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

Both windmills are beautiful, one light and one heavy, they are competing for the "windfall".

Whoever stands on the side where the wind blows, their windmill will spin the fastest.

The two men were so unwilling to give in that they almost broke the windmill's blades.

"Give them to me." Zhu Han took both windmills, held them in his hands, and gave them a slight shake. The two windmills started spinning at the same time.

"You're all standing in the wrong place."

"Where did we go wrong?" they both asked in unison.

"The wind doesn't come from just one place."

Zhu Han pointed to the street corner, "You treat the wind as a wall, only wanting to guard one section. Today, let's change the method—each of you take half a step back, not guarding the corner, but guarding the 'gap'. When the wind passes through the gap, the windmill will turn on its own."

The two were skeptical, but they gritted their teeth and did as instructed.

Taking a half-step back, the windmill spun even more enthusiastically in the gap in the wind. The children watching burst into applause, shouting "Wow!"

The two windmill sellers laughed instead of arguing: "Even the wind has to 'give way'."

"The wind is strong." Old Shen said, pausing slightly as he played his bow. "You let it carry you."

A little while later, a woman carrying a baby and a man carrying water were arguing at the well.

The woman was anxious to take the water back to feed her child, but the water carrier said he was in a hurry to deliver the water.

The two argued until their faces turned red. The old night patrolman stood at one end of the red rope, looking at their shoulders, and suddenly spoke: "Who will 'smell' first?"

"Smell?" The two were both stunned.

"Smell the water." The old night patrolman held the wooden clapper to his nose. "Take a sniff first, see if your water is flowing fast."

The woman bent down to smell the edge of the bucket, and the water carrier also lowered his head.

The woman frowned: "My bucket is steaming."

"My water is cold." The person carrying water twitched their nose slightly.

"The hot ones go first," the old night patrolman nodded. "The cold ones can wait a little longer."

The two looked at each other and smiled, "Okay." The woman carried her water first, and the man carrying the water consciously moved his bucket to a shady spot where the water was a little cooler. He touched the red rope and muttered, "Smell it, it's really warmed up."

At noon, Suzhi from the other side of the stage also arrived.

She wasn't wearing makeup, her hair was simply tied up, and her sleeves were rolled up twice.

She stood in front of the table and bowed to everyone: "I don't talk about the music, I talk about the 'sleeves'." After saying that, she instructed people to raise their hands - "It's not about flicking your sleeves outward, it's about letting the anger in your heart outward. If your sleeves move half an inch slower, the hearts of others will be half an inch more at ease."

The first person in the crowd to learn was none other than Manager Liu.

He raised his hand, extending his sleeve outwards, and laughed uncontrollably: "This 'shopkeeper's sleeve' must not be seen by the shop assistants."

“Let them all learn,” Gu Chen continued. “When handing over the account book, be half an inch slower, and people won’t be in a hurry.”

Manager Liu actually remembered it all with a serious expression.

As the afternoon sun began to set, Shen Li returned from the north alley with an extra pair of shoes on his back—the shoes of Granny Li, the woman who carried the load.

He hung his shoes high on the bamboo shed of the "mediation office," with a small knot tied to the end of the red rope.

"She's walking steadily now."

Shen Li said in a low voice, "She said she would let us hang the shoes up for a day so that others could see them and she would feel at ease."

“She’ll come to get it,” Zhu Han said. “Just hang it up overnight.”

At dusk, a gust of wind gently tilted the red rope.

Zhu Yuanzhang stood silently in the corner for a while longer.

He looked at the small shed, at the one and a half feet of space, at the shoes, planks, stakes, ropes, and drum, and at the people coming and going. He turned to Zhu Han and said, "Little brother, let's build two more sheds here. One at the south entrance of the city, one in the west of the city, and one in the north of the city. They'll all be called 'One and a Half Feet'."

“Let’s add another rule,” Zhu Han said.

"what?"

“Those sitting at ‘one and a half feet’ must touch the rope first before speaking; when speaking, they must speak in half-sentences and not continue in one sentence, giving others an opening to continue.”

