"Senior Brother isn't going mad again, is he?" Xiao Meng eyed Li Haimo, who'd been sitting dazed in the courtyard for three days, and asked Xunzi with a hint of worry.
"That depends on whether he can find his own Dao." Even Xunzi wasn't entirely sure.
He couldn't fathom how the Daoists operated—didn't they guide their disciples in shaping their Dao from the start? Playing it loose like this, weren't they afraid of mishaps? Typically, the Hundred Schools mentored pupils by honing their Dao hearts: Xiao Meng's was the Tian Sect's transcendence beyond worldly matters, emulating heaven and earth. Normally, the Ren Sect's path involved immersion in the mortal world, tasting the myriad flavors of human life to achieve detached enlightenment. Take Fu Nian—his Dao was the Confucian inner sage and outer king—or Yan Lu, whose Dao mirrored his name: a steadfast path. But Xunzi had no clue what the Daoists were up to; they'd even named him head without forging his Dao heart.
The Ren Sect had its own frustrations, really. Sending Li Haimo to study the Daoist Scripture was meant as a shortcut to surpass Xiao Meng. But what was the Scripture's Dao? Xiaoyaozi and the rest had no idea—couldn't impose the Ren Sect's interpretation, lest they err. So they let him drift. That's why some grasped the Scripture and gained cultivation swiftly, while Li Haimo wasted a decade fruitless—only manifesting when overflow built up, nudged by his nascent personal Dao.
"If Senior Brother kicks up a fuss again, can you hold him back, Brother Xunzi?" Xiao Meng fretted still. This was Little Sage Village Hamlet—damaging things meant compensation.
"If he goes berserk, I'll toss him into the Sanghai Sea—no ripple on the village." Xunzi replied. Wreckage? Out of the question, not in this lifetime. The guy could carve scars into a capital's walls; Little Sage Village couldn't weather that storm. Hurl him seaward—if he's got the guts, let him frolic in the ocean.
"Whew~" Li Haimo stirred. Xunzi's chess Dao had prodded him: he needed his own Dao.
From crossing over till now, he'd watched from the sidelines—Daoist non-action observing history's flow—yet subtly shifted it, wittingly or not. Like Lord Changping's death. He altered the course while riding its current, clueless on his own aims. A spectator on the fringes, nudging Qin King Ying Zheng toward unification. But why? Others transmigrated to defy heavens, earth, and immortals—with goals. Li Haimo? Salty fish through and through: eat, drink, revel, street-wander. Even a salted fish aimed to salt itself proper; he just lay there, gazing, aimless.
"You still haven't found your Dao?" Xunzi noted his awakening, yet the core eluded him. Fair enough—Dao wasn't cheaply unearthed, or it wouldn't merit the name. And Xunzi wondered: what Dao's embryo could already spar with his?
Li Haimo nodded—yes, unfound, but self-aware now.
"Thanks for the nudge, Brother. I think I've got a rough idea of what to do." He bowed.
"Good to have gains—else if you leveled Little Sage Village, your Daoists couldn't foot the bill." Xunzi quipped.
Li Haimo flushed awkward—whatever had Xiao Meng spilled? Daily guards: Fu Nian and Yan Lu alternating, or Xunzi himself presiding.
"Why no madness?" Yan Lu's face, ever placid, flickered disappointment and anticipation.
Done for... Li Haimo knew: Xiao Meng must've blabbed everything, no filters on the juicy bits.
"We Confucians delve into music too—gentleman's six arts; I'm versed in the qin." Straight-laced Fu Nian chimed in.
Eldest Brother, you're like this? You're the Confucian head—how could you ditch your upright persona for black-bellied mischief!
Li Haimo bolted from Little Sage Village like a fugitive—starved after three days. Gorged at Yi Jian Inn till sated, then slunk back to Forgotten Garden.
"Master didn't go mad?" Xue Nu echoed disappointment. At the village, even frenzy had Xunzi and Fu Nian to contain it—no chaos. But rooftop concerts? Watching Master outfox Aunt? Best yet: cross-dressing—stunningly gorgeous.
"Wasn't you spilling to Master Yan Lu, was it?" Li Haimo eyed Xue Nu. Xiao Meng's type? Nah, too straightforward. But Xue Nu—Qin Moon's schemer, tricking Tian Ming? Black-bellied through and through. She'd pull this.
"Spilling what?" Xue Nu hedged, guilty.
"Right—lately, learn chess from Han Fei. Nail it, and I'll teach a sword art—no need to best him, half's fine. Win him over? With that set, few under heaven could touch you." Li Haimo brushed it off.
