Chapter Forty-One: The Magistrates’ Horses Are Well-Fed

The first light of dawn broke, and the entrance to the academy was bustling as if it were a marketplace. All the students had gathered at the gates, dividing themselves into three groups: the Scholars, the Warriors, and the Gifted. Among them, the Scholars’ group was the largest, led by Yan Ziqing, who had been demoted to the Scholars’ Hall.

Despite his demotion, Yan Ziqing’s authority among the students of the Gifted Hall remained undiminished. Many from the Gifted Hall’s lower class gravitated toward him, clearly regarding him as their leader. When they caught sight of Li Zisheng, ranked twelfth among the gifted, their eyes blazed with anger.

The academy boasted three hundred students: one hundred in the Scholars’ Hall, one hundred and fifty in the Warriors’ Hall. The Gifted Hall was divided into three classes: twelve students in the highest tier, with Li Zisheng as the twelfth; eighteen in the middle tier; and twenty in the lowest.

“Everyone, quiet down. The Scholars’ Hall will follow the Master of Administration, the Warriors’ Hall will follow me, and the Gifted Hall will follow the Dean,” announced the overseer.

Upon hearing this, Li Zisheng looked up. Though he had spent some time at the academy, he had never seen its mysterious dean. If not for the impending visit of the Turkic envoy, he might never have met him.

Before him stood an elder, vibrant and spirited, no less impressive than Kong Zhichong, the renowned Confucian scholar. Though Kong Zhichong was not yet a Grand Master, his learning and reputation were widely celebrated. Li Zisheng always felt as though he were gazing up at a mountain when facing him. The dean now struck him similarly—silent and unmoving, yet as lofty as a peak.

Li Zisheng’s group followed the dean, and among them was Yan Ziqing. Li Zisheng paid him no mind, regarding Yan as a pitiable figure, used and discarded like a worn shoe. His gaze toward Yan was calm and unruffled, unmoved even as Yan schemed against him at every turn.

Yan Ziqing glared at Li Zisheng all along the way, viewing him as a stumbling block, an obstacle, a thorn in his side. He wished nothing more than to see him gone, for Li Zisheng’s presence had caused Yan’s own status to plummet. Yan’s current privileges stemmed only from his father’s legacy.

Soon, the students of the Gifted Hall were led to a grand viewing platform. Even within the Gifted Hall, there were subgroups: those focused on scholarship and those on martial arts. Their primary studies were Confucian classics, but they also dabbled in martial disciplines and military strategy.

Among the lowest tier, ten students; among the middle, ten; among the highest, four—all specializing in martial arts. Today, during the martial arts lessons, these students stood outside the teaching platform alongside the Warriors’ Hall.

The viewing platform was vast, able to accommodate over a thousand. It quickly filled, even with seats for the Scholars’ Hall, though theirs were set further back. The scholars, uninterested in martial arts, saw it as crude and vulgar, and their area became a small symposium for literary discussion.

“Students, today you’ll learn at our Hui Le military camp. The soldiers are delighted to have you. I’m a rough man, so don’t expect eloquent words. During the lesson, if you defeat our soldiers, you’ll earn military merit. But there are many of you, so the first step is to select ten students to spar with our best.

“As for the sparring methods—they’re simple: sandbox simulations, battle formation analysis, and martial contests. How you choose the ten is up to you,” boomed a middle-aged man with a bristling beard, striding boldly across the stage. He laughed heartily, clearly familiar with the process.

The academy’s Master of Administration seemed well-versed in this routine, as the ten students had already been chosen. He stepped onto the stage and unfurled a scroll.

“Wang Zheyuan, fourth among the gifted; Feng Hai, eighth; Shi Kai, fifth of the middle tier; Xu Da, seventh; Kong Bingde, second of the lowest; Duan Zheng, Wang Xi, Bai Yu, Wang Yong, and Wang Shizhen from the Warriors’ Hall. These are the ten selected for today’s lesson.”

The named students stepped forward, each robust and sturdy. The exception was the two highest-tier students, whose slender frames lacked the explosive strength of their peers.

“General, our Hui Le Academy has produced a prodigy. In terms of scholarship, even Master Kong Zhichong praises him highly. After deliberation, we wish to nominate an eleventh participant. Would you permit it?”

“An eleventh? If he’s so lauded by Kong Zhichong, he must be remarkable. Very well, bring him forth. Let’s see what makes him special. Ha! I hope he can withstand a punch from my soldiers.”

Hearing this, Li Zisheng felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

It was as he feared.

“Li Zisheng, twelfth among the gifted, will be the eleventh participant. Step forward.”

All eyes turned to Li Zisheng, and within him surged a wave of anger. The Master of Administration was clearly plotting against him.

“Old scoundrel,” Li Zisheng cursed inwardly.

The crowd’s gaze brimmed with curiosity, but more so with jealousy. The selection for this lesson had been arduous and strict, yet Li Zisheng had been granted a place out of thin air. Anyone would feel resentful.

The Warriors’ Hall was especially incensed, their fury palpable. Even the Scholars’ Hall paused their discussions, watching Li Zisheng with intrigue. Fame follows the shadow.

The poem “The Brocade Zither,” though forbidden from public praise, had left a deep impression on those who witnessed the last examination. Now, hearing that its young author was also adept in martial arts, many were astonished.

The Master of Administration’s decision had thrust Li Zisheng into the eye of the storm, especially with his proclamation, which only heightened the drama around Li Zisheng.

“Fat officials delight, spectators thrill, riders rejoice at their words, driving on without pause, even unto death.”

“This old scoundrel is clearly out to destroy me,” Li Zisheng thought. “He’s raising me only to cast me down, intent on making it impossible for me to find footing in Hui Le Academy. Zhang Shuling was right—this man is determined to harm me.”

Li Zisheng recalled Zhang Shuling’s warnings, nearly forgotten. He had the sense that the mystery surrounding Hui Le Academy would soon unravel, and the answers he sought were not far off.