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

Zhu Han smiled and shook his head, saying, "I'm not playing, you guys play. But your game looks really fun, could you teach me how to play?"

The children immediately gathered around enthusiastically, explaining the rules of the game to Zhu Han in a flurry of chatter.

Zhu Han listened attentively, occasionally asking questions.

Before long, he had basically mastered how to play the game.

The stone slabs at Nanshikou were tinged red by the setting sun, and the children jumped around in their play squares, sweating profusely.

The squares of the hopscotch game are not square, and the lines are crooked, but there is a lively order to them—one square is written with "Stand", another with "Walk", and there are also "Collect", "Give way", "Turn", "Stop", and the last square is drawn with a "Slow down" shape that looks like an ear.

The little ones took one step at a time, muttering to themselves, as if they were trying to catch the wind from the street with their feet.

"Your Highness, have you learned it yet?" the leader of the group asked at the top of his lungs.

"More or less." Zhu Han smiled, squatted down and weighed the chalk used to draw the grids in his hand, then looked at the worn-out shadow line under the children's feet. "Who came up with this 'slow' grid?"

"Me!" The two children raised their hands at the same time, glared at each other, and stood with their hands on their hips, refusing to give way. Su Zhi, who was standing next to them, smiled and said, "Each of you remember half, so don't fight over it when you get back."

Zhu Biao squatted at the other end, watched for a while, then suddenly stood up and said to the children, “It’s fun, but you drew the ‘standing’ character too small. The first step should be big so you won’t panic. Tomorrow when you draw grids, the ‘standing’ character should take up two grids.”

"Why should I?" the leader protested.

“You guys always miss the mark on the first step.” Zhu Biao raised his eyes. “Who’s willing to move the first square bigger? I’ll lend him a red string tomorrow.”

"Borrow! Borrow!" A bunch of little heads shouted in unison, cheering wildly.

Amidst laughter, a tofu vendor carrying a shoulder pole came along as dusk fell, the pole trembling on his shoulder and the bowls jingling.

The argument between the middle-aged man and the young vendor had become a minor ripple on the roadside, quickly swallowed up by other interesting developments.

Su Zhi lifted the corner of the curtain, turned around, and asked, "Your Highness, is that 'mediation office' at the South Market really going to be established?"

“Stand up,” Zhu Han replied gently. “Not too big, not too small, a table, a stool, three boards, and five things hanging on the side—shoes, red rope, shadow thread, sugar painting ring, and wooden stake.”

"It's like a stage," Su Zhi laughed.

“Like a doorway,” Zhu Han said. “A doorway in the middle of the street, anyone can walk in.”

Shi Buwai squeezed out of the crowd, his empty basket still hanging on his shoulder: "I'll be the 'seat'—if anyone makes a fuss, I'll curse them out."

“Go ahead and curse,” Bai Yu joked from the side, “but stop before you start.”

Shi Buwai clicked his tongue: "I'll stop half a beat in my head."

They walked along the grid until they reached the widest open space at the South Market intersection.

Bai Yu worked quickly and efficiently, setting up a simple bamboo shed in no time. The shed was covered with an old straw mat, and a polished blue stone was placed under one corner of the mat.

Wang Fu brought over a long table and laid a cloth mat on it; Gu Chen brought out a small wooden board with only lines and no words on it; Lu Yicong placed the drum on the side of the table, then moved the drum back half a foot himself, and whispered, "We don't need a bright drum here."

“Okay.” Zhu Han nodded. “The ‘mediation office’ will be called ‘One and a Half Feet’.”

"Why is it called that?" the straw sandal seller asked curiously.

"Leave a foot and a half in front of the table, and no one should step over it," Zhu Han said. "When you get here, stop first, and stop thinking about it too."

“That makes sense.” The knife sharpener grinned. “That’s how I sharpen my knives too—I leave a half-inch gap in front of the blade so I don’t cut myself.”

