**Weiyang Palace, East Warm Chamber.**

Li Chi glanced at Master Chu, whose expression carried a trace of guilt, and smiled. “Master did not act, and naturally had reasons for not acting. There is no need to feel uneasy about it. In truth, I never intended for Master to intervene directly.”

Master Chu said, “I only thought that this person most likely would not flee. A man bound by stubborn conviction always waits for an outcome. How could someone like that leave before seeing a result? Even if he believed he had accomplished what he set out to do and told himself it was time to go — a man like that would be tormented if he did not witness the ending with his own eyes.”

Li Chi nodded. Master Chu’s words rang entirely true to him.

“Though I went to the monk’s lodgings,” Master Chu continued, “I found no accomplices there. Even so, I think it best to leave things a while longer.”

“Master is right. That is my thinking as well.”

Li Chi then remarked, “If what Master says is true — that this monk had little real connection to Yang Jing, yet was willing to go to such lengths for him — he is a man of genuine loyalty and righteousness.”

Master Chu quietly sighed to himself. If it were otherwise, how could he have found it in himself to spare the monk even once?

There had been a fleeting moment when Master Chu had even thought: *Monk, if you have any sense, just run.*

Of course, the thought had vanished as quickly as it came.

He had no fondness for monks — least of all this Zangjie. Even back in Daxing City, Master Chu had heard of the man. In his mind, Zangjie was a charlatan who used his genuine medical knowledge to con silver from wealthy officials and nobles.

Master Chu understood perfectly well that aging and death were irreversible. Martial cultivation could indeed prolong life through physical strengthening. But to believe that medicines could grant immortality — what was that if not deluded fantasy?

Yet those pampered souls in the palace had swallowed the monk’s powders and dreamed endlessly of eternal youth.

If Zangjie had been nothing more than that, Master Chu would have struck without a moment’s hesitation.

But Zangjie had done this — this thing that inspired a deep, reluctant awe — and Master Chu found he could not bring himself to act.

Li Chi, of course, had known that Master Chu would be unable to. He had asked Master Chu to observe, never explicitly ordering him to strike, precisely because of that.

In a certain sense, Li Chi too felt a measure of admiration for a man like Zangjie.

Master Chu’s *letting go* was admirable. Zangjie’s *refusing to let go* was, in its own way, just as admirable.

“He will wait a while. When he sees no punishment fall on Xu Ji, no chaos in the court, the turmoil will shift from outside to within him.”

Ever since learning Zangjie’s identity and the reason for his coming, Li Chi had understood his mind. But Zangjie did not understand Li Chi — did not understand this Great Ning, did not understand this new Central Plains.

“Thinking on it now,” Li Chi said, “perhaps Yang Jing’s desperate flight from Daxing City to Shu Province was never truly about seeking refuge with Pei Qi.”

“He wanted to find Zangjie. He wanted to entrust something to him.”

Master Chu nodded. “That is most likely the truth of it. Yang Jing must have known by then that he had no chance of rising again. Going to Pei Qi would have been a dead end all the same. His choice to leave Daxing City only made him appear more foolish.”

Li Chi murmured his agreement and thought of what Yang Jing’s state of mind must have been in those days — a bleakness beyond measure.

Yang Jing was no fool. He knew full well that going to Shu Province was meaningless. Did Pei Qi truly need him, the Emperor of Chu, as a banner to rally behind? Did Pei Qi truly need that? Yang Jing had already seen how mighty the Ning Army was — how mighty Li Chi was.

He knew Pei Qi was no match for Li Chi, and that Shu Province would fall sooner or later.

He had surrendered his chance to survive and gone to Shu Province for one reason alone — perhaps to say to Zangjie: *Make that future Ning dynasty a nest of endless trouble.*

That was Yang Jing’s final obsession. And that obsession had passed into the heart of Zangjie the monk.

Zangjie had never met Yang Jing face to face, yet he had understood the meaning behind that journey to Shu.

“I have always said that even among one’s enemies, there are those worthy of admiration.”

Li Chi moved to the window and spoke as if to himself. “But Yang Jing was not one of them. He never was.”

Master Chu silently nodded.

Indeed — no matter how tragic, how pitiable, how desperately he had reached for a reversal of fate, no matter how grand his ambitions had been, Yang Jing’s conduct and methods had never been worthy of admiration.

“Let us hope that those who die because of him will number no more.”

Li Chi murmured this once more to himself.

Master Chu nodded again, in silence.

He understood the Emperor’s meaning. This Zangjie monk was still to die. Let him be the last.

—

**Yan Pagoda Academy.**

Dean Gao stood atop the Yan Pagoda, looking out over the magnificent academy below him, and felt a satisfaction within him that words could scarcely contain.

This academy surpassed even the Four-Page Academy he had built with his own hands — and surpassed it in a way that moved him more deeply.

The Four-Page Academy had been built to give those of ambition in the North a path forward. The Yan Pagoda Academy had been built to cultivate the talents of generations yet to come. The difference between the two purposes was immense.

“You set off for Ji Province tomorrow?” Dean Gao asked Yan Qingzhi.

