Chapter 538: Persistence Pays Off: The Ministry of Rites

Wu Tong's face was filled with joy—finally, the young master's studies were resolved.

Now, the young master may enter the academy and study the ways of the sages.

"Madam's intention is that, come next spring, the young master may join the other young masters of the household at the academy."

"But several collateral relatives of the clan have come to Madam requesting admission; she could not refuse, and has accepted all the household's youths into the academy—this year's enrollment is full."

"To secure the young master's education, Madam went to great trouble and found him a place at the Li family's academy in Bianjing—there are still openings there."

Upon hearing this, Wu Tong's face showed a flicker of surprise, as if to protest: "But the courtyard academy clearly…"

You spoke up to cut her off, speaking respectfully: "Thank you, Mother, for your efforts."

Han Dan studied the youth, seeing his expression remained calm, and gave a slight nod.

Madam had already instructed that if Xie Guan showed any sign of resentment, this opportunity to study would be revoked.

"Naturally, Madam has already prepared the tuition gift for Young Master Guan."

As she spoke, Han Dan's gaze swept past the main hall, where her mother's spirit tablet stood clearly in view.

"Young Master Guan is indeed quite filial."

With that, she turned and departed gracefully.

Wu Tong's face was now suffused with anger, impossible to conceal.

"This is outright oppression—the Xie household has four or five courtyards with academies, yet they are often under-enrolled, and classes are frequently skipped."

"Young Masters Yu and Yuan, for instance, have private tutors hired by the family—why should they even enter an academy? And there's the second courtyard academy and the clan's own academy, filled with idle guests and teachers drawing empty salaries."

"Now, to study, you must go to the Li family? The Xie household is in the north, the Li family in the south—far apart. And if a household son does not study at home, he will be mocked, suspected of having bad character or immoral conduct."

Yet you showed little reaction, quietly savoring Han Dan's final, half-veiled hint.

Does this Lady Yuan still harbor resentment toward Mother?

It is you who owe Mother!

Seeing your silence, Wu Tong hurried to comfort you:

"Young Master, do not be too heartbroken—Madam has now permitted you to study; in time, you may take the imperial examinations and fulfill your ambitions."

"Young Master, you are so wise—you will surely rise above others and bring glory to the family."

You smiled faintly and said: "After all, it is a good thing."

You reentered the courtyard and resumed practicing the "Leaning Post" method; this time, you held it one breath longer—but you were panting, every muscle aching.

Then, you quieted your mind and visualized the "Demon-Slaying Sword" in your mind's eye; your head spun and throbbed, yet you gritted your teeth.

One day's cultivation brought only slight progress, but you felt no discouragement—you started slower than others, so you must endure hardship and apply yourself with greater diligence.

A swift steed cannot leap ten paces; a nag's ten drives succeed through persistence.

Thus you repeated the process, never ceasing cultivation.

…

…

Bianjing, the foremost capital of the realm.

Yuheng Street in the eastern district, near the imperial palace.

Those who could afford homes here were all powerful and immensely wealthy.

After all, in Bianjing, every inch of land was priceless—even the outskirts commanded astronomical prices.

At dusk, lanterns flickered to life.

The restaurants and street snacks from all thirteen continents along Yuheng Street grew lively, filled with clamor and bustle.

This was the first impression left on newcomers to the capital—prosperity and vibrancy.

Tea houses, entertainment quarters, mansions of high officials, and the brothels of Changle Lane—all lined the streets, dense as fish scales.

When night fell!

Bianjing had no curfew.

In brothels and entertainment halls, curtains drew back, revealing beauties from Yangzhou, court entertainers, and courtesans, vying for attention as fanning young lords lounged among them, while madams shouted loudly to draw customers.

Gambling dens dotted the streets—tables glittered with gold and silk, games of dice, cockfighting, quail fighting, and betting on tiles, each more exotic than the last, drawing tricks and oddities from across the land, leaving spectators awestruck.

Wagering a thousand taels was common in Bianjing.

The most bustling area at night was not in the east, but Xixiang Pavilion in the west.

Sima Ting walked alone, watching greasy aromas drift through alleyways, fathers pulling children wrapped in bright red winter coats, laughing as they strolled along cobblestone streets.

Passersby flowed like a river—wandering martialists carried swords, young men led fine horses, groups of scholars admired night-blooming flowers.

