Chapter 52

The smiles of the scholars who had come to watch a spectacle vanished.

That smile transferred to the face of Xue Laoyezi, growing even more unrestrained.

Xue Daoyong’s grin erupted, nearly uncontrollable—his lips seemed harder to pull down than the trigger of a divine crossbow.

Yet the other scholars and great clans fully understood the old man’s mirth; had they been in his place, they would have been even more elated, more brazen, more triumphant—

To establish the heart of heaven and earth, to secure the destiny of the people, to carry forward the lost teachings of the sages, to open peace for ten thousand generations.

Only these four phrases.

Literary achievement, martial mastery.

Enough.

What startled them most was the intense emotion embedded in that final phrase.

All had seen the world, witnessed a thousand faces—they could hear the essence, the spirit within. That was the true rarity, like brushing away dust to reveal jade; words and phrasing were merely outward adornments. Such a heart capable of resonating with this phrase was raw jade itself!

This was Wang Tong’s fourth disciple, and the fourth senior brother to the many scions of noble families.

Today, he would emerge.

Yet immediately they saw Master Wang Tong gaze deeply at the young man, refraining from disturbing him, then turning to walk back to his original spot—his back straighter, his steps calmer and more resolute.

Wind stirred through the leaves.

In songs passed down a thousand years later, people would rank this still-youthful man—the first to advocate the unity of the Three Teachings—as the greatest figure beneath the Two Sages of Confucianism, singing his name across the land.

【The Five Masters: Xun, Yang, Wenzhongzi, Lao, Zhuang.】

Yet beneath the sunlight of a thousand years ago—

No one knew what he was thinking.

Wei Xuancheng watched the boy in silence, sighing. Du Ke said: “What, troubled by the two trials still ahead?”

Wei Xuancheng replied: “No. I was just thinking I need to strengthen my wrist strength.”

The boy spoke calmly:

“There may be many more times I’ll need to pour tea.”

“Better to prepare before the rain comes.”

………………

Xue Shuangtao faintly sensed the weight of that final phrase. She cradled the gold-inlaid jade bracelet; the boy placed his hand over it but did not remove it. Instead, he raised his hand, and an eternal winter plum blossom fell into her palm—the same plum blossom Master Siming had left when demonstrating the Dao of Yin-Yang flow.

Li Guanyi smiled: “It’s yours.”

Xue Shuangtao asked: “Aren’t you keeping this jade ring?”

Li Guanyi said: “Am I that greedy?”

The girl studied him up and down, then smiled faintly:

“No. Just a little bit.”

Li Guanyi sighed: “I know you believe I haven’t read books—but I truly haven’t read much of the classics, histories, or philosophical texts. And thank you—for speaking up for me just now before those scions.”

Xue Shuangtao looked up at him.

Suddenly she clasped her fists in a martial salute, smiling, her features as vivid as a painted scroll, radiating youthful charm:

“Guest minister, you’re too kind.”

When Li Guanyi and Xue Shuangtao returned, everything remained unchanged.

Only Xue Daoyong’s laughter grew even more unrestrained.

Fresh fruit platters, chilled meats, and hot tea to accompany the dishes were served anew.

Graceful women danced with flowing waists.

Li Guanyi lowered his gaze, yet inexplicably thought of Qian Zheng’s sister.

Changsun Wuchou sat beside Li Guanyi. Compared to when he had introduced the noble youths earlier, his smile now seemed warmer, gentler. He picked up a slice of braised meat with his chopsticks, ate it with Longjing tea, and praised: “Truly excellent flavor.”

“The ingredients are good. The tableware is even better.”

Xue Shuangtao asked: “Does the Western Regions not have such tableware?”

Changsun Wuchou smiled: “Naturally. Each land has its own cuisine.”

“In the Western Regions and the steppes, there are no tables. Sometimes they kill a sheep, bury it in ash, and steam it until tender—rich, juicy. Everyone cuts meat with small curved knives and daggers. Strong women link arms, singing and dancing, expressing their emotions directly and passionately.”

“I haven’t attended a Jiangnan banquet in a long time. Ha! Thanks to you, young Li Guanyi, I’m sitting here. Compared to the gales of the Western Regions, Jiangnan is truly a fine place.”

Li Guanyi asked: “What is the Western Regions like?”

Is it the same as in my past life?

