Chapter 205: Going to Lingnan
The bamboo fence was pushed down, allowing the night wind to flow in and out more freely, making the temperature around the thatched cottage drop even lower. Compared to the starlight scattered across the courtyard, the oil lamp inside the house seemed exceptionally dim. Chen Changsheng walked into the yard, looked at the middle-aged man on the stone, wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to say.
Xun Mei had been a prodigiously talented strong practitioner back in the day. Now, after more than thirty years of observing the steles in the Mausoleum of Books, his cultivation had grown to an unfathomable level. Naturally, he knew that these few youths had come up behind him. He said, “It’s not that I don’t dare, and it’s not out of embarrassment. It’s just that I know I’m still not his equal, so what meaning is there in going out?”
Zhe Xiu had been expelled from his tribe since childhood and had grown up surviving through battle. Although he knew this middle-aged man’s cultivation realm was extremely high, he still couldn’t accept this attitude. He said in a deep voice, “If you’ve never fought, how do you know you’re inferior to the other? Trapping yourself in the Mausoleum of Books—what meaning does that have?”
Xun Mei’s voice grew somewhat desolate. “I’ve been in the Mausoleum of Books for thirty-seven years. I don’t communicate with the outside world. I gave up the calligraphy and painting I loved in my youth. I eat only to fill my stomach, sleep only to keep warm, and spend all my time observing steles, comprehending the Dao, and meditating. Yet I still can’t catch up to him. I, too, very much want to know what the meaning of living is.”
“Do you know Wang Po’s current cultivation level?” Tang Thirty-Six asked, somewhat surprised. “I thought that in the mountains, you’d be unaware of the passage of time and would ask us.”
“After every Grand Examination, new people come to the Mausoleum of Books. Every so often, my senior brother also sends someone to check on me. I don’t care much about worldly affairs—I don’t care who becomes emperor—but I very much want to know Wang Po’s current situation. So I know his situation, every year’s situation.”
Xun Mei stood up, looked toward the night outside the Mausoleum of Books and the faintly visible lights of the capital, and said, “The year I entered the Mausoleum of Books, he was ranked first on the Azure Cloud List. Then I learned he entered the Golden Touch List, ranked second. Later, he entered the Carefree List, again ranking ahead of Xiao Zhang. I imagine he must have been very happy at that moment.”
The Cool Sky, Wang Po; the Armor-Painting, Xiao Zhang—these were famous figures from an era earlier than Chen Changsheng’s, with status akin to that of the current Autumn Mountain Lord. They were already true strong practitioners of the continent. Xun Mei should have shared their illustrious reputation, but because he had stayed in the Mausoleum of Books observing steles and never left, he had gradually been forgotten by the continent. At least, someone like Chen Changsheng didn’t know him.
“If you hadn’t stayed in the Mausoleum of Books all this time, your name would definitely be on the Carefree List, and you’d likely be in the top five,” Tang Thirty-Six said, looking at him.
Xun Mei turned around, looked at the three youths, and said, “Top five… that would indeed be glorious, but in the end, it’s not first place, and I’d still be behind him, wouldn’t I?”
Tang Thirty-Six couldn’t quite understand this mindset and said, “So, by staying in the Mausoleum of Books and being forgotten by the world, can you find peace?”
“The Mausoleum of Books is a possibility—it’s my only possibility to surpass Wang Po.”
The chill between Xun Mei’s brows grew thicker, yet it wasn’t frightening, only increasingly resolute. “As long as I stay in the Mausoleum of Books and continue observing the steles to comprehend the Dao, one day, I will successfully reach the top of the Mausoleum and fully grasp the true meaning of the Heavenly Dao. On that day, how could Wang Po still be my match?”
The courtyard fell silent. Some small creature, unknown, crawled out through the fallen fence, making a rustling sound, as if objecting to these words.
“Senior, how many steles have you read in these thirty-seven years?” Chen Changsheng suddenly asked.
Hearing this question, Xun Mei frowned slightly, lowered his head, and thought seriously for a moment. Then he said, “In that first year, I spent three months understanding seventeen steles. That summer, there was a huge rainstorm, and after that, my pace slowed down. By winter, I had read maybe five or six more?”
Thirty-seven years in the Mausoleum of Books—this period was so long that he had forgotten many details from the earliest times, needing to recall them with great effort. He earnestly remembered the snow and rain of those days and said, “The second year, I seemed to read four steles. The third year, three? I can’t quite remember.”
He shook his head, looked at Chen Changsheng, and said, “I really can’t remember the total.”
“But it’s clear, Senior, that your pace of reading steles has been slowing down.” Chen Changsheng hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Forgive my rudeness, but even if you can’t remember how many steles you’ve read in these thirty-seven years, you should be able to recall how many years it’s been since you last deciphered the inscription on a single stele.”
Xun Mei’s body trembled slightly, his face turning pale. His old clothes, stained with oil, fluttered gently in the night wind.
“To decipher the inscriptions on seventeen steles in just three months—such talent and insight are truly admirable and remarkable. I believe that if that stone hut hadn’t been destroyed by His Majesty Emperor Taizong, we would have seen your name on it. But…”
Tang Thirty-Six shook his head and said, “Since with your talent and insight, you can only reach this point, why must you continue to suffer here? I remember very clearly that Wang Po only stayed in the Mausoleum of Books for one year, read thirty-one steles, and then left.”
