Chapter 507: - The Historian’s Brush Is a Blade

The wind from Jin drifted softly through, carrying an advancement with it.

In truth, the method for this round of advancement had long since become clear.

Fan Li had been the first to break through, followed by Liang Cheng, the Fourth Lady, and A’Ming.

On matters like this, the Demon Kings basically shared all intelligence with one another.

No one knew who would be the first to advance in the next round.

Besides, they all revolved around Master and were living this “life” together.

They were a team now.

A team with a tremendous amount of freedom.

Everyone was enjoying themselves.

It was not as though one Demon King advancing prevented another from advancing, so there was no real conflict of interest and therefore no reason for internal competition.

The key to this round had been four words:

Open your heart.

A new level beyond simple “licking.”

But not actually a difficult one.

The Blind Man had spent all this time hesitating and thinking.

Just as he said, there was nothing inside his heart.

But nothingness was itself something.

As the saying went:

Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.

The Blind Man was extremely intelligent.

An intelligent man could handle ninety-nine point nine percent of all affairs with calm order.

But every so often, an intelligent man could still crawl into a dead end of his own thinking.

Advancement should have been something exciting and joyous.

After all, it meant recovering another portion of their strength.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere, the buildup, the entire scene, made it very difficult for the Blind Man to extract any joy from the experience.

Just as Count Pingye had said earlier, if the Blind Man had advanced while wiping orange pith from the corner of Zheng Fan’s mouth, Zheng Fan would have been disgusted for ten years.

Now the situation had reversed.

And disgust was a very strange emotion.

When two people stood together and one felt disgusted, the other often did not care at all.

Sometimes he even wanted to laugh.

“Congratulations, congratulations,” Count Pingye said rather perfunctorily.

The Blind Man pressed a hand to his forehead and gave an equally perfunctory wave.

“I think your emotions simply reached the right point just now. It had nothing to do with the orange,” Count Pingye said.

The Blind Man shook his head.

“Master, there is no need to explain this one.”

He raised his head.

Even the words he himself had just spoken made him feel spiritually uncomfortable.

“I’ll trouble you to stay here and stand guard for the Sword Saint. I have something to do.”

It was an excuse so crude it could scarcely have been cruder.

If Zheng Fan genuinely had important business, there was almost no chance the Blind Man would not already know about it.

Still, the Blind Man nodded.

After Count Pingye left, the newly advanced Blind Man took his place and became the Sword Saint’s guard.

He needed quiet too.

And time to recover.

Right now, the thing he was most grateful for was probably that he belonged to the later half of this round of advancements.

If he had been the first, the other Demon Kings would undoubtedly have forced him to explain the details of his advancement over and over again.

That would have been a horrifying torment.

Worse, the entire tone of the round might have been dragged into some bizarre vortex.

It would no longer merely hurt the eyes.

It would give everyone styes.

A little while later, the Blind Man silently took the second orange from his pocket.

He hesitated.

Then put it back.

Beside him lay the half orange Count Pingye had left behind.

The Blind Man pointed one finger.

The orange rolled down the steps and away.

He crooked the finger back.

The orange rolled backward.

Away.

Back.

Away.

Back.

At last, the Blind Man snapped his fingers.

The half orange exploded.

The smell of citrus immediately spread through the air.

The corner of the Blind Man’s mouth twitched.

That nauseating sweet-and-sour smell.

...

Count Pingye really did have something to do.

The Fourth Lady had spent nearly all her time in the signing room lately.

When Zheng Fan returned triumphantly to the residence, she informed him that the Sword Saint had “disappeared,” then immediately went back to sorting the accounts.

The great campaign against Chu was imminent.

Snow Sea Pass would have to field at least fifteen thousand combat troops, along with the corresponding number of laborers.

Now there was also the Savage slave army to account for.

Once grain, pay, weapons, armor, military supplies, transport, and countless other threads were added together, only the Fourth Lady possessed the ability to sort the whole mess into order.

That left Count Pingye too embarrassed to ask her:

Didn’t we agree we were going to start making a baby once I came back from Yanjing? So when exactly are we starting?

He did not disturb the Fourth Lady.

As for the princess, she slept early every night.

Whenever circumstances allowed, she rigidly maintained the schedule of a Great Chu noblewoman.

So Zheng Fan did not go to her either.

In the end, Count Pingye entered an elegant little courtyard.

She would not be asleep early.

She could not be asleep early.

