Chapter 101: Failing in Husbandry yet Excelling in Scholarship, Destitute in Estate yet Growing in Ambition

Shortly after breakfast, Sui Pavilion was already packed with people.

Beyond the major aristocratic families of Jingzhou who had come to stir up trouble due to their opposing political stances, there were many others who had come just to watch the spectacle. Among them were peasants from the surrounding villages, ordinary scholars who had fled to Jingzhou to escape the chaos, and even friends of Shen Chen.

Yes, even Qin Kuai had a few close companions, and so did Shen Chen. Wang Can and Pan Jun were both present. Although Song Zhong held views contrary to Shen Chen’s, they had once been master and student; they parted on decent terms, and there was no major animosity between them. Consequently, some people from the Xianshan Academy had also come, though having already debated Shen Chen on the mountain, they had no intention of participating. Wang Can and the others were merely there to observe Shen Chen’s situation; they would neither help him nor sabotage him.

Beyond these, there were even more ordinary scholars—perhaps thirty or forty in total. Xu Shu, Shi Tao, Meng Jian, and Cui Jun were all among them. Having no high status in the Jingzhou scholarly circles and being outsiders seeking refuge, they lacked the standing to interfere in the conflict, so they simply watched the fray. Although Shen Chen was also an outsider, he was backed by the Deng clan. With the support of the Xinye Deng clan and Liu Biao, and given that Deng Hong had married the daughter of Cai Zan, his status had risen significantly and could no longer be compared to theirs.

Among the crowd was a high-profile guest: Pang Tong. Before Sima Hui’s arrival, Pang Tong’s fame was limited. It wouldn't be until next year, 198 AD, when Sima Hui traveled south to Jingzhou and began praising Pang Tong to everyone as the foremost scholar of the region, that his reputation would truly soar. However, the clan behind him was not to be underestimated. They were the Pang clan of Xiangyang, second only to the Cai and Kuai clans in influence. Pang Degong’s influence spanned all of Jingzhou, so his arrival led some to speculate: was the Pang family finally entering the fray?

"Doesn't Pang Gong usually stay out of political affairs? Governor Liu has tried several times to recruit him into office, but he has always refused. With Pang Tong here, could it mean...?"

"Don't guess blindly. Pang Gong is a man of great virtue and prestige; why would he meddle in the disputes of the younger generation?"

"But doesn't this suggest that even Pang Gong feels Governor Liu is..."

"Shut your mouth! If you want to die, don't drag us down with you."

A few scholars whispered among themselves. Only Pang Tong, standing near Xu Shu, noticed the commotion, yet he remained indifferent, eyes fixed ahead, not bothering to pay them any mind. Pang Degong was a man who preferred the beauty of nature and had no intention of involving himself in current politics. When Cai Mao and Kuai Yue, thinking he was a kindred spirit who also wished to align with Cao Cao, had visited him last year to ask if he could persuade Liu Biao to submit, Pang Degong had simply smiled and changed the subject. Later events proved that he truly wished to be nothing more than a carefree spirit; after Cao Cao seized Jingzhou and attempted to recruit him, he refused and retreated to Mount Lumen, having no intention of emerging.

Thus, it was impossible for Pang Degong to have sent Pang Tong to represent the family's stance. Pang Tong had come purely in a private capacity to judge Shen Chen’s talent. Pang Tong was a man who enjoyed evaluating others' abilities—later, when his fame became legendary across the Jing-Chu region, he frequently critiqued the era's outstanding talents. During a previous gathering, Shen Chen had expressed a rather unique point of view. While everyone else believed Cao Cao’s reception of the Emperor was an act akin to the Duke of Zhou or Huo Guang—a righteous effort to support the Han by using the Emperor’s name to suppress rebels—only Shen Chen had argued that Cao Cao was a Wang Mang or a Dong Zhuo. It was a shocking claim. Despite the deviation from the common consensus, Pang Tong was curious to see if Shen Chen’s learning could support his arguments.

When Zhuge Liang arrived with Zhuge Jun and dismounted, he spotted them resting under a pergola erected outside the pavilion and walked over slowly. "Brother Yuanzhi, Brother Guangyuan, Brother Gongwei, Brother Zhouping, Brother Atong..." He greeted them one by one.

