From the moment Li Haimo and his companions entered Sanghai City, the Confucians took notice. After all, they hadn't bothered to conceal their identities, and with Xiao Meng and Xue Nu's striking white hair, it was hard to ignore them even if one tried.
The Hundred Schools' mountain-sealing wasn't a vow to never emerge or perish within. It simply meant withdrawing from worldly affairs: spot us if you must, but pretend we're ghosts—don't disturb, and whatever storms rage outside stay beyond our gates.
"Greetings to the two senior uncles and Miss Xue Nu." Yan Lu approached, his demeanor as serene as ever.
"Greetings, Master Yan Lu." The trio returned the courtesy. Truth be told, the Daoists chafed most at these Confucian rituals. But on their turf, representing the Daoist school, they had to grit their teeth and endure.
"Senior Brother Fu Nian sent me to inquire: Do the senior uncles come to Little Sage Village Hamlet as Daoist heads, or as my friends?" Yan Lu asked.
"The Daoist sealing is known to all under heaven, so we've been pondering the right guise for visiting Master Xunzi. This fits perfectly—let's go as friends of Master Yan Lu." Li Haimo said with a smile.
"Little Sage Village Hamlet admits no women, so you'll have to make do outside. We Confucians hold some properties in Sanghai City; you can stay here." Yan Lu led them to a modest seaside courtyard, not far from the village.
"What's this place?" Li Haimo eyed the small yard—unassuming, just a single building, but tranquil and abutting the sea.
"This was where Master and I once lived. After I joined Little Sage Village Hamlet, it stood empty, though I return often to tidy it." Yan Lu unlocked the gate as he spoke. Simple inside, yet spotless—clearly tended regularly.
"Forgotten Garden?" Li Haimo noted the plaque above the door.
"My name is Lu—Master chose it. I once thought it plain; he said it was profound, for life is but a path. Though I cultivate the Sitting in Oblivion mind art, my heart stirs at times, so I return here. Thus, Forgotten Garden: a haven to shed all distractions, restoring inner peace." Yan Lu explained calmly.
"It's late today; tomorrow I'll escort the three of you to pay respects to the teacher." Yan Lu added.
Li Haimo nodded. The trio settled in, then toured Sanghai with Yan Lu, scouting nearby spots for meals, lodging, and sundries.
"Rumors from the Mohists: Uncle Wu Chenzi is forging the Supreme Profound Scripture?" Yan Lu asked out of the blue.
The three froze—they hadn't dug into it much, but knew it stemmed from that mad night. Li Haimo recounted the episode; Yan Lu grasped it at once. Less Wu Chenzi authoring than the Daoist Scripture channeling through him.
"I truly await the day Uncle completes it." Yan Lu sighed. Proactive creation versus passive conduit—worlds apart.
"But first, I've got to crack this Daoist Scripture snag." Li Haimo admitted, chagrined. Save for that one eve, he was back to square one: zero cultivation.
Yan Lu departed, and the trio dined at Yi Jian Inn. The cuisine shone—crafting such variety from Qin's sparse larder? Ding the Butcher truly earned his chef-god lineage.
Come dawn, Yan Lu arrived, ushering Li Haimo and Xiao Meng into Little Sage Village Hamlet. Xue Nu stayed at Forgotten Garden; Xunzi's stature wasn't for casual audiences.
Inside, Fu Nian, Han Fei, and Li Si awaited. Friends of Yan Lu or not, these were Daoist heads—Confucian decorum demanded full rites.
"Greetings, Uncle Wu Chenzi, Uncle Xiao Meng." The three bowed under Fu Nian's lead.
Yan Lu introduced: Center stage, stern in deep green Ru robes—Fu Nian, unsmiling. Beside him, poised in purple Ru garb yet eyes darting—dashing youth Han Fei. And in white, ramrod straight yet lacking poise, rigidly proper—Li Si. Han Fei exuded roguish charm, his gaze encompassing all.
As he sized them up, they reciprocated.
"Standing apart, aloof from the world—riding winds as if ascending to immortality any moment." Fu Nian mused inwardly. Reputation well-earned.
"Teacher awaits in the courtyard; please, Uncles!" Fu Nian spoke, leading the way with Yan Lu at his side. Li Si and Han Fei trailed.
"Teacher shuns bustle, so he dwells by the library tower." Yan Lu noted.
Li Haimo gazed at the soaring pagoda-like wooden edifice—only the Confucians' hundred thousand tomes could warrant such a repository.
