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

Zhu Han, Zhu Biao, and Yao Jin stood far away behind the window of the second-floor teahouse, watching through a half-baked bamboo curtain.

Zhu Han's gaze lingered on the rope for only a moment before shifting to the crowd.

The blind man also came. He didn't sit in the shed, but listened attentively by the bridge stone. A little boy stood beside him, holding a slightly worn porcelain bowl, carefully supporting it.

Two groups of people stood under the shed: on one side were rice shop assistants, and on the other side were boatmen from the canal, arguing over whether to charge the new price or the old price for two boats of old rice with wet edges.

The middle-aged man in the blue robe slapped the red rope, his voice growing louder: "Touch it! If you're not going to touch it, get out of here! My stall has strict rules!"

Several people stepped forward to touch the rope, while the man in the blue robe stood on tiptoe to watch, nodding and shaking his head repeatedly.

Upon touching the fifth person, he suddenly clapped his hands and laughed, "What a steady hand! Come on, let this one have a turn first!"

After touching the rope, the man turned around and made a face at the boatman, who immediately became indignant and rushed over to curse.

The man in the blue robe pushed him away, and the two almost started to fight.

Someone in the crowd took advantage of the chaos to reach into the baskets beside them, but their movements were not very skillful. The blind man keenly heard the noise and whispered, "Left back, toes trembling, stealing."

The noise grew even louder over there. Zhu Biao couldn't help but move, but Yao Jin pressed down on his sleeve. Zhu Han's gaze sharpened, and he said softly, "Watch for another moment."

The man in the blue robe suddenly turned around and shouted to the crowd, "Special permission is granted today! Anyone who wants to convince the other side can come up here, touch the rope, and then each of you write a sentence. Whoever writes the most steadily will be judged to be in the right!"

As he spoke, he took out two thick sheets of paper from the side and placed them on a short table. He then deliberately tilted the pen holder to one side, as if afraid someone would snatch them away, but in reality, he wished someone would snatch them.

Zhu Han lightly flicked his fingertips under the table, and the lines of the hidden ruler emerged from his mind—there was a hint of slipperiness in the tone of the man in the blue robe's voice, like the edge of moss after the rain, which could easily cause one to slip.

He looked at the crowd again. Several of the men had bloodshot eyes and stiff shoulders and necks. On the boatmen's side, there was a young man who looked fierce, but he was actually breathing unevenly and his eyes kept glancing to the left and back.

To the left rear, there was indeed a thin Zhu Biao, holding a small iron hook in his hand.

"Go." Zhu Han's voice was barely audible.

Yao Jin flashed and swooped down from the back window.

Zhu Biao tried to muster his courage, but Zhu Han gently grabbed his wrist: "Let's go through the main entrance."

The two walked out of the teahouse and headed straight for the shed.

The man in the blue robe saw from afar that the newcomer had an impressive bearing. He instinctively reached for the rope, but only made a perfunctory gesture with his hand before smiling and cupping his hands in a respectful gesture: "You two want to settle a matter? My shed is famous, and no one dares to challenge me."

Before Zhu Biao could speak, Zhu Han bowed and said, "Touch the rope first."

The man in the blue robe smiled faintly, then reached out and touched it. This time he really touched it, his palm lingering on the rope for a moment.

Zhu Han looked at his hand and said calmly, "You're sure you can hold it steady, but unfortunately, it's your hand that's steady, not your heart."

The man in the blue robe's expression changed.

At this moment, a soft shout suddenly came from the crowd. Yao Jin grabbed Zhu Biao from the left rear, and the iron hook in Zhu Biao's hand fell to the ground with a clang, startling the crowd into retreating.

The man in the blue robe could no longer keep his smile. He slammed his hand on the table and yelled, "Whose dog is running wild here!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a short flute sounded, then another, by the shed.

The clear flute melody cut through the curtain like a knife, piercing straight into the noise.

The crowd fell silent involuntarily. It was Zhu Biao, the one surnamed Jin; he had grown taller in the rain, and his eyes were clear.

