Chapter Eighty-One: Eight Thousand Miles of Journey

After bidding farewell to the old scholar, the group turned resolutely northward.

In the early days, along the muddy yellow roads, cavalries in gleaming armor would sweep past like gusts of wind. Occasionally, they encountered convoys transporting grain and supplies, mixed with many elderly and feeble laborers, all with sallow, gaunt faces and exhausted expressions.

He Chang’an secretly observed them, and found that nearly half of the laborers bore the mark of demonic possession at their brows. Even among the soldiers, at least a tenth bore traces on their souls or suffered hidden wounds, their cultivation foundations damaged by sinister, baleful energy.

The situation was worse than he had imagined. He could not fathom how a war could be fought if the frontline troops were in such a state.

From the northern border of Chang’an to the capital was a journey of eight thousand miles. Both He Chang’an and Li Yishan believed their “elite force” should take the shortcut and hasten to the front lines. Yet the old scholar had insisted they travel slowly, observing the world of men along the way, for it would prove invaluable to their future studies and cultivation.

To travel ten thousand miles and read ten thousand books—that was the essence of his advice.

So, after brief discussion, they joined a convoy delivering provisions.

At first, the officer in charge, Wu Yongliang, was wary of He Chang’an because of his Demon Slayer’s attire and kept his distance. The reputation of the Tang Demon-Slaying Bureau was far from favorable; to most officials, its agents were nothing more than imperial hounds and political lackeys, to be regarded with both fear and disdain.

He Chang’an paid it no mind. He ate and drank as he pleased, spent his free time either lost in thought while fiddling with his strange “little black rod,” or silently practicing his ancient boxing forms.

He also quietly dissolved the marks left on the souls of some soldiers and laborers.

The academy scholars, however, quickly adapted. After a few days, they mingled freely with the soldiers and laborers, laughing and calling one another brother.

He Chang’an found himself admiring these scholars. For all their flowing sleeves and eloquent rhetoric, they proved exceptional in practical matters and human dealings. Clearly, the students of the academy were not mere bookworms.

His estimation of them grew.

Li Yishan, Ma Dai, and Shen Yan, in particular, had some knowledge of military strategy, ordnance, and logistics. Some scholars even began teaching the soldiers and laborers to read, recognize herbs, learn simple cultivation techniques, and practice basic martial arts, leaving He Chang’an secretly amazed.

Who said scholars were useless?

Perhaps he had been a bit too dismissive in the past.

Because the supply convoy moved so slowly, after more than ten days, they had covered less than a thousand miles—still with eight thousand to go. At this rate, wouldn’t it take months to reach the northern border?

He Chang’an was in no hurry; he considered his own strength too meager to be of much help on the front lines anyway.

Perhaps, he mused, this time he was destined only to be a minor casualty on the long road north…

But the scholars grew restless. The enemy pressed hard upon the border, battles raged unknown in the north, and yet these “elites” still dawdled on the road.

One evening, Li Yishan, Ma Dai, and Shen Yan sought out He Chang’an.

“We’re thinking of hurrying to the front ahead of schedule. What do you say?” Li Yishan asked bluntly as soon as they met.

“I have no objection,” He Chang’an replied with a wry smile. “After all, Master Lü instructed us to travel slowly, to see, to listen, to do.”

The three scholars fell silent.

Indeed, Master Lü had told them so, urging patience and caution, to think thrice before acting, to be true scholars in word and deed.

But what did it truly mean to be a scholar?

Li Yishan and the others believed that a scholar of Great Tang should be like the grand masters Li Taibai and Liu Hedong of old, sword in hand, slaying monsters and demons. Even if they could not roar and rally an army, nor cut down enemy commanders with ease, they should at least be willing to die valiantly for honor and righteousness.

Not only the scholars, but He Chang’an himself shared this sentiment. In times past, under a hail of bullets, he too had faced death with resolve.

But—

The old scholar’s intentions could not be so simple. He had repeatedly urged them to see, to listen, to do more—but what did he truly mean?

