Chapter Forty-Six: The Six Rivers Academy

Fang Xiao tied his sturdy donkey to a wooden post by the roadside. He saw others tethering their cattle and horses in the same area, with attendants managing the scene, so he simply followed suit. Once his mount was settled, Fang Xiao walked towards the front of the Six Rivers Academy. The first thing to catch his eye was an imposing stone archway with three bays and four pillars. At its center, four bold characters were inscribed: “Six Rivers Academy.” The calligraphy was wild and unrestrained, the strokes sharp and fierce. Each brushstroke seemed like a sword unsheathed, breaking free from its cage and thrusting towards the heavens!

Fang Xiao gazed at it for a moment, feeling as if a blade was pressing against his brow, a faint sting lingering there.

“These characters were written by a Golden Core Master, using his sword finger,” a clear voice sounded at his side as Fang Xiao marveled in silence. “It’s been a hundred and thirty-nine years—yet the sword intent remains undimmed, so it’s best not to stare too long.”

Fang Xiao turned to look. A boy of fourteen or fifteen, dressed in fine clothes, was smiling at him. His features were delicate, lips red and teeth white; his attire and bearing revealed him as the scion of a wealthy family, yet he showed not a trace of arrogance.

Fang Xiao nodded to him, “Thank you for the advice.”

“No need for thanks, brother,” the boy replied cheerfully. “Everyone in Six Rivers County knows about this. Are you here to enroll?”

“Yes,” Fang Xiao answered.

The boy stroked his chin. “I wager you’re joining the Martial Hall.”

Fang Xiao did not deny it.

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence!” The boy grinned, clasped his hands in greeting and said, “I too am a new student of the Martial Hall this year. My name is Zheng Kaizhi of the Zheng clan of Six Rivers. May I ask your esteemed name, brother?”

Fang Xiao returned the gesture. “Fang Xiao of Little Jing Mountain Daoist Temple.”

“Little Jing Mountain Daoist Temple?” Zheng Kaizhi’s gaze sharpened with curiosity. “Brother Fang, are you related to Chief Pang?”

Fang Xiao replied vaguely, “We’re distant relatives.”

It seemed everyone knew of Daoist Pang. Though the man was portly, his reputation was anything but small.

“So that’s how it is.” Zheng Kaizhi, ever the amiable sort, immediately invited him, “Brother Fang, fate brings us together; we’re fellow disciples of the same hall. Why not register together?”

Fang Xiao considered for a moment. Zheng appeared quite familiar with the academy, so he readily agreed, “Alright!”

Together, they passed through the stone archway and arrived at the academy’s main entrance.

Zheng Kaizhi explained, “Six Rivers Academy is divided into the Daoist Hall, Martial Hall, and Literary Hall. This way leads to the Martial Hall.”

Three grand gates stood side by side, representing the three halls: Daoist to the left, Martial in the center, Literary to the right—each distinct, their boundaries clear.

Before the gates, tables were arrayed, each with a long queue before it.

Fang Xiao was astonished, “So many people?”

He recalled Daoist Pang mentioning that Six Rivers Academy had very strict admission standards; students and instructors across all three disciplines numbered only five or six hundred in total. Yet now, the crowd at registration easily numbered two or three hundred.

“This year, the academy is expanding enrollment,” explained Zheng Kaizhi. “It’s not just us; word is that higher academies and the Imperial College will be increasing their intake in the coming years.”

“Though competition is fiercer…” Zheng Kaizhi sighed, “If not for the expansion, I wouldn’t have had a chance.”

His last words were quietly spoken, so Fang Xiao didn’t catch them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Zheng Kaizhi smiled. “Let’s get in line.”

Registration at Six Rivers Academy was impressively efficient; Fang Xiao didn’t wait long before his turn came. He presented his admission certificate to the clerk, a middle-aged man with a small mustache. The clerk swiftly wrote two lines in the register, then asked, “Will you be lodging at the academy? Top lodgings are one hundred, middle fifty, lower twenty. Will you be dining here? Top meals three hundred, middle one hundred, lower fifty. What will you choose?”

Fang Xiao was momentarily taken aback, but quickly answered, “No lodging, I’ll take the top meals.”

He had to look after the Daoist master back home, so staying at the academy was out of the question. As for meals—only the best would suffice! For martial artists, forging the body and refining vital energy required abundant nourishment. Poor food would hamper training and even damage one’s foundation. Children from poor families, no matter their talent, could not hope for martial achievement without financial support.

The mustachioed clerk nodded. “Top meals three hundred, tuition one hundred—total four hundred taels.”

Fang Xiao took out twenty gold leaves from his satchel and handed them over. Each leaf weighed two taels of gold; one tael of gold equaled ten taels of silver, making the sum exactly four hundred taels.

He hadn’t expected meal fees to be three times tuition.

But high prices surely had their reason.

The clerk wrote a few more lines, then handed Fang Xiao a bronze waist token. Registration complete.

Fang Xiao stepped aside, holding the hefty, finely crafted token. Its front bore the four characters “Six Rivers Academy,” in the same style as the archway, though without its sword intent. On the back, a raised character marked “Martial,” with a small serial number below: “Yicheng 137.”

As Fang Xiao finished admiring his new token and tucked it away, Zheng Kaizhi had also completed registration. He said, “Brother Fang—no, I should call you Senior now!”

“Senior Fang, it’s still early. Shall we have morning tea at Guanlan Pavilion?”

Fang Xiao found Zheng’s personality agreeable, a friend worth keeping. Realizing he knew little about Six Rivers Academy, he gladly accepted, “I’ll treat you.”

“Senior is generous!” Zheng Kaizhi laughed, giving him a thumbs-up. “Let’s go.”

Guanlan Pavilion stood beside the academy, a riverside tea house. When Zheng Kaizhi led Fang Xiao inside, the place was bustling, nearly every table full. Zheng slipped the attendant a silver coin and secured a small window-side table on the third floor.

As they sat, a mocking voice rang out nearby, “Well, Zheng Little Lady, what brings you to Guanlan Pavilion? Is that country bumpkin your lover?” Laughter erupted.

Zheng Kaizhi’s face flushed deep red, his eyes filled with fury.

Fang Xiao turned to look. At a nearby table, five finely dressed youths sat together. One boy in white, looking smug, gazed at Fang Xiao with mocking eyes, a hint of malice lurking within.

Fang Xiao rose abruptly, his right hand already drawing the weapon belt.