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

Chen Guaizi's painting was almost finished. In the end, he really left an inch of space in the corner without painting anything there, which looked like an invisible little door.

The crowd dispersed in one layer, and then another layer came in.

Before leaving, some people touch the red string; when they arrive, they touch the red string first. The red string becomes brighter with each touch, like candy that gets sweeter the more it is touched.

"Uncle," Zhu Biao said, pressing the note he had written down onto the edge of the table, "I see three kinds of people who dare not look at themselves."

"Speak," Zhu Han said, a smile playing at the corners of his eyes.

"The first type, who only looks at others, will be anxious; the second type, who only looks at themselves, will be rigid; the third type, who doesn't look at anything and only listens to their own heartbeat, will panic."

Zhu Biao slowly said, "When they touch the red rope, the first two types will slow down, and the third type will be gentle."

"Take a few more days and see." Zhu Han tapped the bamboo ruler lightly on the edge of the table.
“If you look again, you’ll see two more types: those who dare not leave an inch for others; and those who dare not leave an inch for themselves. Once you point out these two types, you can put up a ‘rule’ here.”

"'Rules'?" Zhu Biao looked up.

“‘Rules’ are invisible ropes,” Zhu Han laughed. “Whether you write them down or not, they’re in your heart.”

Zhu Yuanzhang took a step forward and tapped the ground lightly with the tip of his cane. The sound was faint, but it seemed to emphasize the meaning of his words.

He didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth curved up.

Then, he turned his head and looked towards the south entrance of the city, towards the west of the city, and towards the north of the city.

His words from last night have come back to me like the wind: "Build a few sheds, call them 'one and a half feet'."

"Add one more—"

Zhu Han picked up where he left off yesterday, smiling as he looked at him, “'Touching the rope' before speaking, in half-sentences. Whoever speaks in a string will trip themselves up.”

"Whoever trips themselves up should step aside."

This time, Zhu Yuanzhang finally said half a sentence, leaving the other half unsaid, as if deliberately leaving an opening.

As the night deepened and people gradually dispersed, the shadows cast by the bamboo shed slanted, and the red rope hung down as if breathing in the night.

Li Yu stood up and moved the stool he had been sitting on for half an hour back to the corner of the table.

He walked up to the red rope, reached out and touched it, his fingertips pausing for a moment as if he were writing.

He turned to Zhu Biao and said, “I see four kinds of ‘dare not’.”

"Oh?" Zhu Biao perked up.

"One type is afraid to slow down, for fear that others will see through him; another type is afraid to stop, for fear that if he stops he will hear the chaos in his heart; another type is afraid to laugh, for fear that others will see him laugh; and yet another type is afraid to yield."

Li Yu said, "The last type is the hardest, but it's also the easiest to break; it snaps at the slightest touch. It softens after being hit by a small piece of metal."

"Remember these four."

Zhu Han put away the bamboo ruler and prepared to close the shed. "Tomorrow, I'll have someone come and teach me how to 'stop.' If you stop by half an inch, you'll have a foot and a half in your mind."

“I’ll teach them,” Shi Buwai suddenly said, stretching and cracking his bones. “I’ll teach them how to keep their mouths shut.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the bamboo shed.

He walked to the red rope, bowed deeply, but did not immediately extend his hand. Instead, he pressed his chest first, as if to calm his heart.

Then he reached out and touched the rope. He paused on the rope three times before handing over what was behind him—a short flute. The flute was ordinary, with distinct bamboo joints.

He looked up at Zhu Han: "Your Highness, my surname is Jin. My mother told me not to play the flute, saying there are too many people on the street and it's too noisy. I want to ask—can I play three notes within the 'one and a half feet' range?"

"Why is it the third tone?" Zhu Han asked.

"Because I only know three tones," Zhu Biao said honestly in a cute way. "If I know more, it gets confusing."