Xun Mei’s eyes suddenly brightened, like a child eager to show off, and he said hurriedly, “I may not remember exactly how many steles I’ve deciphered, but I’m very sure it’s more than thirty-one—I’ve read more steles than him!”
“So what?”
Tang Thirty-Six had once been a student of the Heavenly Dao Academy. Looking at this disheveled middle-aged man, he instinctively wanted to help him. Hearing this, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness and sighed, “With Wang Po’s talent and insight, if he had stayed in the Mausoleum of Books for a few more years, he surely could have read a few more steles. But why did he resolutely leave? Because he knew his limits. Staying here, even if he could read a few more steles, it wouldn’t be worth the years spent in the Mausoleum. That’s a waste.”
Xun Mei grew angry at these words, but found himself unable to refute them. For a moment, he was stunned, and the courtyard before the thatched cottage fell into utter silence again.
“Are you saying… all these years in the Mausoleum of Books have been a waste of my life?”
He shook his head, his voice trembling slightly. “No. His talent and insight far surpass mine. Aside from the Mausoleum of Books, what else can help me surpass him? Yes, he’s still above me now, but if I can’t surpass him even while inside the Mausoleum, what hope is there for me if I leave?”
“The steles in the Mausoleum of Books can help us cultivate, but outside the Mausoleum, there are also many things that can aid our cultivation. Otherwise, why would Wang Po have become so strong?”
Zhe Xiu, who had been mostly silent, suddenly spoke.
Xun Mei frowned deeply and said, “What outside the Mausoleum of Books can help us cultivate more than those steles containing supreme mysteries?”
“Many things.”
Zhe Xiu said coldly, “Battle, wind and rain, heaven and earth themselves, and poverty and hardship. Most importantly, outside the Mausoleum of Books, there is life and death.”
Xun Mei opened his mouth slightly and couldn’t speak for a long time.
Seeing this scene, Chen Changsheng felt a surge of emotion. Clearly, Zhe Xiu was just a youth, his cultivation realm far inferior to Xun Mei’s, yet at this moment, he was speaking to Xun Mei like a teacher instructing a child—a wolf cub raised harshly on the snowy plains had a truer and more accurate understanding of the world than a cultivator who had spent thirty-seven years in the Mausoleum of Books.
“But… it’s been thirty-seven years…”
Xun Mei turned to look at the Mausoleum of Books in the night, his expression dazed. He muttered to himself, “There are still many steles up there that I can’t understand, don’t know how to read. I really want to know. If I could reach the top of the Mausoleum, decipher those steles, and grasp the true meaning of the Heavenly Dao, I would surely be able to defeat Wang Po. How can I leave like this and be content?”
After saying this, he smiled bitterly, shook his head, and walked out of the courtyard.
Starlight fell into the courtyard, also landing on his hair. Whether due to the lighting or not, Chen Changsheng felt he saw a few strands of white. For a moment, the night wind seemed to grow even colder.
“Where is he going?”
Watching Xun Mei’s somewhat desolate back and slightly stumbling steps, Chen Changsheng worried that his spirit might have been too greatly affected.
Tang Thirty-Six said with some pity, “He should be going to observe the steles at the Mausoleum… For thirty-seven years, perhaps every night has been like this for him.”
The starlight was bright, perhaps a bit difficult for writing, but sufficient for observing steles. Moreover, faint lights could be seen within the Mausoleum of Books, suggesting many stele observers were also reading by lamplight.
“He’s not going to observe steles.”
Zhe Xiu’s expression suddenly changed as he watched Xun Mei gradually disappearing into the night forest. “The path to observe steles is north of the Mausoleum. He’s heading south.”
Tang Thirty-Six was stunned for a moment and said, “Could he be so confused with anger that he’s taken the wrong path?”
Chen Changsheng felt some regret and said, “Senior is trapped in the Mausoleum, perhaps not entirely clear-headed, but the situation is different. What we think is right may not make sense to him. And after all, we are juniors. Were our words earlier too harsh?”
“Wrong is wrong. Wasting life is wasting life. It has nothing to do with being senior or junior,” Zhe Xiu said expressionlessly.
“Hmm… I want to follow and see. I hope nothing happens.”
Chen Changsheng walked out past the fence, and Tang Thirty-Six followed. Zhe Xiu stared blankly at the fallen fence for a while before also leaving the thatched cottage.
This thatched cottage was southwest of the Mausoleum of Books. After passing through the woods and heading south a short distance, they could hear the thunderous roar of dozens of waterfalls south of the Mausoleum.
In the night, Xun Mei’s figure could faintly be seen. The three youths followed, passing through mist like spring rain, and arrived at a stone flatland crisscrossed with shallow channels.
Starlight fell on the stone flatland, and the clear water in the channels gently rippled, creating a beautiful scene.
Xun Mei stepped through the shallow channels, splashing water and wetting his clothes, but he paid no heed, appearing somewhat lost and dejected.
He came before the sacred path, looked up at the top of the Mausoleum of Books, his expression slightly dazed.
Thirty-seven years, countless days and nights—he only wanted to reach that place, but he had never been able to.
Though this sacred path led straight to the top of the Mausoleum of Books, he could not walk it.
Because that man, clad in armor, sat quietly in the pavilion before the sacred path.
(I’m not in good form today, so just this chapter. Tomorrow I’ll write eight thousand words, aiming to keep the upcoming plot flowing smoothly. The next part is a scene I particularly like myself. Going to Lingnan naturally isn’t about playing basketball, but at this moment, I suddenly realize the core is the same.)