Chapter 212: The Zhaojing Stele
The stele pavilion was very quiet, with only Chen Changsheng alone. The situation yesterday was completely different. At that time, dozens of examinees had gathered before this stele pavilion. The space was quiet, but with so many people, it inevitably felt somewhat crowded. The sounds of clothes rubbing and footsteps never ceased, and even when night fell, people did not leave but instead lit lanterns in front of the pavilion. However, the Mausoleum of Books had existed on this continent for countless years. Many sects and academies had sent people into the Mausoleum of Books to view the steles, and they had long since summarized much experience, giving instructions before the Grand Examination. After their initial excitement, the examinees came to their senses, realizing that viewing the steles was not something to be accomplished in a single day. They had to take good care of their health, so following their masters' instructions, they went down the mausoleum to find places to rest, and at this hour, they should still be sound asleep.
Chen Changsheng was unaware of these processes and earnestly looked at the stele.
The surface of the stele was black, covered with countless lines, some thick, some thin, some deep, some shallow. These lines, carved by some sharp tool, were quite casual in their turns, filling the entire surface. They intersected countless times, appearing indescribably complex. If one looked with an emotional eye, or attached historical significance to them, one might discern an ancient, clumsy meaning from these lines. But if one calmed down and stripped away all emotions and reverence for the heavenly script, these lines actually had no pattern, no meaning at all—like the random scribbles of a child. Many scholars even believed these lines might have formed naturally, which had once been a popular school of stele interpretation.
Seeing the legendary Heavenly Tome Stele for the first time today, Chen Changsheng naturally had no ability to make any judgment. The reason his heartbeat quickened when his gaze fell on the stele's surface was not because he understood anything at a glance, nor because he was shocked to recognize these lines, but simply the emotional fluctuation that came from seeing a legend before his eyes.
Yes, he had seen these marks, or rather this stele inscription, on this Heavenly Tome Stele before.
There was no coincidence, no miracle. Many people had seen these incomprehensible stele inscriptions on the Heavenly Tome Steles—all the stalls along the main path outside the Mausoleum of Books sold rubbings of the stele inscriptions. Tourists from other prefectures visiting the Mausoleum of Books almost all bought a copy. These rubbings had always been the best-selling souvenirs at the Mausoleum of Books.
Countless years ago, rubbings of the Heavenly Tome Steles had already spread throughout the world. When the hierarchy of human dynasties gradually became more rigid, some emperors tried to prohibit the flow of stele rubbings from the Mausoleum of Books. However, many rubbings were already outside, and the temptation was too great to be completely banned, so the matter was eventually dropped.
In particular, the rubbings of the seventeen steles in the front section of the Mausoleum of Books had even been publicly sold three times during the previous dynasty, with over a dozen official versions printed, at least millions of copies. While this brought a great fortune to the imperial treasury, it also provided many households with soft, suitable paper for padding their tables.
The reason the Heavenly Tome Stele rubbings could spread so widely, aside from the impossibility of banning them, fundamentally came down to two points. First, viewing a rubbing of a Heavenly Tome Stele and viewing the stele itself were two completely different concepts. Over countless years, countless cultivators had proven that only by seeing the stele with their own eyes inside the Mausoleum of Books could one comprehend the true meaning of the Heavenly Dao hidden in the inscription. Second, the number of Heavenly Tome Stele rubbings that could circulate among the people was ultimately limited, mostly from these front steles. Those who could access more steles were inevitably powerful cultivators who had achieved great success—why would they covet such fame and profit? For example, a talent as astonishing as Wang Po of Tianliang had only viewed thirty-one steles during his time in the Mausoleum of Books. Even if greed clouded his judgment, he couldn't have rubbed the later Heavenly Tome Steles and taken them out of the mausoleum.
After arriving in the capital, Chen Changsheng had stayed for a time at the Plum Garden Inn outside the Mausoleum of Books. Every day he saw the Heavenly Tome Stele rubbings displayed on the stalls and naturally bought several casually. When he first got those rubbings, he was very excited, until he realized they had no meaning and tossed them aside.
But standing before the Heavenly Tome Stele, seeing those lines on the stone with his own eyes, was an entirely different matter.
For millions of years, this stele had stood silently beneath the pavilion, still mysterious.
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The lines on the black stele seemed to float before Chen Changsheng's eyes. A carving on the lower right of the stele's surface, originally sunken deep into the stone, suddenly became a raised ridge. Dozens of fine lines attached to its edge also left the stone's surface, giving a floating sensation.
Chen Changsheng knew this was an illusion, an interference with real vision caused by the connection between his divine sense and the Mausoleum of Books. When he was young, reading the Daoist canon in the old temple in Xining Town, he had read many records by predecessors of the National Church about viewing steles, so he was not surprised by this sudden change and maintained absolute calm.
The so-called change was actually no change at all—it was merely a shift in light and shadow; objective reality remained there.
Whether cloudy or stormy, whether there was a pavilion above the stele, whether the stele's surface was wet or dry, appearing dim or dazzling, the stele was still the stele, and the lines on it were still those lines. Yet wasn't the greatest difference between the stele inscription and the rubbings circulating among the people precisely this kind of change?
Position was relative, and outward appearance was also relative.
Position changed with the position of the reference point; outward appearance changed with the environment.
To determine position, one needed to determine the positions of all reference points.
To observe unchanging objective reality, did one first need to understand how the environment changed that objective reality?
