It wasn’t until a scholar from the Yunlu Academy took over as the Chief Grand Counselor that the situation changed. Abandoning the ideals of his predecessors, he resolutely threw his support behind Emperor Renzhong. Despite facing harsh criticism, he resolved the issue for the emperor. The tumultuous dispute over the heir apparent finally came to an end.
Due to this incident, Emperor Renzhong grew to despise the Yunlu Academy, realizing that its existence was detrimental to imperial authority. At this time, Cheng Hui proposed the establishment of the Imperial College to cultivate talent directly under the court’s supervision.
This marked the beginning of the decline of Confucianism.
This was the origin of the dispute between the Yunlu Academy and the Imperial College over Confucian orthodoxy.
The Imperial College was a state-run institution, while the Yunlu Academy was private. How could a private institution possibly compete with a state-run one? Xu Qi An suddenly understood.
After finishing his explanation, Li Xinnian asked with a testing tone, “Elder Brother, what are your thoughts on this… I mean about the dispute over the heir apparent, not the academic aspects.”
Thinking his brother assumed a commoner like him couldn’t grasp academic matters, Xu Qi An inwardly scoffed. He smiled and said, “On the surface, it was a dispute over the heir, but in reality, it was a power struggle.
“For scholars to realize their ambitions, they must wield great authority. However, the amount of power in a country is fixed. When you gain more power, others inevitably lose theirs. The highest level of factional struggle is to render the emperor a figurehead and become the de facto ruler.”
Li Xinnian had initially asked casually, but hearing this, his expression changed dramatically.
Xu Qi An glanced at him sideways. “What’s wrong? Did I say something incorrect?”
It’s very correct, but such things shouldn’t be said carelessly… Li Xinnian took a deep breath. “Please continue.”
Xu Qi An nodded. “No matter how formidable the Confucian methods of controlling power may be, imperial authority ultimately proves stronger. The saying ‘Study the arts of war and governance to serve the emperor’ sums it all up. Throughout history, whether corrupt or virtuous, no powerful minister has ever met a good end.”
Dominating the court is only temporary; in the end, they’re all purged, because a subject is forever a subject. In his previous life, Xu Qi An had read about many de facto rulers in history. Which one of them had a good ending?
Cao Aman doesn’t count; the collapse of imperial power during times of war is a different matter.
Li Xinnian asked eagerly, “Is there any way to overcome this?”
What his brother was saying wasn’t taught at the academy.
“There is no solution!” Xu Qi An shook his head and sighed. “The court is like a battlefield. Factional struggles may be exhilarating for a moment, but they lead to the downfall of entire families.”
His words were strange, yet his eyes seemed to contain thousands of years of history and literature. Looking into those eyes, Li Xinnian was momentarily stunned.
“However, I have another perspective,” Xu Qi An suddenly changed his tone.
“Please, do tell,” Li Xinnian urged.
“The story of Grand Scholar Qian is a living example. When you can influence a country’s fortunes, you transform from a scholar dependent on imperial power to a powerful figure who can stand on equal footing with the emperor.”
Li Xinnian’s eyes lit up, and just as a look of joy appeared on his face, he heard Xu Qi An casually say, “Second Brother is intelligent beyond his years, truly teachable.”
“…” Li Xinnian only then realized that he had been the one testing his brother all along…
Xu Qi An fell silent, pondering a question in his mind. Although the Yunlu Academy’s path to official positions had been cut off, it remained the sacred place of the Confucian cultivation system.
Only the official career path had been severed.
Although Li Xinnian hadn’t specified whether it was the academy’s career prospects that began to decline or the entire Confucian system, Xu Qi An felt it was the latter.
This was because, combined with what Li Xinnian had said by the waterfall: In the past two hundred years, the highest rank a Confucian could attain was only the third grade.
Was it because after the third grade, the Confucian system required one to enter officialdom? Or did it involve something related to Confucian fortunes?
“So what’s the meaning of this stele? Why is it erected here?” he asked.
Li Xinnian gazed at the words on the stele, his eyes complex, and sighed, “This is the aftermath of the dispute over Confucian orthodoxy, or rather, a part of it.
“That Sage Cheng was a genius. After establishing the Imperial College, he knew that to surpass the Yunlu Academy, he needed his educational system. Otherwise, the students of the Imperial College would still essentially be students of the Yunlu Academy.
“So he immersed himself in studying the classics of the sages, reinterpreting them and infusing them with his thoughts. After thirteen years, he finally created an educational system that surpassed its predecessor.”
“Preserve heavenly principles and eliminate human desires?” Xu Qi An’s mind stirred.
Li Xinnian nodded. After their previous conversation, he became more willing to explain academic matters to his uncultured cousin. He said:
“Sage Cheng believed that everything in the world follows a certain principle. This principle is called ‘li’, which is the most essential and correct thing in the world.
“All things exist according to ‘li’, and only by following it can they thrive. But people can lose themselves and lose sight of ‘li’ amidst the chaos of the world.”
“So that’s why we should preserve heavenly principles and eliminate human desires?” Xu Qi An asked.
‘Preserve heavenly principles and eliminate human desires’ was the main tenet of the Imperial College’s school of thought. Xu Qi An waited for Li Xinnian to explain how it was put into practice.
Li Xinnian continued, “Sage Cheng annotated the classics of the sages and established a complete set of rules. By following these rules, scholars would not err, would be correct, and would be in harmony with the principles of heaven and earth.
“This set of rules elevated loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness to the level of heavenly principles.”
Li Xinnian sneered, “If the ruler demands the subject’s death, the subject must die; if the father demands the son’s demise, the son must perish; one should sacrifice one’s life for great righteousness; one should die to preserve one’s virtue.”
Xu Qi An listened silently, then suddenly asked, “What does Cixiu think? Is this right or wrong?”
