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

The girl's eyelashes trembled.

"This is your short whistle," Zhu Han said calmly.
"You blow once, and the person around the corner moves; you blow twice, and the other person stops. Who are you blowing for?"

The girl pursed her lips and finally shook her head: "I don't recognize you."

The seventh brother panicked: "Little sister, what you've done...you've gotten yourself into trouble!"

"It wasn't her who caused it," Zhu Han waved his hand.
“She was just being used. Someone taught her to hide a whistle in a box under the noodle stall, and someone else taught her to rub powder on the back of her hands, saying that it would prevent her from getting burned.”

He looked at the girl and asked, "Are you afraid of getting burned?"

The girl paused for a moment, then whispered, "I'm scared."

“It’s good to be afraid.” Zhu Han nodded. “People who are afraid of getting burned won’t make big mistakes. Tell me, who is he?”

The girl looked up, and the layer of gray seemed to have been lightened by the wind.

She glanced at her brother, then at Zhu Han. The seventh prince gritted his teeth: "Your Highness, if she speaks, can you protect her?"

“I’ll protect her,” Zhu Han said. “I also want your shop to remain open tomorrow.”

The seventh brother knelt down with a "plop" and kowtowed heavily.

The girl's lips trembled slightly: "I don't know his name. He wore an old hat with a seam in the brim—a tear from the middle to the edge. His shoes didn't make a sound, and he walked like a cat."

"What did the powder smell like when he gave it to you?" Zhu Han asked.

"It's cold." The girl pressed her hands to her chest. "It's as cold as stone."

"That's enough." Zhu Han stood up. "Ah Huai, leave two people here. The girl can borrow us for two days; keep them under your watchful eye. Seventh Brother, keep the door open tomorrow, but don't bolt it when you close it at night. Someone might come asking around. Just say—"

"What did you say?" the seventh brother asked nervously.

“To say ‘I know nothing’ is the best answer.” Zhu Han said calmly. “Your ignorance is the best answer.”

"Yes." The seventh brother nodded repeatedly.

Just before leaving, Zhu Biao suddenly stopped, turned back to look at the girl, and asked, "What's your name?"

“…Xiao Shi,” the girl replied timidly.

"Tomorrow, you can set up your stall at the entrance of the Imperial Academy as usual," Zhu Biao said. "And cook an extra pot of noodles."

The girl was taken aback: "Who are you cooking extra for?"

"Cook extra for those who've been standing all morning," Zhu Biao laughed. "I'll pay for it."

Xiao Shi didn't understand and just nodded blankly. Lao Qi thanked him profusely.

In the afternoon, the heat on the streets gradually increased. Crowds gathered again in front of the Imperial Academy.

There was no lengthy argument today; Zhu Biao simply said, "I'm not going to reason with you today; I want a bowl of noodles."

The crowd burst into laughter, like water rippling in the wind.

Xiao Shi was so nervous that his hands trembled, but he still managed to cook noodles better than usual. The soup was clear but not bland, and the noodles were chewy.

She looked up and saw Zhu Biao holding a bowl, standing by the stone steps, and first offering it to a woman who was carrying a baby on her back.

"You go first." Zhu Biao handed over the bowl.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then accepted the gift and thanked her repeatedly.

People in the crowd kept cheering and making noise, and the aroma spread in layers. Some people even handed their own snacks to the children next to them, while others moved their stools forward half a step so that the old man could sit down.

The area around the stone steps suddenly resembled a small temple fair.

Just then, a shadow slid along the base of the wall from behind the crowd.

The shadow was so thin it was almost swallowed by the light. Zhu Han stood a little distance away, his gaze following the crack in the stone, and took a half step forward, as if held back by some tiny sound.

"We've arrived," he said softly to himself.

Side Quest: Protect the Imperial Academy for Three Days (In Progress)

[Listener's emotional state: One day remaining]

[Hint: The person in charge will be in place soon]

The shadow stopped behind Xiao Shi's stall, reaching for the bottom of the box.

There was no whistle in the box, only an ordinary wooden spoon. The hand paused, then the fingertips lifted a corner of the cloth, as if searching for something else.

Just then, an ordinary hand placed on the back of that hand and pressed down firmly.

"What are you looking for?" the ordinary hand asked, in a humble voice.

That's Zhu Han.

The man didn't look up, but flipped his hand over, trying to break free.

His movements were swift, like a fish swishing its tail in water. Zhu Han's grip wasn't strong, yet he accurately pressed down on a tendon on the back of the other's hand.

The man's fingers went numb, his hand went limp, and his knees bent an inch.

"Who sewed the stitches on your hat brim?" Zhu Han asked softly. "From the middle to the edge, not a single stitch was missed."

The man pulled his hat down even lower, as if he wanted to bury his face in it.

He didn't say anything, but his left shoulder suddenly felt heavy, as if he was using the force to push it away.

Ah Huai had already moved over like a shadow on the other side, pressing his fingers against the man's shoulder. The man's shoulder jerked, as if an extra layer of weight had been pressed down on him, rendering him unable to move.

