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

"Help me walk, and walk steadily."

Zhu Yuanzhang nodded, "Go faster."

He turned his back, then after a while, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned back and asked, "Who wrote 'nothing'?"

Zhu Han smiled: "An old man."

When he writes 'nothing,' just treat it as if he's writing 'something.'

Zhu Yuanzhang said, "One day, he might even write the character 'full'."

"That's good," Zhu Han said.

Zhu Yuanzhang walked away with his hands behind his back, his silhouette stretched straight in the morning light.

Zhu Biao stood there for a moment, then suddenly spoke up: "When Father Emperor said 'full,' he meant we shouldn't take all the bowls away, right?"

“Yes.” Zhu Han smiled, “Leave some for others.”

"I'll remember that." Zhu Biao breathed a sigh of relief. "Shall we go to the Imperial Academy again today?"

“Not today,” Zhu Han shook his head. “Go to North Alley. There’s still some loose ends to clean up.”

"Yu Ming?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Yu Ming will be honest,” Zhu Han said. “What I want to see is the one behind the ‘hat brim’.”

"Will he come?" Zhu Biao raised an eyebrow.

“He will.” Zhu Han looked into the distance. “If he wants to see it, we’ll let him see it. Let him see a scene he thought he could disrupt, but in the end, it will fall steadily.”

In the afternoon, the shadows in the North Alley area were shorter.

At the entrance of the blacksmith shop, Lao Qi stirred the fire in the furnace until it burned even brighter, sweat dripping down his back in streaks.

Standing beside him was Skinny Three, who held an unsharpened knife blank in his hand, his eyes showing a long-lost focus.

“Based on the proportions of this painting, reduce it by one part.”

Zhu Han summarized the "Craftsmanship Diagram: The First Style of a Sharp Blade" into a few simple words: "This knife is not for people to look at, but for people to use. The focus should be on this."

He pointed to a spot on the back of the knife, saying, "Holding it in your hand, you'll feel 'submission'."

The seventh prince exclaimed, "Your Highness understands."

"I know a little," Zhu Han smiled.

Suddenly, a very light footstep came from the alley entrance, like someone wearing a very thin layer of clothing stepping on dry leaves.

The thin third brother's ears twitched, and the seventh brother also looked up.

A man wearing an old hat emerged from around the corner; the brim of his hat was finely sewn shut. He stopped at the doorway.

"You've arrived." Zhu Han greeted him as if he were a returning guest. "Come in and have a seat."

The man didn't sit down. He looked around, his gaze falling on the knife blank, then on the hand of the skinny third man, and finally on the furnace that the seventh man had turned on to its brightest.

Finally, his gaze slowly shifted to Zhu Han's face: "You guys are very good at acting."

“You’re not bad either,” Zhu Han laughed. “Yesterday you almost broke that sign, but unfortunately—you gave the wrong whistle.”

The man gave a nonchalant smirk: "Wrong is wrong."

"What do you want?" Zhu Han asked.

"Me?" The man seemed amused. "I don't want anything."

He raised his hand to touch the brim of his hat. "I just want to look."

"Looking at us making a mess?" Zhu Han asked.

"Look at you kneeling." The man's voice was broken into segments, like a knife scraping against old wood. "Kneeling before everyone, begging for a breath of air."

“You’ve chosen the wrong place,” Zhu Han shook his head. “You should go to the theater.”

The man smiled faintly: "The theater is fake, but this place is real."

"That's good." Zhu Han nodded. "Then look at a real one."

He picked up the knife blank and handed it to the skinny man: "Hold hands."

The thin man gripped it. The unsharpened blade rested heavily in his palm.

Zhu Han gently touched his wrist: "Raise it up."

Skinny Three raised the knife, his arm trembling slightly before he steadied it. Old Seven nodded beside him: "This knife has weight to it."

Zhu Han looked at the person at the door: "You want to see me kneel? I won't. I'll show you that you can get things done without kneeling."

The man's eyelids twitched, and the shadow of his hat brim flicked across his face.

He suddenly stepped forward, raising his wrist as if to snatch the knife blank.

As the skinny third man stepped aside, the seventh man's iron clamp suddenly gripped his wrist, causing him to pull back half a step in pain.

"You really like to push people," Zhu Han said calmly. "Let me ask you something too—have you ever knelt down?"

The man paused for a moment, then the fire in his eyes suddenly blazed fiercely: "You've knelt! Are you satisfied now?"

His voice suddenly hardened, "I've knelt before, so I want to see you kneel! I want to see you fall down the steps!"

You kneel because no one is helping you up.

Zhu Han said, "You see people fall because no one helps them up. So what are you doing here?"

"Look." He said the same word again.

"I've seen enough." Zhu Han waved his hand. "You can leave now."

The man was stunned, as if he didn't understand those three words.

He glanced at Lao Qi, then at Shou San, and finally at Zhu Han: "Aren't you going to arrest me?"

"Why did I arrest you?" Zhu Han asked.

“Because I want you to fall!” he gritted his teeth.