He looked at Zhu Han, neither smiling nor smug, but holding the flute as if it were a ruler.

Zhu Han nodded: "Five sounds."

Zhu Biao tapped the flute five times steadily, and the sound stopped immediately.

In that instant, the slippery tail of the man in the blue robe's words was abruptly cut off by the sound of the flute.

The crowd's enthusiasm immediately waned by half.

“This tent,” Zhu Han turned around, his back to the man in the blue robe, and addressed the crowd, “is about borrowing a ‘rope,’ not a ‘name.’ You’ve come here seeking genuine acceptance, not to see who wins or loses. Whoever touches the rope will feel warmth in their palm.”

Whoever touches it first, you'll snatch it away; no matter how well they write, it's useless.

Today, let's not discuss price, only rules: whoever touches the rope first, and whoever first reports their biggest fear along the way—dampness, mold, dampness, or delay—will each report one thing, and whoever reports the most honestly will have their price determined first.

He was halfway through his sentence when he suddenly turned to look at the man in the blue robe. “You’re hanging on a rope, but your heart is hanging on money. If you still want to be the owner of this stall, stop on the rope by an inch and a half, and let the ‘money’ in your heart drop by half an inch. I’ll let you touch it one more time.”

The man in the blue robe realized that the person coming was a tough nut to crack, and after hesitating for a long time, he finally reached out.

His palm stopped on the rope, one breath, two breaths, three breaths... He tried to calm himself down, but he always slipped at the half-inch mark.

The blind man could hear a distinct mid-breath in his breathing—it was faked. Yao Jin stood to his side and behind, like a cold, hard javelin.

Zhu Han didn't reveal the answer, but said softly, "If you can't stop, then let go. Everyone has desires. If you dare to say in public that you want something, I'll believe you to some extent."

The man in the blue robe swallowed hard, and actually whispered, "I want to... earn some money. My family is poor, and last year there was a lot of rain, and my mother fell ill. I... I saw your shed and started thinking..."

Upon hearing this, the crowd's anger subsided slightly. The blind man sighed, as if smiling, "Your heel has touched the ground."

Zhu Han withdrew his gaze and turned to the rice merchant and the boatman: "Alright, let's talk about you. What were you most afraid of on the way here?"

One of the workers spoke up first: "What we're afraid of is the musty smell. If it gets out, the rice will spoil in three days."

An old boatman from the boatmen's side replied, "What we're worried about is a headwind; if it's delayed even a day, the price will drop."

Another young boatman raised his hand awkwardly: "What I'm afraid of is that my hand will slip and the bag will break when I'm unloading. I broke two bags this morning."

Everyone burst into laughter. The tense muscles were gently pressed back into their grooves.

Zhu Han said, “Mold is afraid of the wind spreading, and headwinds are afraid of being left unattended. You should put what you are most afraid of first, and the price will follow. The boatmen should leave half an inch in the shed first to unload the rice that doesn’t smell, and then the rice merchants should use curtains to block the wind. You two should put what you are most afraid of on the table first, and don’t show the price on your faces.”

The crowd responded hushedly. Zhu Han then said, "As for this shed—tear it down."

The man in the blue robe was deathly pale.

Zhu Biao stepped forward, placed his palm on the red rope, and lifted it up.

The thick rattan rope, swollen from being soaked in the rain, was lifted half a foot by him with force, revealing the hidden hook underneath.

Yao Jin kicked the man away, and the hidden hook clattered to the ground. The man in the blue robe trembled and knelt down with a thud: "Your Highness, I...I was wrong."

“The fault isn’t solely yours.” Zhu Han looked at him. “It’s this ‘name’. From now on, anyone who dares to set up a private shed, hang red ropes, write signs, collect money, and decide wins and losses—will be executed without mercy.”

He paused, then his voice suddenly softened, “But if someone wants to use the shed for legitimate business, they can set it up for free, and I’ll give them a bowl of porridge every day. Whoever comes to hang the sign is not allowed to write anything; I’ll just take a picture of their face. If anyone dares to write their name on the sign, I’ll tear their name out of this city.”

