Chapter 281

Wang Tong smiled, lowering his gaze to Li Guanyi, and said softly: "Those things in your chest cannot be spoken aloud—if they were, the world would not tolerate you; you've gone too far."

"Speak them, and you'll face the whole world as your enemy; no one will understand you."

"They say when it comes to benevolence, you don't yield even to your teacher—but if you won't yield to your teacher, how much less will your disciple?"

"Your teacher lends you a hand, but I'm not truly helping you."

"In the end, how much of an opportunity you gain depends on you."

Li Guanyi looked at him, lowered his gaze, and said: "Yes, disciple understands."

Debating the Dao is merely a means.

That is merely the outward manifestation of the world's great tide.

Nothing in the world is ever this simple.

The core is not decided by debate; what is being fought for now are the ten thousand students cultivated by this academy—students who may not possess supreme talent, yet are more than capable of filling mid-level positions, the bones of any power.

Wang Tong smiled, looking at this disciple, and said:

"A great hall about to collapse cannot be held up by a single beam."

He swept his sleeve and walked forward calmly; the Confucian aura rose—Confucian students' spirits and qi linked together, producing wondrous effects; when cultivated to the end, they would not fall short of martial cultivators. And now, as Wang Tong walked, that vast righteous qi surged upward.

Cheng Rulong and Zhu Jingmian both changed expression slightly.

These two venerable, white-haired Grand Confucians had been forced back!

This Confucian, merely thirty-three years old, pressed forward with pure, righteous qi.

He forced both of them from their high cushions onto the ground.

Wang Tong stepped upon the positions of the two Grand Confucians and said softly:

"Gentlemen, after you."

Li Guanyi passed his teacher; he knew that today's debate would not determine a victor—just as Wen He, Wen Lingjun, and Feng Xiao had said: the academy was a piece of rich meat, and every state under heaven sought to claim a share.

Grand Confucians were all shrewd men, having read until they grew cunning.

They used the Master's earliest words to disguise and conceal their own thoughts, gathering students, then dividing into factions, allying with the states—what was being fought now was not schools, the Four Symbols, or right and wrong.

The vast world.

There is no right or wrong.

Li Guanyi murmured to himself: "Whoever wins, they'll support."

His sleeves fluttered as he gripped Chixiao Sword, gazing ahead—the students' gazes remained clear, fixed on Li Guanyi; Chen and Ying states each had armies of a million, territories spanning tens of thousands of li.

Strong troops, sturdy horses, granaries brimming with gold and silver.

Yet they still coveted these ten thousand students.

In three hundred years of chaos, these students, raised on the original Confucian Master's ideals, could hardly be mere bookish scholars—scholars in chaos had always followed the tradition of traveling to study.

The academy's ten thousand students had all undergone training as Junzi; each possessed internal qi above the Entry Level, able to ride and shoot, to drive four-horse war chariots across battlefields without breaking formation.

They understood the world's laws and rules, and the shifts in policy.

Mounted, they could wield spears, halberds, and swords to kill enemies.

Dismounted, they could immediately write reports and submit them.

In civil administration, they mastered laws and folk customs; in logistics, they understood calculation, overseeing the livelihood of entire regions.

The Six Arts of Confucianism.

Ritual, Music, Archery, Charioteering, Writing, Arithmetic.

Ritual was the laws and rules of the world's states; Music guided the people in ancestral rites.

Archery and Charioteering—and by default, swordsmanship—were the skills of battlefield combat.

Writing and Arithmetic: one for submitting documents and policies, the other for the knowledge needed to organize troops—because Gongyang Su Wang had not died, and because Grand Confucians Cheng and Zhu had not yet truly reached the level of Academy Master.

In this academy today, ancient Confucian teachings still spread; the academy absorbed all schools, and every student cultivated these six arts—back then, the original Master had only three thousand such students.

Now, after eight hundred years of layered inheritance, this level of student—

In the academy, there were fully ten thousand.

These were ten thousand students.

Ten thousand absolute elites: mounted, they were Captains; dismounted, they were officials.

