The three Grand Confucian Masters of the academy were fighting? Had their philosophical debate escalated beyond words to blows? The Princess Royal was startled—she had once studied at White Deer Academy for a time.
The academy's four Masters often sat and debated. When happy, they laughed; when heated, they sometimes hurled insults without regard for propriety.
But actual physical combat had never occurred.
After all, Grand Confucian Masters held exalted positions. As role models, how could they resort to violence so easily?
Dean Zhao Shou frowned and set down his tea. "Why are they fighting?"
The old scholar shook his head helplessly. "I don't know! Master Mubai was inscribing characters, and suddenly the other two appeared. Then they started fighting."
He paused, then added with a troubled expression: "One says 'old scalawag,' the other 'shameless old thief.' It looks like genuine anger."
This time, the ever-composed Dean was alarmed. Something was truly wrong.
The Princess Royal said: "Dean, let me accompany you."
Zhao Shou spoke gravely: "Within one zhang of me lies the Sage's Shrine."
The Princess Royal's vision blurred for an instant. Then she saw the statue of the Sage, brush in hand, candles burning, wisps of blue smoke curling through the hall.
Outside the hall, chaos erupted. Violent gusts of wind howled into the hall, extinguishing the candles.
Across the table, Dean Zhao Shou had vanished. The Princess Royal walked against the gale toward the door.
The strong wind pressed her gown back, her robes clinging to her chest. Even thick winter garments couldn't conceal the curves beneath.
She looked up: in midair, the three Grand Confucian Masters stood upon the void.
From their bodies surged a vast, righteous energy—steadfast and unyielding—colliding and stirring gales in the air.
Zhang Shen snorted: "Li Mubai! You shameless wretch! Stealing my student was one thing—but to commit such a despicable act today! Have you read the Sage's teachings into the belly of a dog?"
The Princess Royal was taken aback, wondering what Li Mubai had done to provoke such righteous fury from Zhang Shen.
Stealing students? They had competed over students before?
Li Mubai shouted back: "As a teacher, polishing a student's essay or poem—what's wrong with that? It's clearly you, old scalawag, jealous of my talent!"
Chen Tai: "Shut up. I can't watch this anymore."
Li Mubai glared at him: "Zhang's quarrel with me has cause. What business is it of yours, Chen Tai? Stay out of it."
At that moment, Zhang Shen produced a scroll from his robes and calmly tore out a page, setting it alight.
The instant the page burned away, a cloud of green swarmed from thin air, buzzing toward Li Mubai.
They were beetles—emerald green, with savage mandibles—like locusts, dense as a storm.
"This old man traveled the world in earlier years. I didn't come back empty-handed," Li Mubai said, unfazed. He produced his own scroll, tore two pages, and ignited both.
One page burned away, forming a crimson lizard—half real, half phantom.
The lizard inflated its cheeks and spewed a pillar of flame dozens of zhang long, incinerating the green swarm to ash.
At the same moment, the second page burned to nothing, conjuring a scantily clad young woman, lithe as a swimming fish, gliding toward Zhang Shen.
As she drew closer, Grand Master Zhang's eyelids grew heavy, an irresistible drowsiness overtaking him.
The young woman smiled seductively and approached.
At that instant, Chen Tai also set fire to a page in his hand. A brilliant golden elixir materialized, radiating golden light.
"Ouch!"
Li Mubai was struck from behind by the golden light and staggered. Zhang Shen, burned by the elixir, snapped out of his drowsiness. He surged his righteous energy and dispersed the seductive phantom.
The Princess Royal watched in silence.
A sixth-rank Confucian scholar could learn techniques from other systems and commit them to paper, binding them within books.
Zhang Shen had employed a Gu Master's art. Li Mubai's phantom was likely from the Warlock system—but at which rank, she wasn't certain.
As for Chen Tai's move—if she wasn't mistaken, it was a Daoist golden elixir.
The three Masters fought furiously in the sky while students below watched with fascination, torn between worry at their elders' sudden brawl and the rare thrill of witnessing Grand Confucian Masters in combat.
When he couldn't defeat Li Mubai, Zhang Shen had an idea: "Li Mubai! Your trousers are falling down!"
Li Mubai felt a sudden chill at his waist and was shocked to discover his trousers had slid to his ankles.
"Damn!" His composure shattered. He roared: "Everyone's trousers fall down!"
Below, countless people panic-bent to yank up their trousers.
A milky-white jade pendant at the Princess Royal's waist blazed to life.
A commanding voice rang out, clear in every ear: "No violence between fellow disciples on these grounds."
"No hovering—get down!"
The words fell, and the righteous energy the three Masters had been channeling dissipated of its own accord. Newton reclaimed his dignity and dragged them from the sky.
Zhao Shou, in hemp robes with graying hair loose, strode to the three with a dark expression, his gaze sharp. "What happened?"
Zhang Shen and Li Mubai exchanged a silent look and reached an instant understanding. The former gave a cold hum: "Nothing. We simply disagreed on a matter of scholarship. Neither could convince the other."
The latter added: "So we switched methods."
Persuading by reason—that was the Confucian way.
"Dean, I'll report—they're lying to you!" Without warning, Grand Master Chen Tai backstabbed them both, achieving a double kill.
Zhang Shen and Li Mubai turned simultaneously, glaring.
Chen Tai gazed toward the low wall: "Dean, you know the poem 'Farewell at Sheep Pavilion, Seeing Off Yang Gong to Qingzhou,' don't you?"
Zhao Shou followed his gaze, focusing on the wall for a moment. Seeing that line of small text, he understood immediately.
That Zhang Jingyan and Li Chunjing were envious of the Purple Sun Master lately—he knew.
The poem on the wall was indeed excellent. Regardless of fame now, it had a strong chance of being transmitted through the ages. That they would fight over such credit was understandable... Wait—why had they hidden it from him? The Dean's face twitched.
He was about to speak when he caught sight of the Princess Royal approaching in her flowing gown, her bearing cold and noble.
He swallowed the words he'd been about to say.
The Princess Royal's elegant gaze swept over them, her reserved smile: "What poem caused the two Grand Masters to quarrel?"
Zhang Shen and Li Mubai bowed hastily. "It was merely a study exhortation poem."
The Princess Royal turned to the low wall, her beautiful eyes brightening: "Wonderful."
She paused, then asked softly: "Who composed it?"
Zhang Shen steeled himself: "My student... and 'Farewell at Sheep Pavilion, Seeing Off Yang Gong to Qingzhou' was also his work."
"That constable from Changle County?" A strange light flashed in the Princess Royal's eyes.
"His name is Xu Qian," Li Mubai answered, adding: "Also my student."
The name seemed familiar to the Princess Royal, as if someone had mentioned it before—but she hadn't committed it to memory, so she couldn't recall.
Such great talent, serving as a mere constable in Changle County—a waste. Even if he only knew poetry, she could keep him in her household as an adviser... The Princess Royal mused.
The academy's students stood at a distance, admiring the Princess Royal's exquisite face. She was beautiful as an ice lotus blooming alone, her noble air leaving all who saw her spellbound.
"Where is he now?" the Princess Royal's clear gaze swept the crowd, settling.
"Gone mountain-wandering," Chen Tai said.
The students who overheard their conversation were struck by profound shock. At last, they knew who had written the study exhortation poem.