The capital was a riot of color, breakfast stalls lining every street. Xu Qian settled his hunger at a stall two blocks from the yamen, run by a wiry, dark-skinned middle-aged man in a grimy apron who smiled at everyone with humble deference.
The food was decent, and Xu Qian ate with satisfaction. His only complaint was that the people of Great Feng's capital had a sweet tooth—even soy milk was fine, but they put sugar in savory tofu pudding too.
Xu Qian refused to compromise in thisheresy-riddled city. He instructed the stall owner to skip the sugar, adding instead soy sauce, lard, chopped scallions, and minced garlic. On top of that, he ordered four fried dough sticks, six meat buns, two steamed buns, a bowl of congee, and three small dishes of pickles.
When he finished, Xu Qian prepared to pay.
"Sir, you're too kind. Having you here for breakfast is my good fortune," the stall owner said, eyeing Xu Qian's constable uniform and refusing to take money. His gaze darted to the empty plates Xu Qian had left, a flicker of heartache in his eyes.
"Really don't want it?"
The stall owner swallowed. Xu Qian had eaten enough for four or five people. This was a meager livelihood, scraped together by rising before dawn and working until dark. But he still dared not accept payment... truly dared not.
"No, no, how could I take your money?" The owner had clearly been beaten down by society.
"Mm, I'll sit here and digest for a while. You can go—don't disturb me." Xu Qian waved him away.
The owner scurried off, submissive.
"The Great Feng Dynasty's system has been flawed for ages. Until the petty officials are cleaned up, the common people's lives won't improve." Xu Qian watched the owner'sbusily figure, recalling that look—part heartache, part fear—that had flickered across his face when refusing payment. He looked as pitiful as a beggar.
"From ancient times to now, those who harm the common people the most are always the flies the great ones cannot see."
He pulled ten copper coins from his pocket, stacked them on the table, and left in silence.
"Finally gone..." The stall owner sighed in relief and came over to clear the dishes, his spirit dampened. What rotten luck!
When he reached the table, he froze. A neat stack of copper coins sat there. The constable had not only paid but left extra.
The owner rushed out a few steps, but the crowd had already swallowed that familiar uniform. He opened his mouth, his throat tight as if something were lodged in it.
In all these years, it was the first time an official had paid for his meal.
...
After roll call, Xu Qian requested leave from Prefect Zhu in the rear hall. Old Zhu granted it without hesitation.
He hurried back to the Xu residence and pushed open Er Lang's door. The brothers exchanged a knowing nod. Xu Er Lang produced the prepared outfit—a moon-white scholar's robe embroidered with faint grey cloud patterns.
Xu Qian eyed his cousin's sky-blue robe with its subtlecloud-pattern and suggested: "That one looks better on you. Let's swap."
Xu Xinnian gave a cold laugh, his expression clearly saying: You're dreaming.
For a martial artist at Essence Refining, a scholar's robe was ill-fitting. His muscles werewell-built, his frame imposing, which would stretch the loose fabric taut. Scholars, however, prized the aesthetic of flowing sleeves and fluttering hems.
The brothers left the Xu residence, rented two yellow horses for three taels, and galloped out of the capital at breakneck speed.
Their destination was Clear Cloud Mountain, sixty li outside the capital. Nestled within it was a academy known throughout the world—White Deer Academy!
Clear Cloud Mountain hadn't always borne that name. The original name had slipped his mind, but ever since the academy settled there, the constant sound of reading and the surge ofrighteous qi toward the heavens had earned it the new title.
The two rode side by side along the official road. After an hour, Xu Qian squinted into the distance and made out thesilhouette of Clear Cloud Mountain, the academy buildings tiny as beans against its slopes.
"Cijiu, I've always been curious," Xu Qian said.
He slowed his horse, waiting for his cousin to rein in as well. The gallop eased to a trot.
"Do you think the Sage was First Rank?"
He was endlessly curious about the various cultivation systems of this world, but lacked channels to learn.
Xu Xinnian tilted his chin with lofty disdain: "You think I'd know?"
If you don't know, you don't know—why the smug expression?... Xu Qian rolled his eyes and continued: "Then how long did the Sage live? Do you know that?"
Xu Xinnian nodded. "He lived to eighty-two."
The great Sage, founder of the Confucian path—if not First Rank, surely close—and he only lived to eighty-two? Well, for ordinary people in this era, that was a good age. But this world's power levels were extraordinary. Even the Sage couldn't achieve immortality?
