From that day on, Yan Lu rarely ventured to Forgotten Garden—after all, one had to grant space, not disrupt budding affections.
Xue Nu, too, felt she'd wounded Yan Lu, shaming the Ru face; she dared not stray into Sanghai City, holing up in the garden day in, day out. Yan Lu, hearing his disciples' reports, only solidified his hunch: Miss Xue Nu truly fancies Uncle Wu Chenzi—wasting not a moment. My good intentions bore fruit.
"Junior Brother, you're genuinely exceptional—so get out more, see the world. Fine lasses abound; as Miss Xue Nu said, you're truly fine. Don't doubt yourself over something unbegun." Fu Nian, passing the seaside pavilion where Yan Lu sat lost in thought, approached with consolation.
"Thanks for the care, Eldest Brother. Teacher's matched you with Miss Linglong of the Mohist Gong Sun clan—your thoughts? If no issues, I'll report back." Yan Lu replied. Come on, mutual wounds.
From then, Xunzi—restless as if seized—dispatched missives far and wide, scouting brides for them.
Fu Nian's face shadowed. Me, Ru head, unloved? Gong Sun Linglong—you sure that's 'delicate'? Mohist Gong Sun, your grasp on 'linglong'? That gourd figure—delicate? Call her Gong Sun Plumpfine—super edition.
"Sigh..." Fu Nian and Yan Lu pinched brows in unison, Xunzi's picks unrefusable—endless viewings. Flaws piled: figures grotesque, hues bizarre, or instant fangirl glares, eyes devouring whole.
Mind: Fu Nian and Yan Lu's looks needed no boast; scholarship crowned the realm's civility. Their fame outstripped later idols by city-spans. Xunzi's matchmaking? Hundred Schools with eligible daughters flung them over—even the underage: We'll raise her; no mind.
"Why not tell Teacher?" Yan Lu nudged Fu Nian toward Xunzi.
"You sparked it—your move." Fu Nian despaired. He'd tried: Xunzi's retort? That throng of Schools' noble blooms—none suit? Ru's future crumbles? Lineage snaps? Scorn 'em; I'll hunt more. Bound to land one—easy now.Not our rush—we're fine unhurried.
"I daren't." Yan Lu mumbled. Fu Nian side-eyed: As if you do.
"Eldest Brother, I miss Junior Brother Han Fei—fancy a Han jaunt." Yan Lu schemed: bolt Little Sage Village, dodge awhile.
"I miss Junior Brother Li Si too." Fu Nian grumbled.
"Sigh~" Winds thrashed, thunder roared—yet unmoved as mountains crumbled, unblinking—the Ru duo's heads sank in tandem.
In Forgotten Garden, all as before: one squatting the veggie patch, probing things; another perched eaves-side, chin-propped in daze. A pattering autumn rain fell; Xue Nu, umbrella aloft, sheltered him beside.
Before Li Haimo in the plot: epiphyllum stems, verdant, crowned with white buds.
"Xue Nu, know what the Daoist Scripture is? Or the Daoist way?" Li Haimo's voice broke abrupt—ethereal, as if soundless.
Xue Nu glanced down: he hadn't stirred. Hallucination?
"The Daoist Scripture bears another name: Yi. 'Yi' from the Scripture bears three glosses; common folk know but one—the 'easy' of hardship, or simplicity: the Dao's truly plain." The voice wafted again—empty. In all Sanghai, only Xue Nu heard it. Yet in neighboring Little Sage Village Hamlet, Xunzi, Fu Nian, Yan Lu—and Ding the Butcher at Yi Jian Inn—jolted awake.
"Great Dao's tone: vast sound, hushed. Someone merges with the Dao?" Xunzi vaulted skyward, spotting Fu Nian and Yan Lu. All three turned toward Forgotten Garden, streaking hence. In Sanghai, merger could only be Wu Chenzi—this prelude: great sound hushed; realms below hear naught. Xunzi had known it once—fusing his Dao into the Ru way.
"Is this birthing a new Daoist great path?" Xunzi puzzled. Merger not always seals; path-founding same. Yet prelude alone rings great Dao's tone—what path does he forge?
"Yi's second: the 'change' of flux—endless shift, growth. Heaven-earth, myriad things, cosmos vast: all churn ceaseless—this life's pulse. Ru have the Master's riverside: It passes thus, unceasing day or night.
"You've read Free and Easy Wandering—Daoists echo: Small knowledge falls short of great; short life, of long. How so? Dawn-mushrooms know no full moon's eve; cicadas, no spring-fall. These, brief years. South of Chu, dark spirits count five hundred spring, five hundred fall; ancient great cork trees: eight thousand spring, eight thousand fall—these, long years. Peng Zu famed for endurance today; the masses match him—pity, no?
"Farmers too: summer cicada knows no winter snow. Bloom-wither not man's fate; rise-fall unbound by crowns.
"Hence Confucius in Analects' benevolence: Hear the Dao at morn, die content at dusk.
"That's Yi's second: plumb the cosmos' flux to utmost."
Xue Nu eyed the trio's arrival, but Xunzi signaled silence—lest disrupt Li Haimo's founding. Sounded to them: "Heed close: great Dao's tone needs no instant grasp. Etch the feel, the insight—ungrasped, still engrave the heart."
"Yi's third: the 'unchanging' of constancy—that's the Dao, our Daoist Dao: heaven-earth flux, yet my Dao endures—or call it Dao. But what Dao merits such greatness?"