The bamboo shed was erected, and a short stake was set up next to it with a shallow "arc" carved on it, which felt like a blade of grass licked smooth by the wind.

A red rope was stretched from the corner of the shed to the eaves pillar diagonally opposite. The children automatically started to line up, reached out to touch it, and then obediently waited to watch the excitement.

The sugar painting vendor drew a small circle in the middle of the red string and said with a smile, "Let's make the circle a little sweeter today."

"They're here!" Bai Yu, with her sharp eyes, was the first to spot a pair of traveling men stopping in front of the shed.

One had a swollen instep, and the other was impatient; his words were like thorns.

"I was here first!" the impatient man shouted, "You should give up your stall."

“You shouted first,” the man with the swollen instep replied. “You weren’t the first to arrive.”

Shi Buwai coughed, placed his palm on the edge of the table, and didn't speak immediately. He simply cleared a foot and a half in front of the table, signaling the two to stand aside.

He pointed to the one whose instep was swollen: "Touch the red string first."

The man was initially suspicious, but his eyes softened slightly as soon as his fingers touched the red string.

Shi Buwai finally spoke: "What are you arguing about?"

"The corner." The impatient man pointed to the stone slab. "On market days, I always set up my stall here, and he squeezes me out."

“You’re always crossing the line.” The woman with the swollen instep retorted, “Others need to cross too.”

"How can we do business without crossing borders?" the other party retorted.

“You two,” Zhu Hanshen pointed to the crack in the stone slab, “the ground doesn’t have feet, but you do.”

Today we will divide the time into 'steps' – each of you will walk thirty steps, without touching the red rope or stepping over the shadow line.

Those who are orderly gain one square; those who are disorderly give up one square.

"What shadow lines?" the impatient man asked, his eyes wide.

Bai Yu had already drawn a "shadow line" on the ground along the base of the wall with chalk, which meandered between the two plots, leaving just enough space for people to walk.

Gu Chen placed two small wooden boards on the ground, with only a gentle arc drawn on them: "At the bend, look at this."

Both were unconvinced, but both were willing to give it a try.

Lu Yicong stood at a distance, not striking the drum, but gently tapping his chest.

The onlookers instinctively pulled away, and several children near the red rope pursed their lips, their eyes darting around.

In the first round, both of them were anxious.

The impatient man stepped over the shadow line on his fourth step, and his swollen instep hit the wooden board on his seventh step.

Shi Buwai didn't scold him, he just raised his chin and said, "Go back and start over."

In the second round, they slowed down. The impatient ones finally gripped the empty racket of the red rope tightly, their swollen insteps lingering for a moment longer in front of the "turning" board before going around it without hitting it again.

After he finished the thirty steps, some of the onlookers actually clapped.

"Let's go—" Shi Buwai dragged out the last word, "Which of you is the most reliable?"

The impatient man blushed and said, "Him."

“Then you give way one square.” Shi Buwai pointed at the stone slab. “It’s not that you lost, it’s that you gave way correctly.”

The impatient man exhaled sharply and even laughed, "Fine, I'll give way."

With his instep swollen, he quickly clasped his hands in a gesture of respect and said, "I'll let you have a turn another day."

With the two of them exchanging favors, the first minor matter at the "mediation office" in front of the bamboo shed was resolved as if nothing had happened.

Su Zhi covered her mouth with her sleeve and laughed: "Your Highness, this method is like when we change scenes on stage—if the clapper goes a beat slower, people's hearts will go a beat faster."

“Sure,” Zhu Han said. “This stall doesn’t write anything, it only looks at your feet.”

A little while later, two more people arrived, looking quite indignant. One, a wonton vendor, complained to the tofu vendor next door: "Your soup pot is steaming, it's making my wontons sticky!" The tofu vendor retorted: "You've opened the vent wide, it's blowing smoke onto my table!"

"Bring them here." Zhu Han pointed to their respective spoons. "This time, we don't need to walk, we use 'collect'—whoever can collect the water from their spoon first without spilling it has to give way an inch."