“Brother Yishan…”

“Shut up, you scoundrel! Don’t call me brother!” Li Yishan’s face darkened as soon as He Chang’an began, turning away in annoyance.

At their first meeting in Weiyang County, Li Yishan had been the superior, and He Chang’an merely a junior constable. Later, when Ma Dai clumsily accepted He Chang’an as a disciple, his seniority surpassed Li Yishan’s. Then, when Master Lü quietly arrived in Chang’an and became He Chang’an’s mentor—though not formally—He Chang’an now addressed the old man as teacher.

Thus, what Li Yishan now detested most was being called “Brother Yishan” by He Chang’an.

“All right, Yishan—or should I say, sir, will that do?” He Chang’an chuckled.

Li Yishan snorted and turned away in silence.

“I’ve been pondering Master Lü’s advice these past days: what does it mean to see more, hear more, do more?” He Chang’an said thoughtfully. “For myself, I feel I’ve done far from enough.”

“The troubles of the world, ruined walls, demons running rampant—we’re all well aware of these without looking,” he continued. “So what does Master Lü want us to see, to hear, to do? Clearly, it’s what we usually overlook—the details.”

Then He Chang’an began to “enlighten” the academy scholars.

Having lived two lives, his greatest strength was his familiarity with military affairs. After the tempering of being a special forces soldier, assassin, bodyguard, constable, and demon slayer, he had learned that knowing how to be a good soldier was his true trump card.

As for cultivation, he was a novice.

What is the essence of warfare? In He Chang’an’s mind, it was all about resources.

In Great Tang, it was much the same, though the specifics varied and required careful thought as to what resources were truly needed.

During his time “freeloading” at the Demon-Slaying Bureau, He Chang’an had delved into the empire’s strength, warcraft, and agriculture, developing his own opinions about scholars.

It was simple: specialization.

“Academy scholars study too broadly. As long as it’s the words of a sage, they must memorize and recite them all. It’s too much wasted effort,” He Chang’an said persuasively, sensing the time was right to “guide” Li Yishan, Ma Dai, and Shen Yan.

“The academy’s scholars could be divided by specialty. For example, Shen Yan, you excel at ordnance. Why not, while studying the classics, lead some gifted students in researching bows, heavy armor, and siege engines?

“Or Ma Dai, you are skilled in magical combat. Why not establish a Martial Hall focused on martial training and cultivation?”

His words left the three scholars scratching their heads in excitement. Liu Hedong had once considered such an institutional structure, but after being gravely wounded in a great battle, he lacked the strength to pursue it. The three deans—Zhao Zheng, Du Shisan, and Wen Taiyuan—were all too conservative.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Shen Yan said with deliberation. “The Tao is the principle; the vessel is its application. I could found a Grand Artificer’s Hall.”

Ma Dai’s eyes shone. “The Sub-sage said, ‘I am good at nurturing the righteous spirit that knows no bounds.’ I could establish a Hall of Righteousness!”

He Chang’an smiled in satisfaction.

The academy scholars were indeed on the right path.

“And what about me?” Li Yishan, now thoroughly inspired, frowned in deep thought. “What sort of hall should I found?”

“You?” Ma Dai and Shen Yan replied in unison, “You should establish a Hall of Ghosts and Trickery.”

Li Yishan was incensed and retorted, “I’ll trick you two pale-faced old foxes!” sending the others into gales of laughter—even He Chang’an could not contain himself.

“Sir Yishan, do not belittle yourself,” He Chang’an said with a gentle cough. “You are most learned in the Book of Changes, a master of yin-yang, the five elements, and the mysterious arts. You write exquisite poetry and elegant prose—handsome, charming, with talent and grace unmatched among Tang’s sons. Why not found a Hall of Nobility and Resourcefulness?”

Listening to this not overly extravagant praise, Li Yishan stroked his beard and smiled, standing a little straighter.

Until he heard the final name.

“A Hall of Resourcefulness? What does that mean?” he asked, bewildered.