The round-faced female disciple walked tremblingly to the demonstration writing desk, her hand shaking slightly as she held the brush.
“No need to be nervous.” Yun Che, controlling Li Zijun’s body, walked to her side, his voice warm as a spring breeze. “Writing is like being a person; what matters most is naturalness. What is your name?”
“Th-this student is Lin Wan’er.” The female disciple took a deep breath and tried hard to steady herself.
“Wan’er, that’s a good name.” Yun Che smiled. “What character do you want to write?”
Lin Wan’er hesitated for a moment and said softly, “This student… wants to write the character for ‘courage.’”
“Courage?” Yun Che said, slightly surprised.
“Yes.” Lin Wan’er nodded forcefully, her eyes shining. “When Mister won seats for me and Senior Sister just now, that calm, reasoned stance… made this student feel that was ‘courage.’ This student also wants to become that kind of person.”
Yun Che’s heart stirred slightly, and he said warmly, “Then write it.”
Lin Wan’er closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, much of her timidity had faded. She dipped the brush in ink, held her wrist aloft, and let the brush tip fall…
The first stroke was a vertical line.
The brush tip trembled at first, but quickly steadied, like a green bamboo shoot breaking through the soil… slender, yet straight.
“Your intent is there, but your force is a little weak.” Yun Che gave timely guidance. “The bones of a courageous person should be even more upright. Imagine you are facing an army of a thousand men and ten thousand horses alone; this vertical stroke is your backbone.”
Lin Wan’er added strength to her wrist, and the vertical stroke truly became firmer and more upright.
Then came the horizontal bend with hook, the dot, the rising stroke… With each stroke, Yun Che patiently guided her, tirelessly correcting her grip, the rhythm of her strokes, and the balance of force.
His explanations were vivid and concrete, sometimes comparing brush force to mountains and rivers, sometimes using sword techniques and boxing principles to explain power, completely unlike the stodgy obscurity of ordinary Confucian instructors.
The students listened with great interest, and many could not help but trace the strokes in the air. Even the students auditing outside the door stretched their necks, desperately trying to see the details of the demonstration.
With the final stroke, the character for “courage” appeared on the paper, still somewhat immature but structurally correct.
“Good!” Yun Che led the applause. “Though the brushwork is still insufficient, the intent has already taken shape. Given time, you will surely write a true spirit of courage.”
Applause rose in the hall, and many students looked at Lin Wan’er with envy and encouragement. To receive personal guidance from a Jixia Academy instructor… what an opportunity that was!
Lin Wan’er held the xuan paper close, her little face flushed red with excitement. As she came down from the platform, her steps were a little unsteady; she almost tripped and was so excited she nearly fainted, like an overenthusiastic fan meeting an idol, and her Senior Sister caught her in time.
She returned to her seat, clutching the character tightly, tears glimmering in her eyes, looking every bit like a fan who had succeeded in chasing their idol.
Yun Che was just about to invite the next student to try writing when suddenly…
“Heh, calligraphy is ultimately a minor path.”
A cold female voice tinged with faint mockery came from outside the hall.
Everyone turned toward the sound and saw a woman about forty years old, dressed in a dark-blue Confucian robe, standing outside with her hands behind her back.
She looked plain and her expression was stern, with the authority of someone long accustomed to teaching. At that moment, she slightly raised her chin, her gaze shooting straight at Li Zijun on the podium.
It was precisely the female scholar from Cloud Deer Academy’s main branch… Chu Wuyuan.
Watching Li Zijun being fawned over by everyone, Chu Wuyuan was almost driven mad with jealousy. Her own classes could not even fill the seats, while Li Zijun’s lecture had so many people that there were not enough seats for them.
Chu Wuyuan slowly stepped into the inner hall, and wherever she passed, the students lowered their heads and moved aside, clearly quite fearful of her, as if they had suffered under her before.
She walked straight to within three steps of the podium and stopped, her gaze sweeping over the fully seated hall before glancing at the dark mass of auditors outside. A faint curve appeared at the corners of her lips:
“Poetry and lyrics are the true Great Dao. Miss Li has studied at Jixia Academy for many years; could it be… that you only excel at such trivial tricks?”
As soon as the words fell, the hall fell silent.
Everyone could hear the provocation in those words… they subtly mocked Li Zijun as “a name not matching reality,” belittled calligraphy as a “minor path,” and even hinted at accusing her of using flashy tricks to attract students rather than teaching genuine learning.
Yun Che quickly asked Li Zijun in his heart, “Sister Zijun, who is this?”
“Chu Wuyuan, a senior instructor at the academy’s main branch, is skilled in poetry and lyrics and has always considered herself the epitome of orthodox Confucian cultivation.” Li Zijun’s voice was calm and unruffled. “She has no old grudge against me, but…
Scholars have always looked down on one another; that has been the case since ancient times.
My lecture this time was too grand in scale, so I’m afraid it offended some people.”
“And besides, she doesn’t know my identity. When I came, I already asked the dean to keep my identity as a descendant of the Confucian Sage secret.”