The crowd laughed for a while. Zhu Han said seriously, "Blow the whistle three times, but look at people. Don't just think about yourself. Every time you blow the whistle, look at who has slumped down."

Blow one more time, and see whose feet leave the ground; blow a third time, and see whose eyes light up. When you're done blowing, stop, no more greed!

Zhu Biao nodded repeatedly and put the flute to his lips.

The crowd didn't move at first, then someone's shoulder slumped in one corner, a child's foot unconsciously lifted slightly off the ground in another corner, and suddenly a pair of eyes lit up in yet another corner.

Zhu Biao put away his flute, resisting the urge to play another note. He touched the rope and said softly, "I'm not greedy."

"Okay." Zhu Han smiled, "Come again tomorrow and play the 'He'."

The evening breeze drifted through the bamboo fence, carrying the aroma of food from afar.

The people in the bamboo shed gradually dispersed, leaving behind a few lingering shadows in the corner, touching the red rope back and forth as if reluctantly bidding farewell to an acquaintance.

Su Zhi pulled her long sleeves back together, glanced back at the small space of one and a half feet, and looked at it with tenderness.

She suddenly remembered something and turned to Zhu Han, saying, "Your Highness, tomorrow I will invite a few singing girls over. They will not wear makeup or bring gongs and drums. I will just teach them to 'stay' on stage. They are often in a hurry when they go on stage."

“Come on,” Zhu Han replied, “but remember, touch the rope first.”

She nodded, took two steps, then turned back, a smile playing at the corners of her eyes: "I've cleared a foot and a half in front of the stage, it's really not crowded anymore." She finished speaking with a hint of pride, like a child who had learned a new method.

“There are ‘cracks’ even on stage.” Zhu Biao looked at her. “If you leave half an inch of your smile, the smile will stay in your heart.”

Su Zhi smiled and walked away with the lantern, leaving a thin line on the ground.

Zhu Han took one last look at the bamboo shed, put the bamboo ruler into his sleeve, and as he turned around, Zhu Yuanzhang was walking out from the shadows.

The two brothers exchanged glances, both understanding. Zhu Yuanzhang pointed to the red rope: "There are more and more hands in this city."

“More rope makes things less chaotic,” Zhu Han said. “Touching the rope makes your heart beat faster.”

“Tomorrow,” Zhu Yuanzhang said, “build another one in the west of the city. Remember your rules.” He paused for a moment, “and also—your bamboo ruler.”

"What?" Zhu Han laughed.

"Stay here." Zhu Yuanzhang's eyes lit up slightly. "Let people know that someone here is keeping an eye on things."

"Alright." Zhu Han put the bamboo ruler back on the table, as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. "With the ruler here, people won't argue."

Before dawn the next day, the fog at Nanshikou dampened the brick surface.

Zhu Han arrived even earlier, but he was missing a bamboo ruler from his sleeve. Instead, he had a small wooden plaque on the table with three characters engraved on it: "Touch the rope first."

He placed his hand on the wooden sign, a thought flashing through his mind. The system whispered in his ear like a drop of water falling—"Check-in: Received 'Heart of the Ruler'."

He didn't look, he didn't move, he just listened to the name with his heart.

He pressed the last inch and a half of his heart onto the table and read it as four words: "Rely on emptiness, rely on the heart."

As the first rays of dawn fell from the eaves, the first thing of the day arrived.

They were a group of herbal medicine vendors, carrying different bamboo baskets filled with herbs of various colors.

The competition was for "ports": whoever was closer to the "wetlands" had the most fragrant herbs. But there had been dew the night before, and in several places in the wetlands, they trampled inch by inch, leaving dense mud imprints.

Several people walked up to the rope, looked at each other, and then someone took the initiative to say, "Touch the rope first."

They all touched the rope, and the red rope carried away some of the dampness from their hands.

Zhu Han looked at them and said, "Each of you should name the herb with the lightest flavor."

“Mint,” one of them said.

