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

“Uncover,” Zhu Han said.

The shopkeeper suddenly made a move, and a thin dagger popped out from his wrist, aiming straight for Ah Huai's waist.

Zhu Han had already stepped in. With two fingers, as if pinching the tip of a blade of grass, he slowly deflected the dagger, and it fell to the ground with a cold, sharp sound.

Sweat poured down the shopkeeper's forehead. He was sideways, wanting to retreat but unable to.

“This knife of yours is modeled after Manager Xu from Taipei.”

Zhu Han glanced at him. "Yu Ming searched three alleys last night, using this kind of stuff. Even if you don't tell me, I can still find it."

The shopkeeper gritted his teeth and squeezed out four words: "I don't know, I don't see."

"The calluses on your hands aren't from where you handle medicine or weigh things."

Zhu Han lifted the shopkeeper's hand and gently pressed his thumb against the web of his hand. "You always grip the short handle tightly, and when you pull it inward, you rely on your little finger for leverage. You're not a pharmacist; you're a hook wielder."

The shopkeeper's eyelids twitched, then he suddenly laughed: "Sir, you have good eyesight. But even if you take my life, you won't get anything out of me."

"I'm not going to kill you." Zhu Han let go of his hand. "Just open the door."

The shopkeeper paused for a moment, unsure whether he was surprised or suspicious.

Zhu Han had already bypassed him and pried up a wooden plank in the backyard that had been smoothed out with mud.

Lying beneath was a tall, thin person with their eyes closed, their hands wrapped in cloth, the cloth stained with dark yellow medicine, radiating a cold aura.

"Yu Ming," Zhu Han called out.

The person's eyelashes trembled, and they slowly opened their eyes.

First she saw Ah Huai, then Zhu Biao, and finally her gaze fell on Zhu Han's face.

He opened his mouth, but his throat was so dry that he couldn't even utter a sound. He could only swallow a mouthful of bloody, bitter saliva.

"Go get some water," Zhu Han said.

The shopkeeper stood there, frozen.

Zhu Han glanced back at him, and only then did he move like a puppet that had been stepped on, bringing back a bowl of warm water.

Yu Ming took it, his hands trembling as he drank two mouthfuls. Water dripped down the corners of his mouth, landing on the medicine stains and quickly changing color.

"Who was it that passed you the whistle last night?" Zhu Han asked directly.

Yu Ming's lips opened and closed as if he were biting a cold wind.

He glanced at the shopkeeper, then at the doorway, and finally looked back at Zhu Han, whispering, "An old woman."

“Name,” Ah Huai said.

“She has no surname or given name.” Yu Ming forced a laugh. “People call her ‘Grandma.’ Her fingers are short, but her fingertips are thick, and her palms are calloused—not for holding needles, but for holding spoons. She often brings porridge to people.”

"Where does she get the whistle?" Zhu Han asked.

“The old shipyard.” Yu Ming closed his eyes. “No one builds ships there anymore, only a sloping roof frame remains, empty. She’s waiting for me there.”

"Who are you playing for?" Zhu Biao suddenly interjected.

Yu Ming looked up at him, a gray tinge around his eyes: "It's not for anyone in particular, it's for 'movement'. As soon as there's a sound, someone will move."

"Who are you going to hurt?" Zhu Han asked.

“It wasn’t the people who were moved,” Yu Ming said haltingly. “It was the horses that were moved. If your horses were startled that day and stepped on that stone step, the sign would fall over. Once it fell over, everything you said would be like writing on sand.”

Zhu Biao remained silent. After a moment, he uttered two words very softly: "So ruthless."

Yu Ming shook his head: "It's not ruthlessness, it's calculation."

The shopkeeper suddenly let out a "ho," which sounded like laughter. His laughter was rather unsightly, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes were bloodshot. He finally spoke: "Your Highness, Yu Ming only recognizes this line. He has connections above him, two layers away, which you can't reach."

"I can reach it," Zhu Han said calmly.

