The brothers burst out of the Second Sage's Shrine and did not dare take the main road. They cut through a side path into the woods, running until their lungs burned, then finally stopped.
Xu Qian's breathing was steady. Xu Xinnian leaned against a pine, gasping for air. The vigorous exercise had flushed his pale cheeks a shade of crimson that was almost disarming.
"What do we do now?" Xu Qian asked, looking to his "methodical" younger cousin for guidance — and probing: "Does this count as me solving a two-hundred-year-old conundrum for the academy?"
He had not expected his casual brushstroke to produce such a terrifying phenomenon, nor could he predict the consequences. So he had done what any sensible person would: followed Er Lang and ran.
Xu Xinnian caught his breath, his heart still hammering, and let out a proud little snort. "Two hundred years at most."
Xu Qian unscrewed his waterskin and held it out.
Er Lang took a sip, then continued: "If it were the me who had just entered the academy, I would have advised you to stay and let the faculty and students fawn over you."
"But the me of today just wants to get you out of here as fast as possible." He tossed the waterskin back. After a pause, seeing that his cousin's expression remained unchanged — no confusion, no alarm — he felt a twinge of both disappointment and admiration.
Admiration, because his cousin clearly had a brain, unlike their father. This pleased the self-regarded Xu Xinnian.
Disappointment, because he could not show off in front of his cousin and establish intellectual superiority.
Yes — even after Xu Qian's repeated poetic triumphs, even after the earth-shaking words he had just carved into stone — Xu Xinnian still believed his IQ was a notch above.
Without that conviction, a man could never produce the line: *"Were it not for me, Xu Xinnian, Great Feng would be an eternal night."*
The brothers darted through the forest, making their way silently toward the stables.
Leaving without a word was the wisest course.
Had Xu Qian stayed, what awaited him was likely the gratitude of White Deer Academy — perhaps even an appointment as Grand Master. Though that was unlikely.
That was the bright side.
The dark side was equally obvious. The conflict between White Deer Academy and the Imperial Academy was a war of doctrine. Xu Qian, basking in White Deer Academy's gratitude, would simultaneously earn the enmity of every scholar trained at the Imperial Academy.
*All the officials wearing purple and crimson robes — every one of them products of the Imperial Academy.*
A single tax-silver case had already brought endless headaches. This was worse than a hundred tax-silver cases.
*Cijiu and I are on the same wavelength.* Xu Qian chuckled. "Cijiu, you're a real bastard."
Good — Er Lang was no rigid, bookish fool. Perhaps all those military strategy texts had sharpened his instincts after all.
"You brute," Xu Xinnian shot back. Then, more seriously: "As long as we leave, the academy will keep this quiet afterward. They won't publicize it."
He fell silent after that, walking briskly while lost in thought, his expression unreadable.
...
The great plaza outside the Sage's Shrine.
Zhao Shou — clad in hemp robes, his hair streaked with white — made a sudden, unexpected gesture. He turned sharply and fixed his gaze toward the rear of the academy.
A few seconds later, the three Grand Masters mirrored his movement, their faces grave as they stared into the distance.
The Princess Royal frowned, puzzled, and instinctively followed their line of sight. The sky was clear, the sun bright. Nothing seemed amiss.
But in the next instant, a visible column of pure qi shot skyward, piercing the heavens. The heavy white clouds draped over Clear Cloud Mountain dispersed before the crowd's eyes.
Zhao Shou vanished first. The three Grand Masters unleashed the supernatural art of "words made manifest," shifting themselves three feet at a time toward the rear of the academy.
The Princess Royal adjusted her hem and followed with quick, dignified steps. Her tall, lithe figure moved with an indescribable elegance — graceful as a willow, yet commanding.
...
Inside the Second Sage's Shrine, candlesticks lay toppled, wax pooling across the floor.
In the vast hall, pure qi rippled like a spring breeze, coalescing into Zhao Shou's figure. He swept his gaze across every corner of the chamber, then focused on the cracked tablet bearing the Second Sage Cheng's inscription.
*This—*
In the Dean's normally placid eyes, a storm erupted. At the same time, his mind raced to analyze the source of the qi eruption.
The tablet that had suppressed the shrine was cracked. The White Deer Academy's accumulated righteous qi, freed from its seal, had surged forth and overflowed, producing the spectacle they had just witnessed.
