Chapter Fifty-Two: The Sage's Great Awakening

“Who is it?” The voice outside the door was aged as well, but Li Zisheng recognized it instantly—it was Master Cheng’s neighbor, Uncle Lin.

“Uncle Lin, it’s me, Zisheng.” Li Zisheng stepped out from within the house.

“Oh, Zisheng, what brings you back to the old residence today?”

“There are some matters pressing; I am soon to leave, and I found myself missing Master Cheng, so I came to visit his home.” Li Zisheng turned to glance at the familiar room, where the memory of Master Cheng’s smile, his demeanor, and the way he taught seemed etched into every corner.

“By the way, a few days ago, someone brought back a box, saying if you came, I should give it to you. If you didn’t come, I was to destroy it.” Uncle Lin finished speaking and returned to his own house to fetch the box.

Li Zisheng waited quietly, pondering who might have left the box for him. Yet, after much thought, it was clear that only someone extraordinary would know both Master Cheng’s old residence and that Li Zisheng might return before departing.

“Zisheng, here you are. This is the letter that came with the box.” Uncle Lin handed Li Zisheng a slip of paper and the box.

“Thank you, Uncle Lin.” With the box and letter in hand, Li Zisheng entrusted Uncle Lin to look after Master Cheng’s old home.

As night fell, Li Zisheng tidied the residence, organizing his master’s collection of books and manuscripts, then departed alone, preparing to make a visit to the academy.

The journey to the academy took an hour, and Li Zisheng’s hired carriage sped along the road.

He did not open the box immediately. Instead, he unfolded the letter, gazing at the four characters atop the page addressed to Zisheng. He could not discern whose hand had written them, having never seen such script before.

“I was born Zisheng, in the third month of spring, when swallows chatter and orioles sing—surely bright and spirited.

Since our parting, I have missed you deeply. The gentleman says: learning must not cease.

I loved learning from childhood. My family was poor, unable to buy books, so I borrowed from those who had collections, copying them by hand and returning them on time.

In bitter winter, when the inkstone was frozen and my fingers numb, I did not slacken. Once finished, I would run to deliver the book, never daring to be late. Thus, many lent me their books, and I gained the chance to read widely.

Upon coming of age, I admired the ways of the sages and lamented not having teachers or renowned friends. I once traveled a hundred miles to seek instruction from elders in the region, holding the classics and asking questions.”

The elder was virtuous and respected, his students crowded his house, yet he never softened his words. I stood at his side, raising doubts and seeking reason, bowing and listening intently. If rebuked, I became all the more respectful, never daring to reply. When he was pleased, I would ask again. So, though dull, I eventually heard much.

When I studied under my master, I carried my books and walked the deep mountains and vast valleys, braving fierce winter winds and snow several feet deep, my feet cracked and numb.

Now, though aged and with little achievement, I am fortunate to stand among gentlemen, bask in the emperor’s favor, and sit among ministers, consulted daily. My name is spoken across the land, so how much more so for those more talented than I?

If one’s learning is shallow or virtue unformed, it is not because their nature is inferior, but because their heart is less steadfast than mine—it is not others’ fault.

I hope you, Zisheng, will take this as a reminder, ponder it deeply, and keep it close. Within the box are small tokens and three phrases of encouragement for study. Whenever your heart grows weary, open one.

Cherish this well. I pray for you. The sea and sky beckon, and my hopes are endless. Take care of yourself, as I fervently wish.

I write in haste and cannot say all I wish.”

“A letter of encouragement from Master Cheng himself!”

Li Zisheng was utterly astonished. He read the letter again and again, but found nothing remarkable.

“No, something is amiss.”

He did not hasten to open the box. Master Cheng had not explained what lay within, only noting that it should be opened when study faltered.

The letter was unusually brief—unlike Master Cheng, who valued the rites of learning above his very life. Such haste was out of character.

There were only two possibilities: either the letter was not from Master Cheng, but the handwriting was unmistakably his, or he had no time or ability to write more.

Li Zisheng pondered until his head ached. The second possibility seemed most likely.

What was the purpose of this sudden letter? And whose hand had written the characters on the envelope?

A thick fog shrouded his thoughts. Yet Li Zisheng felt intensely that Master Cheng’s death was intimately tied to these letters and the contents of the box.

Moreover, those who assassinated Master Cheng likely saw both letter and box, but did not grasp their meaning, thus waited for Li Zisheng to retrieve them and unravel the mystery—this was the most reasonable explanation.

If so, he must already be under surveillance, his every move watched from the shadows.

A chill crept over Li Zisheng. He could not fathom why these events had befallen him, but he knew the adversary would not allow him to protest or shirk his duty.

His only recourse was to fulfill the task entrusted by the General God; only then might he and his family be spared, and Master Cheng’s death avenged.

Li Zisheng never opened the box, for he knew Master Cheng would never act without reason. Following his master’s instruction, now was not the time.

Returning to Yue Academy

As usual, the academy gates bustled with vendors, carriages, and passersby, yet inside the academy, it was a world apart: scholars engaged in discussion, martial students trained.

Li Zisheng purposefully avoided the crowds and returned to his own quarters. Before leaving, Master Cheng had given him three books to keep safe. He had thought them ordinary biographies for study, and placed them among the books he borrowed and copied in the academy’s library.

Now, recalling Master Cheng’s words and manner, he realized these three books were unusual.

He might not have remembered, but the letter of encouragement brought it immediately to mind. Thus, he returned to the academy to retrieve the books.

Knowing he was likely being watched, Li Zisheng took care not to arouse suspicion. He mixed the three books with four or five others he had copied, and packed them in his bundle, along with two old brushes and some loose silver.

The day passed swiftly. With only three days left, he finished his preparations, gathered his silver, slung his bundle over his shoulder, and left the academy, heading straight for the Yue barracks.

“Master Kong, when Li Zisheng departed, there was nothing unusual about him. He only took a few books for study, two old brushes, and a bit of loose silver.” In the main hall of the academy, the steward reported Li Zisheng’s situation with obsequious diligence.