“‘The people may be made to follow it, but may not be made to understand it.’ The principle behind this is not something to be taken lightly.”

On the slope that day, Zuo Duanyou, who had remained silent all this while, finally spoke. At his age, having seen so much of people and the world, even when Ning Yi cried out those eight words—”natural selection, survival of the fittest”—he had not been moved. Only in that last stretch of half-joking, rambling talk had he sensed something strange in the air.

Ning Yi, sitting there, raised his head and looked at the old man, his gaze calm as a deep, still pool. The mountain wind blew past; though hundreds stood in confrontation nearby, for this moment, all was quiet. Ning Yi’s words came out slow and even.

“My wife’s family were cloth merchants. Since ancient times, when people first learned to weave, it began with hand-spinning alone—a process that lasted for centuries, perhaps a millennium. Then came the spinning wheel and the spindle, and later, the treadle loom. Since the founding of the Wu Dynasty, the court began emphasizing commerce, and small workshops appeared, improving the looms. Over two hundred years, loom efficiency, compared to the dynasty’s founding, has risen more than fivefold. Among this, different households had different skills; my wife improved her looms and raised efficiency about twenty percent above the average weaver or cloth merchant. Later, in the capital, I had people improve the looms further—that took roughly a year—and now, compared to the founding of the dynasty, loom efficiency stands at about tenfold. Of course, up in the mountains, we’re not selling cloth for the time being.”

Zuo Duanyou and Li Pin frowned, watching Ning Yi clasp his hands together and continue.

“Observe how all things operate, and探究 the principles of heaven and earth. There’s a water-powered workshop down by the river that can be connected to the looms—if the workers’ hands are quick enough, efficiency can double again. Of course, water-powered workshops already existed before; the cost isn’t low, and upkeep and repair are a problem. In the mountains, I’ve set up several furnaces to study iron and steel—under high heat, steel becomes more supple, and using such steel in the workshops can reduce wear. We’re still looking for better lubrication methods, but at the theoretical limit, with the same manpower and the same amount of time, cloth output could rise to thirty to fifty times what it was at the dynasty’s founding.”

“We’ve been studying hot-air balloons—that great sky lantern up there. With one in the air, overlooking the whole battlefield, the way wars are fought will change. I’m most skilled with gunpowder—you’ve already seen what’s buried in the ground. In just a few years, my advances in the use of gunpowder have exceeded what the dynasty accumulated over the previous two hundred years combined. Firearms still can’t replace bows for now, but in three to five years, there may be a breakthrough.”

“So then—human strength has its limits, but the power of things has none. Is Liheng, then, truly a follower of Mohism?” Zuo Duanyou remarked.

Ning Yi shook his head. “No, I’m only laying out these things first. Lord Zuo, you said the people may be made to follow it but not to understand it. That principle isn’t just empty talk—let me explain it to you.” He said, “I agree with it wholeheartedly.”

“This is wisdom passed down by our ancestors, and it aligns with the principles of heaven and earth,” Ning Yi said. “Some interpret it as: the people can be made to follow, so let them follow; they cannot be made to understand, so let them understand—that’s the delusional fantasy of impoverished scholars who think too highly of themselves. There is no principle in this world that gives fools the right to speak. If the common masses were allowed to have their say, this world would collapse all the faster. Lord Zuo, would you not agree?”

Zuo Duanyou said nothing, but this was, after all, the ultimate truth of heaven and earth.

“The wise govern the foolish. In this, there is no room for human sentiment—only heaven’s principle applies. When trouble arises, the wise know how to analyze it, how to find the underlying pattern, how to find a way out; the foolish are at a total loss. How could they possibly be allowed a voice in great matters?”

“In ancient times, during the age of the Hundred Schools of Thought, there were naturally those who pitied the common people—including the Confucians, who sought to educate the world, hoping that one day all people might understand reason, that everyone might become a gentleman. We who call ourselves scholars—what does it mean to be a scholar?”

“Ever since Cangjie invented writing, each generation’s understanding and wisdom has been recorded and passed down to those who came after. And so human children need not start from nothing—the wisdom of their forebears can accumulate, generation after generation, and thus humanity has risen above all other creatures. A scholar is one who transmits wisdom. But can wisdom truly spread throughout the entire realm? For thousands of years, it has never been possible.”

