Eternal Life: Talent Grows with Age-Chapter 82 - 83: The Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature, and the Pursuit of Immortality!

Chapter 82: Chapter 83: The Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature, and the Pursuit of Immortality!

"I can’t really say for sure, but you have to know—I harbor no ill intent toward you," Instructor Qu said.

Lu Chang’sheng nodded slightly.

Instructor Qu was probably aligned with one of the family clan factions, or perhaps even a scion of such a house; that faction rooted its power in bloodlines, contending with the throne itself.

The Great Yuan’s old ills ran deep—the aristocratic clans had long since sunk their roots, now grown so mighty they gave even royal authority pause.

The droughts and floods in recent years had merely ignited the tension simmering between the two camps.

Of the Thirty-Six Mansions of the Great Yuan, power in some rested almost entirely with the clans; in others, the court still held sway—yet in many, as in Black Mountain Prefecture, family and magistrate stood almost as equals, poised in perpetual rivalry.

Instructor Qu had served at Jixia Academy for years, yet lacked Dean Hong Yuan’s capabilities—so he had little choice but to weather the storm.

"No matter how high a reading man climbs in the bureaucracy, he will never have the sense of security of true personal martial strength."

So mused Lu Chang’sheng to himself.

It was precisely for this reason, despite limitless prospects on the official route, that he’d veered off the path midway through.

Instructor Qu had his share of flaws, but he cherished talent. Over the years he’d repeatedly urged Lu Chang’sheng to ’return to the righteous road.’

Lu Chang’sheng declined his ’kindness’ politely, watching Instructor Qu shake his head and walk away, resolving to remain cautious.

The Martial Artist Institute at Jixia Academy was its own world; aside from the Mountain Master, no other academy’s instructors or professors would typically interfere here.

Yet today was remarkable—an aberration.

Lu Chang’sheng didn’t believe for a moment he was the cause. Six years ago, perhaps as the Top Scholar he’d have drawn such eyes, but now? Unlikely.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before word spread: today’s examination had been moved from 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM.

Such things simply did not happen in normal times.

And what’s more, Lu Chang’sheng spotted figures who, by rights, should not have been present at all.

People like Xun Zimo, Zhou Yu, Xu Zhuqing...

They’d entered the Martial Artist Institute before him, and most had already passed the nine-year assessment. By all rights, there was no reason for them all to appear together.

In previous assessments, there was never such a full gathering.

"The Martial Institute may not be as high-profile as the Academies, but it wouldn’t resort to underhanded or evil methods—would it?"

Lu Chang’sheng pondered, deciding to play it by ear and respond as things came.

As the hour drew near, Lu Chang’sheng walked to the appointed spot to add his name to the roster.

"Scholar Lu?"

Instructor Wang was bent over, recording another student’s name.

Registering for the roll was a mandatory step; every exam required it to prevent mistakes down the line.

When that student turned to leave, Instructor Wang, head still lowered, heard Lu Chang’sheng’s voice and started, surprised.

But he soon regained his composure, and dutifully recorded Lu Chang’sheng’s name.

Lu Chang’sheng knew Instructor Wang hadn’t expected his participation—thus that fleeting moment of distraction. Not that it mattered; his root-bone had indeed been poor. Even with a boost to low-grade, he was scraping by in the Martial Institute.

Mediocrity and low root-bone are nearly impossible to distinguish by eye—they require bone exam by touch!

Even then, the bone reading isn’t infallible—it’s at best eighty percent accurate.

That’s life. Bone reading in the martial world, like diagnosis in medicine, relies on touch, sight, and questioning; no one dares claim certainty in judging someone’s root-bone.

Still—an eighty percent guarantee convinces most in the True Qi Realm to trust their own faculty.

To the instructors at the Martial Artist Institute, Lu Chang’sheng was never more than a passing hobbyist—hardly a true student of the hall.

And so, the triennial assessment seldom included the likes of Lu Chang’sheng.

After all, those with notable root-bone were singled out upon entry and placed directly among the real candidates.

"For Scholar Lu to take the assessment, you must have improved your Pile Skill considerably. I congratulate you in advance for success and renown!"

Instructor Wang smiled.

Unlike Lu Chang’sheng, they couldn’t gauge his Pile Skill training at a glance. Thus, their only way to judge was by displayed strength—yet people varied, some born strong, others less so. Without the exam, no one really knew.

"Thank you for your kind words, Instructor Wang!"

Lu Chang’sheng smiled as he replied.

He knew neither the instructors nor professors of the academies nor those of the Martials had any confidence in him, but he hardly cared—his plan was simply to do his utmost when the moment came.

