Chapter 597: Distress at Tianque

Chapter 597:The Disaster of Tianque

Jiangyong’s village, like Jinzhu Village, was trapped in the history of centuries past by the constraints of the local Daoist sect.

Here, there was no overwhelming light or bustling crowds, only a patchwork of low, dilapidated traditional houses.

The village, cloaked in blue and black hues, had only one splash of color—the red-walled golden-waived temple standing at its center.

Perhaps because it lay near that city, the villagers knew never to provoke those strange-looking Ming people.

Thus, Li Jun and Zhang Shiyuan’s arrival did not provoke the villagers’ hostility, though their smiles hid a quiet disdain, forcing them to stay outside.

Three cups of tea, three buns.

Jiangyong watched the three men eating, their faces sweet with contentment, and felt a pang of guilt.

A boy with a fierce face hid behind Jiangyong, peeking out with cautious curiosity, his gaze sweeping over Li Jun and Zhang Shiyuan before settling on the black-clad horse master.

The horse master’s imposing figure held an allure for the boy.

A faint red glow seeped from the darkness of his hat, startling yet not frightening the boy, instead sparking his curiosity. He circled behind the woman and approached cautiously.

“Many of them have potential, but with those three sacred mountains behind them, this highland might never produce great disciples.”

Zhang Shiyuan glanced at the bold boy, who had now crouched beside the horse master, his eyes gleaming as they fixated on the dark gold armor plates beneath the man’s robe.

This was something he had never seen before. The boy’s mouth opened wide, his nose dripping a crystalline stream that threatened to fall into his mouth.

“You said they had people riding them, so if we don’t drive them off, they’ll never stand straight again.”

“We’re doing exactly that now.”

Zhang Shiyuan sipped his tea, tapping his lips. “You’re worried we’ll lose this batch and another will come? Wildfires can’t be put out, spring winds blow again. That’s why we’re teaching them to grip a fist and wield a blade?”

Li Jun bit into a bun, his tone calm. “I didn’t teach them. Grasping a fist and wielding a blade is human instinct. They just forgot they were people, forgot they had hands to resist.”

“In terms of living fully and acting decisively, it’s your Gurushu way. Old Li, if a martial sect had wanted to establish a school here, wouldn’t this place look different?” Zhang Shiyuan sighed.

“Would the New Donglin Party welcome that?”

“Old Li, don’t lump everyone together.”

Zhang Shiyuan smiled. “They are they, I am I. I am Gurushu, but I am not a New Donglin Party member.”

“That’s not something you can just say.”

Zhang Shiyuan understood Li Jun’s meaning.

As the son of Zhang Fengyue, since the day he pledged allegiance to the sect, Zhang Shiyuan’s body bore the mark of the New Donglin Party.

Whether he admitted it or not, to outsiders, he was a true New Donglin Party disciple.

He might even become the next imperial chief minister, the head of the New Donglin Party!

“Of course I understand that,” Zhang Shiyuan said. “That’s why I never pretend, free gifts are accepted, and unjust acts are not done. With the chief minister’s son’s skin, I’ve eaten well.”

Zhang Shiyuan emptied his cup, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Those who mocked me in the court are more than those who mocked my father. They say the Zhang family is a tiger father and dog son, my father a great tiger, but my son a scoundrel.”

Li Jun asked, “Then why not eliminate them? As the first son of Gurushu, you could establish a school without issue.”

“I wanted to be a dashing, carefree young master, but my bones lack that arrogance. Plus, I’ve blackened others’ good fortune, so I’ll just take the criticism. After all, I won’t lose half my flesh.”

Zhang Shiyuan laughed. “And this way is better. Others see me as a fool, so no one dares urge me to drape the dragon robe over my father’s back, and I’m happy.”

“I’m genuinely curious,” Li Jun said. “You two, father and son, are you betting on two ships? Even if one sinks, the other might still reach shore?”

“Thinking deeply is a good thing, but Old Li, some things aren’t worth doing. Don’t force yourself.”