"If you don't want to break the law," Zhu Han said, "I'll take care of what you did; and I won't pretend to see what you didn't do."

The man seemed to have been doused with a bucket of cold water; his lips moved, but he didn't say anything more.

"Give him a bowl of water."

Zhu Han said to Lao Qi, "It's hot."

The seventh brother was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly brought it out.

The man took the water, his fingers still trembling.

He looked up at Zhu Han, his eyes filled with a complex mix of three or four kinds of light: "You guys are very good at acting."

“Then remember to watch it.” Zhu Han smiled calmly. “The play is called ‘Pushing People Forward Half a Step.’”

The man tilted his head back and gulped down the water, the fiery heat rolling down his throat and into his stomach.

He coughed, put down his bowl, turned and took two steps, then suddenly stopped and said in a low voice, "My surname is Miao."

"What's wrong with that?" Zhu Han asked.

“Mistake.” He turned around, revealing a clear eye beneath the brim of his hat. “The ‘walking’ character.”

"I've got it." Zhu Han nodded.

As Miao walked away, his footsteps slowly faded into the alley.

The seventh prince breathed a sigh of relief: "Your Highness, he... just let him go?"

“He will come back,” Zhu Han said, “but he won’t wear this hat again.”

The thin man, holding the blade blank, suddenly said, "Your Highness, can I sharpen the back of the blade to make it smoother?"

"Okay." Zhu Han looked at him. "Go ahead and sharpen it. Sharpening a knife is just as painful as sharpening a person."

"Tormenting?" Skinny Three asked, puzzled.

"Leave the edges where they should be," Zhu Han laughed. "Don't smooth them all out."

As evening fell, the lights in the Prince's Mansion were turned on once again.

Zhu Biao spread out paper in his study, and with a stroke of his pen, wrote down the first sentence he would say the next day.

He stopped writing and looked up: "Uncle, this man, Miao Xing..."

“He’s an observer,” Zhu Han said. “The more he observes, the more he likes to find fault; the more faults he finds, the more he wants to take action. If you let him see something else, he’ll be halfway there.”

"And the other half?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Let him leave on his own.” Zhu Han looked out the window. “We’ll give him a lamp, but whether he takes it or not, we can’t force him.”

"Should I go again tomorrow?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Go,” Zhu Han said, “but don’t speak tomorrow.”

"Not going to tell?" Zhu Biao was stunned.

"Let them talk," Zhu Han laughed. "You just listen."

"What am I supposed to listen to?"

"Listen to the words beyond 'nothingness'."

"What word?" Zhu Biao pressed on.

“‘Stay.’” Zhu Han said softly, “The ‘stay’ of ‘staying’.”

On the morning of the third day, the stone steps of the Imperial Academy were not as bustling as they had been the day before.

The crowd remained, but instead of pushing forward, an empty circle was left.

The wooden sign is still there, but a small basket has been added next to it. Inside the basket are a few tiles with the words "Dare to Speak Out" written on them.

"It's your turn to speak today."

Zhu Biao only said this one sentence before moving his seat half a step to the side.

He stood to the side, his hands behind his back, quietly watching the center of the crowd.

A middle-aged man in a short brown robe stepped forward first, picked up a tile, and said, "I have something to say. His Highness said the other day that he would acknowledge it, but some people didn't believe him. I do."

"Why should we believe it?" someone asked from behind.

"Because he dared to leave this sign here for three days."

The middle-aged man put the tile back into the basket. "My child fell down outside yesterday, but I didn't help him up. I let him get up by himself. I think he'll be able to walk more steadily in the future."

Some people in the crowd nodded. Then a young student stepped forward, picked up a tile, and said, "Your Highness said 'degree,' and I've remembered it. But I'd like to ask—could Your Highness write 'degree' down for us to see?"

“Write it.” Zhu Biao nodded. “Write it next to that sign. Write it for three days, until it’s full.”

"Let me say one more thing." An elderly craftsman took the tile in his hand, squeezed it, and then put it down.
“I haven’t read many books, but I understand your ‘slowness.’ Being slower is more useful than being faster.”

Ah Huai quietly approached Zhu Han and whispered, "Your Highness, Miao Xing is standing on the outermost circle."

"I saw it." Zhu Han's gaze swept across the crowd and lingered for a moment on the most inconspicuous shadow.

The ripples in the listener's heart slowly subsided at this moment, and he suddenly felt that the voices of the past three days had found their place, no longer as empty as the wind blowing through the bamboo forest.

In the afternoon, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the locust leaves, and children chased after the light spots at the edge of the empty circle, their laughter ringing out clearly.

When the event ended, there were seven or eight more tiles covered with writing in the basket next to the wooden sign. Some were well-written, and some were crooked, but each one was pressed down firmly.

"Your Highness." The headmaster stepped forward, straightened his clothes, and slowly cupped his hands. "I have learned a great deal these past three days."

"You flatter me, sir," Zhu Biao returned the greeting.

"It's not an overstatement," the headmaster smiled. "It's just that this old man learned these things too late. It's good that Your Highness remembered to have us write as well."

“I’ll write again tomorrow,” Zhu Biao said.

