Chapter Twenty: Imparting Knowledge

With the earlier misunderstanding resolved, Li Zhihe’s resentment melted away. He wasn’t one to dwell on grudges, especially after learning that Yi An was a master of the Innate Realm; his eyes unconsciously reflected a newfound respect. Among martial artists, strength has always commanded honor. Moreover, Yi An had achieved a distant pinnacle at such a young age—it was enough to make Li Zhihe smile wryly at the unfairness of fate. Still, he felt no jealousy, only a touch of envy.

Wei Liang smiled and asked, “Since you’re aiming for the imperial examinations, do you already hold any academic honors?” Though not a martial artist himself, he understood well enough the significance of the Innate Realm. Someone of that caliber would be highly sought after by both the court and the great martial clans. That Yi An could attain such an achievement so young was truly remarkable.

But that was in the realm of martial prowess; the path of letters was an entirely different matter. Throughout history, countless scholars had spent years poring over their books, only to fall short in the examinations. Now, time was pressing—less than two years remained until the next round.

“I do hold the title of Xiucai,” Yi An replied honestly, “but my learning is lacking. I have twice failed the provincial exams.”

Wei Liang visibly relaxed at this, saying, “A foundation is what matters most. With the little time left, following the usual pace won’t suffice. Therefore, I’ll focus on teaching you only the essentials of the classics and essay writing. I believe that should see you through the preliminary exam without much trouble.” In truth, he himself had not taken the imperial exams until he was thirty, delayed by the lack of a distinguished teacher. Had he enjoyed the resources of a great family, he might have succeeded ten years earlier.

“I leave myself in your hands, sir,” Yi An nodded, finding this arrangement to his liking. The exams were but a secondary pursuit; if they interfered with his cultivation, the cost would far outweigh the gain.

Suddenly, Wei Liang asked, “Yi An, since you’ve been entrusted to my guidance, let me ask: why do you study? Or, why do you practice martial arts?”

Yi An was taken aback and lowered his head in contemplation. Wei Liang did not interrupt, waiting patiently.

At length, Yi An answered, “To survive.”

Whether through study or cultivation, it all came down to survival. Without the means to protect oneself, even a life of withdrawal from the world would leave one no more than meat on the chopping block, helpless when crisis struck. Only by possessing the power to master one’s own fate could one avoid becoming a mere pawn.

“To survive?” Wei Liang echoed, tasting the words with surprise. His gaze on Yi An changed. Had Yi An answered “for high office and renown,” Wei Liang would not have been surprised. That was only natural. But to see through to the world’s essence at such a young age—this was rare and precious.

At Yi An’s age, Wei Liang himself had still naively believed that man could conquer fate and dreamed of one day reforming the Yanbei court. Harsh reality, however, had long since dashed those hopes.

“There are many kinds of survival,” Wei Liang continued. “Which do you seek?”

To live in anonymity is survival; to live with fame throughout the world is survival too. Every person follows their own path.

“Of course, I desire more than a mediocre existence. I doubt there are many who would willingly choose to languish in obscurity,” Yi An replied without hesitation. He realized this was a test, but still chose to speak from the heart.

Wei Liang nodded approvingly, then asked, “Quite so. Since no one wishes for mediocrity, why are those who succeed so few?”

Yi An hesitated, unsure how to respond. Failure, after all, was the result of many factors, though he’d never thought deeply about what those might be.

Wei Liang explained, “Whether in martial arts or scholarship, there are three great obstacles that block countless aspirants. The first is innate talent; the second, a worthy teacher; the third, and most important, is the method.”

“The method?” Yi An was puzzled at this third point. It made sense for cultivation, but what method could there be for study?

The first point was obvious—everyone’s aptitude differs, and this determines whether one can tread the path of immortality, or persevere in scholarship. Diligence may compensate for dull wit, but one’s innate endowment remains crucial. Faced with two disciples, one bright and one dull, who would choose the latter?

A good teacher was equally vital. With guidance, one could avoid many detours. Relying solely on oneself, one would lag far behind others who had a master’s help.