“Yu Ming said you’re like a cat,” Zhu Han said. “I think you’re like a skunk, quick to arrive and quick to leave. But you’re not leaving today.”

The man's breath felt like scraping metal, and he finally raised his head.

He was a man in his thirties with a hard-boned face, deep-set eyes, and a gaze like nails.

There was a thin scar beneath the brim of his hat, running from his brow to his temple; it was shallow, yet it divided his entire face into two distinct sections.

"You called me Yu Ming's name, trying to scare me?" His voice was low and gritty. "You won't scare me."

"I'm not trying to scare you," Zhu Han shook his head. "I just want to ask you one question."

"Ask," the man sneered.

"Who are you doing all this for?"

The man's smile turned colder: "For my own viewing."

"Did you see it?" Zhu Han asked.

The man didn't answer, but slowly bit down on the back of his mouth, as if trying to force some words out from the back of his tongue.

After a long silence, he uttered two words: "Didn't see it."

"Do you still want to watch it?" Zhu Han asked.

The man stared at him, the flickering fire in his eyes like a lamp in the wind.

Xiao Shi gripped his apron tightly, his knuckles turning white.

People around were still eating noodles and chatting. A child spilled a bowl of soup on the stone steps. An old man next to him reached out and caught the bowl. Soup soaked the back of his hand, but he didn't say anything.

The man's breathing finally slowed down.

He suddenly lowered his eyes: "Let's disperse." His voice was very soft, but it sounded like he was saying it to himself.

Zhu Han didn't let go: "You call Yu Ming 'Master,' but what about yourself?"

The man paused for a moment, as if he hadn't expected anyone to ask that.

He looked up, the sharp edge in his eyes suddenly softening: "I have no name."

“Everyone has a name,” Zhu Han said. “Even if you forget, the neighbors will still call you by a name. What were you called in North Alley?”

“…Skinny Three.” He seemed to admit defeat, lowering his eyelids.
“My mother gave birth to three sons, and I was the thinnest one.”

“Skinny Three.” Zhu Han nodded slightly. “I’ve got it. Come on, take off your hat. Don’t hide under the eaves anymore.”

Thin Three didn't move. Ah Huai placed his hand on the crook of his arm and gently pushed him.

His hat slipped off and fell to the ground, the seam of the brim clearly visible.

"Who taught you to sew this?" Zhu Han asked.

“One person.” Skinny San looked at the crowd. “He’s better at sewing than I am. He said that once he sews it, he won’t be afraid of it tearing. He also said that as long as someone is watching, it’s not a waste of time.”

"What else did he say?" Zhu Han pressed.

He said there was no need to ask for names.

Skinny Three smiled, but his smile was cold. "If you ask, you'll be disappointed."

I won't ask his name.

Zhu Han said, "I'm asking you. Skinny Three, are you willing to stop?"

This sentence is like a pebble falling into the heart of the water.

The surrounding noise receded an inch, and sunlight fell on the seams of the hat, giving the threads a strange luster in the light. Thin San's eyelashes fluttered, as if caught in the wind.

He suddenly said, "My mother is waiting for me to eat."

"Then go eat." Zhu Han let go of her hand and added,
"After you finish eating, go to the blacksmith shop. Old Seven will be waiting for you. He wants you to make him a knife, a decent knife, not one to scare people."

Thin San looked up and stared at him blankly.

After a long pause, he responded softly, "Okay."

"Go ahead," Zhu Han waved his hand.

Thin Three turned around and squeezed into the crowd, like a drop of water merging into the water.

Xiao Shi finally let out the breath she had been holding in, and tears streamed down her face.

She hurriedly wiped it, saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's not your fault." Zhu Han pressed her hand down. "You can do the same thing tomorrow."

"Mmm." Xiao Shi nodded vigorously.

On the stone steps, Zhu Biao handed the last bowl of noodles to an old man.

The old man took it and said with a smile, "What a wonderful day! What a lively day!"

"That's good then." Zhu Biao smiled. "Keep it the same way tomorrow."

"I won't come tomorrow," the old man shook his head. "I'm going to see my grandson tomorrow."

“Even better.” Zhu Biao cupped his hands in greeting. “Please pass on a message to him for me—‘You can see up the steps even from below them.’”

The old man smiled so broadly his eyes narrowed into slits: "Good."

After sunset, the area in front of the Imperial Academy became quiet. The wind swept across the steps, and the wooden signboard appeared even darker in the twilight.

Just as Zhu Biao was about to return to his residence, someone whispered behind him, "Your Highness."

Han Shuo stood under the locust tree, his figure silhouetted against the tree in a sharp, clean line.

He approached and cupped his hands in greeting: "Regarding today's situation, I have another question."

"Ask away." Zhu Biao stopped.

"You invited them to eat noodles today, is it to show favor?" Han Shuo's gaze remained calm. "Or to show weakness?"

“Neither,” Zhu Biao shook his head. “I just wanted to connect the steps to the street.”

"Connected together?" Han Shuo repeated.

“When you stand on the podium and speak, your words fall silent as soon as they are spoken.”

