Chapter Seventy: Half-Baked Reasoning

In the alley of yellow clay, He Chang’an spat out a mouthful of black blood, its stench foul and nauseating, but the energy coursing through his body quietly surged. His Qi Absorption Technique had advanced to the twenty-eighth tier.

“I’d wager I could make twenty Mr. Ma Dais cry with one hand now,” he mused.

Acclimating to the sharp, floating sensation of his breakthrough, He Chang’an was nevertheless quite pleased. After all, improving his own strength was the most pressing concern at the moment.

He paced up and down the alley a few times, finally deciding he had to return beneath the Demon Suppression Tower.

Now that he’d ascended a tier, it meant he could once again “freeload” off the Yin Fiendish Energy.

…

At the entrance to the Yellow Clay Alley School, He Chang’an spotted a familiar face peeking about with a worried expression.

Yu Youwei was heading to school as well?

He Chang’an was a bit surprised, and his mind instantly conjured up a scene: what would happen if he became a classmate to this broad-minded martial woman, a sixth-tier master? Would it turn into an all-night “cram session” in a rented room?

Well, he’d probably be beaten to death before that happened.

“Fish-Head, good morning!” He Chang’an greeted her with a smile, only to draw two fierce glares, tinged with an inexplicable, silent resentment.

He shrank his neck and glanced up at the sky, only to realize the sun was already past noon—he was late.

“He Chang’an, I want to ask you something,” Yu Youwei said, suddenly smiling. “Do you know who the teacher at this school is? Is his surname Lü?”

“Yes, it’s Lü,” He Chang’an replied, somewhat puzzled. “He said his own teacher’s surname was Kong, from the Jixia Academy.”

For the Demon Slayers’ Division, investigating a person was simple—just flip through the case files and you could trace someone’s ancestors back eighteen generations. But that was only for “important figures.” Ordinary people barely warranted a name or an entry in the registry.

But for this Mr. Lü, she was here to investigate in person?

He Chang’an’s thoughts wandered, but Yu Youwei, upon hearing that the teacher was indeed named Lü, was momentarily at a loss. Her expression twisted through grief, anguish, tears brimming, a pitiable fragility…

Seven or eight emotions flickered across her face, making He Chang’an’s heart pound as he quietly retreated several steps.

Best not provoke her.

This woman was clearly here to cause trouble. All He Chang’an wanted was to hurry back under the Demon Suppression Tower and resume his carefree “freeloading.”

“He Chang’an, if you dare sneak away, I’ll flay you alive when I get back!” Yu Youwei threatened through gritted teeth. “Come on, help me pick a fight!”

He Chang’an could only groan inwardly.

A dignified, earth-ranked demon slayer, a sixth-tier martial master, and she was about to storm into a shabby alley school to start a brawl—how embarrassing would that be if word got out…

Could it be Yu Youwei’s child was studying here and got caned by Mr. Lü?

Trailing behind her, He Chang’an felt guilty. He’d just had drinks with Mr. Lü last night, and now today, he’d casually sold him out. It didn’t sit right.

“Mr. Lü Boyong, please come out. I, a mere woman, have half a bellyful of logic I’d like to discuss with you.” Standing in the middle of the modest schoolyard, Yu Youwei planted her hands on her hips. She inhaled deeply, and two streams of tears ran unrestrained down her cheeks.

“She’s quite the performer too…” He Chang’an thought, dumbfounded.

Mr. Lü was in the dining hall, explaining to the young pupils, “A gentleman does not seek to be sated with food or comfortable in his dwelling; he is diligent in his affairs and cautious in speech. He approaches those with the Way and rectifies himself—such is true love of learning.” At his favorite passage, he was so pleased he grinned as he stroked his beard.

But upon hearing Yu Youwei’s voice, his expression soured.

The elderly scholar slowly set down his chopsticks, ruffled the hair of a young student, and then walked out, facing the proud and indignant Yu Youwei with a gentle smile.