So that was it. Yun Che understood.
At this moment, the dean’s expression changed slightly, and he cursed inwardly: “This idiot, does she know who this person is, what background she has? With just a flick of a finger, they could wipe out your family behind you.”
The dean was just about to rebuke Chu Wuyuan when he saw Yun Che on the podium stop him.
He said:
“I must respectfully disagree with what Instructor Chu just said.”
“Oh?” Chu Wuyuan raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to hear your insight.”
Yun Che slowly walked down from the podium and stopped three steps in front of Chu Wuyuan… neither impolite nor yielding.
Yun Che controlled Li Zijun’s body, and her voice was calm yet carried clearly across the whole venue:
“Dao has no distinction between great and small.
All methods under heaven all lead to the Great Dao; three thousand side paths can all prove the Dao.
Calligraphy and painting are Dao, poetry and lyrics are Dao, classical studies are Dao, and swordsmanship is also Dao… different paths leading to the same destination; where is there any higher or lower?”
Chu Wuyuan frowned slightly. “Miss Li, your words are too broad. In Confucian cultivation, we ultimately take the classics as our foundation and poetry and lyrics as our tool.
Arts like calligraphy and painting are merely side skills for nurturing temperament and cultivating the self. How can they be compared with the Great Dao?”
“Side skills?” Yun Che smiled faintly. “Instructor Chu, have you ever heard the story of the finishing touch that brings the dragon to life?”
“Of course.”
Yun Che interrupted her, his tone gradually turning grave. “In the past, the forefather of the Confucian school, Gu Xianxian, watched the sea of clouds for ten years. In a single moment of enlightenment, with a sweep of his brush and ink, the cloud waves under his hand actually drew in real mist, forming the painting Cloud-Sea Listening to the Waves.
Within the painting, the clouds and mist flowed endlessly, forming a world of its own.
Gu Xianxian ultimately entered the Dao through that painting and attained the honored title of Painting Sage. This matter was recorded in the Arts and Literature Volume of Records of the Scholars’ Forest; Instructor Chu should have heard of it.”
Chu Wuyuan’s expression changed slightly. Gu Xianxian was one of the few great figures in the history of the Confucian school to enter the Dao through painting, and she naturally knew of his deeds.
Yun Che did not wait for her to refute him and continued, “As for Wang…, he practiced calligraphy in childhood, using sand as paper and branches as brushes.
The Preface to the Spring River Banquet that he wrote in his later years held the meaning of spring winds and rain nourishing all things in every character. After the ink dried, the paper itself gave off a fragrance of herbs and plants that did not fade for a hundred years, and it was hailed as a spiritual book.
Before his death, he copied this preface again, and when the final stroke fell, spring arose throughout the room, and even the dead branches outside the window sprouted new buds… this was calligraphy used to communicate with the Dao of nature.”
Finally, Yun Che’s gaze swept over all the students, and his voice became even clearer:
“The Great Dao has three thousand paths, each with its own strengths.
Poetry and lyrics can express feelings and clarify ambition; calligraphy and painting can also carry the Dao and reach the divine.
Instructor Chu takes poetry and lyrics as the orthodox path, but that is merely path dependence; how can that be used to declare other paths inferior to poetry?”
He slowly walked down from the podium and came before Chu Wuyuan, his gaze calm as a deep pool:
“In Confucian cultivation, the foremost priority is ‘clarify the heart and see one’s nature.’ Finding the path best suited to oneself is the true foundation.
Some are good at poetry, some excel at lyrics, some understand the classics, and some are skilled in painting… the Great Dao is like the sea; each takes a ladleful.
If one must speak of orthodoxy, then the sacred teaching of ‘teach all without distinction, instruct according to aptitude’ is the true orthodoxy that will never change for all ages!”
The final sentence rang like gold and stone, landing with resounding force!
Chu Wuyuan trembled all over, as if her mind had been struck by a heavy hammer.
She opened her mouth to speak, only to realize that all the words of rebuttal seemed pale and powerless.
The students were shaken by those words and remained silent for a long while.
Yes… isn’t the most fundamental spirit of the Confucian school inclusiveness and teaching all without distinction?
Chu Wuyuan was left speechless by this well-founded rebuttal, her face turning pale and then green. In her anxiety, she actually started to argue unreasonably:
“Even so, poetry and lyrics are still the orthodox path! Haven’t many of the Confucian school’s forebears throughout history entered the Dao through this?”
Her expression changed again and again, and after struggling for a long while, she finally gritted her teeth and said, “Besides, empty talk about the Great Dao is ultimately futile.
I will use ‘poetry and lyrics’ as the topic and test you on the spot.
If Miss Li is truly as you say and all Daos are interconnected, you surely won’t refuse, will you?”
This was a challenge to compete on the spot!
The whole hall erupted in uproar. The dean looked worried… Chu Wuyuan’s poetic talent was famous in the academy. Although Li Zijun was a descendant of the Confucian Sage, she was after all still young, and it was said that poetry and lyrics were indeed not her strong suit. What if…