Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 739 - 43: The Western Regions Enter the Central Plains, Observing the Blazing Stars (2/2) (3000)

Chapter 739 -43: The Western Regions Enter the Central Plains, Observing the Blazing Stars (2/2) (3000)

Yang Yongding rode his horse all the way to a small town known as Guardian City about forty or fifty miles from Jingyang City. Though called a guardian city, it was merely the size of a small town—after all, the Western Regions of Great Qin differed greatly from the Central Plains, with prosperity found only within larger cities.

As the foremost scion of the region’s powerful families, he now resembled a knowledgeable and well-mannered young scholar. Upon reaching the town, he dismounted from his horse, and only walked inside after the people in front of him had passed, indicating a unhurried demeanor.

His gentle and courteous appearance would surely have astonished his former companions, those with whom he galloped along the main roads and subsequently toured the Central Plains. They would probably reprimand themselves; had they been away too long? Had Yang Yongding’s simple mind finally given way under pressure?

Apparently, Yang Yongding was not a stranger to this place, as the locals on the streets greeted him, and he responded kindly. He proceeded to a small courtyard deep within the town, from which the sound of reading aloud could be heard. He respectfully approached, tethered his horse, tidied his clothes, and then quietly waited outside.

It was hard to imagine that the same spoiled young master who once recklessly galloped his horse and snatched people on the streets could now act with such restraint.

After about an hour, the reading ceased, and a dozen or so well-mannered youths walked out one after another. They bowed and greeted Yang Yongding as their senior brother, to which he returned with a smile. Once the last one had left, Yang Yongding went forward with all due respect and entered the inner room.

The room was sparsely decorated, and at the head of the upper table sat a middle-aged scholar in robes, absorbed in his books. He appeared to be a bit over thirty, with a fine appearance, but what was even more remarkable was the calm and profound aura about him, like a quietly burning flame that anyone would discern upon seeing him.

On one side of the desk lay a sheathed longsword, and on the other, a writing brush.

The Confucian scholar sat at the center.

With such an extraordinary presence, it was no wonder that Yang Jinxian, a famous general of Great Qin who had beheaded countless foes, could only grumble a few words behind his back and let his son spend his days in this scholar’s company.

If it had been some charlatan magician from Jianghu who deceived his son, Yang Jinxian would have dragged the charlatan through the streets by tying him to a horse’s tail, almost half killing him before throwing him out of the city.

The only flaw was that the left sleeve of the scholar’s robe was empty and dangling, indicating that he was an amputee. However, neither the scholar nor Yang Yongding cared for this detail. The latter solemnly knelt and performed the disciple’s salute.

The middle-aged scholar looked up, his voice even, and said,

“You’ve come, sit.”

“Yes.”

Yang Yongding responded respectfully, sat down to one side, and was soon tested on his studies, as usual.

That the scholar was well-versed in classics was one thing; after all, there were hundreds of thousands of learned scholars and literati in the world. What was rare was his own interpretation of many doctrines, presenting a unique path to enlightenment within the classics of predecessors.

Some of his viewpoints were at odds with those of other Confucian scholars, and to the ears of the great Confucian scholars of the age, he would inevitably earn epithets like heterodox. Yet he did not claim he was right nor that others were wrong.

Yang Yongding’s head swam under the scrutiny of half an hour, thankful that he hadn’t been mixing with his fair-weather friends recently and had made progress both in martial arts and scholarly pursuits.

Although he was nowhere near satisfying the high standards of the inscrutable master in front of him, he at least wasn’t severely chastised. Nonetheless, he broke out in a cold sweat, feeling more trepidation than when facing his own furious father.

Three years earlier, when he was at his most arrogant, he believed that only his father and his brother, who was destined to become one of Great Qin’s fiercest generals, could exert authority over him in the Western Regions; aside from them, he was the most powerful.

On a day out relishing the springtime, he nearly had his head taken by an assassin, but the scholar happened to be passing by. Initially indifferent, the scholar only reacted when the assailants carelessly decided to kill two teenagers who had accidentally become involved, igniting his fury.

With a single sword strike, he almost scorched Heaven and Earth.

The assassin, who was at the peak of the Fourth Rank and could be called a minor grandmaster, didn’t get a chance to utter a single word before his life was cleanly ended.

Even if thick-headed, Yang Yongding knew he had encountered a peerless master like those spoken of in Jianghu tales. He stuck to him like a plaster, short of kneeling and calling him father. He was even more attentive than when pleasing beautiful ladies, not knowing how many times he was kicked out the door.

Finally, it was a bowl of medicinal porridge, painstakingly brewed with many famous medicinal herbs and petals, presented during the Mid-Autumn Festival, which begrudgingly earned him entry as a disciple. Overjoyed, he had, over the years since, read many books. With his family’s teachings already strong and his Inner Qi dispersed to switch to studying the Confucian Sect’s Dharma, his progress was exceptionally fast.

His cultivation seemed to center around the Confucian Sect’s most fundamental concept of vast righteousness, yet it also held differences. Lacking the usual serene and elegant disposition, its assertive and overbearing aspects were in no way inferior to the Military Family’s secret teachings.

The Confucian Sect, since about eight hundred years prior, had been locked in a struggle between the doctrines of ruler’s way and hegemon’s way, but regardless, the general path was one of integrity and harmony. A method so purely domineering had never been seen or even heard of in his lifetime.

