Yet in the three hundred years since Grand Zhao's founding, there had never been a Female Emperor.
Once this memorial was submitted, he, Lu Chenzhou, and Qingya Academy would be making an enemy of the entire imperial court's rites and moral order.
Making an enemy of Grand Zhao's three-hundred-year-old ancestral laws.
Those conservative veteran officials could drown him in their spit.
The censors would bury him under memorials of impeachment.
Even among the erudites within the Academy, some would surely stand up in public opposition.
Was it worth it?
At this moment, Lu Chenzhou suddenly remembered something Chen Zui had said.
“All I know is that if I promise someone something, I must see it through. That is my principle as Chen Zui.”
“The more people tell me not to meddle, the more I want to meddle.”
Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes, a bitter curve touching the corners of his lips.
That young man.
He didn't care about anything.
He didn't care about court factional struggles, nor did he care about the balance of power across the world.
He didn't care how great of a storm the duel between the two Earthly Sword Immortals would stir up.
He merely carried a spear on his shoulder, acting on his conscience and his own principles.
Saving those who should be saved, handling what should be handled.
And even meddling in matters he shouldn't meddle in.
So simple, so direct, so natural.
And what about himself?
He had read the books of sages for half his life.
Spouting benevolence, righteousness, morality, governing the state, and aiding the people with every breath.
Yet when the time truly came to stand up, he had hesitated in his study before a blank sheet of silk for nearly an hour.
Thinking of this, Lu Chenzhou snapped his eyes open.
He lifted his brush, dipped the tip deeply into the inkwell, and set it steadily upon the silk.
“Your servant, Lu Chenzhou, Mountain Lord of Qingya Academy, respectfully submits this memorial at the risk of his life in the name of all scholars under heaven...”
The strokes of his brush were vigorous as an aged pine, every stroke akin to knife marks carved into stone.
When writing the words “at the risk of his life,” his wrist paused slightly before returning to normal, and he continued writing.
He wrote like this for the entire night.
Outside the window, the sky shifted from pitch-black to ash-gray, and from ash-gray to the pale white of a fish's belly.
Three candles burned out. The ink in the inkstone dried and was replenished, dried and replenished again.
The teacup beside Lu Chenzhou's hand was refilled seven or eight times.
The tea was drunk from strong to weak.
In the end, it was so weak it was no different from plain water.
When the first ray of morning light filtered through the crevices of the window lattice, Lu Chenzhou finally put down his brush.
He looked down at the silk before him, densely covered with writing, and took a deep breath.
Then he slowly stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The morning breeze rushed in against his face.
Carrying the crisp, bitter scent of mountain pines and cypresses, alongside the dampness of the post-rain earth.
On the branches of the old plum tree in the courtyard, last night's dewdrops still hung, shimmering with a soft luster in the morning light.
Standing with his hands clasped behind his back before the window, Lu Chenzhou watched the gradually awakening Academy. His face was weary, yet it carried a long-lost tranquility.
He knew what his actions meant.
Once this memorial was sent out, Qingya Academy would have no path of retreat.
But he also knew that if he did not do this, he would spend the rest of his life living in some form of regret.
That young man, Chen Zui, had taught him one thing.
Principles are never complicated; what is complicated is the human heart.
Straighten out the twists and turns inside the human heart.
What should be done and what should not be done.
Becomes clear at a glance.
Soon after, he changed into a clean green robe and neatly tied his white hair behind his head.
He headed to the entrance of the Academy to welcome the examinees arriving for today's Caiqin Trial.
...
After the rain, Qingya Academy looked like a freshly washed piece of green jade.
It lay quietly halfway up the mountain, every tile and every pine shimmering with a damp sheen.
The bluestone slabs before the mountain gate had been washed spotlessly clean by yesterday's torrential rain.
Only the sword mark left by Liu Yinsheng remained embedded in the stone slabs.
About a cun deep and three chi and seven cun long.
Filled with rainwater, it looked like a slender silver thread inlaid into the ground.
Early-rising handymen carrying brooms would always instinctively step around that sword mark as they passed.