Changsun Wuchou looked at Li Guanyi and smiled: “The Western Regions have fine horses, beautiful women, Hu Xuanwu dances, abundant fruits—but also vast deserts, boundless and ever-changing. Jiangnan has its own delicate beauty, yet under the desert sky, stars fill the heavens, endless and unbroken. To ride wild across it—that is the hero’s spirit!”

“If you ever wish to travel the Western Regions, old brother will host you.”

Changsun Wuchou poured tea for Li Guanyi, continuing naturally: “I can give you a fine horse—so swift even the wind can’t catch its hooves. A curved blade inlaid with jewels. Wherever you wish to go, old brother will take you. The desert is vast, unlike Jiangnan’s landscape.”

Changsun Wuchou’s invitation came naturally—and it was not unpleasant.

He elevated the boy’s standing in his mind.

He sighed inwardly.

“After today, I must write another secret letter about Li Guanyi.”

“Send it to the second young lady.”

He traveled the land, recording the heroes and talents of the realm.

The Phoenix of Longxi Duke Prefecture herself had tasked him with this. Her elder and third brothers paid no heed—even the current Duke dismissed it, laughing:

“This daughter I dote on—let her dress as a man if she wishes. Let her be.”

Yet events like Fang Ziqiao’s and Du Ke’s were known to Changsun Wuchou.

He had never before encountered a boy requiring two urgent messages sent via Golden Feather Hawk.

To wield a three-foot sword and pacify the four seas, to establish unparalleled merit.

The second young lady would surely love this phrase—

No. Perhaps this one.

To open peace for ten thousand generations!

Changsun Wuchou raised his cup, drinking. Before his eyes rose visions of the Western Regions—its battles, its gales, its years of life-or-death peril. A hint of drunkenness crept in.

Let this cup be drained to the dregs!

Today’s literary gathering was filled with literati and scholars, exchanging cups, chatting, listening to music.

Xue Shuangtao, who loved music, listened quietly, thinking indeed this grand gathering lived up to its reputation—each musician was a master, far surpassing her own skill. Beside her, Li Guanyi conversed softly with Changsun Wuchou.

Suddenly the boy paused, turning to look at the musician, speaking casually:

“She played a wrong note…”

Xue Shuangtao froze. She saw the boy resume his idle talk with Changsun Wuchou about desert scenery. Li Guanyi was curious about all places beyond Chen Guo; the scholars could chat freely. Xue Daoyong sat there, thoroughly delighted. The other scholars knew nothing of what their elders had witnessed.

They didn’t know why their elders had suddenly become listless.

In their eyes, the boy with the sword was merely a crude warrior!

Today, the disciple of Wenzhongzi must be me.

Du Ke rose second. He glanced at Li Guanyi, recalled the earlier incident, and without hesitation crumpled his original scroll. He stated the topic plainly:

“Today’s topic: Benevolence.”

“Also, compose a poem.”

A youth in blue robes exclaimed: “Strange! Isn’t today meant to select Master Wang Tong’s final disciple? This should be a solemn matter. Why is this second trial so crude? It feels like a careless sham.”

Benevolence is the foundation of Confucianism.

Many noble youths had prepared. They rose one by one, expounding their insights, citing classics, their prose ornate, drawing praise. Li Guanyi grew drowsy. Since entering this gathering, the bronze tripod had continuously emitted warmth, tightening his body.

He observed his internal Qi—but the tripod showed no change.

Only a sense that it was waiting for something. At that moment, Du Ke noticed the boy seated with closed eyes. After hearing those two phrases, no one else registered in his sight. He cut straight to the point: “Li Guanyi, what do you think?”

Li Guanyi opened his eyes.

He saw the sharp-eyed youth.

He felt the gazes around him. He knew he had submitted a blank answer sheet, clearly ineligible for ranking, unable to gain the great literary reputation more valuable than a travel pass—so why was Du Ke asking him?

He had already lost. Might as well not care.

Perhaps it was Xue Shen’s torment.

Li Guanyi’s heart was still water.

Even now, as these men—clearly high-ranking, born into wealth—stared at him, his spirit stirred not a ripple. He raised his gaze calmly: “Benevolence?”

Li Guanyi sat there. He could have answered with a rehearsed response.

But now, he had his own understanding of the word:

“Martial power is benevolence!”

A murmur erupted. The music stopped.