"What can you collect with a spoon?" the wonton stall owner frowned.

"Be careful with the spoon." Gu Chen handed him a cup of warm water. "If you shake the spoon, your heart will spill. If you keep the water steady, the wind will be calm too."

The two did as instructed with some skepticism. At first, the wonton vendor's spoon trembled like a fish, while the tofu vendor's ladles were steady for a couple of moments.

The third time, they both found the trick: instead of holding it in, they suspended their wrists in an invisible line and slowly stopped.

No water was spilled, and no more spills came out. Bai Yu took the opportunity to slip them the "slow" sign: "Hang it behind your stall—remember, let the soup simmer first, then let it flow smoothly."

"Okay." The two said in unison, and then wiped the cards again and again, as if they were precious treasures.

The area in front of the bamboo shed became increasingly lively, yet remained orderly.

Old Shen sat on the side playing the erhu, not singing, but simply plucking the strings with each pause and yielding, as if laying an invisible mat on the ground.

The red string grew brighter and brighter, and the sugar-painted rings on the string shimmered into a thin layer of light. The children reached out to touch it, their fingertips covered in a layer of sweetness, and when they licked it, they laughed out loud.

“Your Highness.” A robust middle-aged man in a blue cloth jacket stood in front of the table carrying an empty basket. His face was tanned dark, but his eyes were bright. “My name is Cheng Hang. I’m a woodcutter on the street. I haven’t carried any wood today, but I’ve come here first—I want to work half a day at the ‘Mediation Office’ as a ‘watchman’.”

"What are you looking at?" Shi Buwai asked.

"It's about who's making you uncomfortable." Cheng Hang scratched the back of his head. "I'm used to lifting heavy loads, so I know which shoulders are just barely holding on and which ones are truly bearing the weight."

“Okay.” Zhu Han smiled. “You stand in the shadows behind the table. When someone walks by, just look over their shoulder and nod.”

Cheng Hang stood there, silent and motionless, like a tree that had been thoroughly watered.

A while later, a young woman selling flowers came along, her shoulder was crooked. He coughed, made a gesture to her, and silently pressed his finger down her shoulder.

The young woman understood, her shoulder relaxed, and her steps became steady.

She turned back and smiled at him, and Cheng Hang's ears turned red, but he smiled even more foolishly.

By midday, Zhu Yuanzhang had quietly arrived. He was still dressed in his everyday clothes, his cuffs faded from washing.

He touched the red rope, then gently lowered the end of the rope a little. His gaze shifted, and he saw the empty space of one and a half feet on the table. He looked pleased – “One and a Half Feet” was a good name.

“Brother Emperor,” Zhu Han walked over, “let’s try our ‘land allocation’.”

"What are we dividing up?" Zhu Yuanzhang asked with great interest, like a curious onlooker.

“Divide the corner.” Bai Yu inserted two thin bamboo strips into the crack in the stone, drawing a somewhat irregular fan shape. “If both stalls want to share the corner, each taking half, neither will be satisfied.”

“Each of us should follow the ‘three stops, two turns, and one yield’ rule,” Zhu Yuanzhang casually remarked.

"What?" Wang Fu didn't understand.

"Take three steps, stop twice, turn once, and give way by half an inch."

Zhu Yuanzhang looked at the crowd and said, "Whoever walks through these seven characters first, without stepping on the red rope, touching the shadow line, or disturbing the road, will have to turn the corner."

“This is called ‘Imperial Law’,” Shi Buwai muttered to himself, but a smile played on his lips.

Two vendors stepped forward. Both were in a rush the first time, committing numerous fouls.

The second time they learned their lesson—when they stopped on the third step, they tucked their insteps in and didn't shrug their shoulders; when they turned, they gently circled around the curved board; and when they yielded, they squeezed the half-inch of space between their feet. Zhu Yuanzhang watched, and the smile lines in his eyes deepened.

He raised his chin: "The corner is for all of you. The morning is yours, the afternoon is his. Whoever doesn't keep to the rules will not be allowed entry."