Chess with Xunzi unveiled Daoist Yi Sword Art and Heaven's Rotten Ke. Core Dao swordplay—demanded chess prowess; none in the sect wielded it now. Heaven's Rotten Ke? Even steeper skill wall. Yi Sword scaled with chess: foresee foes' moves, strike preempt. Mastery hinged on Xue Nu.
Why Han Fei? Idlest in the village, weak to beauties. Li Si? Sponge—rare book access, glued to the library. Hence Xunzi's assignment: Li Si guiding the Ten Wings.
Fu Nian and Yan Lu? Village chiefs—Xue Nu lacked rank for their tutelage. Sword attendant, not full disciple; Confucians prized hierarchy.
"Him? Leery-eyed, lounging in Sanghai's wine dens on his looks, skipping tabs. Xunzi's rep's tanking." Xue Nu wavered on Han Fei's chops.
"Not just anyone snags Xunzi's discipleship. Don't buy the facade—the guy claiming ninety-nine of the Seven's hundred? Curious what he's scheming." Li Haimo grinned.
Qin Moon's mainline: seven bronze boxes, Azure Dragon Plan—from Han Fei's mind. Yet he sat it out; post-death, Changping and crew hatched it. So what was Han Fei's game? All chased his discarded Azure Dragon for anti-Qin bids. Did it clash with Fajia Dao, prompting the ditch?
"Fine." Xue Nu relented—options slim; Han Fei alone willing.
Li Haimo settled into routine: library for Ten Wings, schooling Li Si in scripts; Yi Jian for meals; back to Forgotten Garden. Li Si proved voracious—any spare moment, querying from scripts to Ru, Dao, Fajia, Yin-Yang, warfare—endless.
"If you tread Fajia, the Scripture's basics could enlighten." Li Haimo slipped him future nuggets. Future Qin's Court Warden—supreme law and legislature.
Li Si's eyes lit—he waffled between Fajia and eclecticism, but Xunzi and Li Haimo nudged Fajia; he favored it too.
"Head to Qin—stick by the king." Li Haimo advised. Graduation loomed: three years' study, then out. Their third with Xunzi.
"Uncle favors Qin King and Qin?" Li Si gaped—unaware Daoists backed him.
"World's tide: long divided, must unite; long united, must divide. Post-Zhou, division's dragged—Daoists, Yin-Yang, even Ru see unity's pull. Yin-Yang planted seeds early." Li Haimo said.
"Rumors of Daoist Emperor's Aura Gaze—did Uncle spot something?" Li Si asked.
Li Haimo paused—art existed, but not his forte. Bai Yunzi mastered it: eyed Yan Dan—form sans substance, unfit to inherit. Bai Yunzi skipped Ying Zheng, but on Cheng Jiao: not a dragon in the end.
"Yeah, but I'm no hand at it." Li Haimo said. "And sightings can't be spilled—world's variables whirl; thrones flip in blinks. Heaven's Dao, unfathomable."
Eastern Han's founding: eight thousand trouncing a hundred grand. Guangwu Emperor Liu Xiu, arch-mage son of the plane, versus transmigrator Wang Mang—one meteor apocalypse K.O.'d him. Explain that.
"What's your Dao?" Li Haimo probed.
"I clerked a granary once—saw privy rats scavenging filth: scrawny, foul, starved. Warehouse ones? Plump, glossy-furred. So my life's aim: warehouse rat, not privy skulker." Li Si shared.
"Your vision's cramped. Ever ponder: atop the Seven, second only to one—what then?" Li Haimo pressed. Li Si peaked there, lost aim—fell to Zhao Gao's wiles, dooming Qin to second-gen collapse. Else, one rallying cry: Zhao dies, Emperor buries dignified.
"Second to one?" Li Si blanked—he'd never dared dream it.
"That's where you lag Han Fei: knowledge gaps fill with study, but guts and grit? Essential. Summit sans them? Timid flails. If lost, take mine."
Li Si mulled long, then: "Grant me a Dao, Uncle."
"I aim to forge an empire dwarfing Great Zhou—one, two, three generations... unto eternity's vastness." Li Haimo declared.
Li Si froze—Han Fei's ninety-nine paled; this Dao loomed too grand, self-doubt surging.
"Grand, huh? You're short on confidence—birth's shadow. But you're the sharpest talent I've seen—Han Fei included. His lineage built and bound him; you're unbound. Fajia's self-sacrifice for law's wholeness—what scares you? Privy rat or death—which?"
"Fine—I trust you, and myself!" Li Si affirmed. Aura unchanged, yet confidence and conviction shone.
Next day, all noted Li Si's shift—whatever Li Haimo imparted bred self-assurance and sacrificial zeal for the Dao.
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