Wei Liang smiled, “There are methods to study as there are to martial arts. For scholarship, method refers to approach, resources, and texts. Without method, even the most gifted will be lost among the multitude.”

Yi An suddenly understood. “I see. Then, sir, do you think I have the aptitude for study?”

“To have passed the Xiucai exam, you can’t be too lacking,” Wei Liang replied. “In truth, all those questions I just asked were a test. Your answers showed an agile mind.”

Yi An nodded, realizing now the value of a good teacher. Fortunately, his own foundation in cultivation was deep—an advantage few could match.

Wei Liang went on, “Enough talk. Study these notes carefully. If you have questions, come to me, but the techniques within you must grasp for yourself.”

“Thank you for your instruction, sir,” Yi An said gratefully.

“As the saying goes, a master leads you to the door; cultivation is up to you. How far you go depends on your own effort. Remember, never grow arrogant—the only sure path is one of steady progress,” Wei Liang admonished.

Though he had not formally accepted a disciple, in his heart, Wei Liang already saw Yi An as his own. The reason he refrained from making it official was not lack of desire, but necessity. He had made many enemies at court; if the wrong people learned Yi An was his student, the young man’s days in the capital would become far more difficult.

After explaining these risks, Wei Liang had Li Zhihe show Yi An to the east wing.

Along the way, Li Zhihe was as curious as a child, peppering Yi An with questions. He’d never seen the teacher value anyone so highly.

“Young brother, you’re so strong at such a young age—any secret to your success?” Li Zhihe asked eagerly. Martial matters were his true passion.

“It may have something to do with the techniques I practice,” Yi An replied vaguely.

That was not a lie—his cultivation method was designed for immortality, not mere martial arts.

“I see,” Li Zhihe said, disappointed. If it came down to methods, there was nothing for him to learn unless he abandoned his own and started from scratch—hardly worth the cost.

“Martial arts all reach the same destination by different roads. If you have questions, feel free to ask me,” Yi An offered. Li Zhihe seemed sincere enough, and Yi An didn’t mind forming a good relationship, especially since they’d be living under the same roof for a time.

“Thank you, brother! I’m a blunt man, not good with words. If I’ve offended you before, I hope you won’t hold it against me. If you ever need anything, just ask. My skills may be modest, but I do have some connections in Hangzhou,” Li Zhihe said joyfully. Though Yi An was younger, martial virtue paid little heed to age. As the saying went, the accomplished are teachers—being guided by an Innate Realm expert was any martial artist’s dream, just as scholars sought Wei Liang’s instruction.

“Thank you for your kindness, Brother Li,” Yi An replied.

“Get some rest. If you need anything, just let me know—I’m in the west wing,” Li Zhihe said, pointing before taking his leave.

Yi An surveyed his surroundings and found them pleasant—one of the quieter spots in the city.

...

Unnoticed, two months had slipped by.

During this time, Yi An was kept busy, with little leisure. Every morning and evening he cultivated, following the cycle described in the Daoist Canon, absorbing the essence of sun and moon, refining his true energy to make it ever more pure. The rest of his time was devoted to studying the classics; under Wei Liang’s careful instruction, his scholarly abilities improved greatly.

According to Wei Liang, though Yi An still had much to learn, he was more than prepared for the provincial exam in a month’s time. The Yanbei examination focused on essays concerning the classics, with questions often drawn from a single line—or even a single word. To excel, one needed profound understanding and unique insight. The notes Wei Liang had given Yi An were filled with Wei Liang’s own interpretations and reflections. What had once baffled Yi An now became clear after reading them.

Only now did Yi An fully appreciate the value of these notes—it was no wonder so many sought to become Wei Liang’s student. If the notes alone were so illuminating, to receive direct instruction would be priceless.

Moreover, Yi An noticed that since establishing his foundation, his mind was exceptionally clear, and he could remember the classics almost perfectly. When Wei Liang discovered this, he declared Yi An truly gifted by heaven.