Zhang Shiyuan looked at Li Jun with a strange expression: “You think my father won’t fall? Who would dare touch me? If he did, who would spare me?”

Li Jun, wounded again, sneered: “If you’re so worried about your life, why not become a obedient, filial son?”

“A person can’t live just for their life.”

Zhang Shiyuan’s expression turned solemn, he pressed his hand to his chest, holding the empty cup.

“Who’s words I can ignore, but this one I cannot defy.”

Li Jun frowned, speechless.

“You came from the blood and bones of the battlefield, fought your way out of the chaos of swords and knives, so you must think your life is the most important. That’s not wrong.”

Zhang Shiyuan didn’t care about the snow and sand beneath him, sitting cross-legged, cradling the empty cup.

“My experiences aren’t as vast as yours, but before I found my identity, I saw many people’s coldness and the fleeting nature of life. I didn’t uncover any great truths, nor did I have grand ambitions to change things. I only learned one thing: the heavens and earth are just.”

“But justice is a messy account. There’s no standard to judge it clearly.”

Zhang Shiyuan looked at the distant village, snow melting on his shoulders.

“My grandfather is human, not a god. He lived so long, he must have made mistakes. Whether big or small, for great causes or national interests, some people he shouldn’t die.”

“As a son, I must make amends for his errors. Thinking he’s not good enough is fine, but if he dies, being mocked for centuries? If my life could swap his reputation, I might think this deal is quite good.”

Zhang Shiyuan paused, then smiled slyly: “Aren’t you thinking I’m naive? A young man who hasn’t lived long, daring to claim even the imperial chief minister, Zhang Fengyue, makes mistakes and needs me to clean up?”

Li Jun shook his head sincerely: “If I were your father, I’d be grateful to have you as a son.”

“You’ve been too generous, haven’t you?”

Zhang Shiyuan rolled his eyes. “So great figures move in the heavens, while I, a small person, just stay on the ground, saving whoever I can.”

Li Jun chuckled. “A Gurushu like you is truly rare.”

“Yeah, so I might stay here forever, Gurushu’s genes don’t value someone like me without ambition.”

Zhang Shiyuan sighed. “Those at the top look down from high places, must have a broad vision. I, a small person, can’t be so petty, only caring about this moment’s justice.”

Li Jun teased: “You shouldn’t say it so absolutely. What if one day the entire Gurushu realizes only you’re right and everyone else is wrong?”

“Take my advice. If that day comes, I’ll write a book for you, repay this favor!”

“A classic of Confucianism?”

Li Jun raised his head.

“Nonsense. Who writes about logic? It’s all about drawing swords and killing.”

Zhang Shiyuan scolded. “You must write one. Pious and angry, quick to help, when faced with injustice, draw your sword. That’s more lively than any classic or history.”

“Agreed. Then you must write well.”

Snow fell heavily, covering the village.

The boy, bold, sucked his nose and touched the unfamiliar ink armor.

The man, bold, chatted with a shy woman about unspoken secrets.

“I’ll build a Confucian temple here if I don’t die.”

Zhang Shiyuan smiled. “I won’t force them into Gurushu. I’ll teach them how to be a person. Those who can be ink scholars should fix their mother’s closet and window.”

“What?”

The horse master frowned but knelt, letting the child climb his back, shouting and laughing.

“Those who can be farm scholars should help their father tend the crops. Those who can be law scholars should mediate for the neighborhood. Brave soldiers shouldn’t fear labor, so they can look afar. Talkative scholars should write stories, about the highland’s mountains and flowers.”

“If they’re not good, if they want to be monks or Taoists, let them recite prayers and protect our home’s peace and prosperity.”

Snow fell, blanketing the village.

Upon the revelation of the aged Li Caijun's words, a smirk flickered across his visage, while Zhang Heyu's voice, unadorned by pretense, intertwined with the child's mirthful laughter, wove through the air, their shared tension thickening the atmosphere as unspoken tensions coiled beneath the surface.