Zhu Han laughed, "Here, we don't rely on our voices, we rely on 'emptiness'."

Zhu Yuanzhang's smile deepened: "It depends on both the air and the heart."

At night, the lights on under the old school corridors are lit again.

Li Yu sat at the door, not striking the drum, yet it sounded as if a delicate melody was playing in his ears.

“Your Highness,” Li Yu looked up, “I would like to sit at ‘One and a Half Feet’ for half an hour tomorrow, without knocking, just watching.”

"Go," Zhu Han said, "and see who doesn't dare to look at themselves."

"Let's see who dares to give way even an inch."

Zhu Biao continued, "After you finish reading, tell me how many kinds of 'dare not' you saw."

"Yes," Li Yu answered steadily, but his eyes gleamed.

The morning breeze brushed past the pillars of the old schoolhouse, carrying the faint sweet scent of last night's lamp oil.

The floor tiles under the eaves were still cold, and the thin frost was crushed by the toes, the sound of the cracking as soft as a child's sigh.

Zhu Han arrived a quarter of an hour later than the rooster crowed, his clothes neatly tucked in, carrying an old bamboo ruler in his hand.

He placed the bamboo ruler flat on the edge of the table and tapped it twice with his fingertips, as if setting a timer for himself.

Zhu Biao arrived early, holding steaming hot buns in his hands. Seeing that he wasn't eating, he stuffed them into his hands: "Uncle, warm your stomach first. Today will definitely be even more lively."

“Lively atmosphere is also about rhythm.” Zhu Han laughed, taking a bite, the aroma of sesame and scallions bursting on his tongue. “If you keep the rhythm steady, people won’t scatter.”

The red rope swayed diagonally in the morning breeze. The small section that the children had added yesterday had been straightened by Bai Yu. The knots were tied tightly, and it felt like a knot fastened to the heart.

The wooden sign had three characters written in charcoal: “One and a half feet”. The characters were not elegant, but they were composed.

Under the bamboo shed, the tabletop was polished to a shine, and the stool had two extra legs, which Wang Fu had added with tenons, so it wouldn't wobble when you sat on it.

People arrived in waves, some new faces, others who had stood there thirty steps yesterday.

Shi Buwai, with his eyes half-closed like a cat, held a date pit in his hand. If anyone got impatient, he would tap the table lightly with the date pit and say, "Stop."

That one point is more powerful than a loud shout.

As usual, Lu Yicong pressed the drum against the table leg, took a deep breath, and kept his eyelids closed, as if he were watching an invisible beat.

Gu Chen carried a small board on his back, which only had strings on it. He would occasionally look up, his eyes shining, but he didn't interrupt.

When Mr. Shen placed the erhu on his lap, it was as if he were holding a well in his heart.

The first person to walk to the red rope was an old carpenter, carrying half of a dismantled door panel on his back.

His apprentice followed closely behind, his ears turning red, carrying a bag of wooden wedges.

The two stopped in front of the red rope, one after the other.

The old carpenter first touched the rope; his palm was thick, and the rope shone even brighter from his touch. He said, "Your Highness, today we, master and apprentice, will settle our differences."

"Speak," Zhu Han said, pointing to the one and a half feet of space in the middle.

The old carpenter leaned the door against the table leg, his voice low: "This lad has been with me for six years. He's skilled, but impatient. I took on a job for the City God Temple, and he made half a door, secretly making the tenon thinner, saying it would close more tightly. I said no. He got impatient and shaved off the rest of the material. Making the tenon thinner is clever, but temple doors open and close frequently, and they loosen over time. He was unconvinced, saying I'm too old."

The apprentice interrupted gruffly, “I’m not saying Master is old, I’m saying—even old methods have to be considered in different places. This time, they’ve replaced the temple gate with an inner one, which isn’t opened often. The mortise and tenon joints are beautiful and lightweight, and customers like them. I only ask one question: Who do we sell our craft to? You say we sell it to the rules, I say we sell it to people.”

Both of them stopped talking at this point, their eyes hardening.

