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

Zhu Biao turned around and saw that the people in the three circles were moving: the old craftsman in the innermost circle was taking square steps, each step landing on the accent of the drumbeat.

The stuttering students in the middle circle seemed to be taking shelter from the rain, skipping over the soft notes with light steps; the peddlers in the outermost circle were the most interesting. They were paired up, and when one person stepped on a strong note, the other person had to step on a soft note, which was a strange "duet".

"Your Highness!" Bai Yu suddenly pointed to the wall, "Someone has climbed over the wall again!"

This time, it was a fat man in a silk shirt who climbed over the wall. He fell flat on his face, and the silver ingots in his arms rolled all over the ground.

"I...I'm here to donate money!" He hurriedly picked up the silver. "I heard they teach people how to walk here? I'll offer five hundred taels, please, Your Highness, accept me as your student!"

Zhu Han squatted down, picked up a silver ingot and weighed it in his hand: "When you walk, your left foot is half an ounce heavier than your right foot."

The fat man was stunned: "You...how did you know?"

“Because of this piece of silver,” Zhu Han tossed the silver ingot back into his arms, “it was in your left pocket for three months, but in your right pocket it was only in your right pocket for one month.”

He stood up and clapped his hands. "Bai Zan, put the silver into the storeroom and ask the servants to leave."

"Your Highness!" the fat man cried anxiously, "I really want to learn!"

"Sincere?" Zhu Han pointed at Zhu Biao, who was playing the drum. "If you can walk a straight line with your eyes closed like him, I will take you in."

The fat man staggered and closed his eyes, only to bump into a locust tree after taking two steps.

He rubbed his forehead, about to try again, when he suddenly heard a crisp slapping sound—it was the stuttering student standing in front of him, clapping and loudly saying, "Good! Good!"

Although each word was spoken haltingly, it was spoken with exceptional clarity.

"You..." The fat man's eyes widened, "You're not stuttering anymore?"

The student grinned, revealing two tiger teeth: "I can take it back, and I can say it."

When the sun was directly overhead, Zhu Han announced a break.

After everyone had left, he walked alone to the drum and gently stroked the drumhead with his fingers.

There was a clear crack on the drumhead, caused by the young man who struck it yesterday.

"Your Highness," Miao Xing said, bringing over a teacup, "those drummers are still waiting outside, saying they want to become your apprentices."

"Let them in." Zhu Han took the teacup. "But they're not bowing to me, they're bowing to the drum."

The young people were all filled with trepidation as they were led into the courtyard.

They had expected to meet some reclusive master, but instead they saw Zhu Han squatting in front of the drum, holding a handful of glutinous rice flour.

"Watch closely." He sprinkled glutinous rice flour evenly onto the drumhead. "The tighter the drumhead is stretched, the farther the sound travels; but if it's stretched too tight, it will look like this—"

He suddenly struck the drum with the drumstick, and the drumhead cracked open with a "bang," sending glutinous rice flour flying like snowflakes.

The young people gasped in surprise, but Zhu Han slowly reached into the drum cavity and pulled out a loose drum nail: "The drum nail is the bone, the drum skin is the flesh, and the glutinous rice flour is the blood. If any of the three are missing, the drum is dead."

He looked up at the young man in the lead and asked, "What were you thinking when you were drumming yesterday?"

The young man's face turned pale: "I...I want the prince to notice me."

“So your drumming is full of distractions.” Zhu Han stood up. “A true drummer beats his own heartbeat.”

He handed the drumsticks to the young man. “Try again. This time, focus on one thing—make sure the drumhead is pressed even more firmly against your palm.”

The young man took the drumsticks and took a deep breath.

This time, his movements slowed down noticeably, each one like a caress on a lover's cheek.

The drumbeats started softly, gradually became steady, and eventually subtly echoed the rhythm played by Zhu Biao.

"Alright." Zhu Han nodded. "From today onwards, you will all come here to practice drumming every day at the hour of Wei (1-3 PM). However, there is one rule—"

He suddenly raised his hand, and the drumstick flew "whoosh" towards the top of the wall, startling a stray cat that was about to steal food. "When practicing the drum, you are not allowed to think about anything unrelated to the drum."

In the afternoon, a light rain began to fall. When Zhu Biao came to find Zhu Han carrying a wooden plaque, he saw Zhu Han standing under the eaves watching the rain patter on the locust leaves.

“Uncle,” he handed over the wooden plaque, “the words on the back are all written, would you like to see if they are acceptable?”

Zhu Han took the wooden plaque. The first one read, "Stand without complaint, leave without contention, and collect without delay"—it was the old man's handwriting, vigorous and powerful.

The second piece reads "Slow and steady wins the race," the handwriting crooked yet revealing a childlike quality.

The third piece reads, "You are not a roadblock, nor is he the wind," the fourth piece reads, "The fire in your heart never goes out," but the last piece only has two words: "Listen to the wind."

"'Listening to the Wind'?" Zhu Han raised an eyebrow. "Who wrote it?"