“There aren’t enough books; children’s aptitudes differ; and transmitting wisdom is far more complex than transmitting mere text. And so, those capable of holding wisdom take up power, assisting the emperor in governance, while those incapable of inheriting wisdom till the fields, do labor, and serve others—this is simply the natural order of heaven and earth made manifest. They need only follow; and if they cannot even be made to follow, then they must be put to death! If we truly tried to make them understand, think how much trouble this world would face! A single city like Taiyuan—whether to defend it, how to fight for it, how to defend it—even the court’s own ministers spent their whole lives unable to see it clearly. How could the common people possibly be made to understand? This rule aligns perfectly with the way of heaven!”

Ning Yi’s words came out cold as stone. He fell silent for a moment, then, when he spoke again, his tone had softened.

“For thousands of years, people have sought many solutions, and this is the only path that has ever worked. Over these thousands of years, Confucians and those in power have laid down these rules. Within this framework, ordinary common people—whether they understand or not, whether they act or not—cannot turn the tide of great affairs. Once the rule is set, it determines that when Bian Liang fell, whether or not they were innocent, they would die regardless—innocence is merely a phrase, without real meaning. Lord Zuo, Brother Li—this is the very rule that you both endorse. When it goes wrong, it’s you who pity them, saying how innocent they were, how cold-blooded I am, how brutal the enemy was. If I die alongside them, does that make me any less cold-blooded?”

“I’m not here to accuse either of you, and I’ve never wished to accuse Confucianism either—there’s no point in accusation. We often say that mistakes carry consequences; Zhou Zhe could pay with his life as the price. Confucianism itself is just a concept, useful in some ways and not in others. But Confucianism… is a circle…”

His voice trailed off, growing softer, and Li Pin thought he seemed at a loss for words—only to see Ning Yi pick up a twig and slowly draw a circle on the ground.

“Confucianism is a circle,” he said. “Our scholarship emphasizes the unity of all things in heaven and earth. Within this circle, the great minds of Confucian learning have always sought the principle of order underlying all things. From the pre-Qin era onward, the common people still carried a martial spirit; by the Han dynasty, the empire fell precisely because it was too strong—pull out any single prefecture of the Han and it could have wiped out the surrounding steppe peoples ten times over. That martial spirit gradually faded by the Tang dynasty, and by the time Confucianism developed fully under the Wu Dynasty, it was discovered that the more submissive the populace, the less prone the circle was to disruption—ensuring the court’s long-term peace and stability. Lord Zuo, Brother Li—in those few books of Prime Minister Qin’s, there lies the ultimate truth of Confucianism.”

He looked at the two of them. “What his books describe can define the order of all things—heaven, ruler, parent, teacher; ruler as ruler, minister as minister, father as father, son as son—all made perfectly clear. If you two truly understand these books, you’ll know how this circle ought to be drawn. Anyone who reads them will know exactly where they stand for their whole life. Guiding human desire toward the principle of heaven—within the framework of this circle, that is your treasure.”

“Prime Minister Qin truly was a genius.” The books still lay on the table; Ning Yi pushed the two volumes forward. “And then there’s only one problem left.”

“If there were only ever internal matters to deal with, if everyone could live out their lives in peace and contentment, asking no questions, that would actually be fine.” The mountain wind paused for a moment. Ning Yi shook his head. “But this circle cannot solve the problem of outside invasion. The more ordered all things become, the more the people are gelded, the less blood and spirit remains in them. Of course, it responds to this in its own way—when a foreign people invades and occupies the Central Plains, they discover that Confucianism alone can govern this nation most stably, so they begin to study Confucianism themselves, begin to geld their own martial spirit. Eventually, the Han people rise up in resistance and reclaim the nation—and once they’ve reclaimed it, they begin gelding themselves all over again, waiting for the next foreign invasion to come. And so, dynasties change hands, but the tradition endures—this much can be foreseen.”

“…What are you trying to say?” Li Pin looked at the circle, his voice low.

