Verdant willows swayed in the misty drizzle beyond Sanghai City's walls: a white steed, a figure in purple—Han Fei departing for Han, to vie for ninety-nine of the Seven States' hundred. He brimmed with pride, much like Queen Dowager Han, shouldering his realm's survival amid the cracks between three giants. Yet he differed: she preserved Han's fragile perch; he boldly proclaimed, The Seven States under heaven? I'll claim ninety-nine.
Li Si left too—Han Fei pressing all his coin on him for the Qin journey. Li Haimo slipped him a token granting straight access to King Ying Zheng; its use, its timing—his call. Li Haimo knew he'd wield it: no rigid fool, this one. Talented, learned—no need to grovel under Lü Buwei and waste his prime. Qin's vaults overflowed with Fajia tomes awaiting him, and young King Zheng starved for aides. Reveal his aims early? Their convictions might mesh like Duke Xiao and Shang Yang reborn.
Li Haimo lingered at Little Sage Village Hamlet—poring over books, debating Fu Nian and Yan Lu, matching wits over the board with Xunzi. Xue Nu, bored stiff: Han Fei gone, no chess foe; Xiao Meng returned to the sect ahead of schedule. Former Tian Sect head Chi Songzi had finally succumbed to the five declines of the celestial, beyond mortal aid. Li Haimo would've joined her, but round trips devoured time—and this was Tian Sect business, too deep for his Ren Sect meddling. So Xiaoyaozi handled it proxy: full reins, plus delivering the Ren Sect's supreme relic to Xiao Meng for her breakthrough push. Her return: bury Chi Songzi, then seclusion toward heaven-man union. She'd planned to ship Xue Nu back too, but with Tian Sect lockdown, the girl had no place—trouble all 'round. Better to leave her.
"Lord Chang'an Cheng Jiao's rebelled—Zhao's sheltering him now." Yan Lu brought the news.
"Expected. From the moment he seized the Longquan command, all Qin wrote him off." Li Haimo told Fu Nian and Yan Lu.
"Truth be told, I don't quite follow. Daoists back Qin King—yet shield Prince Dan of Yan, even prop up Qi's King Jian?" Fu Nian ventured.
"Prince Dan's easy: he's Yan's Guo Kai." Li Haimo said.
"Propping up the inept to rule—Daoist cunning!" Fu Nian caught on. Likely, if Mohists like Zhang Liang move on him now, Daoists block it.
One Guo Kai dragged Lian Po and Li Mu to ruin—what depths would Prince Dan sink Yan to? The last Zong alliance under his lead? Untouched retreat—omen enough. Wonder what strings they pull in Qi.
"Toppling a state scorches a thousand li, wounds heaven's harmony. Win without war—for realm and folk alike, a mercy." Li Haimo replied.
"You mean Qi surrenders?" Fu Nian and Yan Lu gawked. Not a lone city—a chariot-thousand realm. Yield like that?
"Once the other five fall, what choice for Qi? Aid King Jian for Queen Dowager Jun's sake—and so post-surrender, a famed Jian lives out his days as some fat merchant." Li Haimo said. Starved to death in the end, the king—undeserved for an emperor.
"Aren't you scared of birthing another Duke Huan of Qi?"
Fu Nian, for the first time, wondered if they'd misread the Daoists. This from mountain-dwellers chasing immortality? Seize a state bloodless—if not the Ren Sect head across, he'd draw blade: Fool me once, or twice? But it was him, so... belief. Yet Daoist moves clashed: claim a throne, don't fatten the lord like a hog—groom him as Duke Huan? Classic Daoist—only these immortals-wannabes pull such knots.
"What he becomes? Not our call. We act as right demands; the rest, to Heaven's Dao." Li Haimo said.
As expected. Fu Nian and Yan Lu traded glances—quintessential Daoist. Their ploys piled high: drop in unannounced, upend the board—then ghost back to Taiyi Mountain cultivation while all brace for the encore. Weren't for the odds—likely thrashed, maybe counter-thrashed—Daoists would've been pulped countless times.
History echoed: Duke Xiao's era, Six States carve up Qin—Hangu and Wu Pass lost. Daoists stirred a deluge, stalling the Seven's advance; time for east-west pivot, birthing reform. All awaited the follow-through? Offline.
Then Yan's Qi blitz—two cities spared. Daoists reemerge, aid Tian Dan's reclaiming. Yan panics: What'd we do to them? Daoists: just that—back to their peaks.
Others schemed with aims, plans. Daoists? Brain-fever whimsy. Impulse strikes mid-swing, half-forgotten, sequel void. Peak Daoist, peak immortal—baffles foes, kin alike.
Like Duke Xiao: You sparked the storm—finish the Seven off! Offline. Tian Dan: Reclaimed? Let me hit Yan back! Offline—leaving him slinking home. Post-fire-ox array, fueled by Daoist winds? Yeah, then offline.
"What's the Ru path?" Li Haimo asked—probing each school's guarded essence. Unsure if Fu Nian and Yan Lu would spill.
"Poetry and histories handed down the line; rites and music for the ages; benevolence and righteousness to steady the realm. That's all we can share."