Mastery of both civil and martial arts was the classical school's standard for talent.

The age of flourishing Masters was past.

That original glory had long since flowed away like water eastward, never to return.

Now, this academy was the last remaining force of the classical school in the Age of the Hundred Schools—within its Confucian and Vertical-Alliance Masters were rare strategists; among its military Masters were generals worthy of the famed generals' list.

These students, though only ten thousand, could break armies of tens of thousands.

And they were classmates, comrades, fellow disciples of the same school.

They still preserved the academy's pure idealism; with these ten thousand as the core, each leading thirty to fifty men, they could instantly raise hundreds of thousands of troops—only requiring a famed general to command them, with slight training, they would remain orderly, advancing and retreating with discipline.

In just a few years, they could form the framework for a force of five hundred thousand.

This was the vast majority of elite reserves in the Central Plains over the past two decades.

The last glory of the Hundred Schools.

Ten thousand students, all at minimum baseline level, fully accomplished in both civil and martial arts.

This was why Chen and Ying states had come here.

Any ambitious lord would understand what this meant.

Once these academy students entered the world, within a century, the academy could never again train the young generation purely, letting them focus solely on cultivating their arts—once a door is opened, it is hard to close.

He who gains the academy gains a portion of the world.

At this moment, Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanxiang simultaneously lifted their heads, their gazes sharp, fixed on the quietly seated Gongyang Su Wang—the poor-born Su Wang who, as a youth, had to copy books for wealthy families just to read them.

To seek knowledge, one may travel a hundred li for just a single phrase of insight.

After asking, one turns and returns home.

Gongyang Su Wang, born in poverty, restrained the conflicts between different schools, yet repeatedly refused invitations from the State of Chen and the State of Yan to enter official service, all to preserve the existence of the Academy in this chaotic age.

Talents from across the land came to the Academy to study the Six Arts of Confucianism and the methods of the Hundred Schools; over these many years, he managed to suppress the disputes among so many schools, forcing most students to study in peace—this accumulation across generations is what created the present strength.

He has even allowed the Academy's students to enter the world.

What are you betting on?

Was it the appearance of the Crimson Clouds Sword that made you decide to take this gamble?

Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanshang were both thinking.

Li Guanyi walked step by step up to the high seat of the feudal lords; he regarded Jiang Wanshang and Chen Dingye, then sat upon another seat—wearing a golden-threaded crown, a crimson Fire Qilin cloud-pattern battle robe with mixed civil and military sleeves, one side showing armor, the other the robe.

He raised wine to toast Emperor Ji Zichang, then drank alone.

Feudal lords have their own positions; Confucians have their own stubbornness.

He saw the resolve in Wang Tong's eyes; he realized what his teacher intended to do.

………………

Feng Xiao drank a sip of wine, watching the vortex in the sky shift, murmuring: "Damn it, this is really going to be bad. I thought something would happen, but after the Lord entered, this has become even bigger than I imagined."

"Go with the tide; act against it."

"Seize the opening, strike the core, advance gradually."

Feng Xiao drank a sip of wine and murmured:

"One who serves others is a slave; one who is honored by others is a guest; one who cannot stand firm is a temporary guest; one who can stand firm is a long-term guest; a long-term guest who cannot control affairs is a lowly guest; one who can control affairs may gradually seize the key, and become the master."

"The Lord's power is weak; the states' power is strong."

"The Lord comes to the Central Plain like a guest visiting; the first step is to stand firm—occupy the guest's position; the second step is to seize the opening; the third is to insert oneself; the fourth is to grasp the key; the fifth is to turn and become the master."

"Thus, he has already inserted himself—Master Wang Tong doesn't know what he intends to do."

"But the chance for 'Turning Guest into Master' has arrived."

Feng Xiao drank deeply, and just then, his vision blurred.

As if he saw a small Black Tortoise flying out of the void.

Feng Xiao froze, reached out, and rubbed his eyes hard.

"Huh? Black Tortoise?"