Li Xinnian was stunned. He stared blankly at his cousin, wanting to speak, but some mysterious force seemed to grip his throat, preventing him from uttering a word.
Xu Qi An understood. This force was called “ideological constraint.”
“So, that’s why this stele exists?” Xu Qi An turned his gaze back to the inscription.
“Yes.” Li Xinnian nodded. “The dispute between the Yunlu Academy and the Imperial College is an academic one, a clash of ideologies. But this stele has stood in the Hall of the Lesser Sage for two hundred years. As long as it stands, the Yunlu Academy cannot surpass the Imperial College.
“The Academy’s Chancellor has spent over a decade in seclusion, his hair turning white from the exhaustive study, trying to refute what’s written on the stele, attempting to establish a more mature and correct ideology. But he failed.”
“Because it represents truth, represents correctness,” Xu Qi An said.
“Yes,” Li Xinnian sighed. “Not just the Chancellor, but generations of great scholars and teachers at the academy have been grappling with this stele’s content. Yet no one has succeeded. How could the thoughts of the Lesser Sage be easily refuted by ordinary individuals?”
“And that blank stele over there…” Xu Qi An guessed in mind.
“It was erected by the Chancellor, but in over a decade, he has never written on it,” Li Xinnian said, pointing to the desk beside the blank stele:
“Later, students and great scholars tried to inscribe on the stele, attempting to counter the Lesser Sage’s inscription, but their words would always be erased by the next day. However, the brush and inkstone on the desk remained, perhaps because the Chancellor still harbored some hope.
“Because of this, whenever students have a sudden inspiration or feel particularly brilliant, they come here to inscribe. Unfortunately, the person the Chancellor has been waiting for has never appeared.
“I once thought I could do it, and I even inscribed on the stele…” At this point, Li Xinnian didn’t continue, clearly unwilling to share his youthful arrogance with his cousin to avoid another moment of social embarrassment.
Facing the inscription that read “Die with righteousness to repay the emperor’s kindness, leave a legacy for a hundred generations and ten thousand years,” Xu Qi An fell silent for a moment, then said in a deep voice:
“Cixiu, let me ask you, which is more important: the emperor or the common people of the world?”
Li Xinnian answered without hesitation, “Of course, the common people.”
Xu Qi An asked again, “Then why do you study?”
Li Xinnian reflexively said, “To be loyal to the emperor and serve the country…”
As soon as he finished, he was stunned by his own words.
Xu Qi An, unfazed, continued to ask, “Is leaving a name in history truly the lifelong pursuit of a scholar?”
Li Xinnian didn’t answer, his silence speaks volumes.
The actions of the two great scholars from the Yunlu Academy in their attempt to be included in the poem also said it all.
Xu Qi An sighed softly.
Why must a subject die if the emperor demands it?
Why must a son perish if the father demands it?
Couldn’t this dog-shit society have a bit more human rights? Xu Qi An smiled and said, “I may not be a scholar, but I’d like to write something. Cixiu, grind some ink for me.”
Li Xinnian frowned.
Xu Qi An said, “The brush and ink are here for people to write, aren’t they? If what I write isn’t good, someone will surely erase it tomorrow.”
Hearing this, Li Xinnian went to grind the ink. Soon, he stood before the stele with the brush in hand and asked, “What does Elder Brother want to write?”
“This time, I’ll write it myself,” Xu Qi An said, snatching the brush. He stared at the blank stele.
Suddenly, the face of the breakfast vendor from this morning flashed in his mind—clearly in pain but not daring to ask for money, as pitiful as a dog.
The problem of corrupt officials in the Great Feng Dynasty had long been a chronic issue. A hall full of beasts in human clothing spouting loyalty and patriotism, yet never casting a merciful glance at the common people below.
He thought of Zhou Li’s arrogant posture as he rode his horse through the streets. He thought of the accounts of the unrestrained behavior of the young nobles in the capital.
The existence of superhuman martial prowess made the flaws of the feudal monarchy all the more glaringly apparent; it also robbed the common people of even the courage to revolt.
In his previous life, he at least knew of several large-scale peasant uprisings, but in this world, peasant rebellions didn’t even have a chance to form before being swiftly suppressed.
Xu Qi An took a deep breath, exhaled heavily, and began to write:
“To ordain conscience for Heaven and Earth, to secure life and fortune for the people, to continue lost teachings for past sages, to establish peace for all future generations!”
After writing, Xu Qi An felt refreshed, as if he had vented all the frustrations in his chest. He tossed the brush aside and said loudly, “Cixiu, this is what scholars should be doing.”
Boom!
In Li Xinnian’s mind, it was as if a thunderbolt had struck, cleaving through the chaos of his consciousness and breaking the shackles of his soul.
He stared blankly at his cousin, unsure if it was an illusion, but Li Xinnian seemed to see a flash of dense purple qi above his cousin’s head.
Crack!
Suddenly, the stele beside them made a splitting sound, and a huge crack appeared, running from top to bottom.
The brothers were startled. Before they could react, the entire Hall of the Lesser Sage began to shake, dust falling from the dome, and candlesticks toppling over.
A burst of clear energy shot up from the statue of the Lesser Sage, breaking through the white clouds above the mountain peak, creating a spectacle visible for dozens of miles.
Xu Qi An was dumbfounded, his face extremely unpleasant: “What’s going on? It… it seems we’ve caused trouble.”
“What trouble? What trouble?” Li Xinnian said excitedly, “This has nothing to do with us. We were never in the Hall of the Lesser Sage.”
With that, he clutched his head and bolted out the door, fleeing at top speed.
“Scholar, wait for me!” Xu Qi An ran after him, thinking to himself that in crucial moments, scholars indeed had better adaptability.