On the way back to the palace, the carriage swayed slightly.

Zhu Biao, clutching a thin rope, was still pondering the dismantling of the shed. He suddenly asked, "Uncle, this 'hidden ruler'..."

Zhu Han looked at him: "You figured it out?"

“You said the man in the blue robe couldn’t stop, so you made him say ‘want’. That reminded me of what you said to the page under the shed, ‘You wrote ‘stop’ as ‘pavilion’. I guess, Uncle, you’ve added another yardstick to your mind.”

"You have this ruler too."

Zhu Handao said, “It’s called ‘listening to the truth.’ If you dare to admit in your heart that you ‘want’—want to win, want to be fast, want to be praised—you can hear the pretense in other people’s voices. Treat people as people, not as actors. Actors have to perform for people to watch; people only need to speak for others to listen.”

Outside the carriage, a sliver of black light shot out from the eaves of the palace, like a large mouth exhaling a breath of fresh air after a night of rain.

As soon as the carriage entered Chengtian Gate, a palace attendant was already waiting under the eaves, whispering, "His Majesty urgently summons you."

The Fengtian Hall was brightly lit by candlelight. Zhu Yuanzhang sat on the dragon throne, with an old bamboo cane beside him, which he had brought with him during the war and had never left his side.

Seeing the two men, his eyes held both joy and anger. He slammed his bamboo cane on the table and exclaimed, "I knew that 'public shelter' was indeed a source of trouble! You did a good job demolishing it!"

Zhu Han bowed: "Brother, please calm down. Those who steal the law steal the name."

Zhu Biao laughed angrily: "This is like turning a rope into a noose around someone's neck."

Zhu Yuanzhang snorted, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening: "Your imperial uncle just finished talking about the harm of the word 'name,' and Yang Xian submits such a memorial. He's a scholar, doesn't he understand?"

“Of course he understands,” Zhu Han said calmly. “That’s why he wanted to borrow the name. He thought he could justify hanging a plaque in the imperial court.”

"Then tell me, what should we do?" Zhu Yuanzhang stared at the two men, his gaze like nails.

Zhu Biao stepped forward and said in a deep voice, "Your subject requests to confront Yang Xian in court."

Zhu Yuanzhang raised an eyebrow: "You?"

"Yes." Zhu Biao raised his eyes. "Your subject does not want to always hide behind your imperial uncle."

Zhu Han looked at his profile and smiled slightly: "Then let's debate. Not his words, but his heart. Tomorrow at noon, set up a tent at the palace gate. Whoever comes to court must first touch the rope. Let him touch it in front of all the officials, for the whole world to see."

Zhu Yuanzhang laughed heartily, his laughter filled with the youthful exuberance of riding across the pass: "Good! Let's do it that way."

The next day, at noon.

Sure enough, in front of the Fengtian Hall, a red rope hung quietly, with a smooth wooden board without any writing on it placed below it.

The officials approached with varying expressions, some curious, some disdainful, but in the end they all reached out and touched it.

Some people licked their lips after touching it, some swallowed, and some avoided eye contact.

Zhu Han stood to the side, hands behind his back, his expression indifferent.

Zhu Biao stood beside him, dressed in court robes, his expression calm and composed.

Yang Xian arrived slowly, dressed in court attire, his hat and belt neatly arranged.

Upon seeing the rope, he was taken aback at first, then sneered: "A pole erected in front of the palace, like a stage, what kind of decorum is this?"

Zhu Biao stepped forward: "Lord Yang, if you insist on setting up an official shed, please feel the rope first. If you can feel it firmly, the people of the world will accept your decision; if you can't, no matter how many seals you write, it will all be empty talk."

Yang Xian's expression stiffened slightly, but quickly returned to normal. He walked to the rope and reached out to press it down.

He exercised extreme restraint, slowed his breathing, and stopped his hand on the rope, his whole being seemingly blending into the red.

Someone in the crowd whispered in praise, "Steady!" Another person gave a cold snort, but said nothing.