Wang Fu shifted off the stool, staring at the insteps of the two men. Their feet were less than half an inch from the red rope, yet they hadn't crossed it. He clicked his tongue and whispered, "There's a rule."

"You're here to find 'teeth'?" Zhu Biao moved the paper package in his hand aside. "Is it about sharing that breath, or about the bite?"

The old carpenter was stunned, and his apprentice was also taken aback.

Old Shen gently pulled the bowstring back, producing a faint sound like scraping wood shavings: "The 'tooth' isn't teeth, it's breath."

Zhu Han picked up the bamboo ruler, but instead of tapping it, he gently waved it: "Let's not talk about the temple gate for now. Put down the 'teeth' and talk about the 'seam' first."

He looked at his apprentice and asked, "You said you sold it to someone, but who is that person?"

“Benefactor,” the apprentice replied, “the one who took out the incense money.”

"Is the benefactor alone?" Zhu Han asked.

The apprentice thought for a moment, "No. Today it's this place, tomorrow it's another."

"Whose temple gate is it?" Zhu Han asked again.

"From the temple," the apprentice replied, then realized he had made a fool of himself, his ears turning even redder.

"Whose temple is this?" Zhu Han put the bamboo ruler back. "You treat 'teeth' as ​​a mouth, but you forget that there is a throat behind the mouth."

Only with a proper throat can one breathe deeply. The same applies to a door.

Fine mortise and tenon joints look nice, and the door is light, but as it opens and closes over time, the wood breathes, expands and contracts with heat, so there needs to be some leeway.

It's not wrong to be 'meticulous' or 'excessive'; the mistake lies in your own preconceived notions.

"Feel the rope first," he said, pointing to the red rope. "Speak only after you've touched it, and say things in half-sentences."

The two did as instructed, touching the rope. The warmth of their palms seeped into the red rope, as if crushing their anger.

The old carpenter started by saying, "I'm afraid..."

The apprentice added half a sentence: "I'm in a hurry."

"What are you afraid of?" Zhu Han asked.

"I'm afraid that what I teach will be modified by this kid and attributed to me."

The old carpenter was as frank as if he were splitting open a piece of wood: "I'm afraid of losing face."

The apprentice replied, "I'm anxious. I'm afraid if we don't change, we won't be able to make a name for ourselves. Young carpenters have more skills and can work faster. We can't just stick to the old ways."

Zhu Biao nodded slightly: "Just a few words, there's always a chance to 'let go'."

“Alright.” Zhu Han raised his chin. “You guys chop off a piece of the sample. The old gentleman, sit down and look at the character ‘让’ (let).

"I won't compete in footwork today." The old master of the martial arts school, who arrived early, put down his old saying, but there was a smile in his eyes.

He pointed a finger at the table, “You’ve put mortise and tenon joints on the table—not to make a finished product, just ‘teeth.’ You,”

He pointed at his apprentice, "Make the tenon a little finer; you,"

He pointed at the old carpenter and said, "Make the mortise a little wider. You all 'yield' a bit and see if it fits."

The apprentice gritted his teeth and chopped down, the knife falling swiftly, revealing the bright core of the wood.

The old carpenter chopped the mortise and tenon joints with steady knife marks and a slightly relaxed wrist.

The two pieces of wood fit together so tightly that not a single thread leaked, yet they were not rough at all. The onlookers let out a low gasp.

The old carpenter and his apprentice were both stunned for a moment.

The old carpenter pulled out the tenon, looked at the thin gap around the joint, and his eyes welled up with tears: "Make room for it a little, tighten it again."

The apprentice didn't speak, but suddenly bent down and touched the red rope, as if to express his gratitude. The old carpenter followed suit and touched it as well. The old man said slowly, "Letting go isn't weakness, it's being able to listen. Wood listens too."

"This job will be done jointly by you."

Zhu Han finally made the decision: "The tenon of the door to the City God Temple should be slightly thinner and the mortise slightly wider, with two gaps left on the tenon and a hidden iron pin at each corner to prevent it from loosening over time. Time will teach the door to breathe. You should reduce half of your 'teeth' and keep the other half."

They both nodded.