Feng Xiao finally began to doubt himself, murmuring: "Have I drunk too much?"

"Have I finally ruined my brain?"

Until the Black Tortoise manifestation, radiating inner Qi and appearing deliberately, grew impatient and slapped Feng Xiao's forehead—waking the drunken fool—then turned slowly, golden light rising from its shell.

The patterns on the shell formed into Li Guanyi's handwriting.

It was Li Guanyi who had sent out his Black Tortoise manifestation.

Feng Xiao deciphered the characters formed by the patterns on the Black Tortoise's shell; his expression slowly grew Solemn, then nodded and said: "The Lord's thoughts align with mine. Tell the Lord, little Black Tortoise."

"Feng Xiao will not let him down."

Feng Xiao raised his wine flask to his lips to drink.

He hesitated, then hung the flask at his waist, licked his lips, feeling his heart race and his blood boil.

He galloped away on horseback.

The Black Tortoise manifestation dissolved into Qi and returned to Li Guanyi's body.

Thus, Li Guanyi knew the message he had sent via his outward-moving Black Tortoise had been received; he exhaled slightly, his gaze calm and serene, watching the debate unfold.

Master Wang Tong himself was a young disciple of the Gongyang line of Confucianism, highly regarded, wise and virtuous; he was one of the famed scholars summoned at the very beginning when General Yue Qianfeng planned to rescue Marshal Yue.

Within the Academy, he embodied the teachings of three schools.

But Cheng Rulong and Zhu Jingmian were different.

They absorbed part of Daoist knowledge, preserving Heavenly Principle and extinguishing human desire, making Heavenly Principle the essence of humanity.

In their theory, what Heavenly Principle manifests in humans is:

The Three Bonds and Five Constants.

Beyond this, and beyond what is necessary for survival, lies human desire.

Human desire opposes Heavenly Principle; one must cut human desire to preserve Heavenly Principle. Li Guanyi watched Master Wang Tong's great debate—these Confucian masters all possessed inner energy around the Fourth Heaven level, their spiritual essence even stronger.

At first, it was only Cheng Rulong and Zhu Jingmian.

But later, facing the vigorous Wang Tong, Cheng Rulong and Zhu Jingmian gradually struggled to respond; the students also began paying attention to this young master, once thought to take many disciples and master three schools, yet never forming his own.

The debate grew increasingly intense.

At first, it was only Zhu Jingmian and Cheng Rulong.

Later, masters from the School of Names, the School of Mohism, the School of Vertical and Horizontal Alliances, the School of Military, and the Daoist School rose one by one—each with their own beliefs, reasons, resolve, schools, and disciples, coming to debate Wang Tong.

From the Hundred Schools, scholars who had studied for decades stepped forward; they were intelligent men who knew that in the struggle for the Great Dao, there was no absolute right or wrong—that victory in debate depended on power.

Yet they also carried the pride and integrity of scholars.

Since Wang Tong invited them, how could they not come?

Even the most entrenched scholar, buried in fame and profit, who had reached this point, still carried within a spark—the original aspiration that rose when they first picked up a book, merely worn away by the world.

The Academy's students gathered.

Feng Xiao and Li Guanyi thought alike, but Feng Xiao thought of the military strategy of "Turning Guest into Master," while Li Guanyi simply wished for Master Wang Tong to fulfill his deepest desire.

Ten thousand people gathered here to watch this debate.

This place could not hold so many students; the Gongyang Su Wang school said:

"Tear down the walls."

"Among the Hundred Schools, within the Imperial Academy, why would one need any 【walls or gates】?"

So the students joined forces and tore down the walls and barriers blocking the debate grounds, then entered the arena of discourse. Their expressions were reverent; before even drawing near, they bowed deeply, then found spots and sat cross-legged.

Master Wang Tong of the Confucian school simultaneously engaged all schools and factions of the Hundred Schools.

What began as a debate had gradually become a lecture-like state.

Wang Tong's learning and aspirations gradually emerged through clashes with the great masters of the Hundred Schools and the Three Teachings and Nine Streams. Li Guanyi sat upright, silently watching Wang Tong teach.