Two maids keeping night watch immediately saluted when they saw Zheng Fan arrive.

“Greetings, Count.”

“Greetings, Count.”

“All right. You may leave.”

Count Pingye pushed open the door directly.

Inside sat a graceful silhouette.

Before bed, Liu Ruqing wore a thin purple silk robe that displayed every curve of her exquisite figure.

Clothing like this could only be worn in a bedchamber.

There was no possibility of wearing it outside.

People often said clothes made the person.

But there were also people who could use themselves to hold up the clothes.

Liu Ruqing was such a woman.

Her beauty, temperament, sensuality, and fragility all existed in a harmony that felt almost unnaturally complete.

Had she lived in the imperial palace, she would absolutely have been the sort of woman capable of making a sovereign miss morning court.

Even the melancholy that belonged uniquely to a widow added a trace of intoxicating fragrance between her brows.

Just enough.

Exactly enough.

It was not resentment.

Not hatred.

Not sorrow.

It was wistfulness.

One measure more would become cloying.

One measure less would become bland.

Just as Count Pingye had expected, other people might be busy or might sleep early.

Liu Ruqing would not.

Back in the Fan household, Liu Ruqing had lived as a widow for many years.

During the day, whenever she encountered members of the Fan family, she had to respond with proper grace.

At night, before sleeping, she first had to spend some time mourning the loneliness and desolation of her own life.

After arriving at the Count’s Residence, she gained another layer of homesickness to sigh over.

Today, because she had witnessed something she should not have seen, she had acquired yet another thing to brood about.

Liu Ruqing knew exactly why Fan Zhengwen had sent her thousands of li to Snow Sea Pass.

She had been Fan Zhengwen’s younger brother’s widow.

By ordinary reason, Fan Zhengwen, as the elder brother, should have done everything possible to preserve his dead brother’s widow.

Unfortunately, the “uncle” whom she had once believed to be a famous physician invited by the old matriarch of the Fan family turned out to possess a status this exalted.

Liu Ruqing could not truly be called timid.

But in the end, she still had no way to escape the structure of this age, where women existed as dependents of men.

She had already placed herself mentally in the position of a concubine.

And after learning that her younger brother Liu Zhong would also be coming to Snow Sea Pass, she had gradually begun treating the Count’s Residence as her new home.

She had already been alone.

What difference was there between entrusting this life to the Fan household and entrusting it to the Count’s Residence?

Once she completed that psychological preparation, Liu Ruqing began waiting.

Waiting for the day when “Uncle” would enter her bedchamber and pluck her body.

That was what she believed she should do.

She had never intended to resist.

Had she truly wished to resist, the journey from the Fan household to Snow Sea Pass had given her countless opportunities to end her own life.

And to speak from the heart, just as the princess had once compared Qu Peiluo to Count Pingye and concluded that no matter how she looked at it, Count Pingye was far superior, Liu Ruqing could not stop herself from comparing her dead husband with Count Pingye.

Yet if even the legitimate eldest son of the Qu Clan could not compare, how could some sickly junior son from a lesser branch of the Fan household possibly compare with the Great Yan Dynasty’s Count Pingye?

In fact, placing her dead husband beside Count Pingye for comparison almost felt as if she were deliberately elevating her husband while profaning Count Pingye.

Liu Ruqing knew such thoughts were wrong.

She still could not stop herself from having them.

She lived in the Count’s Residence.

Ate in the Count’s Residence.

Moved through the Count’s Residence.

If she did not think about Count Pingye, who else was there to think about?

And yet, she had prepared herself.

Perhaps tonight.

Perhaps tomorrow night.

Perhaps the night after that.

But Count Pingye had never once spent the night in her rooms.

During the day, he occasionally came over to listen to her sing a little song and have her call him “Uncle” a few times.

A woman’s thoughts were delicate.

Liu Ruqing was intelligent and sensitive by nature.

Although she had worn the white flower of widowhood from a young age, over the years she had still often chatted with the wives of her husband’s brothers inside the Fan household.

She knew a little about men’s thoughts.

A little about men’s preferences.

For example, she knew Count Pingye seemed to particularly enjoy hearing her call him “Uncle.”

She was nominally his concubine.

A woman of his bedchamber.

Yet he liked hearing her address him as an elder.

Elder Sister Feng had learned about this too.

Once, the Fourth Lady even specifically sent for Liu Ruqing and made her call “Uncle” several times in front of her.