Zhu Biao said, "I want the words to fall into the soup, into the noodles, and into the children's hands. That way, they will be brought home."

Han Shuo smiled, not mockingly, but as if reflecting on himself: "Your Highness is quite cunning."

“It’s not scheming,” Zhu Biao said earnestly. “It’s what I really want to do.”

The wind lifted the hem of his robe. Han Shuo remained silent for a long time, then suddenly raised his hand: "Your Highness, I submit to you by five-tenths."

"You don't have to submit to me," Zhu Biao said, sticking to his previous statement. "You only need to submit to yourself."

Han Shuo stared at him intently and nodded: "I have remembered it."

After he left, Zhu Biao turned around and saw Zhu Han standing in front of the sign.

Next to the sign, there was a line of extremely small text, close to the edge, that could only be seen by looking very closely—

"If you see it, you can disagree; if you don't see it, you'll only misunderstand."

Zhu Biao laughed: "Imperial Uncle, this is the line you added."

"Hmm." Zhu Han rubbed his eyes. "The characters are too small."

“Perfect,” Zhu Biao said. “If it were written too big, it wouldn’t sound like it was being said to myself.”

At night, the familiar light shines again on the east corridor of the Prince's Mansion.

The shadows of the elm trees stretched long on the ground, like fish slowly swimming.

Zhu Han sat by a stone table under the eaves, flipping through bamboo slips in his hand, the distant laughter of his servant reaching his ears.

"Sign in," he murmured to himself.

[Check-in location: In front of the ironware shop in North Alley]

[Reward: Craftsmanship Illustration - Sharp Blade Style (Standard Proportions, Center of Gravity)]

[Note: This term is used for "defense," not "offense."]

Zhu Han smiled and gently absorbed the pale golden characters into his heart.

He leaned back, his back against the pillar, and closed his eyes briefly. Soft footsteps came from inside the door. Zhu Biao poked his head in: "Uncle?"

"What?" Zhu Han opened his eyes.

"Father has sent word that he wants to see us tomorrow morning," Zhu Biao said. "Not in the palace, but in the training ground."

"A training ground?" Zhu Han raised an eyebrow. "He wants to watch you shoot arrows?"

"He said he wouldn't look at the arrows," Zhu Biao laughed, "but at the running."

“Running is good too.” Zhu Han stood up. “When you run, just like words, you need to have energy.”

"How should I run?" Zhu Biao asked seriously. "Should I run faster or more steadily?"

"The first lap is fast, the second lap is steady, and the third lap is unrestrained."

Zhu Han replied, "Let him see that you have potential, not just a dead end."

"I've remembered." Zhu Biao nodded, then suddenly stopped. "Uncle, about what happened with Shou San today... if Father asks, how should I answer?"

“Truly,” Zhu Han said. “If he says you did the right thing, remember it; if he says you did the wrong thing, remember it too.”

"What do you think?" Zhu Biao asked.

"I think you did a good job."

Zhu Han looked at him and said, "I also think there are better ones."

"How can it be better?" Zhu Biao pressed.

"Today you hand someone the noodles, tomorrow you give up your chair, and the day after tomorrow you give up your seat."

Zhu Han laughed, "One day, you can give up half of the steps."

"Give me half?" Zhu Biao paused, then understood, and smiled: "And the other half?"

"Give them to them." Zhu Han pointed outside. "Have them stand up here."

"Can you stand up?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Yes." Zhu Han paused, then added, "Even if they can't, we should still let them try."

"Alright," Zhu Biao replied, turning and going back into the house. A short while later, he poked his head out again. "Uncle, what do you think of the word 'nothing'?"

“I like it,” Zhu Han said.

“I like it too,” Zhu Biao laughed. “It’s like leaving an empty seat for tomorrow.”

"It's like leaving an empty seat for yourself," Zhu Han said.

The next morning, the dew on the training ground was still wet.

Zhu Yuanzhang, dressed in plain clothes, stood with his hands behind his back, looking at the white line at the end of the field.

He heard footsteps and knew who it was without turning around.

"Run three laps," he said. "No rushing, no slacking off."

Zhu Biao responded. Without much thought, he stepped onto the field.

He went fast on the first lap, the wind tugging at the hem of his clothes; on the second lap he tightened up, his footsteps like a dense drumbeat; on the third lap he suddenly loosened up, like a fish swimming out of a small pond, his eyes shining.

After reading it, Zhu Yuanzhang nodded: "It's acceptable."

Zhu Biao stood still, panting, with a fine layer of sweat on his forehead.

Zhu Yuanzhang then said, "I've heard a thing or two about what you did yesterday."

"Your subject has been presumptuous," Zhu Biao said, bowing slightly.

"No offense intended," Zhu Yuanzhang waved his hand. "There were people in the crowd who wanted to see you make a fool of yourself. You didn't make a fool of yourself, nor did you show off. Good."

He turned to Zhu Han: "I've also seen some of those 'invisible lines' you arranged."

"The thread isn't for binding, it's for supporting," Zhu Han said. (End of Chapter)