu Han didn't say anything more. He turned and slowly walked out, but stopped at the door, as if he remembered something, and turned back to ask, "What's your name?"

The old man was taken aback, but then realized what he meant and quickly replied, "My surname is Li, and my given name is Li Shun, which is worthless."

Zhu Han silently made a note of it and said softly, "Li Shun, things haven't been peaceful in the city these past few days. After you go back, try to avoid going into the city."

Li Shun nodded repeatedly, his eyes filled with gratitude: "You too."

After he finished speaking, he realized that his words were somewhat inappropriate, so he quickly added, "Please take care, young master."

Zhu Han's lips curled up slightly, revealing a faint smile, a smile as warm and peaceful as the spring sunshine.

The next morning, a long queue had already formed in front of the soup kitchen in the west of the city.

Most of the people there were elderly people and children dressed in thin clothes, their frail bodies shivering in the cold wind. Occasionally, a few sick and weak women were being helped along, their steps unsteady.

Inside the porridge stall, the pot had just boiled, and steam rose like clouds, carrying a rich aroma of rice that filled the air.

Several monks, dressed in simple robes and with kind faces, were in charge of distributing the porridge. There were also two or three locals who came to help. They moved busily and orderly between the porridge stalls.

Zhu Han stood outside the crowd, quietly observing everything without approaching.

He watched as the grain sacks were opened one by one, and the snow-white rice was poured into the pot like flowing water. The movements were very practiced, and it was clear that this was not the first time they had done this.

Li Shun was also in the crowd. He stood not far away, tiptoeing to look inside, his eyes full of expectation and worry.

When the first bowl of porridge was handed to a child, Li Shun's shoulders visibly relaxed, as if a huge weight had finally been lifted from his heart.

He turned his head, saw Zhu Han, his eyes lit up, and he quickly walked over, lowering his voice to say excitedly, "Young Master! It really arrived."

Zhu Han nodded slightly, his gaze still fixed on the soup stall: "I see it."

Li Shun stood for a while, then said in a low voice, "Actually... I didn't sleep a wink last night when I got back."

"Afraid?" Zhu Han looked at him, his gaze calm and gentle.

"I'm afraid," Li Shun honestly admitted, a shy smile on his face. "I'm afraid that if we run out of food, we'll all be gone too."

Zhu Han's gaze swept over the crowd in front of the porridge stall. The faces of the elderly, children, and women were filled with longing and satisfaction for this bowl of porridge.

"And now?" he asked softly.

Li Shun followed his gaze and saw a child holding a bowl, carefully drinking porridge. The steam made the child's face flushed red, and the child looked extremely cute.

An old woman finished her porridge, handed the bowl back, clasped her hands together, and whispered something, as if she were giving thanks for this hard-won blessing.

Li Shun took a deep breath and a relieved smile appeared on his face: "I'm not afraid anymore."

Zhu Han didn't say anything more, just stood there quietly, as if feeling the warmth brought by the everyday life of the people.

In a secluded alley in Nanshi, several bags of rice have quietly appeared in front of a few houses.

No one knocked on the door, nor did they leave their names. The bags of rice were placed very securely, as if silently protecting these families.

When a family opened their door and saw the bag of rice, they were stunned for a long time before they realized what it was, their faces full of surprise and confusion: "Who... sent this?"

"I heard they came from the old granary area in the south of the city," a neighbor said.

"Who's in charge?" another neighbor asked curiously.

"I don't know," the former neighbor shook his head.

“But this rice is real rice,” an old woman said with certainty, picking up a handful of rice and examining it carefully.

The news spread like wildfire through the streets and alleys. No one spoke loudly, but the atmosphere in the streets and alleys subtly changed.

The tension and unease that had been permeating the air seemed to be dispelled by this sudden warmth, replaced by a faint sense of peace and hope.

In the evening, Zhu Han passed through Nanshi again.

He stopped in front of a small stall selling sesame seed cakes.

The stall owner, a middle-aged man, saw him standing there and greeted him warmly, "Young master, it's fresh out of the oven."

Zhu Han bought a sesame seed cake and casually asked, "How's business lately?"

The man sighed, a hint of helplessness on his face: "The first two days were tough; nobody dared to spend money."

"And today?" Zhu Han took a bite of the sesame seed cake, the steam rising in his mouth, and continued to ask.

The man smiled, a smile tinged with relief: "It's better today. Some people only remembered to buy pancakes after they've eaten their fill."

Zhu Han nodded, understanding the reason behind it.

He took a bite of the hot sesame seed cake, and the warmth flowed down his throat into his stomach, as if it warmed his heart as well.

"Is something big going to happen in this city?" the man asked in a low voice, his tone mysterious.

Zhu Han glanced at him, his gaze calm and profound: "Why do you think that?"

"The Ministry of War has sealed off the city, and the Embroidered Uniform Guards are everywhere." The man shrugged, a hint of worry on his face. "But the food supply hasn't run out."

Zhu Han didn't answer his question directly, but slowly said, "Some things are being settled." (End of Chapter)