Chapter 81 – Missed

Cangyun Ravine — Luoying City

The sour-faced cultivator and several others kept their eyes fixed without blinking on the teleportation tower across from them. “The Heavenward Path has already closed. Looks like she really didn’t dare come out.”

“Good. Our clan is already being watched by the Bureau of Patrol — we can’t make any big moves. Wasn’t your action precisely meant to make her suspect there are people outside waiting to kill her, so she wouldn’t ascend the Heavenward Staircase?” The cultivator paused, then sneered, “Aren’t we being too cautious? What are we afraid of — that she’ll make it into the Six Academies’ enrollment?!”

“Gongsun Jing and Gongsun Long already died at her hands. Are you confident you could kill them when you were in the Prenatal realm?” The sour-faced cultivator laughed coldly. “If this person gains the protection of the Six Academies, she could easily rise to prominence. By then, would we even be able to make a move?”

“I suppose that’s true. But the Six Academies enroll once every three years — what if she catches the next enrollment three years from now?”

“We can delay as long as we can. Before the age of thirteen is the best time to build one’s foundation. I want to see how she catches up to the Tenth Young Master after missing these three years.”

“So we keep watch?”

“Guard Luoying City to the death, until she comes out!”

Shenzhou

“In the case of Yue Kun, all except the mastermind shall have their powers stripped and be exiled to the border cities.” Zhan Changfeng processed official documents from the seven commanderies while tying up loose ends from recent events. “Also, hand Yan Yifa over to the Bureau of Patrol. That Deputy Hall Master who keeps suspecting that I apply private punishment is truly irritating.”

Zero-Two remained silent, as if it hadn’t been you who just soul-searched Yan Yifa.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Fang Heng waited until Zero-Two received the order and left before speaking. “Crown Prince, Your Highness — what exactly do you plan to do about Huangzhou?”

“Did Imperial Aunt ask you to inquire?”

Fang Heng tacitly agreed.

Zhan Changfeng narrowed her eyes. “With me — this Crown Prince — still alive, it does work against Imperial Aunt’s cause of unification. I had originally planned to simply ‘die’ and leave Shenzhou.”

She paused. “But I have never experienced how a high civilization looks down upon a low one from above, nor had I imagined that thousands of years of Shenzhou’s ignorance would remain unchanged in their eyes of pity. I am also disappointed in Shenzhou’s martial cultivators — they worship outsiders, yet have never reached out to lift up their own people.”

“Shenzhou’s overall character — it prevents them from even conceiving of change.”

Fang Heng licked his dry lips. The shock he had received in Huangzhou had overturned his entire understanding of the world, to the point that even now he could not accurately judge the relative standing between the Crown Prince and the Imperial Princess.

“Is this not unfair to the Imperial Princess, Your Highness?” If the Crown Prince had not died, then how would the Imperial Princess stand, and how would she command the faith of her subjects?

“That is precisely what I’ve been thinking about,” Zhan Changfeng’s words grew sharp. “But, Fang Heng, there is one thing you must understand — the realm I wish to see is not the realm of the past. On this point, Imperial Aunt and I are in agreement.”

“Fang Heng, you have already witnessed the existence of cultivators and demons. You have seen what power the Prenatal realm holds. You also know that beyond Shenzhou there is an entirely different world. So I ask you — at a time like this, should Shenzhou pretend not to know, or should it embrace it?”

“Your subject—”

“You don’t need to answer me now,” Zhan Changfeng tossed him a Yin Pearl. “It will let you enter Xiaohan Town. Go and see the civilization and customs of that world, then come back and tell me your thoughts.”

Fang Heng was an upright official without being rigid, and his talent and foresight were sufficient to leave his name in the annals of history. That was why Yi Shang had sent him to Huangzhou, and why Zhan Changfeng was willing to say more to him — she even intended to cultivate him into Huangzhou’s first administrator, if he could truly satisfy her.

“Your subject takes his leave.” Fang Heng gripped the Yin Pearl tightly, his brow furrowed with unease. He came out onto a street bustling with people, listening to the calls of vendors and the haggling of passersby. He had never so clearly realized that he was alive — living as people had for thousands of years past.

Servants, farmers, merchants, aristocrats — every template was more or less the same, copied and replicated into what became History.

He too had once gazed ahead through bleary, drunken eyes — his official career, whether it rose or fell, seemed always within expectation; the common people, whether draped in silk and jade or living in bare walls, all seemed to live that same way, as people had for thousands of years past. Then he had wept bitterly, not even knowing what he was crying for.

What was he filled with revulsion toward? What was he lamenting? What was he searching for?

He came to Xiaohan Town. He discussed with street vendors the medicinal value of ginseng and lingzhi. He debated with children in the bookshop what righteousness truly meant. He sat in a teahouse and listened to an old man tell a sweeping tale — a story full of grudges and entanglements, yet not driven by passion, but by the pursuit of conviction.