At nightfall, the students held up lanterns; when the candlelight was raised, the academy—walls torn down—glowed brilliantly, like countless stars converging into one radiant expanse.

The debate continued without pause; Jiang Wanshang and Chen Dingye did not leave.

At sunrise the next day, a change occurred: after Wang Tong refuted him, Zhu Jingmian's expression shifted repeatedly—he could no longer sustain his One's Own Heart Realm. The Confucian righteous qi was, in essence, a product fused with the spirit, as steadfast as a warrior's martial will.

Similar to a martial manifestation, yet different.

At that moment, Master Zhu Jingmian suddenly cried out several times, toppled backward, his righteous qi shattering above his head, dissolving into streams of literary qi. His Dao heart shattered; he spat blood and collapsed to the ground.

At this, all were stunned. The great Confucians and scholars who once led their schools now felt the fierce majesty within this discourse. They fell silent; ten thousand eyes fixed upon Master Wang Tong, who had bested the Hundred Schools.

Dao against Dao, Buddha against Buddha, Confucianism against Confucianism.

A Grand Master who unified the Three Teachings.

The students and the great Confucians of every school, crushed head-on by this direct assault, changed expression. Cheng Rulong whispered: "You face a hundred alone—you were born with a constitution prone to self-destruction from excessive brilliance. To expend yourself so utterly, do you truly wish to see no more than ten springs and autumns?!"

The Grand Master of the Yin-Yang School, Zhong Tian Bei Ji, once issued a verdict on Wang Tong.

He said: Wang Tong's emotions run too deep to grant longevity; excessive brilliance inevitably harms the body. If he cultivates himself gently, he may live past forty, perhaps reaching sixty. But if he does not restrain himself, Wang Tong's lifespan will not endure.

Master Wang Tong replied: "I have heard of those who sacrifice their lives for righteousness."

This phrase, which any Confucian could utter—even a five-year-old child could speak it glibly—suddenly grew heavy. The weight of its words revealed itself only at critical moments.

Here lay the sharpness and fierceness of Confucianism.

Cheng Rulong's face turned pale.

Suddenly, Li Guanyi rose. The young marquis spoke slowly: "Let the debate end here."

His gaze settled on Master Wang Tong.

The Zetian hexagram of the Book of Imperial Supreme Cosmic Order allowed Li Guanyi to sense vital energy; he sensed the master's vitality had reached its peak, just before its decline, and he spoke to halt it. He was still but a youth—he wished those close to him to fulfill their wishes.

He wished those close to him to fulfill their wishes—and still live.

Li Guanyi reached out and lifted a cup of wine.

Crimson battle robes fluttered; Jiang Wanshang smiled at him, offering no resistance.

Chen Dingye lowered his gaze.

They ruled territories spanning tens of thousands of li, possessed three centuries of state legacy and accumulation—this granted them the dignity of monarchs. The debate was merely one surface manifestation of the greater struggle for cosmic momentum.

What they truly valued remained momentum and state power.

Even if Master Wang Tong had refuted the Hundred Schools, the fact that great Confucians brought their disciples into the two states was already settled. At most, Jiang Wanshang would honor Wang Tong as a genius of the realm, bestow him a grand title—and that would suffice.

What good would it do?

He regarded Li Guanyi with the amused ease of an elder toward a youth, curious what the boy intended to do. Ha! Worst case—he'd display heroic spirit and draw a few more people in. No harm done!

The gaze of the Hundred Schools also fell upon the young marquis. Li Guanyi stepped forward slowly; his footsteps touched the air, dispersing qi that ignited into flames to bear him aloft.

The Chixiao Sword sang; a crimson dragon circled slowly beside him. Li Guanyi walked to the master's side, healing Wang Tong with the Book of Imperial Supreme Cosmic Order, then raised his cup in toast to the academy's students, and stood before Master Wang Tong.

The master smiled: "No marquis has ever entered the arena."

Li Guanyi replied: "Today, you have seen one."

