Emperor Qian once said, "Do not do evil because it is small, nor neglect good because it is small."The Emperor's favoritism has reached absurd heights—treating human lives as a joke. Is this the conduct of a wise ruler?
Feng Pingbo's booming voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of students and instructors passing through the academy gates. Two scholars from the National Academy, who'd been lingering nearby, started to approach but were waved off by the Grand Preceptor.
"There's something the Grand Preceptor might have forgotten in his high position," Feng Pingbo growled, his eyes blazing. "Let me repeat it: A scholar may be killed, but never insulted. A commoner's rage can spill blood within five paces!"
His words hung heavy, his beard bristling like a tiger's mane, radiating raw intensity.
"...I have a response for you," the Grand Preceptor said, his tone measured. "It is said, 'The ruler treats ministers as limbs, and ministers treat the ruler as their heart.' 'The ruler treats ministers as grass, and ministers treat the ruler as an enemy.' Emperor Qian upholds the ruler's supremacy; the Book of Changes speaks of the people as the sea. Yin and yang, heaven and earth—they balance. Which does the Grand Preceptor uphold?"
Feng Pingbo's brow furrowed. Soldiers lived by discipline, but this clash of "Three Bonds" left him uneasy. Wen Qi, the former Minister of Personnel, clapped his shoulder.
"The Grand Preceptor's words reek of bias. He rails against the Three Bonds but says nothing of the Five Virtues. Is this how he nurtures Great Qin's future pillars?"
"Not a benevolent or wise ruler? Then the Three Bonds mean nothing!"
The Grand Preceptor's eyes narrowed. Wen Qi, a former minister, only smiled.
After a long silence, the Grand Preceptor exhaled heavily. "I never imagined the Emperor would seem so… unworthy in your eyes."
This comment made Wen Qi, Pu Yangyan, and Nong Li chuckle. The Grand Preceptor scoffed. "Four old fools clinging to Mount Tong, feasting daily, harassing nuns—would you call that 'worthy'? If not for boredom, why resign? Sit high, take fat salaries, and play with birds? That's true dignity!"
The four elders flushed. Zhao Xunan bit back a laugh—these "pillars of the court" acting like rowdy street thugs?
"Don't listen to him. We just teased a pretty little nun, commented on her figure, watched her bathe—"
Feng Pingbo waved his hand, flustered. "None of that was improper!"
Zhao Xunan snorted. Proper? Peeking at nuns?
"The Celestial Master wrote," the Grand Preceptor continued, softer now. "'Great change approaches. One must have a skill.' The Martial Arts Academy is a place of fated opportunity—I'm seizing it to seek the path of transcendence."
Feng Pingbo frowned. "The academy's head is Zhao Xunan. Its secrets are his. How can you 'seize' it?"
"Blunt man—do you know what the Martial Arts Academy truly is?"
The others shook their heads. Zhao Xunan explained quietly: "The library records say the academy was once the Hall of Sages. Long before that, it was part of a larger complex—the 'Black Zone' you see now. The 'White Zone' was the 'Scholar's Court.' Together, they formed an imperial academy of unknown origin."
Pu Yangyan snapped his fingers. "That explains why the White Zone has no martial roughness—just scholarly calm. It was always for scholars!"
"Even if you force the National Academy into the Black Zone," Feng Pingbo pressed, "who runs this place? The academy is independent; the National Academy answers to the court."
The Grand Preceptor smiled. "From today, the Martial Arts Academy is renamed the National Academy—split into civil and martial branches, both under your command. I'll keep the title, but it's yours."
He looked at Zhao Xunan. "Pass on your talents. Let Great Qin nurture more scholars to govern and defend."
As he spoke, Zhao Xunan's cultivation—a rarity in the martial path—surged, multiplying several times over. He bowed deeply. This was his home now.
The academy's founding day shocked Yujing. No one expected the National Academy to merge with it. The "rebellious" Master Zhao remained its head, now overseeing both civil and martial education.
Rumors spread: A noble-born academy had changed its rules, opening doors to commoners.
Months passed. The fledgling academy, now a sprawling National Academy, thrived under the original National Academy's staff and Sun Zhiyuan's guidance.
Zhao Xunan's lectures on "The Way of Teaching" drew thousands—students, instructors, even officials from the Six Ministries and Hanlin Academy. His words became legendary, praised as equal to the wisdom of the ancient sages.
The Grand Preceptor, after hearing them, rushed to the palace. "We were wrong—terribly wrong. Civil and martial paths are small. What Zhao Xunan does is the sage's path. He will be a teacher for all ages!"
The Emperor, flipping through the new "Way of Teaching" booklet, wondered: Had pushing Zhao Xunan away for sisterly affection been a mistake?
On the thirteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, as the New Year neared, the Ministry of Personnel released over two hundred military exam results. Unlike past years, where positions were assigned by rank, the Kaiyuan-era graduates could choose from 281 posts—good, bad, or indifferent.
"Master, are you sure?" Zhao Ping'er asked, packing his bags with tearful eyes. They'd never been apart; leaving her behind felt wrong. But this post was in the northwest frontier—a military camp. Bringing a personal attendant would be a joke.
Everyone assumed Zhao Xunan would reject the post. With his Second-Rank status and skyrocketing reputation, a lowly "leftover" position was beneath him. Yet he'd chosen the northwest frontier, a place no one wanted.
"West Frontier Command? Why there?" Feng Pingbo asked that evening, sipping hot soup.
"West Frontier Command is the Prince of Liang's fief. It has only a hundred guards. The title 'General of Valiant Achievements' is just for show. No chance to fulfill my ancestor's legacy there."
"But the Northwest Frontier—"
"West Pass!" Zhao Xunan emphasized. The five elders gasped; the Grand Preceptor nearly spit out his soup.
"Zhao Xunan, West Pass is now under the Grassland Court's control. Stirring trouble there risks losing more than West Pass—maybe the Yin Mountains!"
The Grand Preceptor trembled. Fifty years ago, West Pass had fallen to the Grassland Court during a harsh winter. Thirty thousand starving cavalry had swept south, ravaging half of Great Qin before being repelled. Since then, the Great Wall's protective formation had weakened, leaving the land vulnerable to annual raids. Great Qin's power had withered ever since.
"I'm just one person, going to see," Zhao Xunan said, smiling. "If I run into raiders, I'll kill a hundred or so. I know limits."
The Grand Preceptor relaxed, but Feng Pingbo remained skeptical.
That night, atop a high tower, wind howling, Feng Pingbo pushed back his graying hair. "Zhao Xunan—are you serious?"
"Deadly serious." Zhao Xunan drained his wine cup. "If I get the chance, I'll take back West Pass and reactivate the protective formation."