“Where did your original intention of transmitting wisdom go?” Ning Yi asked. “Everyone becoming a gentleman may not be achievable right now, but what about the possibility of it? The Confucian learning in your hands is exquisite, refined to perfection—yet in pursuit of order in heaven and earth, it has already begun gelding the people’s spirit, right back to the beginning… Has Confucianism, perhaps, taken the wrong path?”

It was a simple question, spoken simply on that mountain slope. Silence fell around them for a moment before Zuo Duanyou said, “You speak of something with no solution.”

Ning Yi picked up the twig and touched it to the circle, drawing a long line extending outward. “This morning, news arrived from outside the mountains: the nine thousand troops of the Little Cang River, having marched out yesterday, have successively routed several thousand Western Xia soldiers, and outside Yanzhou, faced off against Jila Saile’s nineteen thousand Western Xia troops, crushing them head-on and killing four thousand of the enemy. According to the original plan, by now the army should already be assembled beneath Yanzhou’s walls, beginning the assault on the city!”

“What?” Zuo Duanyou and Li Pin both started in shock.

…

The great, strange balloon drifted in the sky; the day was bright and clear, yet the atmosphere within the city carried a grim tension, as though one could faintly hear the thunder of war.

On the northern side of Yanzhou, a hunchbacked man in ragged clothes carried his shoulder-pole along the martial-law-restricted streets. As he neared a corner across the way, a small patrol of Western Xia soldiers approached, drawing their blades and calling out something.

The hunchback had already stepped forward; dim flashes of blade-light shot out from both sides of his body into the crowd, and more figures leapt out from nearby.

Outside the city, two thousand light cavalry were circling rapidly toward the north gate…

…

“I didn’t tell them very much…” On the small hillside, Ning Yi continued speaking. “They face pressure, they face the threat of death, but most importantly, they are fighting for their own survival. When they can fight for themselves, how magnificent their lives become! Don’t the two of you find that moving? The world isn’t only for scholarly gentlemen to live so gloriously.”

“Brother Li, you say you pity the world’s suffering, but before this world, your pity means nothing at all—your pity is empty; this world can gain nothing from it. What I call concern for the suffering of the common people is this: I worry that they cannot fight for themselves, I worry that they cannot awaken and truly live, I worry that they remain ignorant and unaware, I worry that when they are slaughtered like pigs and dogs, they cannot die a heroic death, I worry that at the moment of death, their souls remain pale and empty.”

His expression turned serious, and he paused for a moment. Li Pin said nothing, nor did Zuo Duanyou. After a while, Ning Yi’s voice rose again.

“The Wang family’s papermaking and printing workshop, under my improvements, is now more than five times as efficient as it was two years ago. And that’s only if you truly explore the principles governing all things—there’s still enormous room for improvement in efficiency. As I said before, these gains in efficiency come about because merchants pursue profit, and pursuing profit breeds greed—greed, and the desire to save effort, are what drive people to seek out these principles, to think of countless methods. Confucian scholars regard such things as mere clever tricks, believing that laziness is shameful—but if you truly want to educate the common people, the most basic requirement is that the common people have books to read in the first place.”

Li Pin’s eyes went wide. “You mean to encourage greed!?”

“Greed is a good thing. The study of natural principles must develop—it can’t be driven forward by two or three idle Confucian scholars musing in their spare time. It requires mobilizing the wisdom of everyone, requires that all the people under heaven be able to read. There’s still a long road ahead for these things, but it isn’t hopeless.”

Ning Yi didn’t even blink as he extended the twig, refining the line he’d drawn out from the circle on the ground. “But Confucianism is a circle. The Wu Dynasty is a circle. As the Wu Dynasty’s commerce continues to develop, merchants will seek higher status. Likewise, if we want craftsmen to pursue breakthroughs in skill, craftsmen too must gain status. But this circle demands order—it will not tolerate major upheaval. If the Wu Dynasty and Confucianism continue to develop as they are, in the name of preserving order, they will eventually block this road. But I intend to force that road open.”