The two stall owners responded in unison, without saying another word.

The crowd laughed and said, "The imperial law is 'time-based'."

“Even if it’s splitting the time, it’s still a concession,” Zhu Han said in a low voice. Zhu Yuanzhang glanced at him but said nothing.

As the afternoon sun slanted, the shadows were stretched even longer.

Shen Li rushed over from the martial arts school, a drop of water still clinging to his plain sash.

He stopped in front of the red rope, touched it, then walked to the side and bowed to Zhu Biao: "Your Highness, I have brought someone with me."

The newcomer had graying temples but a straight back; he was an old gentleman from the martial arts school.

The old man glanced at the "Mediation Office" and snorted, "Are you playing games?"

“Sir, I will not compare feet today,” Shen Li said in a deep voice. “I only ask you to sit here and look at the character ‘让’ (ràng).

The old man said coldly, "Giving in is weakness."

“No.” Shen Li’s eyes lit up inch by inch. “It’s more like he has the will.”

The old man stared at him for a while, then suddenly sat down: "Then let's see."

Just then, another argument broke out—one between an umbrella repairman and a pot mender, who said that their banging and clanging was disturbing each other.

Just as Shi Buwai was about to speak, Zhu Han waved his hand: "Let the gentleman do it this time."

The old man raised an eyebrow, but his hand remained steady. He took the tools from each of them and placed them a foot and a half away, making room for himself in the middle: "You can do your thing, but let me hear your 'clappers' first."

"Why are you tapping the board when you're repairing an umbrella?" The umbrella repairman was taken aback.

The old gentleman didn't answer, but simply pointed to Mr. Shen's erhu.

Old Shen understood and gave two "thump-thump" sounds. The umbrella repairman subconsciously followed the "thump" sound and hammered the iron nail into the umbrella ribs, while the pot mender also followed the "thump" sound and hammered.

Neither of them was touching the other, and the sound was no longer harsh.

The old man then slowly spoke: "Treat your work as this red rope on the street. As long as the rope is there, you won't cross it; as long as the rope is there, you won't snatch it."

“Alright.” The two nodded in unison. Shen Li’s eyes lit up, and he looked at the old man with respect. The old man looked away, his voice softening: “Letting go is not weakness, it’s knowing how to listen.”

As the sun sets in the west, the bustling activity at Nanshikou doesn't gradually recede into the homes until dusk.

The "mediation office" under the bamboo shed had no register or official sign; all that remained were a few shoes hanging on nails, a few shiny wooden boards, circles of red rope worn smooth from being touched, and a foot and a half of empty space.

When someone arrives, they stop; when someone stops, they smile.

“Your Highness,” Su Zhi said softly, pulling up her sleeves, “Today on stage, I learned your ‘one and a half feet’ technique—I left a one and a half feet of space in front of the stage so the audience wouldn’t crowd. My slow tempo was also a foot more stable.”

“Go back and hang this ‘one and a half feet’ in the backstage area.”

Zhu Han laughed, "I'll make sure you have a table and a chair on stage too."

“I’ll take it.” Su Zhi replied, her eyes shining. “Tomorrow I’ll come here and sit for a while, specifically to teach ‘Sleeve’.”

That night, the children secretly added a section to the red rope at the entrance of the old academy.

As Bai Yu closed the door, he noticed it, touched it, and grinned: "The more you touch, the more hands there are in this city."

The next morning, even more people gathered in front of the "mediation office," some newcomers, others who had already walked thirty steps the day before. Wang Fu, holding a small stool, sat on the corner of a table, watching people's insteps.
Gu Chen carried a bundle of small boards on his back, with only strings on them; Lu Yicong pressed the drum against the table leg, took a deep breath, and did not strike it.

Shi Buwai squinted, like an old cat basking in the sun. If anyone got impatient, he would smack his lips and say, "Stop."

This time, it was two vendors selling paper windmills. (End of Chapter)