Liu Ruqing had been terrified.

She knew perfectly well what position the Fourth Lady held within the Count’s Residence.

Even the princess of Great Chu had to lower herself before the Fourth Lady.

Liu Ruqing counted for even less.

At the time, Liu Ruqing believed the Fourth Lady was angry that she had used such foxlike tricks to seduce Count Pingye.

And Liu Ruqing had felt guilty herself.

After all, part of the reason she had continued using that title was precisely because she wanted to please Count Pingye.

But the Fourth Lady merely made her call “Uncle” several times to her face, then made her call “Daddy” several times, then waved her away.

After that incident, as Liu Ruqing spent more time in the Count’s Residence, she gradually relaxed.

Compared with the Fan household, the Count’s Residence truly was cold and quiet.

But she actually liked that coldness.

When she had nothing to do, she could grow flowers or read books inside her own little courtyard.

She did not have to deliberately smile at anyone.

She felt free here.

The only thing that left her uneasy was this:

When exactly was Count Pingye going to take her?

She knew thinking about this as a woman ought to make her feel ashamed.

Yet she could not avoid thinking about it.

In her own mind, she was already a “fallen flower and broken willow.”

More importantly, after getting past the initial confusion and panic, instinct made her seek some kind of guarantee for this new life.

Her younger brother would also be arriving before long.

The servants might call her “Madam,” treating her as a concubine of the house.

But this concubine had never actually secured anything.

It was like a document already fully written, the ink long dry, yet still waiting for the final seal.

Her heart simply kept floating in the air.

Floating and floating.

Never able to settle.

It was not that she had never considered deliberately seducing Count Pingye.

But her allure came naturally from within.

It was not something she knew how to manufacture.

Deliberately calling him “Uncle” was already the greatest limit of what she could force herself to do.

Besides, every time she saw Count Pingye, every time he sat before her, she felt an enormous pressure.

She was afraid of him.

Deeply afraid.

So afraid she could barely control it.

Today, Liu Ruqing stared at her own reflection.

Her eyes had grown slightly moist.

She did not want to suspect that her husband-to-be preferred the pleasures of men.

But then what exactly had that scene during the day meant?

And at that moment, Count Pingye pushed open the door and entered.

Liu Ruqing jumped to her feet and raised both hands before her chest.

The moment she saw him, she called timidly:

“Uncle~”

This was the first time Count Pingye had ever entered her bedchamber at night.

Two patches of red instantly spread across Liu Ruqing’s cheeks.

A fully ripened peach.

As though one gentle pinch could squeeze out juice.

Count Pingye walked straight over, sat on the stool where Liu Ruqing had been sitting, then pulled the beauty into his arms without the slightest courtesy.

Liu Ruqing gave a startled cry.

Then she buried her face against Count Pingye’s chest and clutched the edge of his robe tightly with both hands.

If everything was simply going to proceed naturally from here, then... let it proceed naturally.

This had not arrived too quickly.

It had arrived far too slowly.

Waiting itself had become a torment.

If she gave herself to him tonight, then tomorrow, when the servants in the courtyard called her Madam again, perhaps she would no longer feel so hollow inside.

Count Pingye lifted her chin with his other hand and made her meet his gaze.

Her eyes seemed filled with rippling green waves, flowing straight into a man’s heart.

It was no longer a matter of plucking the heartstrings.

The heart itself had become strings.

At the same time, Liu Ruqing could feel the man holding her breathing more heavily and see the nearly erupting fire inside his eyes.

A widow long deprived, like a pool of spring water waiting endlessly for a gentle wind that never came to raise its ripples.

Dry tinder meeting a spark.

Shyness, embarrassment, and that urgent hesitation of wanting to resist while already yielding.

Her voice entered the lungs.

Her tone entered the heart.

Count Pingye drew a deep breath.

“Good girl. Say it a few more times.”

He had just helped the Blind Man advance.

Count Pingye worried the winds of Jin might have somehow blown his rhythm off course.

He was perfectly confident he was a straight man.

But right now, he still needed Liu Ruqing to help him “guard against tiny deviations before they grew.”

Liu Ruqing wrapped both arms around Count Pingye’s neck.

Then brought her mouth close to his ear.

...

Splash!

Splash!

Splash!

Bucket after bucket of well water poured down over his head.

The Sword Maid happened to pass by holding two sticks of candied hawthorn.