Over the past few months, Zhuge Liang and Shen Chen had often visited Pang Degong. Because Xu Shu and his companions had a good relationship with Pang Degong and were on friendly terms with Pang Tong, everyone was acquainted, though not yet close. Pang Tong, in particular, had only met Zhuge Liang and Shen Chen a few times. Because the renowned Yingchuan scholar Sima Hui had established an academy there, Pang Tong had gone to visit him several years ago and had only returned last year, making their relationship merely a nodding acquaintance.

Still, being relatives, it was only proper for him to attend. Furthermore, because Pang Tong—unlike Zhuge Liang, who had taken a courtesy name early due to the absence of elders—had not yet taken one, Zhuge Liang could only address the eighteen-year-old Pang Tong by his childhood name to avoid appearing rude.

Xu Shu, a man of easy familiarity, smiled at Zhuge Liang. "Kongming, you’ve come as well?"

Zhuge Liang nodded, looking at Shen Chen, who stood at the gate of the residence, and smiled. "Ah Chen is opening his academy this year, so naturally, I had to come and see."

"Do you also believe that Cao Cao is a Wang Mang or a Dong Zhuo?" Xu Shu asked, puzzled.

Most of those who had come to cause trouble today did so because Shen Chen stood against Cao Cao, encouraging Liu Biao to maintain his independence and thereby damaging their own interests. But scholars of the lower class, lacking backgrounds or the prospect of gaining power through Liu Biao’s submission to Cao Cao, had no such vested interests and could look at the situation from a different perspective. When Shen Chen had first made his claim, many found it extreme. Seeing Zhuge Liang arrive to support him, Xu Shu wondered if he held the same view.

Zhuge Liang shook his head. "I do not know if Cao Cao is truly such a man, but having traveled all the way from Xuzhou, the sight of corpses piled like mountains and blood flowing like rivers is truly terrifying."

"Cao Cao has indeed been excessive in his slaughter." Xu Shu nodded. That much was undeniable. Yet, slaughter was slaughter; even Bai Qi had buried 400,000 surrendered troops. If Cao Cao could truly restore the Han dynasty and serve the court, his flaws would be outweighed by his achievements, and the world would eventually forgive him.

As the two spoke, Shen Chen walked out from the gate. Outside, in addition to Deng Hong and Liu Xian—whom Liu Biao had sent to show support—twenty guards from Huangmen Pavilion had been dispatched to maintain order. By now, the crowd had grown to two or three hundred people: parents bringing their children to study, local villagers watching the commotion, scholars there to cause trouble, curious onlookers, and friends like Zhuge Liang, Wang Can, and Pan Jun.

When Shen Chen appeared, many parents called out, "Young Master Shen, I have brought my child to study, along with a gift of tuition!"

"Young Master, are classes starting today?"

"Young Master, my family is very poor. We don't even have a single strip of dried meat, so I only brought two cakes. Will you accept my son?"

"My child is already seventeen—is it still possible for him to study?"

The villagers pressed forward. They were accompanied by children of various ages—five, six, seven, eight, and mostly around ten, with some teenagers of fifteen or sixteen. In ancient times, literacy rates were extremely low, especially in the Han Dynasty before the widespread use of paper. Restricted by these conditions, people usually relied on bamboo slips and the instruction of famous teachers. Therefore, only those from wealthy or influential families could afford to study, while the vast majority of the common people had no access to education. Many lived to be eighty without ever knowing a single character. For the local villagers and the children of the poor, anyone with a shred of foresight wanted to seize this opportunity to change their fate.

Shen Chen smiled and said, "Everyone, please be at ease. The great sage Confucius once said, 'In teaching, there should be no distinction of classes.' Everyone has the right to acquire knowledge. Confucius himself began his pursuit of learning at fifteen; it is never too late to study. Furthermore, the value of a gift lies not in its price. Even two cakes are enough to earn a place in my school."

"That is a relief, that is a relief." The villagers, previously anxious, felt their hearts settle. Sending their children to study was a major decision, and they had feared Shen Chen would turn them away.

