Chapter 16: Gazing at That Plum Blossom for Many Years
Missionary Xin suddenly felt that the plum blossoms in the room were exuding a chill, even though most plum blossoms prefer the cold. To dispel this chill, he forced a somewhat difficult smile and continued recounting the excitement at the National Teaching Academy, especially emphasizing the reactions of the Four Workshops after Chen Changsheng represented the academy in accepting the challenge, the awning at the entrance of Hundred Flowers Lane, and the silver bets continuously pooling at the Four Workshops.
“It doesn’t seem as much as the bets placed during the Grand Examination,” Meilisha said with a smile.
Missionary Xin didn’t understand. Tomorrow’s battle between Zhou Ziheng and Chen Changsheng was certainly eye-catching, but how could it compare to the Grand Examination? The next moment, he finally remembered something. During the Grand Examination, when everyone else had no faith in Chen Changsheng, he had staked his entire fortune on him—because the Archbishop had faith in Chen Changsheng.
“I understand,” he said to the Archbishop with a smile. “I’ll have someone place my bets for me shortly.”
The entire Detached Palace now knew that since the National Teaching Academy embarked on its path of revival, Missionary Xin had become a close confidant of Archbishop Meilisha. His attitude reflected the Archbishop’s stance. This year’s Grand Examination, when Missionary Xin bet his entire fortune on Chen Changsheng, prompted the priests of the Ecclesiastical Office—even those who didn’t believe in Chen Changsheng—to also place heavy bets on him.
This was an enormous sum of silver.
The reason Tianxiang Workshop ultimately lost so badly, aside from the calm and forceful assault of the Wenshui Tang Clan, was that they had to pay off all the winnings owed to these priests from the Detached Palace.
Hearing Missionary Xin’s words, Meilisha smiled, then began to cough. The room echoed with painful coughing. It took a long time before it stopped. He took a couple of weary breaths, looked at the daylight outside the window, and said regretfully, “I wanted to see just how far Chen Changsheng has come, but unfortunately, I won’t get to.”
For Chen Changsheng, tomorrow would be the first time since the Grand Examination that he formally displayed his true strength and realm before the world. Everything he had learned and realized during these days—viewing the steles at the Heavenly Book Mausoleum, holding up the sky in the Zhou Garden, carrying Su Li to escape the demon snowfields, returning south—would all be revealed tomorrow.
He would present a demonstration and report of his achievements to those who cared about him.
Tomorrow would be a new day for him.
But for Meilisha, there would be no tomorrow.
Missionary Xin suddenly felt his legs go weak. With great difficulty, he approached the couch and looked at the Archbishop’s calm expression, too tense to speak. Soon, the entire Ecclesiastical Office was immersed in a tense atmosphere, and a message spread in all directions toward the capital.
The square before the Ecclesiastical Office had long since been cleansed of last autumn’s bloodstains, but the row of maple trees were as red as blood, as if an early, grim autumn had arrived. It turned out that dusk was falling.
No matter how one interpreted it, it was ultimately ominous and sorrowful.
Since autumn had already arrived, could the silent, dead winter be far behind?
Dusk had fallen; wasn’t night just ahead?
As night descended and the lanterns began to glow, Chen Changsheng rushed to the Ecclesiastical Office. Without time to acknowledge the priests’ greetings, he went straight to the innermost room.
The room was still filled with plum blossoms, but many were no longer in full bloom, showing signs of withering.
“I’m going to die,” Meilisha said to him, his voice gentle, as if afraid of startling a child.
Chen Changsheng had contemplated life and death countless times. He had once thought he could see through it—before the Black Dragon, in the Zhou Garden. He even believed he had grasped some truths of life: that those most afraid of death are often the least afraid, and that in life, only by not fearing death can one avoid it, only by risking everything can one continue living.
But now, looking at the aged Archbishop, he suddenly realized his views were still incomplete. He had never considered what to do if there were no enemies, or if your enemy was time itself—how could you fight it? When death came, how could you remain calm? He didn’t know, so at this moment, he didn’t know what to say.
Meilisha smiled at him, didn’t continue the topic, and asked, “How confident are you for tomorrow?”
Perhaps because death was imminent and time was short, the Archbishop was unusually direct today.
Chen Changsheng was also direct, without any hesitation. “One hundred percent.”
Meilisha thought he was trying to reassure him, smiled, and said, “I believe you’ve thought many times about why I’ve been so good to you.”
Chen Changsheng was silent. Of course, he had thought about it many times, but he couldn’t reach a conclusion. He knew it must be related to some major matters, but he didn’t want to speculate that way.
“There are things I’ve kept from you, even deliberately deceived you, but you must trust me, trust His Holiness the Pope, and trust your teacher.”