“Scutellaria baicalensis,” the other said.

“Angelica dahurica,” another person said.

"Put the lightest item in front and the heaviest item in the back."

Zhu Han said, “Whoever has the lightest flavor goes through the gaps in the wind, and whoever has the heaviest flavor stays close to the wall. You’re not occupying the ‘port’, but the layer of flavor. Those with lighter flavors should ‘let go’ first, and those with heavier flavors should stay back and catch up.” They listened and did as they were told.

The mist drifted among the herbs, their scents spreading out sequentially without clashing.

Passersby smelled the herbs, but didn't find them pungent; instead, they remembered the name of each herb.

The herbalists looked at each other and suddenly smiled, as if they had fought a battle in which they had each won without anyone being hurt.

It was another group of people, a few young scribes who sharpened pens for others.

They argued about "who would cut first." Some needed it urgently in their study, while others said they had gone further away.

Standing in front of the red rope, each child touched it first, their fingertips still smelling of ink. After touching it, their eyes lit up a little.

Zhu Biao gestured: "You should each write the character 'stop' first."

The children paused for a moment, then picked up their pens and wrote on the small board.

Some people write quickly, some write steadily, and some write crookedly, but they all laugh when they finish.

Zhu Biao pointed to the one who wrote the slowest but most steadily: "You go first. Because your heart stopped for a moment."

He then looked at the child who wrote the fastest: "You were last. You wrote 'pavilion' instead of 'stop,' you've hidden yourself in a house in your heart."

The children burst into laughter, and the child laughed too. He touched the red rope and then consciously "gave up" the rope.

The pencil sharpener grinned from ear to ear: "Even the word 'stop' can be distinguished by order now!"

Around noon, a blind man led a small child over.

The blind man's eyes were cloudy, yet he smiled peacefully, leaning on a bamboo cane.

The little boy, about seven or eight years old, held the end of a bamboo pole and followed him.

When the two reached the rope, the blind man touched it first, his hand moving lightly and steadily.

The child also touched it, and after touching it, his eyes widened as he looked at the crowd. The blind man spoke slowly: "I'd like to borrow a word to 'hear'."

“Go ahead,” Zhu Han said.

"I tell stories by the bridge in the north of the city, recounting 'The Three Heroes and Five Gallants'—"

He paused, seemingly realizing he shouldn't have mentioned the nihilism of the martial world, and changed his words, "I'll tell you the story of 'the gatekeeper who never sleeps.' Lately, there have been so many people, and the sound of footsteps has disrupted the rhythm in my heart. I'd like to ask to 'listen' here for a while, to borrow your heartbeats. Your rhythm is truly steady."

“Listen.” Zhu Han nodded. “But you also taught us to ‘listen.’ You listened to people’s footsteps, and you explained to everyone what each type of footstep meant.”

The blind man laughed, his ears twitching slightly: "A hurried foot lands on the ball of the foot first; a steady foot lands on the heel first; a foot with something on its mind lands lightly and unevenly on both sides; a foot with nothing on its mind goes straight in and out. And a foot that loves to watch the excitement only stands on half of its ball."

As he spoke, his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he were just going along with the flow.

Some people in the crowd couldn't help but look at their feet and casually moved their feet half an inch away from the red rope.

The blind man said again, “This red rope of yours has a kind of warmth, the smell of human hands. I can feel it; the warmth in the morning is different from the warmth in the afternoon. The warmth in the morning is light, like the warmth after staying up all night; the warmth in the afternoon is deep, like the warmth after observing a person’s heart all day.”

On the first day, as soon as the red rope was hung up at the new shed in the west of the city, the grain shop manager and his clerk came to stand there.

The workers argued heatedly, their faces flushed, about whose rice sack should be carried first. Some said they had broad shoulders and could carry it quickly, while others said they arrived first and left first.