But why would the Second Sage Cheng's tablet crack without cause?
Almost immediately, Zhao Shou understood. His eyes were drawn to the tablet he had placed in the hall years ago. He read the inscription, and the entire world seemed to fade — everything dissolving, vanishing — until only those ugly, hastily brushed characters remained, seared into his pupils.
Seared into his heart.
The sole substance of his world.
As the gentle qi continued to ripple, the three Grand Masters materialized in the hall. They instinctively swept their gazes across the chamber.
When they saw the cracked tablet of Second Sage Cheng, their pupils contracted involuntarily.
*How did it crack?* — no, this was a good thing. It meant the seal suppressing White Deer Academy's fortune had weakened. Li Mubai's mind raced — and then he noticed the Dean's state.
Zhao Shou stood motionless, as though lost in another world entirely. A man bereft of his soul.
*The tablet cracked. In an age when no Second Sage walks the earth, someone was able to shake the Cheng tablet.* Zhang Shen and Chen Tai exchanged a glance, their eyes reflecting shock and confusion.
Then, like Li Mubai, they noticed the Dean's abnormality.
"To establish the heart of Heaven and Earth, to secure the destiny of the living people, to carry on the lost teachings of sages past, and to bring peace to all generations yet to come..." Zhang Shen murmured the words.
He was utterly overwhelmed by the ambition, the backbone, the vision contained in that single sentence. Gooseflesh erupted across his skin, and the blood in his chest seemed to boil.
*This is what a scholar should truly do.* Chen Tai's lips trembled. "In office, one should serve the people, the nation, all under heaven — not a single bloodline, not a handful of elites."
This Grand Master, widely praised as possessing the talent to govern a nation, shook uncontrollably, his voice hoarse: "An epiphany. An absolute epiphany..."
Li Mubai drew a deep breath and steadied himself. "Who wrote this?"
All three looked at Dean Zhao Shou. The Dean had spent over a decade in seclusion, striving to overturn Cheng's Neo-Confucianism through sheer intellectual effort. If anyone alive could forge a new school of thought, it was he.
But the Dean had been with them this whole time. And his current demeanor made everything clear.
The answer was silence. After a long while, Zhao Shou spoke in a low voice: "Leave now. We will discuss this later."
Then, more quietly: "A gentleman keeps his silence."
The three Grand Masters bowed and departed together.
The doors closed. Silence settled. Zhao Shou stood alone before the tablet, framed by latticed windows through which sunlight fell in dappled patterns.
A long time passed. Then he straightened his robes and bowed deeply to the inscription — the bow of a disciple before a master.
"To learn the Way in the morning is to die content in the evening."
...
The Princess Royal, still holding her hem, finally arrived outside the Second Sage's Shrine — only to find a barrier of qi enveloping the structure like an inverted bowl, sealing it from the outside world.
She did not rush. She stood quietly at the foot of the shrine's steps, serene as a flower in bloom.
Moments later, the three Grand Masters emerged. Their faces were solemn, though whether in good or ill tidings was impossible to read.
"Gentlemen, might you share what has transpired?" The Princess Royal's gaze drifted toward the shrine.
"Your Highness, I'm afraid we cannot say." Chen Tai bowed. "This matter — even we have not yet grasped its full scope."
The Princess Royal smiled, her regal bearing unchanged, her composure flawless.
She parted from the three Grand Masters and walked alone toward her pavilion. Mountain winds caught her silk skirts and ribbons, setting them dancing — she looked like a spirit of the mountains, a celestial descending for a stroll among mortals.
Two rows of armored soldiers still stood guard outside the pavilion, silent as statues.
This unit of twenty-four Imperial Blade Guards was her personal escort. At the foot of the mountain, seven Night Watchmen waited.
But the academy loathed Wei Yuan and refused to allow Night Watchmen on its grounds.
The Princess Royal descended the mountain with her guards and found the seven Night Watchmen waiting by the road. Her voice was clear and cool: "A column of pure qi erupted from White Deer Academy. The Second Sage's Shrine has been sealed. Report this to Lord Wei. Tell him to watch the academy closely and determine what happened."
"Yes!" The Night Watchmen clasped their fists.
The Princess Royal continued: "Investigate a person for me. Xu Qian, a bailiff at Changle County Yamen."
"At once."