Chapter Ninety-Four: The Road Ahead

Shen Chen had left the mountain.

Song Zhong announced to the world that Shen Chen's mastery of the classics had surpassed his own, and there was nothing more he could teach him. Thus, Shen Chen’s departure was not an expulsion, but rather the student outshining the master—a dignified farewell, befitting their three years together as teacher and pupil.

Yet for Shen Chen, suddenly leaving the place he had called home for three years left him somewhat lost and disoriented.

On the carriage ride home, five-year-old Zhou Buyi looked up at twelve-year-old Shen Chen, who sat cross-legged, head bowed in silent contemplation, and asked, “Brother Chen.”

“Hm?” Shen Chen turned to Zhou Buyi, “What is it?”

“Do you not wish to leave the academy?” Zhou Buyi inquired.

Shen Chen smiled, “What makes you think so?”

“Because you are not happy,” Zhou Buyi replied.

After a moment’s thought, Shen Chen said, “Not being happy does not mean I don’t want to leave. Though I am reluctant, in the end, our paths diverge, and it is better to depart sooner.”

“Then, where does your path lie, brother?” Zhou Buyi asked.

Shen Chen answered earnestly, “To unite knowledge and action and strive for ultimate goodness—that is my path.”

“What does it mean to unite knowledge and action?”

“To unite knowledge and action means that what you learn must be tested by your own experience. For instance, the book says the sea is salty; you must taste it yourself to confirm its saltiness, only then can you trust what you have learned.”

“Isn’t that just common sense?” Zhou Buyi wondered.

“Yet people often assume the books are always right, rarely verifying for themselves. Moreover, due to various reasons, they may be influenced by others, and even when knowing something is wrong, they stubbornly cling to their views.”

“What causes this?” Zhou Buyi pressed.

“Interest,” Shen Chen replied.

“Interest?” Zhou Buyi echoed.

“Yes. The sages teach us to be loyal to the ruler and love the people, but people only say so; their actions are always guided by their own interests. When it benefits them, they are loyal and loving; when it does not, they profess loyalty and love, but in reality abuse the emperor and slaughter the people. Do you think this is right?”

“Certainly not,” Zhou Buyi shook his head, speaking seriously. “The books say a gentleman is diligent in deeds and cautious in words. If one only speaks but does not act, or if speech and action contradict, then he is no gentleman.”

Shen Chen laughed, “You are truly intelligent. Yet, though everyone knows this principle, not everyone abides by it. When their interests are at stake, they often choose to ignore it. We cannot control others, but we can ensure that we ourselves are diligent in deeds and cautious in words. That is the unity of knowledge and action.”

“I understand,” Zhou Buyi nodded solemnly. “I have always felt your words make sense. When others explain the classics, they merely recite them rigidly, never grasping their deeper meaning. Only after being with you did I comprehend these great truths. So I would rather leave and follow you than stay in the academy.”

Shen Chen patted his head, smiling, “I cannot guarantee your choice is right, but at least I will not lead you astray. Master Shi said I should look after you, but whether he would want you to follow me, I do not know. We should ask him first.”

But Zhou Buyi insisted, “The sages say at fifteen one sets his heart on learning. Though I am only five, I too aspire to learn. No matter what I study, it is my aspiration. My uncle, though an elder, cannot take that away from me. It is what my heart yearns for.”

“Well then! Now I know why you are called Buyi,” Shen Chen laughed heartily. “Confucius was free from doubt at forty; you are not yet six, and already have your own ambition. Truly worthy of your name, greater than I was at your age.”

“Hee hee,” Zhou Buyi grinned, his eyes squinting into crescents.

During the Western Han, double names were common, but in the Eastern Han, they became marks of low status. This was due to Wang Mang’s reign, when double names became a vulgar habit, a tradition inherited by the Eastern Han and only broken in the period of the Jin dynasties and Northern and Southern courts.