As Zhu Han watched, a subtle thought crossed his mind—Yang Xianwen was steady at his breathing point, but he deliberately pulled his shoulder blades back, using the force of his back to press down on his chest, like pressing a mouthful of boiling water to the bottom of a pot.

It's firm, but doesn't allow for breathing. If it were a march, such a person wouldn't last long.

If it's a case, what such a person remembers is their own version of events.

"Minister Yang is steady," Zhu Han said loudly, "but too steady. When things are too full, they overflow. If you establish an official shed, the imperial court's reputation will suppress it, and others will not even dare to think about it. In that case, the shed will die."

Yang Xian withdrew his hand, a forced smile on his face: "We are the first among all officials, acting on behalf of the emperor to govern the world. This is our title, and also our responsibility. You say that the mind should be flexible, and that people should be self-disciplined. But the human heart is fickle; how can we keep it active without causing chaos?"

“Rely on emptiness, rely on the heart.” Zhu Biao interjected, his expression calm. “The heart shed is not about deciding who wins and who loses, but about making people lay bare their greatest fears. If you are setting up an official shed, first ask him what he fears, then ask him what he wants, and then make him pause for a moment.”

He relaxed first, and the conflict diminished by half. Whether you erect an official tent or not doesn't depend on whether you're an official standing in front of it, but on whether you dare to let your inner desires settle down a little. What you want is order; once you let go of that desire, you leave a way out for others.

The officials were in an uproar, discussing the matter animatedly. Zhu Yuanzhang sat upright in the hall, his expression unreadable.

Yang Xian's smile grew even colder: "Your Highness speaks so lightly. But how can disputes among the people be resolved in a few words? If we don't collect fees for the temporary shelters, who will maintain them? If we don't establish official titles, who will dare to submit?"

"I'll take your money, but I won't take your fame."

Zhu Han said calmly, “The fee for the shed is acceptable; write it as ‘porridge.’ Each shed will only charge one bowl of porridge per day for those who come here. Officials won’t take money; they’ll only take ‘observation’—observing the sweat on their palms and how genuine their fear is. As for gaining their respect—let the people touch the rope. If ninety out of a hundred touch it and their hearts calm down, then you, the official, will be convinced. If things are still chaotic after they’ve touched the rope, then dismantle the shed. The shed cannot stand on the officials; it can only stand in their hearts.”

These words were like a bucket of cold water poured on the front of the hall, extinguishing half the fire, but also forcing out some real steam.

Yang Xian pursed his lips and remained silent, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes.

He suddenly turned around and pointed behind him: "Since that's the case, why don't we try it in court?"

The crowd parted, revealing a simply dressed man and woman.

The man was around thirty years old, and the woman was holding a swaddled baby with red eyes.

The man bowed and said, "I am Liu Shan, a commoner from the same village, and I must tell you that Zhang Er has forcibly occupied the land by the stream and blocked my family from fetching water. My baby is sick and the water hasn't been changed for three days. I... I'm in a hurry."

When he said the word "urgent," his throat tightened and tears welled up in his eyes.

Yang Xian put his hands behind his back and said, "These kinds of civil matters are the most troublesome. Since Your Highness and the Crown Prince have said that there is a law, please implement it."

Zhu Yuanzhang nodded expressionlessly: "Try it."

Zhu Han and Zhu Biao exchanged a glance. Zhu Han then asked the two of them to touch the rope first.

The man's palms were indeed burning hot, and when he touched them, it felt like he was about to break the rope. He pulled his hand back before he could even catch his breath.

The woman held the child, but her hands were surprisingly steady. Her palms lingered on the rope for an extended period, as if spreading a small layer of the baby's breath on it.

Zhu Han subtly understood the situation.

Then they invited the other party—Zhang Er—to come forward. The man was about fifty years old, thin-skinned, with shifty eyes. He pretended to be calm when touching the rope, but there was a slight throbbing in his palm, like a blister on the edge of a hot pan.

"The issue isn't the land boundary, it's the water," Zhu Han said. "The land boundary can be surveyed later, but the water must be diverted today." (End of Chapter)