Chapter Twenty-Nine: Undercurrents Surging

A flurry of fists and feet, a string of curses, and one by one the Confucian scholars at Weiyang Academy broke through their bottlenecks… Yet that scoundrel He Chang’an hid himself away in the lecture hall and refused to come out—how could this be tolerated?

“Come out, you uncouth brute! Continue to ‘reason with us’, won’t you? We’ve all scrubbed ourselves clean and assumed the proper posture, so why hasn’t this scoundrel come out to unleash his colorful vocabulary…”

“Damn it, these scholars are truly shameless. Where else would you find people begging to be roughed up…”

He Chang’an could not be bothered to pay them any mind. Instead, he settled his heart and focused inward, peering into his dantian and spiritual sea.

The little black rod was finally no longer a mere toothpick.

His dantian and spiritual sea had expanded more than tenfold—now as large as a washbasin, it could rightly be called the “Spring of Spiritual Essence.”

Unlike before, when the spiritual energy was pure and singular, ever since he had “bitten” off more than half of Uncle Hao’s body, He Chang’an’s spiritual energy had undergone a transformation, the first sign being a change in color.

Pure spiritual energy was a pale cyan, cool and refreshing to the touch; while the righteous, awe-inspiring energy was tinged blue-green, with a gentle warmth. Blended together, the result was oddly uncanny.

Still, as long as it didn’t turn too green, He Chang’an could tolerate it. After all, the power of this “spiritual energy” in its current state was nothing to scoff at.

It was probably seven or eight times more potent than pure spiritual energy.

Lacking any clear concept of cultivation, He Chang’an couldn’t say for certain what it all meant, but he felt confident he could now take on two Master Ma Dais at once…

Outside the lecture hall, the Confucian scholars gathered and refused to leave. Even Ma Dai and Shen Yan, after stabilizing their newfound cultivation, refrained from entering or departing, instead sitting quietly under the willows by the pond, eyes closed in meditation.

He Chang’an knew exactly what these scholars were scheming.

They simply wanted another round of beatings, another round of curses.

If he obliged them, he would become their performing monkey, rather than a sage displaying his prowess. He would never be so foolish as to let them insult him while gaining breakthroughs…

“Actually, isn’t this another path to wealth?”

A punch for two taels of silver, a kick for three, a single curse worth a thousand gold?

He scoffed. Nonsense, better to keep studying. In such a short while, he was already starting to miss Uncle Hao.

With that, He Chang’an took out a Confucian classic, placed one hand firmly upon it, and slowly closed his eyes…

…

Eight hundred miles away, in Chang’an, at the Tower of Reaching Stars, a solitary figure stood quietly.

He was a middle-aged Daoist, handsome of face, hair and beard sparse and fine, dressed in a flowing blue Daoist robe emblazoned front and back with two Taiji yin-yang fish.

He stood atop the highest floor of the tower, gazing northwest, his eyes deep and inscrutable, lost in thought.

There, in that direction, lay Weiyang County.

“A clear breeze accompanies the bright moon, green pines stand on mountain ridges… Is the Confucian school about to rise again?” the Daoist murmured softly, left hand hidden in his wide sleeve, fingers silently calculating.

“Grand Mentor,” suddenly came a clear and refined call from below. Cloaked in a mantle, a man ascended the tower in the span of a few breaths, stepping lightly onto the top floor.

“Grand Mentor, what refined taste—to stand alone atop the tower, surveying all beneath the heavens?”

He lifted his cloak to reveal a square, dignified face, pale and noble, bearing a smile that commanded respect without anger.

“Your Majesty, what brings you out of the palace today?” the Daoist asked, smiling faintly. With a casual gesture, he summoned a small table, set out a pot of tea and two celadon cups.

Pouring two cups of clear tea, the Daoist offered one with both hands, smiling. “The Daoist sect is known for its simplicity; let tea stand in for wine. Your Majesty, please.”