"I've heard Uncle Wu Chenzi masters tongues of the Seven States, even the ancients'. Brothers, seek his wisdom often." Yan Lu tossed to Li Si and Han Fei—mostly for Li Si's sake. Low-born, ever vying with Han Fei—any edge helped.
"Yes—thanks for the nudge, Brother. We beg Uncle's generous guidance." Han Fei and Li Si bowed.
Li Haimo caught the hint—Yan's boost for Li Si—and nodded, waving off excess formality.
In the courtyard, Xunzi sat erect, Ru robes immaculate, epitome of sagely grace—unlike Bei Mingzi's slovenly Dao garb, unchanged for ages.
"Greetings, Brother Xunzi." Li Haimo and Xiao Meng saluted.
"Greetings, Teacher." Fu Nian and the rest followed.
"Tian Sect's Xiao Meng, Ren Sect's Wu Chenzi—the Daoists bask in fortune." Xunzi eyed them, nodding approval.
"Sit." He gestured, and Yan Lu brewed tea beside.
"Junior Brother Wu Chenzi comes for the Daoist Scripture's pitfalls, yes?" Xunzi cut straight.
Li Haimo nodded. "Since delving in, the first decade yielded naught—then overnight, regained, yet elusive: shown but unseen, seen but intangible, present yet uncontrollable. Now it's vanished again, unusable—like those ten years redux."
"You're the first—and perhaps only—I've met who mains the Daoist Scripture. No guarantees I can diagnose." Xunzi cautioned.
"Uncle Bei Mingzi said: beyond Guiguzi and Chu Nangong, only you might hold the key."
"You've seen Guiguzi and Chu Nangong?" Xunzi inquired.
"Chu Nangong, yes. He said the Scripture's riddle unlocks via the Scripture itself—suggested borrowing the Confucian Commentaries' Ten Wings for insight, and seeking Taigong's Yellow Stone Heavenly Book. But that's mostly warfare; the Wings are key." Li Haimo explained.
"The Ten Wings came to us from Laozi; sharing with Junior Brother is no issue. Li Si—from now, escort Uncle Wu Chenzi to the library." Xunzi decreed.
"Thanks, Brother." Li Haimo bowed. Confucius studied the Daoist Scripture under Laozi before crafting the Ten Wings—hence Xunzi's nod to the source.
"I've some hunches on your state, but hold till after the Wings. If unsolved, return." Xunzi said.
"Much obliged, Brother." Li Haimo replied.
"How fares Junior Brother at chess?" Xunzi asked.
"A smattering." Li Haimo allowed.
"Please!" Xunzi motioned. "You lot watch too—learning's in analogies: observe the board as one does men, or the Dao."
Yan Lu fetched the board, centering it, lighting incense.
Li Haimo played—Daoists had the Heaven-Earth Board, staking cosmos as pieces, birthing arts like Sword of Yi and the forbidden Heaven's Rotten Ke. None wielded them now.
They moved deliberately; all present chess adepts, sensing their Daos—deliberately bared for edification.
Li Haimo's: Daoist—heaven-earth board, myriad things as stones. Chaotic drops, lawless—like Daoist non-action, flowing natural.
Xunzi's: Ru—balanced grace, advance-retreat courteous, in-out righteous, acts wise, kills benevolent, no-regrets faithful.
The game drew; the five onlookers gleaned Daoist vs. Ru ethos.
"This round—don't delve deep. If overwhelmed, withdraw." Xunzi warned the others.
Fresh board: now Xunzi's personal Dao, mirrored by Li Haimo.
Xunzi's: Man's nature, base evil—stark shift from Ru benevolence, yet nested within. His Dao: transform via nurture. Innate evil demands posterior guidance. Hence Han Fei and Li Si's tutelage—law too curbs vice through edicts.
Mid-game, Han Fei and Li Si buckled—the assault on their inner Daos too fierce. They retreated, daring no more.
Game's end: Li Haimo fell, silent, pondering. Fu Nian and Yan Lu gaped—Xiao Meng too. For they'd glimpsed it—and that made it odder.
Li Haimo's chess—or Dao—vast, immense: so grand he grasped not his own moves, wandered courtyards clueless of purpose or drive.
That's the puzzle, Fu Nian and kin mused. Who'd guess the fabled Wu Chenzi lacks his own Dao? It's just so colossal, it veils the absent core.
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