When she saw the man standing beside the well, she looked puzzled.

Then she recognized him and said in surprise:

“Count? Practicing martial arts this late at night?”

Count Pingye ignored her.

He lifted another bucket of well water and dumped it over himself.

Haa...

“Count, that is some terrifying self-discipline.”

The Sword Maid came over on her own.

Zheng Fan tossed the wooden bucket aside.

“Bring me a towel and some clothes.”

“Uh, sure, Count.”

The Sword Maid ran off quickly and returned with a towel and a clean set of clothes.

Zheng Fan wiped himself down, changed, then snatched one stick of candied hawthorn from the Sword Maid’s hand and took a bite.

“You’re still a child. Eat less sugar at night or your teeth will rot.”

With that, Count Pingye walked directly toward the front residence.

Inside the signing room, the Fourth Lady was still flipping through ledgers.

Every so often, her brows knitted slightly.

When Count Pingye entered, the Fourth Lady raised her head and smiled at him.

“You’ve worked hard, Fourth Lady.”

Count Pingye came to the desk and held the candied hawthorn to her lips.

The Fourth Lady parted her red lips and took a bite.

Count Pingye asked:

“Sweet?”

The Fourth Lady nodded.

“Sweet.”

Then she continued chewing while turning another page of the ledger.

“Don’t work yourself too hard. Remember to rest,” Count Pingye said.

The Fourth Lady nodded without looking away from the accounts.

“Mm. Once this slave finishes what is in hand.”

Count Pingye pulled over a chair and sat beside her.

“Tell me. Didn’t that exchange just now make me sound like the little puppy kept by a rich sugar mama?”

“Master wants to switch to a new scenario?”

“Heh.”

“Did Younger Sister Ruqing serve you well?”

Count Pingye raised an eyebrow.

The Fourth Lady laughed.

“It isn’t that this slave deliberately watches you. Most of those little hoofed creatures working in the residence were gathered by this slave back in Tiger Head City. The moment they saw Master enter Younger Sister Ruqing’s room at night, they ran over here to report it.”

Count Pingye shook his head.

“Actually, nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” The Fourth Lady looked surprised.

She put down her pencil and looked directly at Zheng Fan.

Only then did she notice his hair was still wet.

Her thoughts moved quickly.

She immediately understood.

“Master, this slave does not mind.”

“But I do,” Count Pingye said seriously. “Truthfully, I think the two of us spending this lifetime together in this world would already be pretty good. If you want a child, we’ll have one. If you don’t want one, we’ll live just fine without one.”

“This slave...”

“In any case, before you become pregnant, I won’t touch them. Even after you become pregnant, I can still not touch them.”

“But this slave genuinely does not mind, Master. You do not have to force yourself to hold back. This slave is not pretending to be virtuous, and I am not saying the opposite of what I mean.”

“Neither am I.”

“Won’t Younger Sister Ruqing be very hurt?”

“I already spoke with her. She understands.”

“But this slave really does have far too much work right now.”

“You do your work. I’ll stay with you tonight. Come on. I’ll grind your ink.”

“Master.”

“Mm. No need to be polite.”

“This slave uses a charcoal pencil.”

“...” Count Pingye.

...

As dawn approached, the door opened from within.

The Sword Saint stepped out.

The Blind Man rose at once and smiled.

“How do you feel?”

The Sword Saint smiled.

“Like finding Tian Wujing right now and fighting him again.”

“You would certainly win.”

“You’ve worked hard too, standing guard here all this time.”

“It was only right.”

“Where is Zheng Fan? I should thank him. Ever since entering Shengle City until now, my understanding of the sword has advanced tremendously.”

“Master left a message. He said we are all family, so there is no need to be polite.”

The Sword Saint nodded.

He had never been a pedantic man.

He looked at the sky and said:

“Suddenly feel like drinking.”

The Blind Man immediately answered:

“Good. I’ll have someone prepare a plate of peanuts, a pot of yellow wine, and three cups.”

“Three?”

“Naturally we have to drink inside Gou Moli’s room. Only then will the flavor be right.”

The Sword Saint laughed.

...

Outside Fengxin City, a carriage moved slowly along the road.

A cavalry escort rode in two lines on either side.

Ahead stood a temporary pavilion.

It had a wooden roof, walls on three sides, and one side left open for ventilation.

Inside sat a man wearing a white python robe.

The cavalry escort immediately spread apart.

The carriage stopped in front of the pavilion.