Was the information the viewer needed to read, the truth they needed to comprehend, hidden in this change?
Standing before the pavilion, Chen Changsheng looked at the stele inscription, maintaining the same posture, unmoving for a long time.
The morning sun had fully risen above the horizon. The morning glow looked down on the Mausoleum of Books from afar, sending a wave of warmth. The chill in the morning forest was gradually dispelled, and the side of the Heavenly Tome Stele was dyed red, very beautiful.
Looking at the red edge of the stele, Chen Changsheng closed his eyes, was still for a moment, then turned around.
He no longer looked at the stele but gazed at the surroundings of the stele pavilion.
The treetops were completely dyed red, as if about to burn. The distant, faintly visible stele pavilions were even harder to locate. He had walked up from the foot of the mausoleum to this first Heavenly Tome Stele, and the path ended here. There was no road leading to the other Heavenly Tome Steles. Yet it was said that the Mausoleum of Books had only one path—what did this mean?
The morning sun burned the treetops, and the red glow illuminated a previously dark cliff beside the pavilion. Only then did he see several lines of text carved on the cliff.
Unlike the incomprehensible Heavenly Tome Stele, the words on that cliff were easy to understand, written in a script everyone could read.
"A river of misty water shines on the clear haze; houses on both banks connect with painted eaves; a stretch of autumn light among light lotus clusters; the fragrant wind rolls up ten miles of pearl curtains." (Note)
This poem was written two thousand years ago by the master of the Daoist sect when he first entered the Mausoleum of Books to view the steles, moved by what he felt.
From then on, the first stele of the Mausoleum of Books also had its own name: the Zhaojing Stele.
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From the time he arrived at the stele pavilion to his departure, he had looked for less than a quarter of an hour before turning away without hesitation.
Leaving the Zhaojing Stele, he walked down the mountain path. When he rounded a bend, he saw Zhe Xiu. Judging by the time, Zhe Xiu must have been standing there for a while.
Zhe Xiu raised an eyebrow slightly, clearly surprised that he was leaving so soon.
"I don't like crowds. I don't want to squeeze in with others to look at the stele," Chen Changsheng offered an unconvincing explanation. Looking at the faint smoke rising from the forest in the distance below the mountain, he reminded, "Everyone is already awake. If you want to view the stele without disturbance, you'd better hurry."
Zhe Xiu nodded and walked up the mountain path.
Chen Changsheng watched his figure, hesitated for a moment, then said, "I don't think you need to look for too long. It's not very useful and might even be harmful."
Zhe Xiu ignored him.
Chen Changsheng continued down the mountain and encountered a middle-aged man in white on the path.
He recognized the man as one of the stele attendants who had explained the rules of the Mausoleum of Books to everyone yesterday.
Thinking that these stele attendants had dedicated their youth and lives to the Mausoleum of Books, everyone felt some respect, and he was no exception. He bowed respectfully.
The middle-aged man did not return the bow, didn't even nod, but he didn't leave either. Instead, he looked at Chen Changsheng with an indifferent expression.
Feeling uneasy, Chen Changsheng asked, "Senior, do you have any instructions?"
"Are you Chen Changsheng?" the middle-aged man asked, his tone cold.
Chen Changsheng was startled. He hadn't expected that this man, who never left the Mausoleum of Books, would know his name. Cautiously, he replied, "Yes."
"Are you the top scholar of this year's Grand Examination?" the middle-aged man continued, his tone now not only cold but also stern.
Chen Changsheng's unease grew, and he was even more puzzled. "That's correct," he answered.
The middle-aged man said gravely, "From the time you ascended the mausoleum to your departure, it was less than a quarter of an hour. Do you mean to say you understood the Zhaojing Stele in such a short time?"
Chen Changsheng explained, "No, I..."
Before he could finish, the middle-aged man scolded coldly, "Of course I know you couldn't possibly understand the Zhaojing Stele in such a short time. Do you think you have such extraordinary insight? I'm talking about your attitude! So improper, how foolish! Outside the Mausoleum of Books, the top scholar of the Grand Examination might carry some weight, but you need to understand—this is the Mausoleum of Books! This is a place where countless sages humbly sought enlightenment! I've seen many top scholars of the Grand Examination. Don't think you can act recklessly just because of that title!"
Hearing this torrent of reprimand, Chen Changsheng was stunned. If it were truly a senior's guidance to a junior, that would be one thing, but it was clear the man only wanted to humiliate him. Strangely, since this man was a stele attendant who couldn't leave the Mausoleum of Books, why did he harbor so much hostility toward him?
The middle-aged man looked at him, not hiding his contempt and disgust, and said, "I warn you, the Mausoleum of Books is a sacred place. No matter how powerful your background, you must hold it in reverence. Don't even think about bringing the filthy affairs of the mundane world outside into this place. You can tell that to the person who came to find you before the mausoleum!"
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(Note: This uses a few lines from Zhang Yanghao's "Water Immortal," just cobbled together. Also, when writing about the rubbings being the best-selling items outside the Mausoleum of Books, I almost slipped and wrote "best-selling merchandise"... For this section about viewing the steles, I overturned everything I had planned before starting the book, because I felt it wasn't interesting enough and too complicated. After a few days of agonizing thought, I finally came up with a solution I'm satisfied with—interesting, simple, and powerful. But honestly, my brain has been a bit overworked these past few days. Today, just one chapter. I'll rest and sort out the rest. Also, I need to start saving drafts tomorrow. Sigh...)