A middle-aged man shouted: "Li Guanyi, son of Tai Ping Gong—you are of noble lineage. Your words are merely an attempt to draw these students into your service, to make them your subjects. Your ambition to seize the realm is glaringly obvious!"

Feng Xiao's lips curled slightly.

It wasn't just Li Guanyi—Chen and Ying states shared this same thought.

Li Guanyi answered directly: "You may refuse to enter Jiangnan, may refuse to vie for the realm—but the people live in this world. Their wisdom remains closed. The Imperial Academy is not a tool for seizing power. The Academy was meant to enlighten the realm."

He raised his cup, brimming with wine, and declared loudly: "I ask you, students of the Academy: do you still remember your first master? Do you still remember the ancient practice of wandering to learn? I ask you: do you still remember 'teach without distinction'?"

"The Book of Rites says: 'A skilled singer makes others follow his voice; a skilled teacher makes others follow his will.'"

"Students of the Academy: do you study in the wealth of Zhongzhou—or will you walk the realm?"

Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanshang's expressions changed abruptly.

They rose suddenly.

Then sat down slowly.

Jiang Wanshang sighed bitterly: "This boy is digging up the roots!" He regretted not restraining him earlier. Li Guanyi was too young; he'd unconsciously treated him as a nephew, and now the blade had pierced him.

Ten thousand students watched the golden-crowned, crimson-robed Qin Wu Hou pace through the academy.

"Li Guanyi has come to the Academy not to invite one school or one faction."

"Li Guanyi raises this cup in tribute to eight hundred years of Academy elegance."

"In tribute to the master's 'teach without distinction,' in tribute to the contention of the Hundred Schools."

"Li Guanyi dares to request: let the Academy emerge!"

"Like the ancient masters, wander the realm, enlighten the masses!"

He did not see a single talent, nor a group of talents. Li Guanyi came to open the sealed Academy. Only Gongyang Su Wang had seen this from the start. The boy raised his head, gazing at the students, and whispered:

"Learn from them."

"Become them."

"And then…"

The wine in Qin Wu Hou's hand spilled onto the Academy's ground. He spoke four words—only four words—that stirred the blood of every young soul still holding ideals.

"Surpass them."

Master Wang Tong looked at Li Guanyi, smiled faintly, and lowered his gaze. He saw many flaws—but Li Guanyi's path was clear: to select talent by merit, to let the people read, to open their minds, step by step.

But the Imperial Academy had already been seized by the Great Scholars; they had their own beliefs, their own schools, and wherever the Vast Righteous Qi resided, even commoners who read and gained wisdom would eventually be influenced, naturally flowing into one of their respective schools.

The Imperial Academy should be pure.

Now, the inner workings of the Imperial Academy resemble aristocratic clans—relying on control over students to gain fame across the land, siphoning the blood of students to elevate a single individual's status. That is not the Imperial Academy; it is not the Hundred Schools.

Eight hundred years have accumulated too many corruptions.

These corruptions spread through the Imperial Academy like poison, accompanying the recommendation system.

Before the recommendation system is replaced by the imperial examinations, these lingering poisons must be purged.

Before the new era, the Imperial Academy must be cleansed anew. Though after another few hundred years, new corruptions will surely accumulate again—yet do not fear, do not fear.

Those who come after are endless.

The highest are those who conceal themselves in heaven, next those who conceal themselves on earth, next those who conceal themselves by name.

Wang Tong must undertake great matters; his disciples enter the world, yet the world does not know my name.

Master Wang Tong lifted his head, gazing at Gongyang Su Wang. Su Wang stared at this most cherished junior, stunned, then immediately understood what he intended to do—his eyes filled with sorrow, he sighed. Wang Tong smiled, bowed slightly, and took a step forward.

His eyes lowered slightly, calm and unhurried: "Earlier, Wang Tong answered your questions."

"Now it is my turn to ask you."

"Great Scholars, eminent scholars—do you seek fame and profit?"

The scholars of the Hundred Schools fell silent.