The curtain lifted.

With the help of a servant, a white-haired old man stepped down from the carriage.

The old man wore a black robe.

His body looked thin and frail.

Yet there seemed to be a fierce wind hidden between his brows.

Yao Zizhan, the Literary Saint of Qian, once mocked himself.

He said that throughout his life he had done absurd things, written absurd poems, and been an absurd man.

That was not false modesty.

He genuinely lived wildly and loved freedom.

He was free in poetry.

Free at court.

Free even within his own clan.

To match those three descriptions of his own absurdity, Yao Zizhan had deliberately pointed out three other men.

In Qian’s Jiangnan lived a great Confucian scholar whose literary reputation had spread far and wide sixty years earlier.

Yet throughout his life, he refused to take office.

In his youth, he passed the provincial examination, thereby establishing his family and securing tax exemption for the family fields to repay the household that had raised him.

Then he refused to travel to Shangjing for the metropolitan examination.

For sixty years, he walked among the common people opening private schools.

He charged no tuition.

He taught children from poor families to read.

In his youth, he had written many excellent works.

But after picking up the teacher’s ruler, nearly everything he recited consisted of the *Three Character Classic* and other elementary verses.

Yao Zizhan praised him as a man who had spent his entire life writing “proper poetry.”

After all, what poetry could be more proper than teaching others and educating without distinction?

In Qian’s Xishan Commandery, there had once been another scholar.

He passed the metropolitan examination.

During the palace examination, the ruler of Qian personally selected him as Tanhua, third among all candidates.

Yet he did not go on to write any romantic tales worthy of a handsome Tanhua.

Half a year later, he resigned his office and returned home.

Xishan Commandery suffered frequent droughts and was one of the few truly poor regions in Qian.

After returning, the former Tanhua gathered his clansmen and local villagers.

Together, they dug irrigation canals and designed waterways.

He continued for twenty years.

After decades beneath the sun and wind, the once-elegant Tanhua now looked no different from an old farmer.

He had studied the books of sages and then performed the deeds of sages.

The people depended upon food.

The altars of soil and grain depended upon the people.

Therefore, Yao Zizhan said this man had spent his life doing “proper deeds.”

The third man was not from Qian.

He was from Chu.

He had been born to Great Chu’s Chen Clan.

The Chen Clan was also a noble house of the Second Rank.

But this man was not a legitimate son.

He was not even a concubine-born son.

He was illegitimate.

All his life, he used his mother’s surname.

Meng.

His name was Shou.

After coming of age, Meng Shou entered Great Chu’s Pavilion of Literature and History.

Together with his teacher, he compiled and revised the *History of Chu*, covering the years from the first Marquis of Chu’s entry into the southern lands to the present day.

After the *History of Chu* was completed, the thirty-year-old Meng Shou entered Jin.

At the invitation of the Wenren Clan, he compiled the *History of Jin*.

It took seven years.

The Wenren Clan offered him a thousand gold pieces, hoping he would say a few favorable words about their house in the *History of Jin*, perhaps using the subtle brushwork of the *Spring and Autumn Annals* to soften matters.

Meng Shou refused.

He stubbornly left one sentence in the *History of Jin*:

After Emperor Dezong, power slipped from the imperial house, and the signs of the Three Clans dividing Jin were already visible.

The sentence named the matter directly.

After Emperor Dezong, authority belonging to Jin’s imperial line had begun to be divided among the Situ, Wenren, and Helian clans, the three great vassal houses.

Because of that sentence, the Wenren Clan imprisoned him for three years.

They threatened him.

They tempted him.

Nothing made him change a single stroke.

Later, the old lord of the Wenren Clan died.

A new clan head inherited the position.

That man respected Meng Shou’s integrity and released him from confinement, permitting him to leave Jin.

From then on, people across the realm said:

Meng Shou’s historian’s brush was a blade.

Seven years compiling the *History of Jin*.

Three years in prison.

By the time he left Jin, Meng Shou was already forty.

A poet later wrote of him:

At thirty he entered Jin, at forty he came away;
the spring wind still found him a youthful gentleman.

Meng Shou did not return to Chu.

Instead, he accepted an invitation from the ruler of Qian and entered Qian.

Inside Shangjing’s Hanlin Academy, he spent three years compiling the *History of Qian*.

Therefore, the opening annal of Emperor Taizu in the *History of Qian* said directly:

Emperor Taizu seized his realm.