“So it’s Miss Huilan…”

Before he could finish, a glob of spit flew straight at him, followed by a barrage of verbal assaults and scathing rebukes.

Sprayed and berated, Mr. Lü could only silently take half a step back.

So this was “turning the other cheek.”

“Mr. Lü, I, Yu Youwei, a mere woman, still know a few lines of your Sage Kong’s wisdom. I ponder and savor them day and night. I might not be able to rattle off grand principles, but at least I accept them gladly.

“You, an old scholar from Jixia Academy, a student of Sage Kong—how do you measure up?

‘If the child is not taught, it is the father’s fault.’ If your students are not educated well, whose fault is that?

“Take a look at yourself—do you even have the face for this? Don’t think that just because you wear that perpetually mournful expression, you’re the world’s most wronged teacher. Am I, Yu Youwei, not also your student?

“You listen to one side and believe it, swallowing the Sage’s words whole only to defecate them out again?”

…

And so, after a full hour, Yu Youwei finally stopped, declared she would eat a few bites before returning, and strode away.

He Chang’an had finally witnessed what it meant to unleash a “barrage of fragrant insults,” and what the scholars called “turning the other cheek” truly looked like.

If Yu Youwei had tried that half-belly of logic on him, He Chang’an would have leapt up and beaten her half to death already.

What can be tolerated, and what cannot?

Mr. Lü, a frail scholar, stood there and bore Yu Youwei’s scathing, barbed tirade, his several attempts to speak choked back. Even He Chang’an felt a pang of sympathy.

“Truly, scholars are said to be useless for a reason…”

He really had to work on his strength. If he ever encountered another shrew like this, he’d want to slap her down in one blow, so even Yu Youwei wouldn’t dare utter a word.

Mr. Lü seemed to see through He Chang’an’s thoughts. He smiled warmly, wiped his face with a sleeve worn to the cotton, and said, “Right is right, and wrong is wrong, no matter how strong your fists, some truths simply can’t be forced through.”

“If she claims to be your student, how can she hurl such abuse?” He Chang’an asked indignantly.

“In this world, there is only right and wrong. Why use the title of teacher to suppress others?” Mr. Lü looked up at the sky, murmuring as if to himself, “No matter how high or mighty you are, if reason can’t be made plain, can you blame people for throwing a few punches, kicking a few times, and cursing you out?

“You’d be the unreasonable one then, wouldn’t you?”

He Chang’an looked up as well, but saw nothing.

Zhao Zheng, Du Shisan, and Wen Taiyuan—those great scholars themselves had laid this array of awe-inspiring righteous energy, isolating those within from those without, and vice versa.

He Chang’an felt something was off, but couldn’t quite place it. He finally walked up to Mr. Lü, bowed deeply, and said, “Yu Youwei is my direct superior. She’s actually a decent person. If she’s offended you, please feel free to curse me a few times to vent your anger—just don’t let it harm your health.”

Mr. Lü looked him up and down, his already warm gaze growing even softer. With a smile, he raised a finger and tapped He Chang’an’s forehead. “You’re still too young.

“My own teacher once said: what does it mean to be a true gentleman? Only loyalty and forgiveness. Sometimes those two words are greater than all the rules of Confucianism. The heart of a scholar should be broader than the sky.

“When a gentle, wronged woman suffers, who does she think of first? Of course—her parents and loved ones.

“So why did she come to me? Because I am the teacher. Even if not her teacher, I was Li Yishan’s teacher. She was right: if the child is not taught, it is the father’s fault; if the disciple is not taught, it is the teacher’s.

“So what reason would I have to be angry?

“On the contrary, I’m glad—because I am the teacher, He Chang’an…”

He spoke gently for the better part of an hour, his hands tucked inside the wide sleeves of his padded robe, his eyes clear and words sincere, making He Chang’an feel ashamed.

From now on, if anyone dares say scholars have no heart, I’ll curse them to their face…