Wang Tong smiled, and in his eyes there seemed a trace of regret. He said:

"At first, the Master said: 'Those who know are not as good as those who love; those who love are not as good as those who delight.' Back then, I thought the Master's words were profound. But after traveling through this world, I developed new thoughts."

"Those who know are not as good as those who act; those who act are not as good as those who dwell in peace with the Dao."

"To know, to act, and finally to dwell peacefully in the Dao."

Cheng Rulong's face turned pale. "Wang Tong, what are you doing!"

Wang Tong replied: "Confucianism must become a religion; the Imperial Academy has become filthy. I see your scholarly qi flourishing like cosmic fortune—but upon closer look, it is siphoned from the fortune of these very students."

"As long as you sages remain unextinguished, the students cannot rise; all of you drain their blood and fortune."

"An old man who refuses to die is a thief."

"Everyone should become a dragon, yet you are the barrier before the carp leaps the dragon gate. Reverence for teachers and the Dao?"

The thirty-three-year-old Confucian scholar stepped forward half a pace and declared loudly:

"What is reverence for teachers and the Dao?"

"A disciple need not be inferior to his teacher; when a disciple surpasses his teacher, that is true reverence for the teacher and the Dao."

"Not bowing with clasped hands, not following only the Great Scholars and Masters as your leaders, not clinging to rigid hierarchies. What you desire is merely for your disciples to kneel before you."

"Yet such minor issues are but dust and fallen leaves."

"Brush them away."

Brush them away?!

Half of the Hundred Schools' Great Sects turned pale.

Wang Tong said: "The debate is concluded. Today, Wang Tong shall shatter your flourishing scholarly qi, extinguish the glory of these school-clans. If the Imperial Academy enters the world, it must not look like this—it is an embarrassment."

"Do not worry—I shall sever my own first."

As Wang Tong spoke these words, at last a youthful vigor emerged—he stepped forward, and the Vast Righteous Qi surged skyward.

From within the ancient Confucian path, an even more immense Vast Righteous Qi erupted skyward, transforming into a blade. Beneath the Hundred Schools, the scholarly splendor—built upon accumulated fortune—began to change strangely, as if about to scatter.

Yet there were those Great Scholars whose qi remained pure, rooted in their own will.

A sword's chime exploded—grand, solemn.

From the ancient Confucian path, swords flew forth—even the sword in Gongyang Su Wang's hand leapt free and landed before the young Confucian.

【Virtue】【Benevolence】【Righteousness】.

Cultivate Virtue.

Seek Benevolence.

Embrace Righteousness.

The Confucian held the sword and looked at Li Guanyi. "Establish the heart of Heaven and Earth; secure the destiny of the people."

"I cannot accomplish these."

"But the third—I may yet attempt it."

He smiled. The Master held the sword and walked slowly, Xu Xing.

The sky darkened, pressing down. Wind and clouds churned. A Vast Righteous Qi rose from every student in the Imperial Academy, coalescing into a long sword. Wang Tong gripped it with both hands and slashed through the sky—as if severing the chains bound upon the young students.

First, break their inner gods through debate; then, shatter their physical chains with Vast Righteous Qi.

Thus, the aristocratic clans may be overthrown.

Thus, the students may emerge into the world.

Crisp shattering sounds rang endlessly.

Thus, the radiant halos atop the so-called schools crumbled layer by layer.

Streams of scholarly qi, long siphoned away, flowed back into the students' bodies. This transformation of qi, mingled with the chime of swords, echoed long and unceasing, stirring a bronze bell in the Imperial Academy. The bell's tone rang long and unceasing, as if echoing from a thousand years past.

Wang Tong held the Gongyang Su Wang Sword, its blade resting on the ground. The Confucian's sleeves fluttered as he spoke gently: "Carry on the lost teachings of the sages."

"Discard the old; establish the new."

"Continue the past; open the future."

"The eight-hundred-year chains are broken. The sea of learning is boundless—no more restraint. You all—"

"Please!"

?? Hard to write. My sleep schedule just blew up (at peace)