One word, “seized,” declared that Qian’s founding Emperor had established his state by bullying and plundering an orphan and a widow.

The ruler of Qian did not imprison him.

Nor did he make things difficult for him.

He treated Meng Shou with courtesy and sent him out of Qian.

At forty-four, Meng Shou entered Yan and began compiling the *History of Yan*.

He had been writing it ever since.

Nearly thirty years.

There were several reasons.

Great Chu’s nobles revered antiquity.

Ancient books were plentiful and well preserved.

Jin had great houses like the Wenren Clan that adored refinement and literature, so their libraries were rich.

Qian hardly needed explanation.

A single Hanlin Academy gathered a tremendous share of the realm’s literary brilliance.

And Qian’s history itself was relatively short.

Yan was different.

It had been founded eight hundred years earlier.

Yet for nearly those entire eight centuries it had been fighting.

Even emperors occasionally died in battle.

Very few people had possessed the leisure to preserve detailed records of everything else.

And Yan people had never placed much importance on literary education to begin with.

So while compiling the *History of Yan*, Meng Shou lacked the abundant historical records and ancient books available elsewhere.

He often had to investigate matters personally.

In earlier years, he even visited one great Yan clan after another begging to borrow books.

As he grew older, his energy also declined.

Naturally, the work slowed.

Even so, Meng Shou alone had traveled the states and compiled histories of all Four Great States.

Among historians beneath Heaven, no one could compare.

Yao Zizhan once described him like this:

The historian’s brush is a blade.

Not because the brush is a blade.

Not because history itself is a blade.

Because the heart of the one holding the brush is a blade.

Yao Zizhan called Meng Shou: a man who spent his entire life being proper.

Now, Meng Shou stood outside the pavilion and looked at the man who had risen within.

Tian Wujing stepped out.

Then bent deeply in salute.

“Teacher.”

When Meng Shou first entered Yan, he once visited the Tian Clan seeking books.

The Tian Clan agreed.

They asked only one thing in return:

Take Tian Wujing, a son of the Tian Clan, as a student.

So Meng Shou was Tian Wujing’s teacher in the literary arts.

When master and disciple met now, there was not the slightest distance between them.

Meng Shou rubbed his stomach.

“Your teacher is hungry. Is there anything to eat?”

“It is prepared.”

“Good.”

Supported by Tian Wujing, Meng Shou entered the pavilion.

Food and wine had already been arranged on the small table inside.

Meng Shou picked up his chopsticks and began eating.

Tian Wujing picked up his own chopsticks and accompanied his teacher.

A short while later, Meng Shou set his chopsticks down.

Tian Wujing set his down as well.

“You keep eating. Your teacher is old. I cannot eat much anymore. These days I often become hungry quickly, but two bites are enough to fill me. You are still young. Eat more.”

“Teacher, Wujing ate earlier.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Teacher, Great Chu’s party sent to receive you should arrive shortly.”

“That’s good. Gives master and disciple a little more time to talk.”

“Teacher, why must you return to Chu at this moment?”

“The *History of Yan* is complete. What reason would I have not to return home? Fortunately, His Majesty of Yan trampled the great clans beneath cavalry hooves and confiscated their libraries into the palace. Otherwise, I truly might not have finished the *History of Yan* before I died. Hahahaha! Those damned great clans. In earlier years your teacher begged them one house after another, practically calling them grandfather and grandmother, and they dismissed me like a beggar. Look where they ended up. Deserved it. Absolutely deserved it!”

Tian Wujing laughed too.

Long ago, Meng Shou had once told him that after spending more than half his life compiling histories, he found right and wrong increasingly difficult to distinguish.

All he knew was that every page of every history had been soaked in flashing blades and bloody shadows, plots and counterplots, petty scrambling and selfish calculation.

Even beneath the most upright and glorious words of praise, dark currents usually moved.

One could read history and learn the rise and fall of states.

But the longer one wrote history, the easier it became to write the human flavor out of oneself.

Because when compiling history, one could not have personal opinions.

One could not have preferences.

One could not have a position.

Given enough years, perhaps even the self disappeared.

“By the way, disciple. Do you know how your teacher wrote about you?”

Meng Shou became excited as he reached one of his proudest subjects.

He grabbed the edges of the little table with both hands, leaned forward slightly, and looked at Tian Wujing like an old child showing off some great accomplishment.