"Who?" the shopkeeper asked.

“You,” Zhu Han said.

The shopkeeper was stunned.

"You've accumulated quite a few prescriptions over the years."

Zhu Han casually picked up a pinch of powder from the porcelain jar on the shelf, held it to his nose, and smelled it.

“You clearly distinguish between the hemp-containing and the smoky-containing. You know exactly who to give what to. Grandma isn’t in charge, but you remember who she gives what to.”

The shopkeeper remained silent for a long time before finally letting out a short breath: "Wei Changgeng."

"Where are you from?" Zhu Han asked.

"I'm not from the capital," the shopkeeper shook his head.
“He came and went through the narrow alley at the end of the north lane, his steps like a cat. He rarely showed his face, and when he did come, he always wore a very old hat with a small gap on the brim. He usually bought two things: one was wolf's tooth grass, which he ground into a fine powder to stop bleeding; the other was a bone-strengthening powder, which he boiled down to be extremely bitter.”

"Has he trained?" Ah Huai asked.

“He doesn’t practice,” the shopkeeper said, “but he understands. Even old women bow their heads when they see him.”

"How does he contact them?" Zhu Han asked.

The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment, as if weighing something, before finally gritting his teeth and saying, "Xiaogufang. Every evening at 7 PM, there's a family behind the shop who lights a blue oil lamp. They don't put the lamp on the windowsill, but on the doorstep. As soon as the lamp is lit, Wei Changgeng will arrive. He doesn't go inside; he just stands outside the door for a while before leaving."

“Lighting a lamp by the threshold is for people on the street to see,” Zhu Han said, “not for people inside the house.”

"Yes." The shopkeeper nodded. "The people inside are blind."

"Why does he want this lamp?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Tell him the road is open,” the shopkeeper said. “If it’s not open, he won’t come.”

Zhu Han glanced at Yu Ming: "You still want to live?"

Yu Ming's eyes seemed to glisten with tears, yet also seemed to be dry.

He hesitated, raising his hand, stiffened by the medicine, clenching it into a fist, then slowly releasing it: "I want to."

“Then use it,” Zhu Han said, pointing to Yu Ming’s hand. “Your old injury, is it from a few years ago?”

“Two years,” Yu Ming said in a low voice. “My left tendon was severed once, and I dare not draw a bow.”

"So you blow the whistle, switch the medicine, and don't fight head-on," Zhu Han said.

Yu Ming nodded.

"Come with me." Zhu Han turned to the shopkeeper. "You come too."

The shopkeeper gave a wry smile: "Whom does the prince intend to give me to?"

“This is for yourself,” Zhu Han said. “You’ve stood here for over a decade, and you’ve saved a life. If you don’t want to die, take that life off the medicine shelf and put it somewhere that can be seen.”

The shopkeeper stared at him blankly for a long time before slowly nodding.

The night was not yet over, and the shops in the North Alley were not yet fully awake.

The sunlight cast a pale white line on the roof ridge, and the wind chimes under the eaves occasionally chimed, as if weaving a thin mist.

The door to the pharmacy was half-open, with a dim glow of charcoal fire inside. A pestle leaned against a mortar, and a bronze scale lay silently on the table.

Zhu Han and Zhu Biao, dressed in ordinary blue robes, walked one after the other along the edge of the alley bricks.

Ah Huai was a step ahead, chatting with the shopkeeper.

He gently placed the small bamboo basket on the counter and said with a smile, "Shopkeeper, the bone-setting powder I bought yesterday worked well, I'd like some more today."

The shopkeeper raised his eyelids slightly: "The bone-setting powder is a potent medicine; it cannot be used on people whose bones are not injured."

“I’m bringing this for someone else.” Ah Huai pushed the silver over and lowered his voice, “Is that ‘Master Yu’ from the North Gate here? He’s good at preparing medicine. He said yesterday that he was going to make a numbing ointment.”

The shopkeeper's gaze drifted slowly, as if observing the wind: "Master Yu didn't come."

