Willingly and wholeheartedly

Zhang Ling kicked the iron fool lying unconscious beside him, pocketed the delicate lace-edged vial, and grinned shamelessly. “My family deals in medicine, and I’ve learned a bit of the healing arts myself. Carrying some sleeping powder is reasonable, don’t you think? After all, I, Zhang Ling, am a respectable gentleman.”

Wu Zhi, standing at a distance, paused, muttering under his breath, “Despicable scoundrel.”

He turned and hurried away, afraid to become collateral damage. After all, no one understands a villain better than another villain—and men like them never forget a slight.

Mo Li, whose nerves had been taut, breathed a sigh of relief, his hand at his waist now dropping naturally. He walked over to Zhang Ling, anger still simmering within him, yet at this moment, words failed him. He broke into a smile and gave a thumbs up.

On the other side, Song Linjie and his opponent were evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand. Liu Yuancheng lowered his spear and stood still; Song Linjie stopped as well. Liu said, “Looks like today we won’t have our fill.”

He walked over, hoisted the iron fool onto his shoulder, and nodded. “Song Linjie, when we reach the Academy, let’s settle who’s better.”

Song Linjie smiled and raised a hand, unusually not insisting. Previously, when seeking to exchange martial skills with guests from noble families, he would never give up until he hit a wall—literally. If his opponent didn’t fall, he’d pester them endlessly. Once, in the home of a prefect, the host was unwilling to spar and excused himself to the latrine, but Song Linjie waited outside for over two hours. The prefect, in desperate need, finally took a few punches before Song Linjie relented. In Song Linjie’s view, when it came to blade and spear, he and Liu Yuancheng advanced in tandem. To truly decide who was superior, they’d have to fight until dusk. Better to part ways now and see who first rises to greater heights.

When Liu Yuancheng, bearing spear and man, walked off, the sky and surroundings seemed to fracture like a shattered mirror. Looking back, everyone was still outside the city; disciples from various factions who had failed gradually returned to the city, while others, disheartened, began their journey home, leaving the place of their disappointment behind.

Zhang Ling found his companions, then glanced at Mo Li, whose expression was distant.

Mo Li sighed, “To harmonize with heaven and earth, to reach the Primordial Realm—once, I thought achieving this would allow me to roam freely. Unless one deliberately sought trouble, one could stride alone through the martial world, establish a sect, and guard its gates.”

Zhang Ling, seeing his somewhat helpless expression, asked, “Why did you come to the Academy?”

Mo Li nodded. “Many only know the Mo family as a venerable sect founded centuries ago. But a hundred years ago, a branch split off, severely weakening the main house. That branch faded from the martial world over a decade ago, and now, the main house is facing a similar crisis. The Mo family’s mechanical arts are unrivaled, drawing envoys from kings seeking to reclaim them, including the Emperor of Chen. So, the Mo family is at the center of controversy. Some insist on neutrality, believing that if our mechanical arts were used by armies, it would bring unnecessary disaster to the world, possibly even our extermination. Others, wanting to preserve the Mo family, choose to align with a single state. At the root, it’s because the Mo family lacks someone who can awe the martial world, forcing us to make difficult choices. I chose the former, became the Juzi, and swore to all in the Mo family: within three years, if I cannot master the ancestral mechanical artifact, I will die to atone.”

Zhang Ling didn’t probe further, letting Mo Li speak as much as he wished. As they walked into the city, Mo Li continued, “After the branch disbanded, one elder remained at the Academy. I came here to learn the mechanical arts that went with the branch, seeking to fully integrate both, so I might grasp the ancestral artifact.”

Zhang Ling did not ask what exactly that mechanical artifact was, for he did not believe such trust warranted full disclosure. They were entering the Academy together, and he would find out in time. After all, Mo Li was Juzi, not a fool.

Jinyu City resumed its usual hustle and bustle. Passersby discussed who had passed the trial. Zhang Ling spotted someone who had exited the Xunyuan Forest Valley alongside them; from afar, they merely nodded in greeting. Noble families began recruiting promising disciples who might transform from mere mortals into dragons. Some looked down on minor officials, waiting for a high-ranking general or minister to invite them personally. Others, more self-aware, recognized their achievements depended largely on borrowed strength and, knowing they wouldn’t make it into the Academy, recommended themselves to officials of moderate rank, feigning lofty ideals to become guests for sentiment, not profit. Each sought their own future, both sides finding satisfaction.

After all, in the capital where land was worth its weight in gold, even Yu Chang’s modest mansion by the pond cost ten thousand gold. That too was inherited from his father; on the salary of a captain alone, he could never afford it. The expenses of this journey were considerable. Whether for the Academy or the civil exam, no one wished to return empty-handed.

