Chapter 201: Two Youths by the Fence
Entering the Mausoleum of Books without reading the books, only looking at the scenery—no one knew what Chen Changsheng was thinking or why he was doing this. In truth, even he himself did not understand why he refused to take a single step deeper into the Mausoleum of Books, refused to look at those stone tablets, and only wandered about the gardens below, gazing around.
Watching the setting sun on the distant horizon, his hand rested on the hilt of his short sword. His spiritual sense gently brushed over that black stone, feeling its warm and moist aura, and only then did he sober up a little, realizing that his gazing represented hesitation. And the reason he hesitated was that, subconsciously, he did not want to continue cultivating.
Cultivation made one grow, made one strong. Only by becoming a true strongman could he possibly change his fate using the methods the Lingyan Pavilion had told him about. But... he had not even truly set out on the path, yet he had already seen the bloody scenes at the end of the long road, making his steps unbearably heavy, difficult to move forward.
Before, he would not have pondered these questions. In the face of life and death, everything was very simple—only by surviving did one have the right to think. Now, he was still far from solving his problems, yet he had begun to think about these things. It had to be said that this seemed a bit pretentious. Of course, from another angle, it could also be called a kind of happiness.
The dusk deepened, and Qingqiu seemed to burn in the sunset glow. He had already circled the Mausoleum of Books more than once and arrived at a garden in the southwest corner, where he spotted a thatched cottage.
The cottage was built very simply. Bark could still be seen on the beams, making it look extremely rough. The thatch on the eaves had apparently not been replaced for who knows how many years, blackened and gray, very unsightly.
If he was going to stay in the Mausoleum of Books for a long time, he would need to find a place to rest. Chen Changsheng did not intend to follow the arrangements made for the other examinees. Subconsciously, he did not want to get too close to those stone tablets in Qingqiu that he had yet to see, so he planned to check if he could stay here.
He called out politely twice toward the cottage, but no one answered. After thinking it over, he stepped onto the stone steps, pushed the door open, and entered. He found that the cottage had only some simple furnishings. A thin layer of dust covered the tabletop. The water vat behind the side door was nearly dry, but there was still plenty of rice in the rice bucket.
Someone must have lived here, but that person lived extremely carelessly. Chen Changsheng had a bit of a cleanliness obsession. Looking at the state of the room, he couldn't help shaking his head, but he didn't leave. After a moment's thought, he actually found a bucket and a rag in the corner of the room and began to clean.
From Xining Town to the capital, from the old temple to the National Academy, what he was best at was not studying, but sweeping courtyards, washing clothes, and cleaning his face. It didn't take long before the inside and outside of the cottage were spotlessly clean. The water in the vat rippled clear, and not a trace of cobweb remained under the eaves. Though it couldn't be said to have completely changed from before, it at least met his standards and was livable.
He simmered the rice in the pot, cut off a third of the salted fish hanging from the beam and steamed it on top, went to the garden to pick some small cabbages and wash them for stir-frying. After finishing these tasks, he carefully washed his hands, dried them thoroughly with a handkerchief, and then sat down on the stone steps again, staring blankly at the scenery.
The dusk gradually receded, and the Mausoleum of Books grew darker. The scenery was no longer as beautiful as before, but it gave a more mysterious feeling. The green trees on the mountain turned into ink blots, as if they were some kind of writing.
Thousands of years ago, a demon lord had studied the Dao in the Mausoleum of Books for ten years. In Zhou Dufu's time, he had comprehended all the stone tablets in just three days and three nights, ascending to the peak of the Mausoleum of Books. Stories like these were everywhere in the history of the Mausoleum of Books, too numerous to count, because this place was, after all, a sacred ground of legends.
Thinking of those stories or rumors, thinking of the continent's number one divine general who had sat silently under that pavilion before the divine path for centuries, Chen Changsheng's mind stirred slightly, and his pupils grew darker with the night.
"Yearning, or reverence—both are normal. But... just looking like this, doing nothing, in my opinion, is very foolish... a waste of life."
A voice sounded from outside the cottage's broken fence. The speaker's pace was slow, his tone flat with no obvious ups and downs, sounding like a dull tune.
Chen Changsheng turned his head and saw a youth standing outside the fence. The youth was very thin, his face expressionless, looking very indifferent, just like his pale, faint eyebrows.
It was the wolf tribe youth, Fuzhe Xiu.
Chen Changsheng knew that with the military merits Fuzhe Xiu had earned in the northern borderlands, he could easily convert them into qualifications to enter the Mausoleum of Books. But he had waited for the other party at the National Academy for several days without him showing up, and now he had arrived at the Mausoleum of Books with the top three examinees of the Grand Examination. It was still somewhat unexpected.
He cupped his hands in greeting toward the youth outside the fence and, after thinking for a moment, said, "Listening to music, watching plays, reading novels—aren't many people just wasting their lives? I'd also like to understand that feeling."
"But... you're not that kind of person." Fuzhe Xiu looked at him through the fence, his voice still a bit dry and awkward, but very certain, beyond doubt.
Chen Changsheng was silent. After a while, he said, "There are some things I just can't figure out. Until then, I don't want to do anything for now. At least not today."
He and Fuzhe Xiu had only met during the Grand Examination and weren't familiar. His first impression of this wolf tribe youth was that he was extremely dangerous, and he was very wary of him. But for some reason, at this moment when night enveloped the Mausoleum of Books, he suddenly felt that this wolf tribe youth might understand his confusion. Perhaps it was because of the cruelty of the blizzards or the rumors about this youth.
"Is living the most important thing?" he asked Fuzhe Xiu seriously.
A fifteen-year-old youth asking a peer about life and death, a seemingly philosophical question—in any academy in the capital, he would definitely be mocked.
Fuzhe Xiu was no ordinary youth, so he didn't mock Chen Changsheng. Instead, he was silent for a long time. After a very serious consideration, he gave his answer.
"Living is not the most important thing."
In the snow-covered northern borderlands, living was a very difficult thing. For a half-blood wolf cub who had been driven out of his tribe since childhood, surviving was even harder. Fuzhe Xiu had struggled to stay alive, doing countless cold-blooded things to survive, but he didn't think living was the most important thing.
This answer was somewhat surprising.
Chen Changsheng thought it over seriously and said, "Thank you."
Fuzhe Xiu said from outside the fence, "You're welcome."
Chen Changsheng asked, "Then for you, what is the most important thing?"
Fuzhe Xiu said, "To live clearly, or to die clearly."
Just then, a creak sounded from the front of the cottage, and the fence was pushed open. A man walked in. The man was disheveled, his clothes tattered, making it hard to tell his age. In the hair hanging down, a pair of bright and clean eyes could faintly be seen. The man looked at these two youths standing on either side of the fence, as if he wanted to ask something, but in the end, for some reason, he didn't voice it.
Inside and outside the fence, it was silent. The silence was strangely eerie.
(Two youths didn't argue about the sun; they argued about life and death instead... Struggling desperately, I finally wrote this chapter. Chen Changsheng, this kid, is having adolescent psychological issues.)