The apprentice hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "Master, please don't go to the temple tomorrow. I'll carry that door over myself. If anyone asks, I'll say it's a rule you set, Master."

The old carpenter looked at his apprentice and slowly nodded: "Alright. Go, but be half an inch slower when you raise your hand."

As they left, Wang Fu tossed the date pit into his sleeve and chuckled quietly, "The gap between these teeth is even harder to match than the mouth itself."

The crowd dispersed and then gathered again. The second group to enter were two people making pastries: one making candied fruit and the other steaming buns.

Both men were carrying steamers, the steam and the aroma of sugar mingling together, making the children's mouths water.

What they were arguing about was the "fragrance." The steamed bun shop said the aroma of the candied fruit was too strong, "covering" their steam; the candied fruit shop said the steam was too strong, wetting their sugar coating and making it sticky.

They were talking back and forth, their voices a little high-pitched. Shi Buwai said "Stop!" and tapped the date pit on the table. The two of them immediately lowered their voices and looked at the red rope.

"Is the incense path tangible?" Zhu Biao asked.

"Yes," the steamed bun vendor said. "It's the street that goes straight from my steamer to the center of the street."

“Yes, there is,” the candied fruit vendor said. “It’s the one where you turn into the alley from the edge of my basin.”

“Both,” Zhu Han said, pointing to the wind in the air. “But the wind is strong. Each of you should take half a step back and guard the ‘gap.’ The incense must pass through the gap to avoid being hit.”

He picked up two small wooden boards, tilted them slightly, leaving a vertical gap about a finger's width: "You lift the steam up an inch to create a 'high gap'; you raise the rim of the sugar bowl by a finger so that the steam can pass through the 'low gap' from below. With the two gaps separating the high and low paths, the incense won't collide."

The two did as instructed, and after a short while, the steam from the steamed buns rose into a white wall, but no longer rushed towards the candied fruit.
The sweet aroma of the candied fruit rolled down the ground in thin lines, seeping past people's legs, sweet but not sticky.

The children couldn't resist getting closer, their noses twitching as they sniffed.

The two shopkeepers looked at each other, and a smile crept onto their faces: "So, you can even share incense."

“Hang a small ruler in front of your table.”

Gu Chen picked up two thin boards with lines on them. "Sewing one foot high and half a foot low. If you understand, there's no need to argue."

"Hang it up," the two said in unison.

In the morning, another strange thing happened.

A mirror vendor and a calligrapher stood in front of a rope.

The mirror maker wore old clothes and carried a bundle of bronze mirrors on his back. The mirror surfaces were wrapped in cloth, revealing the patterns on the edges.

The calligrapher was dressed very neatly, and held a thin roll of paper in his hand, the ink on which had dried completely.

They were arguing about the "face of the characters." The gentleman said that the mirror maker set up his stall opposite his, making the light inside the characters look messy; the mirror maker said that the characters inside the characters had entered his mirror, making the mirror look blurry.

The two men stood upright, but their tone was not arrogant, clearly indicating that they knew the rules of this place.

“You all touch the rope,” Zhu Han said. “Speak after you’ve touched it.”

The two did as instructed. The writer's palm was slender, and touching the rope felt like pressing down on his heart; the mirror maker's fingers were broad, and after touching the red rope, his fingertips gleamed slightly.

They let go of each other's hands, and the mirror craftsman said half a sentence first: "I make my living by the light."

The calligrapher added half a sentence: "I rely on light to read the characters."

"Where does the light come from?" Zhu Han asked.

"The heavens." The mirror maker and the calligrapher answered at the same time this time, their eyes meeting briefly in mid-air.

"Then you should lower the sky a little."

Zhu Han looked up at the bamboo shed. "Add a thin cloth to the eaves, leaving a two-and-a-half-foot skylight. The mirror frame should be tilted upwards by three-tenths of an inch, and the calligraphy scroll downwards by one finger's width. Light will fall through the skylight, the light from the mirror will rise, and the light from the calligraphy will stop downwards. You are guarding both ends of the light, not stealing the 'heart'." (End of Chapter)