Zhu Han stood outside a beam of morning light, like a passerby.

He looked at a medicine jar in the corner of the cabinet. The mouth of the jar was wrapped in oil paper, and there were marks on the edge of the oil paper where fingertips had rubbed. A thin layer of medicine powder, like frost, clung to the grooves in the marks.

He asked casually, "Shopkeeper, is this jar something only connoisseurs collect?"

"The inside is made of finely ground dried plum powder mixed with cowhide glue." The shopkeeper didn't look at him. "Ordinary customers don't need it." Zhu Biao raised his eyes, as if he had inadvertently glanced at the strip of cloth hanging on the screen behind the counter.

The strip of cloth was studded with needles, the one in the very center being slightly thicker than the others. Two strands of thread, pale yellow and almost white, were wrapped around the end of the needle; the tip of the needle was a little black, as if it had been burned.

"Do you want to use this needle yourself?" Zhu Biao asked.

The shopkeeper then looked at him properly: "What did you see?"

"I can't tell," Zhu Biao laughed. "I just felt that the needle was tied tightly at the end, so he must be a steady hand."

"Stable?" The shopkeeper scoffed. "You city folks love to use these fancy words. Whether something is stable or not depends on its actual performance."

"That's good." Zhu Han nodded slightly, as if moved by these words. He casually picked up the thin chain of the weighing pan on the counter, flicked it with his fingertips, and the chain steadily wrapped around the scale beam.

He raised his hand and then lowered it again, his movements composed. "Shopkeeper, could you please show me a medicinal herb?"

"What medicine?" the shopkeeper asked.

"A blend of dried plum, cowhide glue, and chicken bone grass, with a touch of rare fragrance."

Zhu Han pointed to the cabinet, "This fragrance is like it's been steamed out of cold iron."

The shopkeeper's eyes finally lit up: "What do you need it for?"

"Save him," Zhu Han said. "Save one hand."

The wind at the doorway suddenly stopped, as if it had been blocked by something.

Zhu Han looked over there and saw a gray-blue hem of clothing flash through the crack in the door.

Ah Huai's eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his toe, the door latch clicked shut, forcing the shadow back into the house.

The shopkeeper's expression changed, and he suddenly lowered his head and reached under the counter to lift the hidden panel.

Zhu Han tapped the counter with the back of his finger, a short, crisp tap, as if striking a bone. The shopkeeper's hand stopped.

"Let's go," Zhu Han said calmly. "Take me to see him."

"Why beat around the bush, Your Highness?" Ah Huai had already stepped over the counter and pulled back the screen from the inside, releasing a strong smell of medicine.

He used his foot to pry open the curtain, revealing a small, dimly lit room inside, resembling a well.

A man with a thin face and his arms wrapped in black cloth sat by the couch.

There are four knots on the black cloth, each knot is tightly pressed.

"Yu Ming?" Zhu Biao took a step closer, his tone neither too loud nor too soft.

The man looked up, his eyes dark and his voice hoarse: "Your Highness." He gave a wry smile, "I was wondering when I would see the Prince, since you walked in like this. I didn't expect the Prince to be here as well."

“We’re all here.” Zhu Han rolled up the cuffs of his blue robe an inch, revealing his wrist. “Show me your hand.”

Yu Ming looked down and saw that the black cloth looked like a snake twisted in his hand.

He didn't move. The shopkeeper took a deep breath and finally reached out to untie it.

With each layer unraveled, the medicinal smell intensified; at the innermost layer, there were old wounds on the skin and flesh, with new cracks extending down along the old scars, as if someone had trodden along an old road again and again.

The shopkeeper used tweezers to pry open a little, revealing a gray thread inside.

“This thread isn’t from this shop,” Zhu Han said. “It’s uneven in thickness, the ends are messy, and the person who handled it was shaking.”

Yu Ming smiled, but it was a bitter smile: "It shakes. Because it hurts."