The shopkeeper initially wanted to reprimand them, but seeing people sitting under the bamboo shed, he held back and whispered to Zhu Han, "Your Highness, they usually rob each other, I can't manage them all."

Zhu Han didn't speak immediately, but told the men to touch the red rope first.

The moment a few calloused hands touched him, his breathing slowed down a little.

“Each of you shall report one thing today—not who is the fastest, but the heaviest load you have ever carried.”

The men were taken aback, then started talking all at once: "I carried two and a half shi (a unit of dry measure)."

“I have three stones.”

“I have only carried two stones.”

In the end, I felt a little embarrassed.

Zhu Han nodded: "The heavier ones go first, the lighter ones follow. Whoever carries more weight goes first. It's not about grabbing, it's about measuring."

The "Lacquerware Street" in the north of the city is full of artisans who polish lacquerware every day. The smell of lacquer is pungent, and they often argue about "who should dry it first and who should dry it later".

One day, two craftsmen brought undried lacquerware to the front of the shed, each sticking to their own version of events.

"I'll let this lampshade air out first, otherwise the paint will get uneven."

"Let my box air out first, otherwise it will lose its air quality."

Zhu Biao was present that day, young and impetuous, and was about to advise him, but Zhu Han stopped him and told him to handle it himself.

Zhu Biao looked at the two of them and suddenly remembered what his uncle had said: "Rules are invisible ropes."

He then said, “Put all the lacquerware under the lamp and examine it. Whoever’s lacquer reflects light most brightly will be the last to dry; whoever’s lacquer reflects light least brightly will be the last to dry.”

The two looked at the lamp with some skepticism, and sure enough, the lampshade was so bright that they could only wait until later; the box's paint was a bit dull, but it wouldn't matter if they dried it first.

The crowd burst into laughter: "So lacquer can talk on its own!"

On this day, two candidates argued over an essay: one said it was "impressive from the start," while the other said it was "subtle and flavorful," and they argued until they were red in the face and their necks were thick.

Li Yu was also present. He had become accustomed to not beating the drum for half an hour, but instead observing people's hearts.

He said, “Each of you read a paragraph, but pause half a beat at the end of each paragraph so that someone else can continue.”

The two candidates did as instructed. The first one's recitation was indeed powerful and impressive, but because he paused for half a beat, the following sentence took over, and the momentum weakened.

The subtlety of the later thought, coupled with the pause, allows one to savor it more fully, making the flavor last longer.

Everyone clapped: "So the article also mentions 'one and a half feet'."

From then on, a saying became popular in the university: "Leave space when writing, and keep a limit in sentences."

Upon learning this, Zhu Yuanzhang simply smiled and remained silent.

Over time, the "one and a half foot" shed became a peculiar sight in Beijing.

Some call it a mediation center, some call it a school under the stage, and some simply call it a "heart shed".

Everyone who comes to sit, regardless of wealth or poverty, must first touch the red string before speaking; and speak in half-sentences; if someone gets impatient, others will laugh at him for "forgetting to leave half an inch."

Even when children quarrel, they imitate adults: "Touch the tree bark first, then speak."

One evening, Zhu Yuanzhang arrived incognito and sat for a long time under the shed of the old academy.

He saw a beggar reach out to touch the rope, his eyes gradually calming down from their initial panic. He sighed and whispered to Zhu Han, "Third brother, this rope is more reassuring than swords."

Zhu Han only replied, "Swords and blades are external things; the rope is in my heart."

Zhu Yuanzhang remained silent for a long time, then suddenly laughed and said, "Very well. Let the capital learn to 'stay' first, before we can talk about longevity."

A few days later, Zhu Biao, who was surnamed Jin, came to the shed at Nanshikou again, still holding that short flute.

He touched the rope first, then said, "Your Highness, I will, and I'll do it more than three times."

"How many times?" Zhu Han asked.

"Five tones".

"Then you blow it, and when you're done, put it away. No greed allowed." (End of Chapter)