Chapter 46: Before the Broken Stele, Continuing the Past
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Ji Jin, hailing from the Southern Locust Academy, had sworn a blood oath to become a Stele Attendant, binding himself to never leave the Mausoleum of Books for his entire life.
Last year, this man had attempted to help Zhong Hui, a disciple of the Southern Locust Academy, surpass Chen Changsheng and Gou Hanshi in comprehending the Dao while observing the steles. He had issued many sharp taunts and reprimands regarding Chen Changsheng and Gou Hanshi’s methods of interpreting the steles, only to be silently humiliated by the facts presented by Chen Changsheng and Gou Hanshi in the end.
Ji Jin stared at Chen Changsheng, his eyes concealing hostility and resentment.
Though he was a Stele Attendant and could never leave the Mausoleum of Books for life, he was not entirely cut off from the world. News from beyond the Mausoleum had gradually reached his ears.
Chen Changsheng had observed all the steles in the front mausoleum in a single day; he had become the youngest Dean of the National Academy; he had entered the Garden of Zhou; he had supposedly died but then come back to life; he had journeyed south with Su Li; his sword cultivation had advanced by leaps and bounds, breaking through realms to defeat Star Gatherers, and on the Bridge of Helplessness, he had triumphed over the prodigy of an era, Xu Yourong; he had finally been confirmed as the successor of the National Church…
Zhong Hui, the disciple of the Southern Locust Academy in whom Ji Jin had placed great hopes, had secured third place in the Grand Examination last year, trailing behind Chen Changsheng and Gou Hanshi. In the short span of just over a year since, he had made tremendous progress, astonishing the entire southern region—but how could he compare to Chen Changsheng?
More crucially, this was the Mausoleum of Books—the very place Ji Jin had been willing to sacrifice his life and freedom to remain in!
What right did you have to come and go so casually!
Xu Yourong did not know Ji Jin, but she could sense that this high-cultivation Stele Attendant bore clear hostility toward Chen Changsheng.
Chen Changsheng roughly understood the source of Ji Jin’s anger. He bowed slightly but said nothing.
By protocol, Ji Jin should have been the one to bow to him, but considering the man’s age and seniority, Chen Changsheng offered the gesture first.
Yet Ji Jin still showed no intention of returning the bow, merely fixing his gaze on Chen Changsheng.
Xu Yourong’s expression remained calm, but her eyes gradually brightened as she looked at Ji Jin.
Chen Changsheng shook his head and led her past him along the other side of the mountain path.
Ji Jin’s hands, exposed outside his sleeves, trembled slightly—especially when Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong brushed past him, the veins on his hands bulging visibly.
In the end, he did nothing, because he dared not.
He had spent these years in bitter frustration, yearning for an outlet, and Chen Changsheng was naturally the best target.
But he was within the Mausoleum of Books, while his family and the Southern Locust Academy remained outside.
If he did not wish for his family and the Southern Locust Academy to be reduced to ashes by the National Church’s wrath, he could do nothing.
He could refuse to bow to Chen Changsheng, but he could not lay a hand on him.
…
…
The sun gradually rose, and the snowy clouds had dispersed. The capital in winter possessed a unique, sparse beauty.
Standing by the forest within the mausoleum, gazing at the distant streets and alleys of the capital, Chen Changsheng recalled the time he had stood with Luoluo atop the banyan tree at the National Academy, looking down at the streets. He said, “I once asked Luoluo to help me search for news of you. Since… I’ve found you now, I felt I should mention it to her, so I wrote a couple of lines in my letter to her.”
Xu Yourong said softly, “Back on Li Mountain, I initially thought you were dead. I told my senior brother about what happened in the Garden of Zhou. He was a bit worried about me. A few days ago, after eating the ox bone meal, I wrote him a letter.”
That day on the Bridge of Helplessness, after meeting and sharing a meal of ox bone hotpot, they had confirmed certain things. Now, it was only right to clarify other matters—this was a responsible attitude. Though neither of them had experience in such things or thought too concretely about them, they both acted accordingly.
Mentioning these two letters now was naturally another way of expressing their feelings.
From the Garden of Zhou to the present, they had expressed their feelings many times, but the methods had always been somewhat unique—like brushing off snow, touching a shoulder, or writing letters to others.
Chen Changsheng’s eyes were clear, like a small stream, easily revealing the joy swimming within like fish.
Xu Yourong said softly, “I asked you to come to the Mausoleum of Books, not for… but for serious matters.”
There was an unspoken implication in her words—the “not for” actually meant “not only for.”
What serious matters could there be in meeting at the Mausoleum of Books? Naturally, it concerned the Heavenly Book Steles.
Behind them stood the Zhaojing Stele Pavilion. On the black stone stele, the poems were so clear, yet the lines remained as enigmatic as ever.
Chen Changsheng walked to the front of the Stele Pavilion, recalling his time observing the stele here last year, and felt a touch of emotion.
“At that time, I was cooking in the thatched hut, watching the light fall on the bamboo fence…”
He recounted his insights, experiences, and several methods of observing the stele to comprehend the Dao, holding nothing back.
Xu Yourong listened quietly, her hands clasped behind her back trembling slightly in the breeze, as if she were pushing the Wheel of Fate, continuously deducing based on his words.
When Chen Changsheng finished, she began to share her own initial experiences and gains from observing the Zhaojing Stele: “…So, in essence, what we call density is also a variation of light.”
Chen Changsheng was somewhat uncertain and asked, “The ink density of the rubbings varies. Could it be that the form distorts the meaning?”
Xu Yourong said, “The rubbings of the Heavenly Book Steles preserved by the Southern Stream Sect were imprinted into the soul of the first Saintess using the Heart Seal, then reflected back onto the stone. Only two or three parts of the true meaning remain.”
Upon hearing this, Chen Changsheng felt immense reverence for the Saintess who had founded the Southern Sect of the National Church.
“Only two or three parts of the true meaning remain”—this sounded like a meager proportion, but one must understand that the “true meaning” here referred to the authentic essence of the Heavenly Book Steles. For that first Saintess to be able to copy those true meanings directly into her soul and then release them again as lines and shapes was truly a great divine power.
Such rubbings of the Heavenly Book Steles were naturally completely different from those sold by the vendors in front of the Plum Garden Inn.
“And what I just mentioned wasn’t about the rubbings,” Xu Yourong said. “The density I spoke of refers to the density of the brushstrokes on the Heavenly Book Stele itself.”
Chen Changsheng was momentarily taken aback and asked, “Have you come to the Mausoleum of Books to observe the steles before?”
Xu Yourong looked a bit embarrassed and said, “When I was five, Her Majesty brought me in here.”
Chen Changsheng fell silent, thinking, *Truly, she is someone who leaves others speechless.*
After finishing with the Zhaojing Stele, they moved on to the second Heavenly Book Stele. Occasionally, they spotted some observers, but there were few, and those who stayed long-term in the Mausoleum of Books had long since quieted their Dao hearts, their attention fixed solely on the steles, not noticing their arrival.
The two wandered freely through the mausoleum, exchanging their experiences and insights from observing the steles, comparing notes, and gaining further benefits.
By the time they reached the broken stele, the winter sun had climbed to its zenith.
The Broken Stele Pavilion was empty. Chen Changsheng walked inside and stood before the broken stele, lost in thought.
Xu Yourong came to his side, looked at him, shook her head, and said softly but firmly, “Don’t.”
…
…
(To thank a certain reader, and also because… I can’t bear solitude, can’t pretend to be aloof, and can’t save up drafts—there will be another update at eight in the evening.)