“I wrote an Imperial Annal for you. The same as the Marquis of Zhenbei. In your teacher’s view, my disciple and that Marquis of Zhenbei Residence both possess the qualifications to receive an Imperial Annal reserved for sovereigns!”

Tian Wujing merely smiled.

“Your teacher knows you don’t care. But I still had to do something for you. Disciple, the people beneath Heaven do not know you. Your teacher does. Your teacher knows how difficult your road has been. A man lives a lifetime, then falls into the histories as only a few strokes of ink. Yet how could a few strokes capture even one ten-thousandth of a man’s life? And to create even that one ten-thousandth, one must bear ten thousand pains. My disciple has suffered. Your teacher knows.”

Tian Wujing still said nothing.

“If you keep traveling southeast, you’ll soon reach Zhennan Pass, yes?”

“Yes,” Tian Wujing answered.

“If Zhennan Pass falls, then Great Chu will be in mortal danger, won’t it?”

Tian Wujing shook his head.

“I can only say that without Zhennan Pass, the situation between Yan and Chu will become completely different.”

“As a historian, your teacher hopes you break Zhennan Pass this time, drive straight into Ying Capital, destroy the State of Chu, then turn and attack Qian and destroy the State of Qian as well. I have spent a lifetime as a historian compiling the histories of four states. It sounds glorious. In truth, it is boring. Since the fall of Great Xia, more than eight hundred years have passed without the realm ever becoming one again. Failing to compile the history of a unified realm is the shared regret of eight centuries of historians before and after me. Fight. Fight until another Great Xia emerges. Fight until the world is unified once more. Then later historians will not have to run around suffering the way your teacher did.”

“Your disciple will do his best.”

“But...” Meng Shou sighed. “As a man of Chu, though I have spent half my life wandering outside it, I have never forgotten the splendor of Chu. Washing one’s feet beside the Mi River. Watching snow from the walls of Ying Capital. The old verses of Chu drifting endlessly... What a beautiful Great Chu. What a beautiful Great Chu. If it simply disappears like this, what a terrible pity that would be. To speak from the heart, your teacher truly cannot bear it.”

“Teacher is, after all, a man of Chu.”

“Yes. I am a man of Chu. That is why the moment the *History of Yan* was completed, I requested His Majesty’s permission to return home. Fortunately, I am only an old man. I am not worth even one soldier. Otherwise, even if I could pass His Majesty’s side, once I reached you, disciple, I’m afraid you would follow the old precedent below Yupan City and cut your teacher down right here.”

Tian Wujing said nothing.

His expression remained calm.

“Fortunately, your teacher is useless. Saves my disciple from gaining another line in his history. There is another reason I want to return to Chu. I have spent an entire lifetime lying among historical records and histories, yet I have never personally watched history happen. This time, your teacher intends to stand atop the walls of Ying Capital and wait to see it with my own eyes. Disciple, do not disappoint me.”

“Yes. Your disciple will remember Teacher’s instruction.”

“Mm.”

Meng Shou extended a hand.

His accompanying servant brought over paper and brush.

“Travel somewhere, record something. See something, write something. His Majesty is still alive. Prince Zhenbei is still alive. You are still alive. A lamp waits for the flame to die. A man waits for the coffin lid to close. But your teacher thinks that if I can write a little more, record a little more, later generations may understand you somewhat better. Don’t rush to object. Your teacher knows you do not care about this. But I do. And not for your sake, disciple. For my own. The Spring and Autumn beneath my brush is usually filled with men whose bones have long turned to dust. Fortunately, an age of great contention now stands before us and the realm has risen into waves. Fortunately, disciple, you are one of the men poling his boat through those waves. Fortunately, your teacher still possesses enough face to ask you these things. You should understand this: when people look back on today a thousand years from now, there is no possible way they will skip over you. Perhaps those later readers will grit their teeth and curse you. Perhaps they will refuse to agree with you and call your heart that of a snake or scorpion. Perhaps they will avoid speaking too deeply of you and dare not add their own judgment. Or perhaps a few will understand one or two parts of Tian Wujing. Perhaps one or two things in you will resonate with them. Whatever the case, they will all blame this old man when they reach your Imperial Annal. Why did I not write more? Why did I not write still more? Why could I not leave them more words about you? As for Prince Zhenbei, your teacher does not know him well. He cannot even be bothered with a rotten Confucian like me. His Majesty, I am afraid that if I ask too much, I may not be allowed to leave Yan. Hahahaha! Back in Jin, with the Wenren Clan, your teacher was not afraid. I stated plainly that the Three Clans divided Jin. In Shangjing, I was not afraid either. I wrote directly that their state was obtained improperly. But now that I am old, now that the end is near, I have somehow become a little more reluctant to die. I’ve wandered off topic. Too far off topic. Come, come. Here. In historical records from ancient times, writers love adding color to people. Whenever your teacher reads someone else’s embellishments, I usually sneer at them. But for my own disciple, your teacher is willing to add color!”