Just then, someone spoke up. "The Master said, 'In teaching, there should be no distinction of classes,' yet he also said, 'From those who bring a bundle of dried meat as a gift, I have never refused to give instruction.' If there is no such gift, how can you speak of propriety? To be so devoid of ritual and yet accept students—is this not a laughingstock?"

Shen Chen frowned and looked over. Seeing a young scholar, he thought, *You are the one who is truly rude.* He replied, "If you wish to debate the classics, you may do so once you have entered. For now, please allow me to register my students."

"You have not answered my question," the scholar insisted aggressively.

Shen Chen’s temper flared. He flicked his sleeve and retorted, "The 'bundle of dried meat' is but a modest gift, a symbol of respect for the Way and a desire for learning. Everyone knows the *Book of Rites* says: 'Rectify the heart and be sincere in intent.' These villagers may lack the dried meat, but they have abandoned their farm work to seek knowledge, choosing to go hungry to pursue their studies. Does this not show a sincere heart? Even the Master would have waived the gift for Yan Hui. You, however, obsess only over shallow, worldly rituals. Truly, you are rotten wood that cannot be carved!"

In that era, ten strips of dried meat were the customary gift for a teacher—a token of respect, not a tuition fee. Without it, one was considered rude. The scholar was accusing Shen Chen of impropriety for accepting poor students without the customary offering, claiming it would make him a laughingstock. Yet he failed to consider that for the bottom-dwelling peasants who struggled to eat, ten strips of meat were an unbearable burden. This man possessed the mindset of those who would ask, "Why don't they just eat meat?" while being too shameless to see the virtue in Shen Chen’s willingness to teach the commoners for free. He was nothing but a pedantic Confucian who knew only how to cling to dead letters.

Shen Chen had initially intended to show him some courtesy, but since the man insisted on pressing the issue in public, Shen Chen did not hold back. The scholar was left stunned, unable to respond, while the crowd erupted in cheers.

"Well said!"

"That is true. Although the villagers brought no gifts, they gave up their livelihood to come here and are willing to study on empty stomachs. Is that not sincerity enough?"

"To 'rectify the heart and be sincere in intent'—the heart and intent are what matter. Young Master Shen is right; that man is merely chasing the branches and ignoring the root."

Most of those cheering were scholars from humble or lower-class backgrounds. Though their status was slightly higher than the peasants, they were closer to the reality of their struggles. They knew how difficult life was for the poor. The fact that these people were willing to stop farming to study was proof enough of their dedication.

After rebuking the man, Shen Chen invited the parents inside to register their children’s names, places of origin, and ages. He accepted the gifts from those who could afford them, but for the truly destitute who arrived empty-handed, he not only refused their gifts but promised that if their children studied hard, he would provide them with extra rewards to encourage them.

...

"Brother Shen!"

"Hmm!"

Shen Changqing walked along the road. He encountered acquaintances and exchanged nods, but no one wore any unnecessary expression; everyone seemed indifferent to everything. To this, Shen Changqing had grown accustomed.

This was the Suppression Demon Division, an institution tasked with maintaining the stability of the Great Qin Empire. Its primary duty was to slay demons and monsters, though it had other functions as well. It could be said that everyone in the Suppression Demon Division had blood on their hands. When one is accustomed to life and death, one becomes indifferent to many things. When he first arrived in this world, Shen Changqing was unaccustomed to it, but over time, he had adapted.

The Suppression Demon Division was vast, and those who remained were powerful experts or those with the potential to become such. Shen Changqing belonged to the latter. The division was divided into two roles: the Guardians and the Demon Slayers. Everyone who entered began as the lowest-level Demon Slayer, working their way up with the hope of eventually becoming a Guardian. Shen Changqing’s predecessor had been a trainee Demon Slayer, the lowest rank of all. With the memories of his predecessor, he was very familiar with the environment.

Before long, Shen Changqing stopped in front of a pavilion. Unlike the rest of the Division, which was filled with a murderous aura, this pavilion stood out, offering a strange, quiet tranquility amidst the bloody atmosphere. The doors were open, and people occasionally came and went. Shen Changqing hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

The environment changed instantly. A scent of ink mixed with a faint smell of blood rushed to greet him, causing him to frown instinctively before smoothing his expression. The scent of blood on everyone in the Suppression Demon Division was almost impossible to wash away.