Meilisha said, “Perhaps the truth of many things differs from how they appear on the surface, but that’s just taking different paths. The final destination has never changed, just like our arrangements for you. At some point in the future, you might feel dissatisfied or even angry, but you must look at the final outcome. I believe it will never harm you.”
Chen Changsheng didn’t fully grasp the meaning of these words, but he understood the Archbishop’s intent—these two meanings were different—as long as the result was good, the process and means didn’t matter. That was what Meilisha wanted to convey. But was it about intention or action? Chen Changsheng looked at Meilisha’s aged face and decided not to dwell on it. He felt it would be cruel to keep questioning an old man about to leave this world, and he could sense that this old man genuinely wanted what was best for him.
In the eyes of the world, whether at the Ivy Banquet or the Grand Examination, Chen Changsheng’s ultimate victory and fame in the capital meant that he and the National Teaching Academy owed the most gratitude to Archbishop Meilisha. Before the Pope personally placed the Thorn Crown on Chen Changsheng, Meilisha was the only one in the world who supported him, the great pillar of the National Teaching Academy. Naturally, he was close to Chen Changsheng. Only Chen Changsheng himself knew that he had barely met Meilisha a few times. From Xining to the capital, everything had happened too fast, time had flowed too quickly. Before he could react, he and the academy had reached today, and the other was about to die.
They had spent little time together, separated by centuries, so they couldn’t claim to know each other well. But Chen Changsheng could feel that Meilisha genuinely cared for him, and even… pitied him, as if he knew the greatest secret of his life, so his eyes always held an apology when looking at him. Emotions were mutual. Now, seeing him on the verge of death, Chen Changsheng didn’t know how to help, felt helpless, and was deeply sorry, to the point that his eyes grew moist.
Meilisha sent Chen Changsheng away and had Missionary Xin enter the room to take a book from the shelf.
In these final moments of life, he was still reading—a Taoist scripture with a somewhat worn cover.
He read for a long time, then closed the book, looked at the night outside the window, and murmured, “Dean Shang is truly an extraordinary man.”
Missionary Xin didn’t understand why, at this moment, the Archbishop would think of the former dean of the National Teaching Academy, even though Chen Changsheng, whom he had just seen, was that man’s student.
“Interesting.” Meilisha tapped the Taoist scripture twice with his withered fingers and said, “I’m curious how the Taoist Canon will record the biography of the next Pope.”
Missionary Xin didn’t understand and didn’t want the Archbishop to worry about the future of the state religion at such a time. He asked, “Who do you think will win tomorrow’s battle?”
This was both a diversion and genuine curiosity, unrelated to his entire fortune—he truly didn’t understand.
During the Grand Examination, Chen Changsheng’s victory could be called a miracle.
He had broken through to the Penetrating Mystery realm on the spot, then used the final form of the Lishan Sword Technique to force Gou Hanshi to concede, securing his ranking.
Tomorrow, his opponent was Zhou Ziheng of the Star Gathering realm. It was impossible for him to break through to Star Gathering on the spot like he did in the Grand Examination. Miracles meant extreme rarity. If a miracle repeated itself twice in just half a year, it wasn’t a miracle—it was impossible. No matter how Missionary Xin looked at it, he couldn’t see how Chen Changsheng could possibly defeat Zhou Ziheng. He wanted to know if the Archbishop truly believed Chen Changsheng would win, or if he was just trying to boost the young man’s confidence in his final moments, to escort him one last time.
The petals gradually fell, but the plum branches remained firm, twisted though they were. Even as the room’s temperature plummeted into bitter cold, not a single branch showed signs of breaking.
Meilisha looked at the potted plum blossom on the table and said with a smile, “I still have faith in Chen Changsheng.”
Chen Changsheng sat in the great hall, with Luoluo beside him, holding his hand in silence. The priests stood at a distance, not daring to disturb them. People like Zhou Ziheng might sometimes forget that this young man was already the dean of the National Teaching Academy, but the people here could never forget, and the atmosphere was oppressive.
After an unknown amount of time, Chen Changsheng looked up and noticed the hall was unusually quiet. The priests had disappeared somewhere.
An old man in a hemp robe stood silently before a mural in the hall—it was His Holiness the Pope.
The mural was enormous, but it only depicted a single plum tree.
The fragrance of plum blossoms comes from the bitter cold. Whether it was the state religion, the Southern Creek Nunnery, or the Lishan Sword Sect, they all adhered to this view when educating the next generation.
Chen Changsheng stood up, walked over, bowed respectfully, and asked a question that had troubled him for a long time.
Perhaps because tonight was special, or because Meilisha had been so direct earlier, he asked directly.
“Why did you suddenly change your view?”
By “view,” he naturally meant His Holiness’s view of Her Holiness the Empress, of the imperial clan, and of the world.
Chen Changsheng looked into the depths of the hall and said, “It certainly couldn’t have been because of me, and I don’t think it should be because of him.”
(I still have faith in Bayern Munich.)