The scholars whispered. Someone muttered “crude warrior,” and since noble youths were used to acting without restraint, laughter broke out uncontrollably. One shouted: “The benevolent love others; the courteous respect others!”

“Self-cultivation is the treasury of wisdom; giving and charity are the roots of benevolence. To love others, to give generously—that is benevolence.”

“To kill with martial force—what benevolence is that? You’re still just a crude warrior!”

“Hahahaha! Right, Xue Lao? Were you fooled?”

Yet the boy remained calm, seated peacefully.

A sharp crack!

Silence fell.

Xue Shuangtao’s jade bracelet smashed against the great cauldron; the shattering sound silenced the surroundings. As everyone stared at the broken bracelet, silence gave way to awkwardness. The girl stood there, corners of her eyes lifting slightly, her apricot pupils sweeping the crowd before she smiled softly, bowing gently:

“I’m sorry, the bracelet slipped from my hand.”

“Forgive the disturbance—I shall play the qin to make amends.”

As she walked over with the qin, her black hair fell, and through the instrument she winked at the boy, whispering: “It’s yours.”

A chance for you to gain fame.

The crowd fell silent again.

Du Ke looked at Li Guanyi: “How do you explain it?”

The boy, knife resting on his knees, replied:

“Restraining oneself, giving generously—yet it’s merely self-satisfaction disguised as ‘benevolence.’ Those who give to feel virtuous return home to boast of their benevolence, yet the suffering grow ever greater. Why?”

Slowly, no one could speak.

The boy gripped his knife.

His brows rose sharply; he felt himself merely pretending—but now, from deep within, he spoke plainly:

“Unify the world, bring all under one rule.”

“So the people need not suffer war’s torment.”

“That is true benevolence!”

Du Ke fell silent. Wei Xuancheng asked: “What is righteousness?”

“Righteousness?”

Li Guanyi said: “His words must be trusted; his deeds must be fulfilled.”

“Reward kindness, repay hatred; return virtue with virtue, respond to malice with justice.”

“Even a grudge spanning nine generations may be avenged—that is righteousness.”

The benevolent unifies the world; the righteous repay every blood feud.

Wei Xuancheng’s eyes were sharp; his lips parted slightly as he murmured to the two elders beside him:

“Done for. Grand bearing, tiny heart.”

“This boy holds grudges.”

The crowd fell quiet, finding his words absurd yet radiating an undeniable solemn dignity. As Xue Shuangtao’s qin melody rang clear, Li Guanyi sat down, bowing slightly toward Xue Lao’s direction: “Merely my own view—forgive my presumption.”

The atmosphere settled. Wang Tong looked at the boy and said gently:

“Then write a poem.”

Li Guanyi asked: “What is the theme?”

Wang Tong smiled.

“Whatever you like.”

You could even write a crude folk verse right here.

Li Guanyi raised his brows slightly. For some reason, Wang Tong carried no dharma form, yet a stern, icy aura surrounded him. Li Guanyi felt the bronze cauldron on his chest growing hotter, the red dragon and white tiger coiled upon it.

The red dragon seemed ready to stain itself with literary fortune.

And this literary aura, when Wang Tong said “whatever you like,” reached its peak.

It gathered like an ocean of clouds; the red dragon spiraled within.

Li Guanyi picked up his brush.

At the greatest literary gathering in thirty years, as the eyes of famed scholars fell upon him, literary fortune coalesced into a great dragon, dancing with his dharma form. Li Guanyi sensed, in some indescribable way, a presence emerging—he dipped his brush, and his inner qi felt ready to shatter through the barrier—yet somehow, he felt:

One step short.

One notch lacking.

At that moment, thunderous roars echoed from the sky.

Distant mountains trembled; the heavens blazed crimson!

Like yin and yang swirling in motion.

As literary fortune reached its zenith,

Martial qi arrived with majestic grandeur.

Vast and overwhelming, it surged skyward, crashing into Li Guanyi’s bronze cauldron. The aura of weapons transformed into a second white tiger, roaring. The dragon and tiger dharma forms rose together, martial and literary qi colliding within, merging into wind and clouds, spiraling in fierce embrace. Li Guanyi froze. A distant roar of laughter rang out—

Voice like thunder.

“Soldier under Marshal Yue’s banner—Yue Qianfeng!!!”

“Come to challenge you!!!”

It reached Li Guanyi’s ears—

Yet it was:

Dragon’s roar. Tiger’s howl.

Heaven changed.