Long pause, then Fu Nian spoke slow. True school cores weren't the gentleman's pentad—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trust. No: survival's vein, birthing all else.
"Transmit?" Li Haimo mulled. Ru Dao: pass it on—not mere lineage. Ways abound: teach without class, sire to son, master to pupil. But 'receive'? That's true inheritance—core grasped whole.
Then Daoist: their worldly dips? The core—plant a seed, let it root wild. Hope.Quintessential Daoist: can't cradle your every step. Seed sown; growth's yours.Hence Zhang Liang's schooling; Chu Nangong's Yellow Stone Heavenly Book via Tian Ming to him—for Han's seeding. Outcome? Theirs alone.
Li Haimo zoned out again; Fu Nian and Yan Lu bristled. Library tower—can't chuck him out. Hundred thousand scrolls—don't go mad here!
"I think I've glimpsed the Daoist Scripture's Dao." Li Haimo murmured.
"Whew~" Fu Nian and Yan Lu eased. No frenzy? Daoists are a curse—two live grenades. How's Taiyi endure? Next visit, grill 'em. Wonder Hall as panic bunker? For their disciple brawls?Plausible: you lot scrap; juniors hie to Wonder Hall for the immortal show.
Back at Forgotten Garden, Li Haimo dashed out, hauled seeds by the armload—planted them, then hunkered motionless, fixated. Xue Nu near tears: Fine on return—what now? "Three meals here from now"—then silence. Over ten days, garden-bound.
"Where's your master?" Yan Lu dropped by—no Li Haimo in ten; worry nagged.
"There!" Xue Nu pointed. Li Haimo in grimy azure robes, leaf-dusted, knees hugged—squatting the veggie patch, glaring at the dirt divot.
"What's he doing?" Yan Lu puzzled.
"Dunno. First days, he talked; now mum—squats there." Xue Nu said.
"What sparked it?" Yan Lu pressed.
"Dug a hole, chucked seeds in—squats ever since." Xue Nu mimed the dig—flawless pantomime.
"Probing things to know?" Yan Lu hazarded. Best fetch teacher—this screams true frenzy, not the prior sort.
Xunzi heard Yan Lu out, baffled. Daoist quirks? Beyond him. But they abounded: Liezi seaside-gazing, Zhuangzi yard-butterflying, Laozi ox-riding the states. Back further: Jiang Shang hookless by water, King Wen hex-scrying from his window. Daoist oddities galore—now pit-seeding. Per Xue Nu: that seed jumble under thick soil? Sprout odds?
"Watch him close; task disciples: no disturbances. And curb any fresh outbreaks." Xunzi ordered.
Xue Nu, boredom doubled—dared not stray, lest return to rubble. Yan Lu's yard, after all. So self-chess: left versus right, right versus left. Awkward start, now her jam.
"Xue Nu—how's Uncle?" Yan Lu again, eyeing her board.
She glanced up: "Master Yan Lu, wait—till left beats right."
Left beats right... Yan Lu panicked. Days away, and she's cracked too? Then spied: true left-right duel.
"Ahem—no rush, busy on. Another day." Yan Lu fled. Teacher—two down; my learning's tapped.
Xunzi arrived, checked Li Haimo—steady—then Xue Nu's split-hand match—fine. Departed.
"Left-right chess?" Xunzi mused, fetching a board to test. Slipped in deep.
"Eldest Brother—bad news: Teacher hit Forgotten Garden, back mad." Yan Lu, poise shattered—years' calm gone. Even Teacher?
"What?" Fu Nian, stern as ever, frowned at Yan Lu's disarray.
"Teacher saw Xue Nu's left-right game—returns, boards out for his own." Yan Lu gasped.
"Check it!" Fu Nian held grace, but strides betrayed turmoil.
Bamboo Grove: Xunzi pacing board-sides, alternating stones.
"Teacher, Fu Nian and Yan Lu seek audience." They bowed.
"What?" Xunzi glanced up, resumed.
They traded looks: Three mad. Daoist plague—one catches all, Teacher too.
"Teacher, this...?" Fu Nian deferent.
"Chess—left versus right. That girl's sharp: pits self against self, left eye on right. You two try—learn the wonder. She's young; sees game, not gist. But you'll grasp." Xunzi dismissed, plunging back.
Fu Nian brow-furrowed, bowed out with Yan Lu.
"You test; I'll watch!" Fu Nian told him.
Yan Lu boarded up—lost in it. Fu Nian, true alarm: Brother too!
Game's close: Yan Lu surfaced, gains aplenty. Mirror-self scrutiny—marvelous.
"Eldest Brother, this?" Yan Lu eyed Fu Nian's drawn Tai'a sword.
"Purging the gate—what hour?" Fu Nian said.
Yan Lu clocked: lamps aglow, moon high. Sheepish grin: "Uncanny, Brother—try it. Owes Daoists another."
"You're sound—I'm off." Fu Nian sheathed—near cleaved him mid-trance, dragging me in.
Chamber-bound, Fu Nian scowled, then: board out, left-right dive. Lost.
Dawn next: Little Sage Village in uproar. Punctual head? Absent lesson. Second Yan Lu? Same. Disciples fetch: both chambers, left-right locked.
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