The middle-aged man accepted the cup and took a small sip, then sighed. “The Astronomical Bureau reports that pure energy has soared skyward from Weiyang County. They suspect a disciple of a Confucian sage…”

He hesitated, as if uncertain what more to say.

The Daoist took a sip of tea, turned to glance northwest, and said, “It is nothing but a stroke of fortune.”

The middle-aged man frowned, perplexed. “You mean…”

“A variable. For the Confucians, and for the Daoists as well,” the Daoist replied, stroking his beard with a smile. “And, Your Majesty, for you too.”

“They will act as well?” The middle-aged man’s tone was grave.

“They will not be content to sit idly by. Whenever something benefits the Great Tang, when have they ever failed to leap into action?” The Daoist refilled their cups, his elegant fingers steady and calm.

“Then let the Demon-Slaying Bureau handle it,” the man muttered.

And so, the two sat in silent contemplation.

…

Thirty miles south of Chang’an, atop Mount Taihua, at the academy.

Dean Zhao Zheng clutched a secret letter, his hair and beard bristling in rage. “Outrageous! Useless! Weaklings!

Beaten up and cursed out by some crude martial brute, and what happens? They all break through their bottlenecks to reach the sixth rank? And not just individually—collective breakthroughs, each with their own gains?

Ma Dai, you shameless cur! To think you’re my student, yet you wilt under a beating and a few harsh words? After decades of studying the classics, you still can’t stand up to a little scolding? If I were there, I’d have had him strike and curse me a few more times, just to see how much potential that scoundrel He Chang’an might have…

If he could beat and berate me from the fourth to the third rank, I’d gladly take that scoundrel He Chang’an as my master! And to think he even took on a disciple for his teacher—what petty, small-minded nonsense! I’m furious!

To be so pleased at merely reaching the sixth rank—how disappointing!

When he returns, I’ll expel him from my school…”

“…”

“…”

The two deputy deans, Wen Taiyuan and Du Shisan, listened in stunned silence, then shook their heads and smiled wryly. “Come on, let’s play another game.”

“You useless chess players!” the dean scoffed, still fuming in his chair. “You two, in the midst of all this, still have time for chess? Taiyuan, Shisan, which of you will accompany me to Weiyang County?”

“I will!” they both exclaimed in unison.

As soon as the words left their mouths, both old scholars blushed, but quickly regained composure, replying together, “Such a trifling matter, we wouldn’t dare trouble the dean. We…”

“Silence!” the dean roared. “You two stay here and teach. I’ll go myself.”

“That won’t do,” they replied in unison.

“Dean, the academy’s affairs are many and complex. Hundreds of students are like hungry fledglings waiting to be fed. You must personally transmit the sages’ teachings…” Du Shisan intoned gravely.

“Indeed, the dean instructs, resolves doubts, manages countless affairs—the academy cannot do without you,” Wen Taiyuan added.

Pressed by their words, the dean’s face flushed redder and redder. After struggling to contain himself, his rage finally erupted. “You two old rascals, do you think I don’t see what you’re after? He Chang’an’s unique method, letting scholars break through ranks in an instant—you’re both jockeying to seize the advantage and reach the third rank first!”

“Zhao Zheng, you old fool! I’ve long had enough of you!” Du Shisan slammed the table, fingers pointed in accusation.

“This place is too cramped. Come, let’s fight it out atop Mount Taihua!” Wen Taiyuan rose, his broad scholar’s robes billowing without a breeze.

“Fine, let’s go! I’d like to see just how much the two deputy deans of our academy are really worth…”

…

Meanwhile, in the lecture hall at Weiyang Academy, He Chang’an was quietly fretting. “Why has this little glutton come looking for me again…”

Across the desk, the young nun blinked her wide eyes innocently, her cuteness making He Chang’an’s hair stand on end. “Dingding—uh, Abbess Taiping, I really can’t afford to support you.”

“No worries—I’ll support you,” the little nun replied solemnly.