Chapter 13: Where the Way Lies, There Is No Rest Until Death

Inside the room sat two middle-aged men. The one on the left appeared calm and composed, a faint smile gracing his lips, as if everything was light and effortless. Yet the slight upward curl at his mouth lent him a certain sharpness. This was Professor Huang Jingyu of the National Academy. Opposite him sat a man around forty, his beard and hair flowing, refined and elegant; even in shock, he still remembered to stroke his beard. This was Professor Zhong Hui, also of the National Academy. The two often debated in the office between lectures, and today their argument over a well-worn topic nearly came to blows.

One insisted that military might was the foundation of the Empire; the other claimed that morality was the vital force of Great Tang. But the youth outside had brought up grain—the matter of food and clothing. Zhong Hui felt as if a sudden clarity had dawned upon him, his mind swept clean of past confusion. His eyes sparkled as he beckoned, “Whose family does this youth belong to? Who is his teacher?”

Huang Jingyu smiled gently, finding himself fond of the youth as well, but he could not stand Zhong Hui’s pretentiousness and mocked, “What, are you planning to take him as your disciple? Look at his attire, his sun-darkened skin—he’s clearly from the Chen Yi School of hard study. If you dare steal a disciple from them, beware the madmen who might beat you half to death.”

Hard Study School?

Yang Xuan’s heart stirred. At this moment, the man in blue awoke, got up in confusion, and saluted the two professors. “Greetings, Professors.” He produced a letter. “It’s a recommendation from the Wang family for this youth to enter the Academy.”

Since the National Academy came under the guidance of metaphysics, it had lost interest in the children of the powerful. But lofty ideals do not fill stomachs; after several bitter lessons from society, the metaphysics masters changed course and began accepting aristocratic sons, which greatly improved the Academy’s fortunes. Still, the ordinary staff and students eyed the noble-born with cold disdain.

The man in blue scoffed inwardly, thinking the Wang family's recommendation was poison—Yang Xuan would likely end up with no one willing to take him, leaving the dean to forcibly arrange his admission.

He saw both Huang Jingyu and Zhong Hui’s eyes light up, then their figures flickered so quickly only afterimages remained. Zhong Hui grabbed Yang Xuan, and together they flew out.

“Huang Jingyu, you’re a step too late! This youth is now my disciple—ha ha ha!” Zhong Hui, with Yang Xuan in tow, leapt down from the second floor. Huang Jingyu stomped above, then resumed his effortless demeanor, gently waving his whisk and saying calmly, “You rejoice too soon. The Wang family has their own plans; why would they heed the Academy’s teachings?”

The man in blue stood dumbfounded, thinking, I was only dazed for a moment—how did this youth become so coveted? Heavens, am I still dreaming?

Zhong Hui led Yang Xuan to a tree nearby, holding his whisk in one hand, the other behind his back, and smiled, “What is your relationship with the Wang family?”

Each of the Five Great Families had their own cultivation methods, a complete system. Their sons rarely entered the Academy. Yang Xuan did not look like someone from a wealthy background, which gave Zhong Hui hope and prompted his move.

Yang Xuan answered honestly, “I am a farmer from Yuanzhou. I traveled to Chang’an with the Wang family’s caravan…”

“No need to explain.” So he was not of scholarly lineage, but that spark in his words convinced Zhong Hui he had not acted in vain. He waved his hand with flair. “As long as you’re not a direct descendant of the Wang family, the rest does not matter.”

A farmer from Yuanzhou... The Wang family’s second son, Wang Douxiang, had passed through Yuanzhou on this trip. These thoughts flashed through Zhong Hui’s mind, and he felt assured. He remembered Yang Xuan’s earlier words and nodded, stroking his beard with a smile. “Have you studied?”

No... Yang Xuan wanted to say he hadn’t, but Yang Lue had taught him since childhood to read and write, and the girl in the scroll tutored him for half an hour every so often. So the word ‘no’ would not come out. Yet his background was easy to check; if he claimed to have studied, what if someone found out he was just a hunter?

Yang Xuan’s back grew hot, uneasy at the thought of lying. “I used to eavesdrop beside the school for a long time, later traded game for lessons and secretly learned a bit…”

So that’s it? Eavesdropping, due to poverty. Secretly learning, which was harder to understand. Zhong Hui turned with easy grace, “Why not learn openly?”

Yang Xuan looked up, recalling the moment at age five when he summoned the courage to approach Yang Ding and his wife, saying he wished to study.

Yang Ding: “Study? Look at yourself—do you seem the kind who can study? Clearly dull and hopeless.”

The Wang family: “Look at those scholars, who isn’t wealthy? If you can earn ten thousand coins, I’ll let you study.”

Yang Lue was furious when he heard, but could only sigh in the end and teach Yang Xuan himself. He couldn’t offend Yang Ding’s family, or Yang Xuan would have nowhere to stay.