“Yes…” Zhu Biao hesitated for a moment, “It’s that stuttering student. He said that last night, while lying in bed, he heard the sound of the wind passing through the window frame, and suddenly he understood what ‘being able to take back’ meant.”

Zhu Han remained silent for a moment, then turned the wooden plaque over.

Each card has the three characters "Stand, Walk, Collect" engraved on the front, but the fonts are different for each card: the old man's font looks like a mountain, the student's font looks like bamboo, the child's font looks like clouds, the peddler's font looks like a road, and the back of the last card, "Listen to the Wind," is engraved with a crane spreading its wings.

“Okay.” He returned the wooden plaques to Zhu Biao. “Hang these plaques on both sides of the courtyard gate tomorrow, but…” He suddenly lowered his voice, “When you hang them, have Bai Yu do it.”

Zhu Biao was taken aback: "Why?"

Zhu Han smiled but remained silent.

"Your Highness," Bai Zan rushed over, "Someone from the Imperial Academy has come and wants to borrow some wooden plaques for an exhibition..."

“No.” Zhu Han was teaching the children to weave straw sandals. “Tell them that if they want to see it, they can come to the old academy and stand in the rain to see it.”

Bai Zan was stunned: "In the rain?"

“Yes.” Zhu Han picked up a straw rope. “These characters need to be rained on, sunbathed, and trampled in mud to be considered living characters.”

He suddenly looked up at Zhu Biao and said, "Biao'er, go and move that old drum to the gate of the courtyard."

Zhu Biao did as instructed. As the drum was placed beneath the wooden sign, someone in the crowd suddenly shouted, "I recognize this drum! Yesterday, a fat man tried to donate money, but the prince chased him away!"

“It’s not about rushing him.” Zhu Han walked to the drum. “It’s about making him understand that some things money can’t buy.”

He picked up the drumsticks and said, "Today I will strike it three times. Anyone who can walk in a straight line following the rhythm can enter the academy to study for half an hour."

When the drums sounded, the rain poured down even harder.

Strangely, no one sought shelter from the rain—they stared at Zhu Han's footsteps, at the words on the wooden sign, and even at the water droplets on the tips of their own shoes.

When the third drumbeat sounded, more than a dozen people simultaneously took their first step.

They walked unsteadily, but they all stared intently ahead, as if some invisible thread was pulling them along.

"Your Highness!" Bai Yu suddenly pointed at the crowd, "That fat man is here too!"

Zhu Han followed his finger and saw the fat man in the silk shirt walking with uneven steps.

His silk shirt was already soaked through, and his hair was plastered to his face, but he took each step with exceptional seriousness.

When he stood in front of Zhu Han, his left foot was indeed half an ounce heavier than his right foot—not because of the silver, but because of the mud.

"What's your name?" Zhu Han asked.

"Wang... Wang Fu," the fat man gasped, "Your Highness, I... I walked in a straight line!"

"Not straight enough." Zhu Han shoved the drumsticks into his hand. "Beat the drum."

Wang Fu was stunned: "I...I don't know how..."

"Knock in sync with your heartbeat," Zhu Han said, taking a step back. "Just like walking."

Wang Fu closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The first strike landed on the rim of the drum, the second on the center, but the third struck his own finger. He winced in pain, but seeing that Zhu Han didn't stop him, he gritted his teeth and struck the fourth, fifth... Gradually, the drumbeat gained some rhythm, though chaotic, it exuded a stubborn vitality.

“Alright.” Zhu Han nodded. “From today onwards, you will come here at Chenshi (7-9 AM) every day to beat the drum and leave at Youshi (5-7 PM). But there is one condition—” He pointed to Wang Fu’s silk robe, “Wear coarse cloth when you come, and change back into the silk robe when you leave.”

Wang Fu looked down at his soaked silk robe, then suddenly grinned: "Yes, Your Highness!"

When the rain stopped, over a hundred people had gathered at the entrance of the courtyard.

Some stood, some sat, and several vendors even set up stalls directly on the ground—selling straw sandals, bamboo hats, and hot tea—creating a small market outside the old school.

"Your Highness," Miao Xing leaned closer, "should we disperse them?"

"Why disperse them?" Zhu Han shook his head with a smile. "Let them stay. But..."

He suddenly raised his voice, "Bai Zan, go to the storeroom and bring out ten stools, and brew a pot of ginger tea—remember to add plenty of brown sugar."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Zhu Biao stood under the corridor, watching his father, the imperial uncle, and the people chatting and laughing, and suddenly felt something sprouting in his heart.

He turned to look for the stuttering student, only to find him squatting in front of the drum, gently stroking the cracks on the drumhead with his fingers.

"You..." Zhu Biao had barely opened his mouth when the student suddenly looked up, his face flushed: "Your Highness!"

"Don't be nervous." Zhu Biao crouched down. "What are you looking at?"

The student hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "This...this crack...it looks like...like a road."

"road?"

“Yes.” The student’s eyes lit up. “The drumhead is cracked, but the sound can still be heard. It’s like…like a person who falls down but can still get up and keep walking.”