Yet Zhou Buyi’s double name was rare; his uncle served as a regional governor in Jingzhou, and his family was not of humble origin—they certainly knew the stigma attached to double names. There was only one possibility: Zhou Buyi did not have a formal name at first, or only a childhood name. As he grew, his wisdom blossomed; gifted as he was, like Cao Chong, he displayed extraordinary talent from a young age, and so was named Buyi.

It was quite common in those days for children to be born without a formal name—at most, they were given a childhood name or a pet name. The idea that “lowly names ensure survival”—such as Dog Egg or Black Pig—dates back to the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods.

This custom continued through the late Han and Three Kingdoms. For example, Emperor Xuan of Han, Liu Xun, was called Bingyi as a child; Cao Cao’s childhood name was Aman; Zang Ba was called Nukou; Li Tong was called Yiwan; Liu Shan was called Adou; Lü Meng was called Ameng; and Shen Chen’s childhood name was Achen.

Furthermore, Wen Yang’s real name was Wen Shu—“Yang” was his childhood name, but later generations mistook it for his proper name, just as people call Cao Cao “Cao Man,” Liu Shan “Liu Dou,” and Zang Ba “Zang Kou”—all rather absurd.

Thus, for Zhou Buyi to bear a double name despite the custom, it proves one thing—he was a child prodigy from birth, as Confucius was free from doubt at forty.

No wonder, later in Xuchang, he could play with geniuses like Cao Chong; both were highly intelligent, and in today’s terms would be in the elite youth classes of top universities. Naturally, birds of a feather flock together, and they became childhood companions.

The carriage rolled on, and after about half an hour stopped before Deng Hong’s house.

With nowhere else to go, Shen Chen naturally returned to his great-uncle’s home.

Upon hearing of his return, Madam Cai came out carrying Shen Chen’s five-month-old uncle. “Achen, why are you back?”

“Grandmother, I’ve left the mountain,” Shen Chen said, moving closer to tease his uncle, “Achou is getting prettier and more rosy—maybe it’s time for a new childhood name.”

Madam Cai chuckled, “Indeed, when he was born, his skin was wrinkled like an old man, so we named him Achou. But now he’s grown quite handsome. Oh, Achen, have you eaten?”

“I am a bit hungry.”

“I shall ask the kitchen to prepare something for you.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

Shen Chen turned to Zhou Buyi. “Buyi, let’s have something to eat in the backyard first—later I’ll take you to your uncle’s house and discuss this matter.”

“Alright.” Zhou Buyi nodded.

The two went to Shen Chen’s room in the backyard.

Although he had often stayed at the academy or travelled with Wang Can and others, Deng Hong’s family always kept a room for him.

It was situated beside the master bedroom in the backyard—a separate wing with a study outside, filled with rows upon rows of bamboo scrolls.

Many were ordinary Confucian classics without commentary; others, annotated by renowned scholars, were rare—even among prominent families, few could obtain them.

Shen Chen could not acquire originals, so he copied them himself, which became his favorite pastime.

Zhou Buyi scanned the room, marveling at the seven or eight bookshelves packed with books. “Brother Achen, you have so many books here! My family doesn’t have as many.”

Shen Chen smiled, “Some were gifts from friends, some I copied at the academy, others I bought. Most are not rare, but those few over there are special—a set of Lord Zigong’s ‘Commentary on the Ancient Documents,’ Lord Jichang’s ‘Annotations on the Laozi,’ and Lord Ziliang’s ‘Notes on the Analects’—all copied from the academy.”

In the Two Han dynasties, many great scholars emerged, but the works of the most eminent were exceedingly rare and precious. For even a prominent family to own a couple of authentic sets was enough to be considered heirlooms.

Unable to obtain originals, Shen Chen copied them by hand, which was his preferred leisure activity.

Zhou Buyi followed his gaze to the leftmost bookshelf near the entrance, where dozens of bamboo scrolls were displayed. “May I look at them?”

“Of course,” Shen Chen replied. “Feel free. I have some matters to think over in the courtyard. If you don’t understand something, come ask me.”