"Yet all this oddity—what is it building toward?"

He wondered silently.

3:00 PM arrived in a blink; all instructors and professors had taken their seats in the arena.

The Mountain Master peered down at the registry, brow tightly furrowed.

"This Scholar Lu has an obstinate streak in his bones!"

Dean Hong Yuan sat beside him, chuckling, "Without such tenacity, perhaps he’d never have attained such talent at his age."

"Quite so! This Scholar Lu is a prime candidate for Top Scholar—yet you’ve let him languish here for years. After this, no matter what happens, do not let him return again," the Mountain Master said, shaking his head. He too had gone to lengths over this.

Hong Yuan sighed inwardly. This old friend, when he’d first arrived, was upright and unyielding—now, he allied himself with those very men he once despised.

"Brother Lin Shan, it’s not too late to turn back even now," Hong Yuan said quietly.

Lin Shan managed a rueful smile, "So, you’ve sensed it too."

"When dark clouds press on the city, am I blind that I wouldn’t see?"

"Ah, we’re not our own masters. You know my root-bone is much worse than yours, and what they offered happened to fill my lack. Exhausted as I am, without them, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you."

"We studied and trained in martial arts to bring peace to the people," Hong Yuan murmured.

That had been their shared wish once—yet now, though they sat together still, their hearts had both changed.

The matter wasn’t worth further words; they’d argued this again and again. If one had been meant to persuade the other, it would have happened long ago.

As for Lu Chang’sheng...

"Don’t worry, I know talent when I see it," Hong Yuan said with a faint grin.

Lin Shan knew he spoke of the eye for root-bone, and felt a wave of emotion at heart.

Of those in Black Mountain Prefecture, few could stand equal to Hong Yuan in strength or discernment.

Years training at the Martial Artist Institute had made Hong Yuan a keen discoverer of martial talent, sending out officers to the Great Yuan, time after time.

If he said yes, then it was yes. If he said no, well, that meant considering another path.

"If it’s your golden word, I’ll trust it,"

said Lin Shan.

He truly feared Hong Yuan would try poaching from him; other prefectures had seen the Martial Artist Institutes overstep to seize talent. After all, in Great Yuan, scholars and warriors had much in common, and which academy one trained in knew lasting effects—not only for the student, but for webs of influence and gratitude that could shape futures for years to come.

Lu Chang’sheng had it wrong; the instructors and professors from the academies who’d come today, had come specifically because of him.

Only they—men long immersed in their books—could know the terrifying depth of Lu Chang’sheng’s scholarship.

They believed that after all these years, martial life would have worn his scholarly edge dull; when these exams were over, they’d bring him back in triumph. In three years, Jixia Academy in Black Mountain Prefecture would see its first Top Scholar.

And with a little effort from their faction in Jinghua Prefecture, he would then be summoned to the capital, to serve in the Saint Institute itself.

"You once meant not to take another disciple—why the sudden change?" Lin Shan glanced up at the field, watching candidates test their strength under the instructors’ eyes, and couldn’t help but ask.

"Age creeps up. It’s time to pass on my mantle,"

Hong Yuan replied with emotion. For a martial artist, there came a certain age where vigor inevitably waned, and clearly, Hong Yuan, a year and more his senior, was now stepping into that twilight.

It was a feeling that brought ’death’ vividly to mind.

"Do you still seek immortality?"

"Who doesn’t yearn for immortality?"

Hong Yuan sighed.

"But maybe everything the chronicles say—all of it is a lie," Lin Shan hesitated.

Hong Yuan looked at him intently, then scoffed, "When we first found the ’Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature’, you swore up and down to me that its contents were true!"

The ’Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature’—a treatise on the immortals, filled with all manner of immortal tales. Its complexity and meticulous logic had once left them both in awe.

At the time, Lin Shan had theorized: ’This book is nothing but the truth—if it is false, then to craft such a world would require an army of authors, pouring everything into constructing something indistinguishable from reality just for us descendants. Such effort—unthinkable!’

But such an argument simply didn’t hold water!

Thousands upon thousands of scholars, all to fabricate a world nearly real, just to deceive the future?

Utterly absurd!

So, the only possible explanation was that the contents really were true.

"And yet—after half a lifetime seeking, we’ve seen no immortals."

Lin Shan sighed.

There was no answer to that.

"Perhaps we simply lacked the right path," Hong Yuan said after a quiet pause.

Lin Shan said no more, gazing out at the field.

Lu Chang’sheng was stepping forward, one foot after another, preparing, as required, to test his strength with the stone lock.