He stepped out in a daze and accidentally bumped into a woman. Just as he recoiled in panic over the impropriety of men and women making contact, fearing he had tarnished the woman’s reputation, the woman had already waved her hand and said it was nothing.

She was so at ease, so free and unrestrained — it made his own anxiety seem strangely out of place.

And so, right there in front of the woman, Fang Heng began to cry. “What does it mean to be human! What does it mean to be human!”

This was the cry buried deep in the soul of Shenzhou’s people — what does it mean to be human!

Wishing only for burning blood to pound against the chest, Fang Heng heard his own voice: may the children of Shenzhou open their eyes and see the world!

If we were born with ears, why do we not listen? If our eyes are open, why do we not see? If our hands are whole, why do we live in mediocrity and convention? If our legs still carry us, why have we never once stood up?

What was he filled with revulsion toward? What was he lamenting? What was he searching for? He was simply unsatisfied with how Shenzhou’s people had defined the word “human.”

Fang Heng began to examine the intellectual civilization behind Xiaohan Town and Cangyun Ravine — collecting their values of right and wrong, exploring their systems of knowledge.

When Fang Heng finally shared his thoughts and reflections with Zhan Changfeng, he said, “Cultivators’ power and ability are beyond what ordinary people can attain. But the freedom, individuality, and clarity they embody is something your subject deeply yearns for. Your subject humbly believes — to open one’s mouth and move one’s tongue is to ‘speak,’ but Shenzhou today only speaks prescribed words, speaks the words of others, with no language of its own.”

Zhan Changfeng completed his unfinished thought: “Words that don’t come from the heart, a people whose wisdom is shrouded in ignorance — this is why Shenzhou marks time in place. What do you think is worth borrowing from Cangyun Ravine?”

“Martial cultivation is of the will; civil learning is of the character and integrity. Your subject finally understands the purpose behind your establishment of the Military Affairs Bureau.” Fang Heng bowed willingly and continued, “Yet Shenzhou is not Xiaohan Town, nor is it Cangyun Ravine. Under ordinary conditions, Shenzhou has neither the spirit valleys and spirit vegetables of Cangyun Ravine, nor magical treasures and implements. Shenzhou is a land of mortals — it is simply impossible for everyone to pursue cultivation.”

“If everyone pursued cultivation, who would tend to production? Who would provide grain and rice? So your subject believes — through martial cultivation, a small portion of people can rise first; through civil learning, the masses can rise!”

“Literacy, moral understanding, and practice in action — these are things that cannot be neglected for a lifetime. What you say is not wrong.” Zhan Changfeng affirmed his thinking. “But, in your view, what kind of knowledge should be taught to future generations so that they may truly understand right from wrong?”

Could Shenzhou’s existing knowledge be taught?

Naturally, some of it could — such as arithmetic, horsemanship, and archery, which could certainly be considered its finest. But should the Three Cardinal Guides and Five Constants be taught? Should male superiority over female be taught? Should distinctions of social rank be taught? Should the poetry and essays involving such ideas be taught?

If they were taught, how would it be any different from the past thousand years?

If not taught, then what should be?

Fang Heng thought of another problem — if all the old theories were overturned, would the subjects and the people accept it?

Would they be heretics spreading dangerous falsehoods, or pioneers of enlightenment? Who could say.

Fang Heng’s heart was both heavy and elated. “Your subject begs Your Highness to grant guidance. For the sake of all under heaven, even if the world slanders me and vilifies me, I would give ten thousand deaths without regret!”

Zhan Changfeng said: “Let us recompile the educational texts. I need a new system of education.”

At this time, the battle between Yi Shang and Li Mao was reaching a turning point.

Zhan Changfeng, using the pretext of sending troops to Xiaohan Town, demanded troops from Yi Shang — and the troops did indeed move.

Li Mao believed it to be true and seized the opportunity to attack Jinzhou, intending to exploit Yi Shang’s apparent lack of soldiers to dismantle the southern military line of defense. But the one hundred thousand troops who had marched were in fact elderly and weakened men dressed in armor. The real army had long since set its ambush, waiting for him to climb into the trap.

In that battle, Li Mao suffered devastating losses, losing two commanderies in succession and being driven by Yi Shang to the foot of the Imperial City.

——

This book’s performance has been below average compared to other new books released in the same period. After more than a month, I finally received a second recommended slot on this day of fools. When I saw the site notification, I felt something complex mixed with relief, relief tinged with melancholy, and melancholy not without happiness. I casually flipped a coin and drew a hexagram — the noble one sees it through to the end, the Brilliance Concealed takes flight — meaning to persevere and hold fast. I hope I have not let down the readers who have kept voting for me all this time. Double update today. Thank you all for your votes and collections, and thank you to my editor for the recommended slot.

(End of Chapter)