“When Fang La rebelled, he spoke of equality under the law, with none above another. And I will give every person under heaven the same standing. All under heaven belongs to the people of this land; every person shares the duty to guard this land, the duty to defend it, and the equal right to it. From this point on, there will be no more distinction between scholar, farmer, artisan, and merchant.”

“Once that happens, the circle will no longer hold order…” Ning Yi’s gaze remained calm, his words still spoken plainly and evenly—but as the wind blew past, an abyss had already begun to open.

“You…” The old man’s voice was like thunder.

“This is treason beyond forgiveness—”

…

Yanzhou.

The roar of battle had already begun to shake the city walls. At the north gate, ferocious fighting was intensifying.

More than a hundred elite troops emerged from within the city, launching a strike against the gate’s defenses. Large numbers of Western Xia soldiers converged from nearby. Outside the city, two thousand light cavalry had dismounted, hauling mechanized winches, grappling hooks, and modular assault ladders up against the walls. The fighting, having reached its peak intensity, continued for a while before blood-drenched soldiers from within managed to force open a gap in the gate and push it wide. Through the gate’s inner passage, countless Western Xia soldiers surged forward. Outside the city, wooden crates were hastily assembled into a floating bridge. Black Banner Army soldiers, armed with blades, shields, and spears, poured through one after another, their frenzied battle cries expanding the whirlpool of violence!

Near the east gate, within the silent ranks of soldiers, Qu Qing drew his steel blade, wound the red sash from the hilt around his wrist, and bit down on one end, pulling it tight. Behind him, many others were doing exactly the same thing.

“Prepare—”

The men roared.

At the north gate, soldiers surged, pouring into the city…

…

Zuo Duanyou’s voice was still echoing on the hillside. Ning Yi stood up calmly, his gaze having already turned cold and indifferent.

“I hold no prejudice against Confucianism. I walk my own path—I’m only informing you both of it. Old Qin’s legacy has already been passed to the two of you—you may walk your own path, refine it, revise it, carry it forward, however you see fit, so long as it can solve the problems ahead. If you can defeat the Jurchen, defeat me—perhaps you will have already given Confucianism the blood and spirit to let people live as people should, and I would be glad of it. If you cannot, then I will build a new age upon the ruins of Confucianism, to forever serve as its memorial. And if none of us can manage it, then let the Jurchen trample across this land once more.”

On the small hillside, a suppressive, cold air lingered in the atmosphere—this complicated matter left no room for stirring passion, especially for these two Confucian scholars. The old man, who had at first wanted to be furious, no longer felt anger by this point. Li Pin’s eyes carried a confused look, as if to ask, “How did you become so extreme?”—but then again, even years ago, he had never truly understood Ning Yi either.

At that moment, sunlight poured down, the wind rolled the clouds along; the Little Cang River’s predicament remained unresolved, and no new dispatch of victory had yet arrived. In this small place, a madman had spoken mad words. In a short span of time, the sheer volume of what he’d said, laid out so plainly, was almost too much to take in. And at that very same moment, in the distant city of Yanzhou to the northwest, soldiers under the black banner with the star had already broken into the city, weapons in hand, fighting with all their strength. To this world, their battle was a lonely one—they were reviled by all under heaven.

And yet, looking back from the long river of history, in this very moment, they were also declaring war upon all under heaven.

As Ning Yi walked outward, Zuo Duanyou said from behind him, “If you truly mean to do this, before long, you will be the enemy of every Confucian scholar under heaven.”

“Do you know what’s interesting?” Ning Yi turned back. “To defeat me, you’d have to become just like me.”

He walked past the shield wall, glancing at the hundred-odd men gathered nearby. “Anyone who can make it out of the Little Cang River—I won’t pursue you.” This hundred-odd men, who had already resolved themselves to die, faltered for a moment at these words. Li Pin, coming to his senses, shouted from behind: “Don’t fall for it—”

Ning Yi walked out from the crowd and raised his hand:

“—Kill!”

Ants carry mud on their backs; butterflies dance in flight. Deer drink from the stream; wolves give chase. Tigers roar through the forest; men walk their paths through the world. Across this vast and boundless earth, through ten thousand ages, there are some lives that will shine with light…