Hmm, can't rush to conclusions—I have too little information...
"White Deer Academy doesn't shelter outsiders. That's the rule. Even I can't convince my teacher to bend it," Xu Xinnian said. "Are you truly confident?"
Xu Qian shook his head. "Where there's a will, there's a way."
They had decided to move the female members of the Xu household to the academy before taking action. That way, even if the Vice Minister of Revenue retaliated, the academy could protect them.
The tax silver case had nearly killed him—would this mess never end?... If handled poorly, it would mean another crisis of annihilation for the family... Xu Qian squeezed his horse's flanks, shot ahead of Xu Xinnian, and vanished in a cloud of dust.
Xu Xinnian, unwilling to lose, cracked his whip and raced after his cousin.
...
Clear Cloud Mountain was neither majestic nor picturesque. Were it not for therighteous qi surging toward the heavens, it would have been indistinguishable from any ordinary wilderness.
Within the mountain lay the academy—pavilions, plazas, waterfalls... flagstone paths crisscrossing like a spider's web, connecting everything.
In a pavilion perched on a cliff edge, on the second floor where the inner wall was missing, one could stand on the balcony and gaze out over the vastplains and the distant mountain silhouettes.
Li Mubai, the grand master who had sworn never to play chess again, stood by the balcony holding a book, listening to two old friends argue behind him:
"I made a wrong move. I want to take it back. I don't care."
"A piece placed cannot be recalled. That's the rule."
"The Sage says: To recognize one's mistake and correct it—there is no greater good."
"Is that what the Sage meant?"
"Isn't it?"
"Old villain, you want to debate philosophy with me? Fine. Today, only one of us leaves alive."
"This old man didn't grow up on porridge."
Li Mubai shook his head. "Two terrible chess players."
One of the pair behind him was Zhang Shen, master of military strategy. The other, in black robes with a beard reaching his chest, was Chen Tai, courtesy name Youping—one of White Deer Academy's four Grand Confucian Masters.
Each of the four had his specialty: Li Mubai excelled at chess; Zhang Shen mastered military strategy and served as Provincial Governor of Qingzhou; Yang Gong, the Purple Sun Master, was a scholar of learning. And Chen Tai possessed the talent for governance, his "Treatise on Statecraft" a popular text in Great Feng's official circles.
Li Mubai turned from the balcony and re-entered the private room, cutting off the argument: "Where is the Dean?"
"The Princess Royal is here. He's entertaining her," Zhang Shen replied, his eyes fixed on the chessboard.
Li Mubai said "Oh" and nodded.
Chen Tai sighed. "The spring examinations are in three months, yet the students' enthusiasm for study is flagging. Last night I made the rounds in the dormitories—barely a few lights burning. And those few were lit over chessboards..." He reached over and scattered the pieces, heartbroken. "Obsessed with idle pursuits!"
"Shameless old thief!" Zhang Shen roared. Losing meant idle pursuits; winning meant gloating. "You're no different from Li Mubai—can't handle losing."
"What have I to do with this!" Li Mubai was offended.
The topic sobered all three. Students from White Deer Academy faced adifficult path in officialdom. Even if they passed the provincial or metropolitan examinations, they were usually posted to remote backwaters or relegated to forgotten corners. This had severely dampened the students' enthusiasm for the imperial examinations.
The private room fell silent for a moment. Zhang Shen spoke gravely: "This trend cannot be allowed to continue. We must rekindle their passion."
Chen Tai nodded solemnly. "Even if it requiresholding on, we must persist. White Deer Academy cannot let the path to officialdom die."
Li Mubai considered. "Hold an assembly to exhort them. Let the Dean preside."
Zhang Shen twirled a chess piece. "The Dean does this every year. First enthusiasm, thendecline. It won't have much effect anymore."
Chen Tai stroked his beard, frowning. "We need a fresh approach to make the students study on their own initiative, to take the spring examinations seriously."
"What about writing an essay?" he suggested.
"Too much effort for too little reward," Li Mubai said.
"Then poetry is the only way," Zhang Shen said after sipping his tea. "Since ancient times, poetry has moved the heart. A poem thatear-splitting would be far more effective than an assembly."
The three looked at each other and shook their heads in unison.
The poetic tradition in Great Feng's Confucian circles had beenweakened for far too long.