LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 59 - Confucian Assertion
And more.
Over these two days in the capital, Lu Tong had caught wind of numerous rumors swirling about Xia Chen—though not one for gossip by nature, he couldn’t help but overhear some amid the clamor that swept the city, despite his lack of interest.
For instance, this Imperial Son-in-Law earned His Majesty’s praise, with His Majesty declaring before all: “My Imperial Son-in-Law surpasses Chief Grand Secretary Lin Hanpu in both talent and intellect, his literary prowess unmatched by the great scholars under heaven!”
Or how this Imperial Son-in-Law clashed with the Xia clan, becoming the first legitimate heir in nigh a century to move out.
Such whispers piqued even Lu Tong’s curiosity.
Who’d have thought—right here.
“Greetings, Imperial Son-in-Law!”
Lu Tong rose to bow—his three disciples hastened to follow, aware this youth, though young, stood at their master’s tier.
More uncanny—meeting Xia Chen, an invisible aura seemed to emanate from him, subtly swaying them every moment, quelling envy, kindling a urge to draw near, to follow.
Unbeknownst to themselves.
“Master Lu Tong, you’re too kind!”
Xia Chen smiled faintly, rising—his manner free of arrogance, instead courteous and warm, winning hearts.
“I heard you spoke of ‘lords as lords, vassals as vassals, fathers as fathers, sons as sons’—have you studied Confucian ways? Those words seem born from our teachings!”
After a few exchanges, Lu Tong’s curiosity spilled.
“They’ve crossed my path.”
“Too modest—this line, simple as it is, pierces the bond of Confucian engagement with the state, bearing our tradition’s full bloom!”
Lu Tong grinned, praising—like his three disciples, startled within. Their master, one of Dawu’s five great scholars, rated Xia Chen so high?
“A flash of insight, nothing more!”
Xia Chen met praise with humility still.
“Such poise at your age—no wonder His Majesty favors you. At your years, I was still hunched over books!”
Lu Tong eyed this jade-gentle youth, a sigh welling—time spared no one; age had crept upon him!
“Should you settle your mind and devote yourself wholly to Confucian study, perfecting the principles within those words of yours, you might yet etch a resplendent chapter into the annals of history!”
Lu Tong knew well—those words bolstered royal might. If this boy truly grasped them, he was a scholar’s seed. Though older now, a heart set on Confucian ways could birth a sage!
Xia Chen chuckled, shaking his head: “I seek no fame beyond—only to bless the realm’s folk, bring them joy—so I lean to the battlefield, guarding home and land!”
Yaoguang listened quietly, never cutting in—yet at this, her gaze lingered on him twice more.
“Alas, a pity!”
Lu Tong shook his head—genuine regret. Had he mentored Xia Chen young, greatness might’ve bloomed.
But Xia Chen’s rank now dwarfed his tutelage.
“Among the White Deer Academy students you brought to the capital, Master Lu—is there one named Fang Zhiru?”
Xia Chen sidestepped further probing—his aim clear: had Fang Zhiru come?
“You know him? Zhiru didn’t join me this time!”
To Xia Chen’s dismay, Lu Tong shook his head.
“Heard the name once, by chance!”
Xia Chen smiled—smooth, natural.
“Who’s this Fang Zhiru?”
Yaoguang’s sharpness caught it—though Xia Chen seemed casual, her thirst for talent flared. This grand Literary Gathering was her net for heroes.
“A White Deer Academy scholar—ten years back, he joined, taken as the Academy Master’s final disciple!”
Lu Tong answered her query.
“Oh? Final disciple to Master Qi—surely a prodigy!”
Yaoguang’s interest surged—White Deer’s Master, Dawu’s Confucian-Daoist pinnacle, half-stepped into Second-Rank, a grand sage.
Xia Chen’s mind summoned the Master’s profile.
Qi Jingfeng—courtesy name Bujiu, dubbed Master No-Salvation—proclaimed at Third-Rank: “The gentleman does not save!”
His fame shook the scholarly world.
Yet this Confucian titan rarely emerged now.
Lu Tong’s smile turned wry at Yaoguang’s words.
“Shame to say—Fang Zhiru enrolled under the Master ten years ago, but shone little—still Eighth-Rank Discipline now!
“I meant to bring him to the capital this time—see its bustle, swap ideas with young talents at this Literary Gathering, maybe spur a breakthrough to Seventh-Rank. He refused.
“Said he hadn’t finished White Deer’s library—won’t descend!”
Lu Tong shook his head—Fang Zhiru, his junior by rank, spurned his good intent.
He truly felt the Master misjudged—Fang’s virtue was fine, but his Confucian-Daoist gift lagged.
At twenty-plus, better to seek office in the capital than rot reading—some mark might yet honor his youth!
“He aims to finish White Deer’s library?”
Even Yaoguang blinked—White Deer, a millennium old, its tomes piled generation on generation, its volumes so vast they seemed as boundless as swirling dust, surpassing even the breadth of the imperial library.
Fang Zhiru dared dream of exhausting it—impossible!
Her interest waned—yet a hunch lingered. Master Qi, so wise—picking him as final disciple hinted at something rare.
Xia Chen smiled, silent.
He’d never buy Fang Zhiru as middling—from end to start, how could he err?
Past whispers told: Fang Zhiru shone dim early at White Deer—even seemed a dullard.
Odd soul—unfazed by Confucian rank or office, shunning fame, less a Confucian, more a Daoist.
Daily buried in books—then, through this very act of reading, on a night rent by thunder and lightning, Fang Zhiru ascended to the Third-Rank in a single bound, proclaiming words that shook the world and left all in awe!
Xia Chen mused—he’d visit White Deer soon. Not to snag, but to meet—a prime stock, undervalued now, ripe for a bargain stake.
A smile curved his lips.
[Thirty-plus years ago, worldly virtue prized kindness and aid—yet Qi Jingting alone voiced dissent, stirring uproar.
In the thirty-second year of Dexuan, ninth month, Qi Jingting lectured at White Deer Academy—scholars flocked, eager to oust this pariah of learning.
Atop the Academy’s Enlightenment Stone, Qi Jingting faced them, proclaiming: “The gentleman does not save.”
Qi declared: “The gentleman’s refusal to save honors order and law. He knows the world spins like a vast mechanism, bearing its own logic and consequence.
The gentleman weighs the greater good. Resources scarce, he’d allocate them wisely at scale. Saving wayward acts or mass faults risks tainting society’s moral weave.
The gentleman’s refusal preserves and restrains himself. Measuring his strength, he shuns rash peril—lest he fall too. Facing a drowning man, if unskilled at swimming, he calls experts, not plunging blindly.
The gentleman minds the rescued’s will and aftermath. Over-saving breeds reliance. By not saving, he urges self-realization, independence—growth. A friend stumbles minorly—the gentleman spurs thought, not haste to aid.
Such is the gentleman’s refusal!
Scholars bowed—Qi Jingting’s name thundered, Dawu’s Confucian-Daoist crown.]