Master Yan nodded. “Yes, I leave at first light. Ruoling has long wanted to return and see Ji Province again — to live there a while. And His Majesty has entrusted me with matters to settle there as well.”

Dean Gao nodded. “Going back for a time is good. Although Xu Ji brought trouble upon himself and forced His Majesty to make his stance unmistakably clear, the steps His Majesty had planned to take must still be taken one by one. Only then will the court of Great Ning remain united for the coming decades.”

“We people of the Central Plains are in such desperate need of unity. Throughout history, there has never been an opportunity like this one — to bind every soul in the Central Plains to a single, common purpose.”

Dean Gao exhaled a long breath.

“Think on it: if His Majesty truly achieves this, how powerful will Great Ning become? If you think seriously about it, you will understand that it will be a strength beyond reckoning — a strength that brings the four directions to their knees.”

Dean Gao pointed north. “When that day comes, what will the Black Warriors amount to? Great Ning’s fierce armies will ride freely across those lands. Great Ning’s enlightened sovereign will plant his banner there and proclaim dominion.”

Dean Gao closed his eyes, as though he could already see that stirring and magnificent scene before him.

“Qingzhi.” Dean Gao said, “His Majesty knows your heart. You know His Majesty’s heart. This academy has been built, and it needs someone who shares His Majesty’s vision to hold it together. I am old. When you return from Ji Province, the position of Dean will be yours.”

Master Yan replied, “I understand His Majesty’s intent. When I return, I will pour my whole heart into making this academy cultivate ever more talent for Great Ning.”

Dean Gao gave a quiet sound of approval. “This academy is nothing like those places in the Chu Kingdom that existed only to gild the reputations of nobles and officials. Every talent who walks out of these gates could become a pillar of the Great Ning court. I am the first Dean — but truthfully, there is little I can still accomplish. How much longer do I have?”

Master Yan was about to speak when Dean Gao shook his head. “No need to contradict me on such matters. Life, aging, illness, and death — these are the laws of Heaven. What is there to argue?”

He pointed down at the academy. “You must treat this place as your kitchen garden. You should know how much His Majesty loves your kitchen garden — how much he loves the vegetables you grow there. He made certain every person knows it. The garden and the vegetables within it exist because of *you*.”

Master Yan stepped back and bowed deeply. “Your student will remember this.”

Only now did it fully dawn on him why, that day, His Majesty had made a point of coming to his home to eat, had gone out of his way into his kitchen garden to turn the soil.

He had not dwelt on the meaning at the time. Now, with Dean Gao’s reminder, understanding came like a sudden light.

When Master Yan had stepped away from court and retired to Ji Province, his stature had diminished in the eyes of some. There would inevitably be those who looked down on a man who had lost so high a position.

But His Majesty had come personally to eat at his table, had personally turned the earth in his vegetable plot — and word of it had spread.

His Majesty had been telling the world in his own way: *Master Yan is my teacher. He was, and he always will be. Whether he holds office or not, I, his student, will regard him as an elder for the rest of my life. Whoever makes Master Yan unhappy will find that I am never happy with them — not ever.*

Understanding all this, Master Yan felt a warmth rise in his chest and flow gently through his entire being.

“His Majesty is still the same as he always was,” Dean Gao said. “He will do everything in his power to protect those he wishes to protect — those he cares for, his family, his friends.”

Dean Gao looked at Master Yan. “In those early days, when the Old Daoist of the Long Eyebrows sent His Majesty to the academy, and His Majesty went to visit the Daoist at his shrine — you followed in secret to keep watch over him. From that moment on, His Majesty regarded you as an elder of his own family. The kind of elder who shelters the younger ones at home.”

“Like the old white goose of a household — when the wind blows and rain falls, the great white goose spreads its wings, and the little ones shelter beneath them.”

“When danger comes — be it a fierce dog or a prowling wolf — that goose, which has no business being so fierce, will stretch out its neck and lower its head and charge forward without a second thought.”

Master Yan drew a slow, deep breath. “Your student understands, Teacher.”

“This is no teaching,” Dean Gao said. “I am only stating what is true. His Majesty has grown up now. *He* can be the old white goose.”

“His Majesty looks back and sees the old white geese who once protected him — all of them now aged, worn, and scarred.”

“If some fierce dog or prowling wolf still eyes those old and weary geese with hunger, you just wait and see whether His Majesty’s gaze turns cold.”

“Because His Majesty is no mere goose. He is a dragon — a dragon that can take ten thousand forms.”

Dean Gao patted Master Yan firmly on the shoulder.

“I am old and spent. But you are not. In this academy, you must become the old white goose.”

“And when you too grow old — when some foreign tribe or foreign enemy reveals their greed — you just watch and see whether the rising generation nurtured under your wings will not rise like a vast army, with a cold and terrible light in their eyes.”

“What is an academy? It is the place where disciples fierce as ten thousand beasts come to sharpen their fangs and hone their claws.”

“An academy is not a battlefield. But an academy can clothe its disciples in iron armor and place a sharp blade in their hands.”

—