Anyone witnessing this scene would marvel at it as the splendor of a golden age.

Yet!

Sima Ting had personally witnessed Jiannan Province and knew how many bones lay buried beneath this prosperity.

Last year, Jiannan suffered a great drought; Youzhou saw the horror of cannibalism, and demons ran rampant, turning life to ash.

Jiangnan Province was no different—nightly cries echoed, new graves mingled with old, indistinguishable.

Coming from Jiangnan, he had seen the Yellow River change course, refugees scattered across the land, wailing everywhere.

Bones lay exposed on the wilds; for a thousand li, no rooster crowed; of a hundred people, one remained.

Sima Ting sighed softly, walked slowly past Yuheng Street, and finally halted before an unassuming mansion, gently tapping the door ring.

The mansion's gate was narrow, with no stone lions or door thresholds—plain to the point of simplicity.

In the eastern district, most residents were native Bianjing folk, who held an innate superiority over other provinces, calling themselves "Jingye," spending fortunes on bird-cages and cricket fights.

Thus, mansions in the west often had high thresholds, grand structures, and lavishly decorated gates to display their owners' status.

Yet even so, no one dared act arrogantly before this seemingly shabby mansion.

The reason was simple!

This Tang mansion was the residence of Tang Ziang, the current Minister of Rites.

And also Sima Ting's master.

The door creaked open, revealing an elderly man in coarse cloth, sturdy of build; upon seeing Sima Ting, he exclaimed in surprise:

"General Sima, what brings you here?"

Sima Ting smiled in greeting:

"Uncle Chen, long time no see." Then he stepped calmly inside.

The interior furnishings were equally plain, with no precious items—it was hard to believe this was the home of a top-ranking court official.

Sima Ting's gaze swept the house, then paused as he noticed Uncle Chen's aura—he exclaimed in surprise:

"Uncle Chen, you've reached the Sixth Realm?"

Uncle Chen's face lit up with a broad smile.

"We old bones can't compare to you youngsters. I've followed the old master for seventy years before even touching the threshold of the Sixth Realm—I can't match your vigor, General, entering the Upper Three Realms before thirty."

"The limit of a martialist's life draws near; I fear I'll never see the heights above." His tone was deeply wistful.

Ninety years was the mortal limit for martialists—a barrier as vast as a heavenly chasm for all martialists in the realm.

Sima Ting did not take up this heavy topic, instead asking:

"Where is the old master now?"

"Oh, the old master is in his study—the Secretariat officials are there too," Uncle Chen replied.

Hearing this, Sima Ting's brow furrowed slightly, his steps pausing involuntarily.

The Secretariat officials staying so late at his master's home could not be for ordinary matters. Recalling the recent difficulties with Yellow River management, he already had a suspicion.

"Don't announce me yet—wait until they finish talking," Sima Ting mused, then added, "Uncle Chen, take me to the kitchen for a bite. Today at the Xie household, there were young ladies present—I dared not eat much, lest I frighten them."

Uncle Chen smiled knowingly: "Which young lady has caught General Sima's eye? She must be truly fortunate."

Uncle Chen had once been the master's personal attendant; Sima Ting had known him since childhood and even guided him in martial arts.

When he thought of his master, Sima Ting felt not only deep reverence, but also an unspoken mystery.

Having grown up beside him, listening to his teachings, the older he became, the less he understood his master.

His master and the Fourth Master were both teacher and close friend.

Most strangely, his master appeared entirely ordinary—never touched martial cultivation, never practiced spiritual refinement, living solely as a mortal.

Yet once, a martialist of the Upper Three Realms attempted assassination.

Inside a carriage at noon, unseen from outside, only a flicker of fingertip light—yet the martialist's head exploded like rotten wood.

His master, in simple robes, had sat firmly on the imperial court for sixty years, untouched by the shifting tides of power.

Night fell; after dinner, Sima Ting waited quietly in an ancient, elegant study within the Tang mansion, his mind calm, showing no impatience.

He touched the paper where Xie Guan had written his reflections on "benevolent and determined scholars"—surely his master would be pleased.

About an hour passed, two figures entered slowly; Sima Ting rose at once, speaking with utmost reverence:

"Master!"

"Yiju, you've come!"

Sima Ting's courtesy name was Yiju—bestowed by his master, carrying profound meaning.