Li Haimo's voice halted, as if pondering; skies cleared, full moon cresting zenith.
Failed? Xunzi sighed inwardly. What Dao pairs the Yi Scripture's? Too vast, too arduous.
"Our Daoist Dao: Tian Sect's heart still as water—watch heaven-earth shift, I unswayed. 'Ere you behold this bloom, it and your heart merge in silence; you gaze, its hues awaken vivid—thus know: the bloom dwells not beyond your heart.
"Ren Sect probes mortal myriads for transcendence. Scripture speaks: Return—is this heaven-earth's heart revealed? Ren Sect: stir, then glimpse heaven-earth's heart. Hence our worldly immersion: cultivating the heart—a heart standing for heaven-earth."
Li Haimo's voice resumed; the garden's epiphyllum bloomed instant, wafting faint purity.
Success! Xunzi knew: path founded. Yet Daoists aimed this grand? Heart for heaven-earth, mortal frame heaven-earth's heart. Fu Nian and Yan Lu reeled: Heart for heaven-earth—what vow's scale, what mettle dares utter?
"But this is Ren Sect's Dao—not mine."
Li Haimo's voice rang; thunder crashed vast, gales howled—thatch whipped skyward, shutters battering wild.
"He's discarding it!" Fu Nian gasped. Even this Dao, forsaken?
Boom~ Heaven's bolt struck the garden's tree beside—lush green to charred ruin, igniting celestial blaze. Heaven's warning: No Dao-abandon!
"Don't pester." Li Haimo rose; soft word—thunder hushed, gales died.
"Our Daoist kin, worldly or withdrawn—not for your heaven-heart stand. Crooked heaven-heart—what use? We Daoists, we Huaxia, we human clan: from high antiquity, wrested from heaven, seized from earth, battled beasts—for what? For footing firm, life's stake. Thus: heaven's course vigorous—gentleman strives unceasing; earth's poise yielding—gentleman bears virtue vast. Hence, we Daoists heart heaven-earth then—enter-exit mortal realms, stake life for the folk."
Li Haimo spoke; scripts materialized—ancient tallies, Seven States' scripts—adrift, encircling him. Skies birthed phantoms: clashing heaven, earth, beasts.
"Heart heaven-earth, stake life for folk. Wu Chenzi's ambition towers." Xunzi murmured low. Xue Nu's trio heard naught—or heaven willed silence.
"Man from beasts: wisdom's spark. Sui Ren drilled fire, took all things for sustenance; Shen Nong tasted herbs, ills banished; Fuxi charted by Luo, knew shade-rain seasons; Cang Jie penned scripts, civility dawned. Hence Yi Scripture plumbed heaven-earth's boundless flux; then Hundred Schools kindled folk-wit. Thus torch passes, inheriting the sages' lost arts."
Skies shifted: shades emerged—Sui Ren fire-struck, Fuxi Luo-side charting, Shen Nong peaks herb-tasting, Cang Jie quill-first; School forebears flickered.
"From human birth to now: deeds boil to one—footing firm, life's stake; wisdom's crown, peace's bloom; eternal great peace?"
All skies faded; heaven-earth cleared. Yet across Huaxia's nine provinces, asleep or wakeful—hearts brimmed with innermost visions of bliss.
Some dreamed kin reunited; others, a meal's warmth; some, canon-deep; some, wars no more...
A peach-blossom haven: homes neat, paths linked—yellow-beards six or seven, younglings laughing; youths tilled, women wove hemp. Schoolhouse: master taught tots letters; eaves: wives stitched, chattered silk; paddies: men sweat-carved furrows; village head: elders chessed, world-watched.
"Thus my Dao: heart heaven-earth, stake life for folk, inherit sages' lost arts, unlock eternal great peace."
Voice fell; three luminaries bloomed—sun, moon, stars cresting skies, interweaving Li Haimo's Dao.
Heart heaven-earth, stake life for folk, inherit sages' lost arts, unlock eternal great peace.
Twenty-two great-Dao scripts etched—unread by any, yet one glance sufficed: meanings clear. Illiterates knew these twenty-two.
"This Dao out—world's Daos void. All streams merge: this, the human Dao." Xunzi quaked true. Man's Dao—all paths dissolve therein. Rivers to sea, Daos to flow.
Li Haimo shut eyes, sensing cultivation's tide—Scripture canons surfacing, barriers crumbling.
"Great Dao's boon, grace hundred li—wake!" Xunzi's rebuke roused Sanghai's Ru disciples.
Alert, they plunged cultivation—once-obscure canons clicked instant, breakthroughs surged.
Xue Nu, Fu Nian, Yan Lu knelt cross-legged, heaven-earth attuned.
Garden's thunder-scorched trunk sprouted tender—racing growth, bloom, fruit-set: nine golden apricots dangled, fragrance pure.
Plot's nine epiphyllums withered save one—jade-crystal white, flawless.
"Ru debt this time: vast—not just Emperor-stream nectar, but Wu Chenzi's great Dao heard. Hard to repay." Xunzi sighed, then schemed: Got it now—can't disgorge. Demand what? Ru owns it. Worst: crown Wu Chenzi Ru forebear. No choice—great Dao cores our canon. Confucius bowed to Laozi as master; these pups hailing him? Fine. Yours or ours—Ru's all the same.
Next morn, Sanghai folk stirred to skies' freak: sun, moon, stars odd-conjoined. They knelt in prayer, recalling night's dream: Sage-born omen? Auspice!
As sun flared, moon-stars waned slow.
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