He suddenly pointed to the words "Listen to the Wind" on the wooden sign, "Your Highness, listen—the wind is teaching us how to walk."

Zhu Biao calmed down and indeed heard the rustling of locust leaves in the breeze, mixed with the laughter of children in the distance, the cries of peddlers, and even the intermittent drumming of Wang Fu.

These sounds intertwined, creating something like an invisible song.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “The wind is indeed teaching us.”

As dusk settled, Zhu Han announced that the day was over.

After the crowd dispersed, he walked alone to the courtyard gate and hung the wooden sign that read "Listening to the Wind" higher up.

Under the moonlight, the crane carved on the back of the plaque seemed about to take flight.

"Your Highness," Bai Zan asked softly, "Will you still be beating the drums tomorrow?"

"Knock." Zhu Han turned and walked down the corridor. "But have someone else knock tomorrow."

"Who?"

“That stuttering student,” Zhu Han said with a smile, “he said the wind was teaching him to walk. I’d like to hear if the wind is teaching him how to play the drum.”

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in thunderous applause.

Zhu Han stood under the corridor, watching the students surrounded by the crowd, and suddenly felt the fire in his chest burn even brighter.

He turned to Zhu Biao and said, "Biao'er, go and move that 'No Talk' stone tablet to the gate of the courtyard."

"Now?" Zhu Biao asked.

“Now,” Zhu Han nodded, “tell everyone—some things don’t need to be said aloud to travel far.”

Zhu Biao responded and left.

Zhu Han walked to the drum and gently stroked the cracks on its surface.

The wind swept through the corner of the courtyard, lifting the hem of his clothes and also stirring the crane on the wooden sign.

He suddenly remembered what the system had said when he checked in last night:

[Check-in Location: The Wind and Sound of the Old Academy Main Courtyard]

[Reward: Sound Vibration Technique - Basic (Can hear footsteps within 100 paces); Bonus: 'Unquenchable Heartfire' extended for three days]

At the time, he didn't understand the use of "sound vibration technique," but now he suddenly understands—it turns out that some sounds really can change people's hearts.

"Your Highness!" Bai Yu ran over from the direction of the Imperial Academy. "The teachers from the Imperial Academy have arrived and say they want to have a walking contest with you!"

Zhu Han was taken aback, then burst into laughter: "A contest? Good! Let them come!" He turned to the crowd and shouted, "No drumming today—we're walking!"

Zhu Han stood outside the crowd, watching all of this, and suddenly felt his heart filled with anticipation.

"Your Highness!" Wang Fu ran over carrying the drum, having changed from his silk robes into coarse cloth. "Look, I've fixed the drum!"

Zhu Han looked down and saw that the crack on the drumhead had been carefully repaired; the stitches were thick, but exceptionally sturdy. "Good." He patted Wang Fu on the shoulder. "You'll walk the first lap today."

"Me?" Wang Fu's eyes widened. "But...but I didn't walk well..."

"You need to practice if you're not walking well." Zhu Han shoved the drumsticks into his hand. "Play the drum."

Wang Fu took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and struck the first note.

The courtyard was still damp after the rain, and water droplets seeping from the cracks in the stones rolled down one by one, like tiny bells.

Wang Fu stood in the center of the courtyard, holding the repaired drum.

Zhu Han raised his hand, gesturing for the crowd to retreat to the corridor. His voice was low, but it quelled the chaos.

"Make way, everyone. Wang Fu will go first lap."

"Me?" Wang Fu hugged the drum tighter, his eyes darting between the faces of the crowd like a cow startled by the rain. "Your Highness, I'm afraid I'll step on the wrong thing."

“Even if you’re going to make a mistake, keep moving,” Zhu Han said. “Touch the ground with your toes, make sure your soles are firmly planted, and pull your heels back. Follow your feet, don’t think about anything else.”

The stuttering student, who was holding a drumstick, nodded hurriedly upon hearing this and added softly, "I...I'll take care of it for him."

"Okay." Zhu Han looked at him. "Slow down, don't rush."

The crowd fell silent. The straw sandal seller tied a rope to his sandals and hung them high, tilting his chin up to look; the tea seller turned the stove's air vent to its lowest setting, steam swirling above his head.

Several children squatted side by side on the steps, each holding a handful of sunflower seeds, not daring to crack them open, just squeezing the shells until they cracked.

"Boom."

The first drumbeat landed in the center of the courtyard, like the first drop of water in a stream after the rain.

Wang Fu stepped out with his left foot; his silk robe had been replaced with coarse cloth, which rose and fell on his chest.

He followed closely with his right foot, his steps becoming slightly more steady.

"Boom, boom."

As the drumbeats subsided, the stuttering student continued to beat the drums while subconsciously counting the beats in his mind.

He suddenly stopped, looked up at Zhu Han: "Your Highness, we need to change it—"

"Change what?" Zhu Han laughed.

"Change, change the weaker shot!" The student's face flushed red. "He's left-heavy and right-light, put the weaker shot on, put it on the left." (End of Chapter)