In response stood an unremarkable old man, dressed plainly, his hair thinning, skin yellowed and loose; yet upon closer look, one could see he must have been handsome in youth.

His eyes seemed dim, his steps slow as he shuffled forward.

Tang Ziang was already in his eighties, nearing his hundredth birthday.

In the Great Qi court, Tang Ziang was called the "Sick Tiger," the "Sick Year"—not because he was ill, but because he always appeared listless in court.

These years, he rarely proposed policies, and even the Ministry of Rites' authority had gradually been relinquished.

"Greetings, General Sima!"

Behind Tang Ziang walked a middle-aged man dressed as a Confucian scholar; though not in official robes, his Confucian gown was worn with dignity.

His figure was lean, his face sallow and withered, as if from an illness long ago, one side of his face appearing stiff, yet his brow carried an air of calm steadiness.

Sima Ting naturally recognized this man—he was Chen Lu of the Central Secretariat, currently serving as an inspector there.

In recent years, Chen Lu's reputation had soared, rising several ranks in a single year; he came from a common background, much like his master Tang Ziang.

Especially earlier this year, his memorial, "The Memorial on Public Order," directly addressed Qi's civilian hardships, proposing sweeping political reforms spanning tens of thousands of characters. Though Su Xiang did not fully adopt it, the memorial circulated among the Grand Secretariat and drew widespread attention.

Could he have become your disciple?

Otherwise, why would they be talking until this hour? After all, in Bianjing, the Grand Secretariat maintains the "Suspicious Mirror Bureau."

It was a special intelligence agency established by Su Xiang; every official's daily movements were recorded.

Such agencies were historically reserved for imperial service, but now, with imperial power in decline, Su Xiang has taken control of it.

Today, Chen Lu visited your residence—Su Xiang must already know.

Yet now, Chen Lu's expression was filled with anguish, utterly unlike his usual calm and capable demeanor.

Sima Ting's doubts deepened—he remembered that just days ago, in court, Chen Lu's proposal to launch troops against Zhuya Commandery had been approved; he should be riding high with success.

Tang Ziang sat in his chair, smiling as he watched Sima Ting and Chen Lu, then spoke slowly: "It's all about managing the Yellow River. Our Minister Chen has been locked in furious arguments with several major figures of the Nine Surnames—so heated they nearly came to blows."

"If I hadn't moved quickly tonight, you and I might be visiting him in the Suspicious Mirror Bureau's prison."

Hearing this, Chen Lu sighed helplessly. "Master, don't mock me like this. These Nine Surnames live in luxury—they simply don't understand the people's suffering."

Sima Ting found his own seat; he had recently secured leave from court for his wedding and had not heard of this turmoil.

He had never been close to Chen Lu, yet he deeply admired his character.

He despised the Nine Surnames intensely. Though many among them saw his potential and sought to befriend him—even sending carriages laden with silver and gold—he turned them all away at his door.

He even hung a sign outside his gate reading "Closed for a Year," which quickly became a topic of gossip in Bianjing.

Tang Ziang teased:

"Our Minister Chen is a true man today. The Nine Surnames hold immense power in court—you're openly opposing them? Tomorrow you'll be the talk of the capital."

"Funny enough, the man across from you is the third son of the Sima family of the Nine Surnames."

Chen Lu glanced at Sima Ting and shook his head.

"General Sima, I've long heard of your achievements in Jiannan. You are no man who cares only for family interests and ignores the people's lives."

"As a court minister, I must prioritize the people's welfare. If I sacrifice their lives for personal wealth and glory, what dignity do I have left to stand in court?"

"Now, the Yellow River flood is more urgent than the war in the west, yet Su Xiang keeps his focus fixed on the frontier. How can anyone not feel anxious?"

Sima Ting suddenly recalled that Chen Lu's entire family had perished in the Jiannan flood—only he survived out of ten.

At this, the old man's eyes flickered with sharp insight.

Chen Lu let out a long sigh.

"Today, the second elder of the Li family openly opposed flood control, claiming the Yellow River's shift is divine punishment for the people's disloyalty and filial neglect."

"The Zhu Ge family is even more sinister. They claim that to manage the flood, we must gather the refugees—then, with so many gathered, if someone rises up, it could spark nationwide rebellion. Such malicious intent is truly abhorrent."

(End of Chapter)