Later, when Yang Xuan was caught eavesdropping, Yang Ding beat him openly, threatening to kill him if he stole again. At that time, Yang Lue had vanished for months, and Yang Xuan was left a solitary soul. Had he not dragged his sword and bow into the mountains to hunt, he likely wouldn’t have survived a few years.

The memories drifted past, and Yang Xuan smiled, “Mother forbade it.”

Zhong Hui sighed, “Foolish husband and wife.”

He then took Yang Xuan to register. They filled in birthplace, name, and other basic details. Learning he had just arrived in Chang’an, Zhong Hui granted him three days’ leave to get acquainted with the city.

Yang Xuan walked away, troubled. Zhong Hui smiled, “This youth is clearly eager to learn.”

Yang Xuan left the Academy, a little happy but also conflicted, thinking that if he could attend school today, he’d save money on meals—a fine thing. But three days’ leave meant three days’ expenses!

He rubbed his stomach and decided to eat less at dinner. Just as he was about to head to the market, he saw a man in blue exit the Academy’s gates. Spring rains had made the ground slippery, and the man hurried aside, stepping on moss.

Yang Xuan saw him lose balance, his hands flailing, fear on his face... but then it turned calm, even a little dashing.

Hmm!

Could he save himself? The blue-robed youth looked new, likely not skilled in cultivation.

Thud!

The student fell flat, but quickly propped his chin with his right hand, looking as if he were pondering deeply on the ground.

This...

Yang Xuan wondered why the youth did this, when a voice behind praised, “Well done! That was a fine fall!”

What the...!

Yang Xuan turned to see not just one man cheering, but even the gatekeeper looked impressed.

“Truly a student of the Academy—falling with such style.”

Yang Xuan felt the scene was strange and sidled over, smiling, “May I ask... what does it mean to fall with style?”

The gatekeeper looked at him with disdain. “You’re new today, so the teachers haven’t had time to instruct you yet? Let me teach you a lesson: our metaphysics is the highest learning in the world—even in death, one must die with style.”

Is that so?

Yang Xuan was stunned, thinking, dead is dead—how could there be style in it?

He then headed off to the markets, comparing prices and buying some daily necessities. Returning home, he looked sadly at his remaining coins, “Life must go on... where can I earn money?”

The Academy provided meals, and even lodging if you had none. But you couldn’t spend nothing at all, could you?

“One hundred ninety-three coins left; if I save, that should last the year.”

Yang Xuan calculated happily, wrapped the coins carefully, dug a hole under the kitchen water jar, hid the coins, then moved the jar over to cover them and filled it with water.

He tried it, found moving the jar was not easy, but worried a thief might smash it, so he fretted for a while.

By noon, he was hungry. To distract himself, Yang Xuan went out for a walk.

Chang’an was vast, exceedingly spacious. He wandered for ages, and as he was about to visit Qujiang Pool, he saw a group of finely dressed men ahead, staring coldly behind him.

Yang Xuan instinctively stepped aside and looked back.

A forty-something official led a horse slowly onward. His face was dark, his thin frame seemed like a gust of wind could blow him away, but his expression was resolute—clearly a man of steadfast will.

One of the men shouted, “Yan Cheng, you sow discord in the court, and now Chang’an is rife with unrest because of you. With your malicious heart, why are you still alive?”

Yang Xuan heard deep hatred in the words and wondered why.

Yan Cheng replied in a deep voice, “How many noble sons enter the bureaucracy each year through family privilege? The Ministry of Revenue is exhausted from it. Worse yet, those wastrels ruin the country and torment the people. Family privilege does nothing but harm, and should have been abolished long ago.”

The leading man sneered, his gaze like a god regarding ants, “The commoners are ignorant; without education, they lack understanding and cannot govern. If not our sons, then whose? Should we use those ignorant peasants?”

Anger flashed on Yan Cheng’s dark face. “But there is the Academy, there are schools—students from there can become officials!”

This topic touched on the Academy. Yang Xuan thought carefully and felt excited—I could be an official? If I could serve in Yuanzhou, wouldn’t I return home in glory?

The man smiled scornfully, as if surveying mortals from on high, “How can those students compare to our sons? If you’re smart, you’ll stop now. If you petition the court again…”

A cold gleam entered his eyes, but as this was a public street, he dared not threaten openly; the hint was even more chilling.

Yang Xuan’s impression of the powerful had been vague in Yuanzhou; after joining the Wang family’s caravan, he gained some understanding. The Wang family acted with propriety, never threatening people in public like this. Yang Xuan felt tense, realizing the aristocrats had many faces—some gentle, some ruthless.

He thought Yan Cheng ought to retreat, for the nature of the powerful could lead to him being beaten.

Yan Cheng stood straight, enunciating, “I speak for the people of the world, for Great Tang. Unless I die in the street, my voice shall not be silenced—never!”

Yang Xuan stood there, recalling the teachings from Yang Lue and the scroll, flowing quietly within him…

Someone behind whispered, “What are you muttering?”

Yang Xuan replied, “Where the Way lies, I will not rest until death!”

…

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