If a Confucian scholar from the Central Plains who was well-read in classics had witnessed this, he would be utterly shocked. But Yang Yongding only thought that his master had created a new martial arts technique. As the son of a military family, it didn’t bother him; in fact, he was somewhat pleased.

After the examination, Yang Yongding got up to make tea with discerning skillfulness.

While he had been considered an incorrigible hedonist in the past, that didn’t mean he lacked any redeeming qualities. Winning the hearts of those ladies was not something any mere pretty face could do. At least one should be competent in one of the arts like music or painting, and have knowledge of other aspects as well. Furthermore, one needed to say intimate things that touched the heart, in order to truly sway those proud oirans and make them willingly submit.

Otherwise, a night of fleeting pleasure bought merely with silver would ultimately rely on external means—how could that showcase any true skill?

Now, as he prepared tea, his movements were adept and unhurried, embodying the charm of a tea connoisseur. His demeanor matched his comeliness, making good use of the handsome face his mother left him. While steeping tea, he casually discussed matters of the imperial court.

Some were thrilled, others grumbled in dissatisfaction.

As he considered, his own master, though versed in the ways of Heaven and Earth and possessing matchless martial skills, was after all a scholar. He was somewhat interested in the affairs of the imperial court, an interest which he himself shared only to a limited extent. Occasionally, he would hear things from his father and pass them on to master, if only to relieve the boredom.

The master with the severed arm remained calm and unflustered, but when he heard that Jiang Shouyi had entered the imperial court, being appointed as a Vice Minister in the Ministry of Personnel, his tea drinking paused ever so slightly.

Yang Yongding, perceiving the subtle hint, set down the small cup with green mountains painted on its white glaze and said with a smile:

“This Master Jiang Shouyi has truly ascended to the heavens in a single step.”

“In our Great Qin, the Three Provinces and Six Ministries are divided into three ranks, among which the Ministry of Personnel and the Military Department are the highest. However, despite the rank, I’ve heard that he hasn’t actually taken up his post in the Ministry of Personnel but holds a sinecure instead. He merely assists the Ministers of the Ministry and Minister of the Tai Chi Palace with their nightly duties.”

“In my opinion, both senior ministers are indeed getting on in years, almost being veterans of three dynasties. To be on duty at the Tai Chi Palace for several hours straight, without permission to drink wine or engage in idle chat, only to review those tedious official documents and memoranda, is truly unbearable.”

“It seems like a prestigious affair, but in reality, the final say in those documents still lies with our Emperor; it’s actually a thankless task of picking and choosing.”

The one-armed master shook his head and said:

“You’re not Jiang Shouyi. How would you know whether it’s tough for him?”

“Outside onlookers speculate in thousands of ways, but who knows the actual feelings of the person involved?”

Yang Yongding gave a thumbs-up and flattered with a laugh, “Master is truly masterful, a single casual remark is profound wisdom; your student admires this, deeply admires!”

Even with his life experience and temperament, the one-armed master couldn’t help but be torn between laughter and frustration. He scolded with a laugh, “Stop inviting a beating; just speak your mind plainly. If you keep this up, I’ll have no choice but to kick you out of this thatched cottage again.”

Yang Yongding pleaded for mercy repeatedly, but eventually, the smile on his face subsided. Sitting upright and looking towards the teacher who had imparted to him the principles of martial arts, he said softly:

“Disciple just heard the master mention letting those children remember to review their lessons themselves… Are you planning to leave this place?”

The one-armed scholar said nothing, hesitated for a moment, then spoke:

“Indeed.”

“Will master return?”

The scholar first laughed, then replied:

“Why bother asking that? There’s so much to see in this vast world, and it could take countless years. If I’m still alive and there’s nothing holding me back out there, of course, I’ll come back.”

Yang Yongding remained silent, then suddenly stood up, moved back two steps, straightened his sleeves, bowed deeply, and knelt, his hands hung at the cuffs and his forehead lightly touching his palms. His expression was stripped of all frivolity as he said in a quiet voice:

“I understand master’s principles. Pursuing knowledge in the imperial court to serve in the noble families of the empire like those Confucian scholars or wandering recklessly in Jianghu like those so-called famous scholars, are not the same.”

“You say that in this vast world, human hearts are like fire. If the world is just, the sovereign wise and sagacious, then they can illuminate the universe. But if the world is devoid of principle, the sovereign incompetent, then they can burn this chaotic age to ashes and leave it spotlessly clean.”

He raised his head, looked at the one-armed scholar, and cracked a smile.

“I wish to follow master to see the world.”

“To see whether our Great Qin will kindle a blazing fire across the land, or use the hearts of people to light up this eternal night, to be ever enduring. You probably think the former, but I believe it’s the latter. There is no greater nation under heaven than our Great Qin.”

Ni Tianxing remained silent.

Yang Yongding, resuming his playful demeanor, said, “Besides, apprentice has mastered the art of cooking porridge, so whatever you want to eat, it’ll be no problem, not just medicinal porridge.”

On that day, the bellowing voice of Yang Jinxian, the Protector of the Western Regions for Great Qin, could be heard for miles around. Had it not been for his personal soldiers holding him back with all their might, he very nearly armed himself and mounted his horse, ready to cleave the scholar who had abducted his son.

On that day, the biggest scion of Jingyang City left behind a letter for his family and departed.

On that day,

A one-armed scholar entered the Central Plains from the harsh colds of the Western Regions.

PS: Presenting the second update of the day…three thousand words