Ye Yuemi and Tang Yong left midway. Zhang Ling recalled that after every exam, he used to enjoy a bowl of noodles. He dragged Song Linjie and Mo Li around for ages, finally finding a noodle stall still open. He ordered three bowls of minced pork noodles. As twilight fell, they sat at a worn wooden table, slurping noodles. The taste was inferior to past times, but with two companions, it felt rather good. Zhang Ling, head bowed, asked softly, “Are you tired?”

Mo Li, still in torn clothes, also bowed his head and replied, “A bit, but it’s something I willingly endure.”

Song Linjie slapped the table heavily—fortunately with restraint, else they’d have had nothing to eat. He draped his arms around their shoulders and laughed, “Why do you two look so grim? What’s the point in brooding? Eat before the noodles get cold!”

He let go, but the table cracked. Zhang Ling pressed his hand down, a large bowl placed in front of them containing four fried eggs. The vendor, a genial old man with a towel on his shoulder, smiled, “There happened to be four left today, so I’ll give them to you.”

The three stared at the bowl, wondering—why four?

Sure enough, after each took one, the bowl was snatched and held aloft as Mo Li and Song Linjie wrestled for it. The bowl hovered stubbornly mid-air. Zhang Ling kept his hand on the table, not daring to move.

In the end, the two split the last egg, half each. It was just an egg, and Zhang Ling had paid for the noodles anyway. When they finished, forty-three copper coins were left on the table. The old vendor called out, “That’s too much!” Zhang Ling replied from afar, “For the table and the bowl.”

When the vendor looked down, the old wooden table had split in two, and the bowl was shattered. He bent to clean up, muttering, “Young people these days—just like these coins, always in need of discipline.”

The next morning, several armored Imperial Guards stood before Yu’s mansion. Zhang Ling wondered where today’s tournament would be held. He had asked Yu Chang the previous evening, who had only smiled and said nothing. Now it was clear—they were headed to the palace!

Zhang Ling was quite astonished. Though the Emperor of Chen valued the Academy, it remained a martial institution, not fully aligned with the court. However, most graduates chose government service, so as long as neither side declared their stance, this arrangement persisted. Zhang Ling and Song Linjie climbed into the carriage sent by the army, with Yu Chang following behind.

As they approached the palace, several carriages with red-and-purple decorated beams passed through the gates unimpeded. Alighting, they saw numerous officials also arriving, all heading in the same direction as those who had passed yesterday’s trial.

The white jade tiles beneath their feet carried them to their destination. Zhang Ling saw that they had finally arrived. Within the palace grounds stood a martial arena, racks of weapons lining the perimeter. Hundreds of officials stood behind carved railings, all eyes fixed on the dozen young people below.

A few officials, spotting their own offspring, discreetly raised their noses and introduced them to their peers. Anyone standing here today, even if they failed to enter the Academy’s inner sanctum, could secure a promising future if chosen by a general—arriving in poverty, returning home in splendor. Such honors were not reserved for scholars alone.

A strange flutter stirred in Zhang Ling’s heart—was he actually nervous? He smiled, tilting his head just as a handsome scholar approached, followed by a young man wearing a sword.

The scholar stopped beside Zhang Ling, radiating an innate confidence. Zhang Ling asked, “You really passed?”

Without doubt, it was Ren Pingsheng. The scholar pointed to the young man behind him, calm and composed. “Li Jingqiu of Dao Academy, disciple of the Blade King.”

The crowd of young people were all shaken. To see such a legendary figure—a man like a deity—so casually was astonishing. Zhang Ling glanced at him. Li Jingqiu nodded in greeting, then turned his gaze to Song Linjie. Zhang Ling asked, “Why did this man come with you?”

The scholar cleared his throat, affecting a modest pride. Calmly, he replied, “He’s here for my personal safety—per Dean Song’s orders, and as per His Majesty’s will.”

The first part showed the Academy’s regard for him; the latter was truly surprising, revealing the Emperor’s preference for scholars over warriors. Zhang Ling simply responded with an indifferent “oh,” giving the scholar no chance to embellish. The two exchanged glances, waiting for someone to host the tournament.

Song Linjie stared intently at the Blade King’s disciple who had come down from the mountain, feeling an inexplicable sense of kinship. Song Linjie asked, “Academician Li, have we met?”

Li Jingqiu, refined and elegant, shook his head with a smile. “I know your grandfather—my master. In fact, the formidable blade technique your Song family practices was created by my master, so you should call me senior brother.”