To “add color” meant using artistic processing to embellish a historical figure and make him more vivid.

For example, inventing deeds he never performed or words he never spoke.

Had Count Pingye been here, he would have understood instantly.

Wasn’t this exactly like:

“How could a sparrow know the ambition of a swan?”

Yes.

Sima Gong had obviously been the hoe standing beside Chen Sheng back then.

He had heard it with his own ears.

“Your teacher has prepared three embellishments for you. The first takes place when you were young. A conversation between you and me. I ask: ‘What should a man aspire to?’ You answer: ‘A man should harbor ambitions that soar above the clouds, saber across his horse, reshaping all beneath Heaven!’”

Tian Wujing shook his head.

It was fabricated.

When he became Meng Shou’s student, he had no longer been a child.

His mind was already mature.

How could he have spoken like that?

Meng Shou continued:

“The second is: ‘Let the fall of the great clans beneath Heaven begin with my Tian Clan!’”

At that point, Meng Shou slapped his thigh.

“Disciple, do you understand? Because of that one sentence, for the next thousand years, anyone reading the histories will be unable to avoid it! Ordinary people will see your ruthlessness. Your coldness. Your refusal to recognize even your own kin. But someone will inevitably see your hardship. Your sacrifice. Your suffering!”

Tian Wujing remained calm.

Meng Shou pointed around them.

“Come, come. Your teacher intends to add one more scene next. In a little while, Great Chu’s General Nian Yao will personally come here to receive your teacher and escort me back to Chu. Nian Yao will ask you one question...”

Tian Wujing said:

“Nian Yao will not dare come.”

Not that he would not come.

He would not dare.

After Count Pingye’s flamboyant stunt outside Snow Sea Pass, all customs about not killing envoys during war and commanders speaking across the lines before battle had effectively become things no one dared do anymore.

Everyone feared getting his head taken off.

And Tian Wujing himself was a peak Third Grade Martial Artist.

Nian Yao absolutely would not dare come.

Meng Shou slapped the table hard and shouted:

“No! Nian Yao came. He is standing right there!”

Meng Shou pointed at his own servant.

“...” The servant.

“He is Nian Yao. Tell me, aren’t you?”

The servant pointed at his own face.

He looked at his master.

Then at Tian Wujing.

Finally, he nodded.

“Yes. This slave is Nian Yao. Great Chu’s General Nian Yao.”

“Mm. See, disciple? Nian Yao came after all.”

Tian Wujing shook his head.

“Disciple, the histories of a thousand autumns contain truth mixed with falsehood, falsehood mixed with truth. Why are other people allowed to add color while I am not? Why can I not add color for my own disciple? Come, Nian Yao. Ask him.”

The servant said:

“Fine. I’ll ask.”

“You ask: ‘Prince of Jingnan, do you truly believe the iron cavalry of your Great Yan Dynasty is unmatched beneath Heaven?’”

The servant repeated obediently:

“Prince of Jingnan, do you truly believe the iron cavalry of your Great Yan Dynasty is unmatched beneath Heaven?”

“Disciple. Come, come. General Nian Yao is asking you a question. Answer him. Quickly, quickly.”

At last, Tian Wujing nodded.

He had once cultivated mystic arts.

So he could see that although his teacher appeared excited today, the old man had already reached the point where the oil was nearly exhausted and the lamp was close to going out.

Even if Meng Shou entered Chu, he did not have much time left.

Therefore, Tian Wujing was willing to cooperate with his teacher now.

He looked at the servant.

His gaze focused slightly.

The servant’s knees immediately trembled.

He dropped directly to the ground.

He truly could not endure the terrifying presence of the Prince of Jingnan.

Tian Wujing spoke:

“In this Prince’s eyes, the cavalry of the world falls into two kinds. One is the iron cavalry of my Great Yan Dynasty. The other is all other cavalry.”

[End of Chapter 507]