“Alright.” Zhou Buyi nodded, delighted as he walked to the shelves.

Gifted from birth, he knew characters by age two, had read widely by age four, and though only five or six now, was already well-versed and had his own understanding—laying the foundation for the essays he would write as a teenager.

Shen Chen admired him greatly; after all, most children in later ages learned to read between ages three and five, began formal schooling at six, but talent does not always follow the rules. There were prodigies who entered elite youth classes at eleven, so a genius like Zhou Buyi, one in ten million, was truly rare and worth nurturing.

Seeing him engrossed in reading, Shen Chen left the study and went into the courtyard.

At its center stood a tree—not as ancient or grand as the academy’s thousand-year-old tree, but lush and thriving.

It was spring. Sunlight poured down warmly, a gentle breeze rustled the branches, the leaves swaying and whispering softly.

Shen Chen asked a servant to bring a mat, and sat cross-legged beneath the tree, deep in thought.

Three years in the academy, and now, after one confrontation with Cao Cao, he found himself expelled.

It was no surprise; even Liu Biao was urged by countless people to surrender to Cao Cao. Every time someone opposed Cao Cao, a multitude rose up against them.

There were cases like Zhang Xian, Prefect of Changsha, who preferred loyalty to the court over loyalty to Liu Biao. On the eve of the Battle of Guandu, he rebelled, diverting Liu Biao’s attention from the north and ultimately allowing Cao Cao to win at Guandu.

Had it not been for Emperor Xian, Liu Xie, as a trump card, Zhang Xian could not have rebelled. If Liu Biao had sent troops, Cao Cao would surely have lost at Guandu, showing how much benefit Liu Xie’s imperial banner brought the Cao family.

Yet Liu Biao could suppress the surrender faction because he was the Governor of Jingzhou. As long as he refused to surrender, no matter how strong the surrender faction was, they could do nothing, and often suffered his retaliation.

Moreover, though Cai Mao and Kuai Yue were among the surrender faction, their ties to Liu Biao were so deep they could not openly urge him to surrender, so they waited until after his death to persuade Liu Cong to submit to Cao Cao.

Shen Chen had no such power. If he openly raised the banner of resistance to Cao Cao in Jingzhou, where the surrender faction flourished, he would likely be crushed.

Thus, he needed to find his own path, or else he might have no place in Jingzhou.

Such is reality.

Which path should he take?

Shen Chen closed his eyes, quickly pondering his options.

“Brother Shen!”

“Hm!”

Shen Changqing walked down the road, greeting familiar faces with a nod or a word.

Yet, no matter who it was, there was never any surplus expression—everyone seemed indifferent to everything.

He was used to it.

This was the Demon Suppression Bureau, an institution upholding the stability of Great Qin, whose main duty was to hunt down demons and monsters—though it had other side tasks as well.

It could be said that everyone in the Bureau had blood on their hands.

When one grows accustomed to life and death, one becomes indifferent to many things.

At first, arriving in this world, Shen Changqing was unsettled. But gradually, he adapted.

The Bureau was vast.

Only those with great strength or the potential to become powerful could remain.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

The Bureau comprised two professions: Guardian and Demon Slayer.

Everyone entered as a Demon Slayer at the lowest rank, then advanced step by step, with the hope of one day becoming a Guardian.

Shen Changqing’s predecessor had been a novice Demon Slayer—the lowest of the ranks.

He retained the predecessor’s memories.

He was thus intimately familiar with the Bureau’s environment.

It did not take long for Shen Changqing to reach a pavilion.

Unlike the other grim corners of the Bureau, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens, offering a rare tranquility amidst the blood and violence.

Its doors stood open, people coming and going.

Shen Changqing hesitated only briefly before stepping inside.

The atmosphere changed at once.

A scent of ink mingled faintly with blood, causing him to instinctively furrow his brow, though he soon relaxed.

The bloodstains clinging to every member of the Bureau could never truly be washed away.