"Don't write tomorrow." The headmaster shook his head. "His Highness should go watch the run tomorrow."

Zhu Biao was taken aback, then burst into laughter: "Sir, in sync."

The headmaster bowed and stepped aside.

The crowd gradually dispersed. Miao Xing stood under the locust tree for a while, then finally approached the wooden sign.

He put his hands in his sleeves, his eyes fixed on the line of small print for a long, long time.

He suddenly reached into the basket, picked up a tile, and wrote a word on it: "See".

He placed the tile down, turned and left, his steps neither fast nor slow.

He reached the alley entrance, then suddenly stopped and turned back, raising his hand slightly towards the two people on the stone steps. He didn't speak, as if saying "farewell."

As night fell, the lights inside the Prince's Mansion shone even warmer.

Zhu Han and Zhu Biao sat facing each other. There was only a bowl and a cup of tea on the table.

The shadow of the elm tree outside resembles a gently clasped hand.

"Uncle," Zhu Biao said in a low voice, "the past three days have felt like I'm learning to walk."

"You've learned well," Zhu Han said.

"I want to walk faster," Zhu Biao said.

"Speed ​​isn't in your feet," Zhu Han stared at him, "it's in your heart."

"Your heart?" Zhu Biao laughed. "Your heart can run away?"

"Yes." Zhu Han nodded. "If you've decided where you're going, even if you're a step behind, no one can catch up with you."

"Then I understand."

Zhu Biao picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and asked, "Uncle, are you tired?"

"I'm not tired," Zhu Han smiled. "I'm happy too."

"That's good." Zhu Biao put down his tea. "Tomorrow, shall we go and collect that plaque?"

"Let's keep it for one more day," Zhu Han said. "Let even those who don't want to come take a look. After they've seen it, we'll really take it back."

Before dawn, the sky was like a thin layer of blue silk.

Dewdrops rolled down the stone steps of the Imperial Academy, following the characters on the stone tablet, and stopped at the horizontal stroke, like a tiny mark.

Zhu Biao arrived even before the sun.

He rolled up his sleeves, put away the oilcloth that had sheltered him from the rain the night before, and turned around to order someone to clear the way, when he saw a hunched old man already picking up a broom and carefully sweeping the edge of the stone.

"Father-in-law," Zhu Biao said quickly, "I'll do it."

The old man looked up, his eyes clear and bright, a smile playing at the corners of his eyes: "You stood there, so let me sweep. Let's each do what we're supposed to do."

Zhu Biao smiled and said, "Okay."

After scanning it a few times, the old man suddenly said, "What you wrote, 'Actions speak louder than words,' is useful."

"This is for myself," Zhu Biao said earnestly, "and also for those who pass by."

The old man grunted and slammed the broom on the ground: "No need to say much today. When I teach children to write, the first thing I say is, 'Keep your palms warm and your pen steady.' Just keep your palms warm today, and someone will come."

"Thank you." Zhu Biao bowed.

Footsteps outside the door grew louder, but the people who came today were quieter than those who came yesterday.

A young boy in short brown clothes picked up the tile from yesterday that had the word "see" written on it and wiped it repeatedly, as if polishing a small mirror.

In the corner, Miao Xing changed into ordinary coarse cloth and no longer wore the hat.

He stood on the outermost circle, leaning against the locust tree, his hands tucked into his sleeves, watching without saying a word.

"Your Highness," Ah Huai stepped forward and whispered, "The Prince has arrived."

Zhu Han, dressed in a plain-colored robe, walked over casually. His gaze swept across the stone tablet and then stopped on a newly added small character.

It was the old man who wrote the character "久" last night. The ink has dried, but the brushstrokes still retain their strength.

A thought struck him, and his fingertips lightly tapped his cuff—the "Echoes of the Streets" unfolded in his mind like a thin silk scroll, and the density of footsteps slowly emerged.

"I won't speak today," Zhu Biao smiled at him.

“Hmm.” Zhu Han smiled as well. “Let’s see what they say.”

In the small basket in front of the stone, there were more than a dozen more tiles, with the words "Dare to Speak Out" written on them.

The headmaster stood in the crowd, his back slightly straight, like an old bamboo.

He didn't rush ahead; he simply put his hands in his sleeves and waited quietly.

A woman selling cakes stepped into the empty circle first. She took a piece of tile from her sleeve, held it in her palm, and glanced down at it.

Looking up, he was no longer timid: "Let me say something. Your Highness's 'admitting mistakes' stone—I didn't believe it at first. Yesterday, my son insisted on coming to join in the fun, and I couldn't stop him, so I followed him. I saw Your Highness stand in front of the stone for a moment without saying a word. I felt relieved. I don't understand those big rules, but seeing you standing there makes me feel less anxious."

"Why aren't you panicking?" someone asked from behind.

"Based on the word 'unmoved'."

The woman laughed, “My old man gets drunk and makes a scene. If I ignore him, he calms down. If I pay attention to him, he gets even more rowdy. You all standing still has actually silenced the commotion in my heart.” (End of Chapter)