It was not out of fear of damaging it, but because the lingering sword intent upon that sword mark was far too sharp.
Getting too close made the soles of one's feet turn cold, as if an invisible blade were hovering three cun above one's ankles.
Just past the hour of Chen, figures began to appear one after another on the mountain path.
The first to arrive were three scholars from Huizhou Prefecture.
Each carried a bamboo book box on their back, upon which red paper inscribed with their native place and name was pasted, now mostly soaked through by the morning mist and sweat.
The leader among them was fair-skinned and clean-looking; upon seeing Lu Chenzhou, he bowed respectfully.
Polite words like having long admired the Mountain Lord's great name spilled from his lips.
Lu Chenzhou nodded with a smile and instructed the steward disciples to lead them to the guest quarters to rest.
Soon, more and more people arrived.
There were scholars from humble backgrounds who had rushed over from neighboring counties by ox cart.
In their book boxes were dog-eared, half-tattered copies of 《The Analects》 and a few hard wheat cakes.
There were wealthy young masters arriving on tall horses from the provincial capital, trailed by book attendants carrying luggage and servants holding umbrellas.
There were also some middle-aged Confucian scholars who had walked all the way on foot.
Worth mentioning was that Tang Heqing did not come to take the examination.
Word was that a few days ago, he had already passed the assessment of another academy and successfully enrolled.
Several shichen later, everyone had arrived, and the Caiqin Trial was held smoothly.
The examination hall was set in the Academy's Minglun Hall and the East and West Wings.
In the center of Minglun Hall, a portrait of the Greatest Sage and Teacher was enshrined, with three sacrificial beasts and seasonal fruits and vegetables laid out upon the altar table before it.
Three sticks of sandalwood incense burned curlicues of smoke, suffusing the entire examination hall in solemn reverence.
Over sixty low desks were neatly arranged in several rows, each set with brush, ink, paper, inkstone, and a test paper with the name sealed.
The East and West Wings each had over forty seats set up as well.
In total, there were more than one hundred and fifty examinees.
Nearly thirty percent more than last year.
Lu Chenzhou personally served as chief examiner.
He stood on the stone steps before Minglun Hall, his gaze slowly sweeping across the dense crowd below.
Clearing his throat, he began to announce the examination rules.
“The Caiqin Trial lasts for three days, divided into three sessions: Classical Interpretation, Policy Analysis, and Poetry and Prose.
“Classical Interpretation tests the learning of the sages, Policy Analysis tests the talent to aid the world, and Poetry and Prose tests the righteousness of one's character.
“Each of the three sessions has a time limit; no late submissions will be accepted.
“Those who cheat will be expelled from the examination hall and never admitted.
“Among you are sons of noble families, scholars from humble backgrounds, and wandering literati of the martial world.
“Yet once you cross this threshold, you have but one identity.
“That is: an examinee of Qingya Academy.
“Brush and ink lie before you. Conduct yourselves well.”
His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached every corner of Minglun Hall.
The scholars below stood in solemn reverence, bowed in unison, and then took their seats in accordance with their number tags.
...
Meanwhile.
Chen Zui had already descended the mountain alone.
The mountain path after the rain was slick and muddy, the pines and cypresses on both sides washed into a dripping, verdant green by yesterday's downpour.
Occasional bird calls came from deep within the forest, making the whole mountain feel all the more desolate and serene.
Carrying his spear over his shoulder, Chen Zui walked down the half-dry bluestone path, the soles of his boots dusted with fine gravel and pine needles.
His pace was neither fast nor slow.
When he reached halfway down the mountain, two shouts suddenly came from behind him.
“Brother Chen! Brother Chen, wait...”
That voice had no internal energy behind it; it was shouted genuinely from the depths of the throat.
By the last few words, the voice had cracked slightly, echoing and stumbling several times along the mountain path before reaching his ears.
Chen Zui stopped in his tracks and turned to look.
Higher up the mountain path, Lu Qinghe and Xu Yanping were running down, panting for breath.
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