"You could endure the pain, but you couldn't resist striking," Zhu Han said softly. "Why?"

"Because it's painful to look at," Yu Ming said slowly, as if using all his strength.

"There are so many people in front of the Imperial Academy, and you all stand there so calmly. Some people just want to see you panic."

He looked up. "I want to see too."

Zhu Biao remained silent.

He looked at the exposed hand, the scars gnarled like tree roots, and suddenly asked, "Whom did you learn your craft from?"

“Nowhere.” Yu Ming shook his head. “I’m just living the life of a craftsman. I work for whoever I can. If someone wants my hands, I’ll sell them.”

"Who will you sell it to?" Ah Huai asked coldly.

Yu Ming grinned: "Taipei City. You can find out it's Taipei City by checking. I don't want to name names. Because he said he didn't know, said he was courting death. He said—"

Yu Ming suddenly stopped talking, as if he remembered something, and his eyes darkened.

Zhu Han didn't press: "What did he say?"

He said, "If others want to see it, then you should do it for them to see."

Yu Ming said in a hoarse voice, "I asked, 'What are you looking at?' and he said, 'Look at you making a mess.'"

"Who are the 'others'?" Ah Huai asked again.

"I don't know who he is." Yu Ming stared at his hands.

"He always stayed behind the curtain and never said his name. I only remember that the incense he used was cold, like a mouthful of snow being swallowed."

The pharmacy fell silent for a moment.

Zhu Han suddenly tapped the scale pan lightly: "Shopkeeper, who in your shop likes that kind of fragrance the most?"

The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment: "Not many people buy them."

He thought for a moment, “But the day before yesterday someone came and asked for two packs. It was an old woman, from a noodle stall, who often sells noodles at the gate of the Imperial Academy.”

“We caught her,” Ah Huai replied, “but she’s tight-lipped.”

“Her mouth isn’t tight.” Zhu Han shook his head. “There’s powder between her fingers; she probably has a name.”

"Name?" Zhu Biao looked at him.

"The pharmacists will make a small mark on the package to prevent giving the wrong medicine."

Zhu Han said, "That mark looked like a stroke, but it was only half of a character. The old woman couldn't read, so she thought it was a line and smeared it between her fingers. I saw it."

The shopkeeper took a breath, as if his thoughts had been read: "Have you seen that shop before?"

“I just saw it on the edge of that oil paper on the counter.”

Zhu Han laughed, "It's the number 'nine'. You can use this number for regular customers."

The shopkeeper smiled wryly: "Your Highness has a good eye."

“Nine is good.” Zhu Han turned around. “Counting outwards from the north alley, whose door has nine fire patterns carved under it?”

“…The ironware shop.” The shopkeeper hesitated. “The one owned by the seventh brother.”

"Let's go." Zhu Han rolled up his sleeves. "Let's go take a look."

The wind was hot outside the blacksmith shop; the hammer struck the red-hot iron, sparks crackling and popping like a light rain.

Most of the people in the shop were villagers carrying hoes and craftsmen making a living.

The seventh brother, shirtless, his shoulder muscles bulging, but his eyes were smiling: "Gentlemen, are you buying ironware? Look at this blade—"

“We’re not buying.” Zhu Han’s gaze fell on the corner of the wall. “Who in your shop always walks so quietly?”

The seventh brother was taken aback: "Footsteps?" He glanced into the inner room, "Little sister."

"Call her out," Zhu Han said.

The seventh brother responded.

A moment later, a thin girl timidly lifted the curtain and came out, her eyes filled with a layer of gray.

There were small scars on the back of her hand from the sparks, but the edges of the scars were wiped clean.

"Do you often set up a noodle stall at the entrance of the Imperial Academy?" Zhu Han asked.

The girl didn't say anything, her eyes quickly lifted up and then lowered again.

Ah Huai placed the paper package on the table, gently peeled it open, revealing a wisp of pale gray perfume powder and a tiny metal piece inside. (End of Chapter)