Chapter Twenty-Four: The Masks Fall Away

"Very well, very well. What a man you are, Zhou Fulin—so utterly devoid of humanity. This time, not even your father can save you. Guards, seize Zhou Fulin at once. Without my orders, no one is permitted to visit him." General Deng’s heart hardened, and he ignored both Mr. Lin’s signals and Zhou Fulin’s threats, directly announcing Zhou Fulin’s fate.

This action immediately provoked Mr. Zhong’s displeasure. General Deng was truly lacking in sense; at such a critical juncture, how could he stir up trouble? He was courting disaster, inviting needless vexation.

Li Zisheng watched the events unfold, knowing he had no further reason to involve himself. So he sat quietly, observing the development. He understood that now would be a contest between those backing Zhou Fulin and General Deng. This much was clear; it was not his place to say anything at this moment, so he closed his eyes and rested.

"General Deng, you refuse to heed advice, suppressing us scholars with iron-fisted brutality. Such barbarity! When the imperial envoy arrives, I will surely submit a formal accusation against you. Heaven’s justice is evident—you wrong us without cause or evidence, unjustly harming us students. You must have lost your mind as a general," Zhou Fulin declared, fury etched across his face. Those standing behind him gradually gathered around him.

General Deng’s expression grew darker, his face filled with anger and helplessness. One man’s strength is small, but the power of the masses is considerable. Even mere scholars, united, become a force not easily ignored.

Yet now, he found himself riding a tiger—unable to retreat. If he backed down, wouldn’t that only embolden Zhou Fulin’s arrogance?

"Guards, seize Zhou Fulin!" General Deng pressed forward, paying no heed to Zhou Fulin and his supporters.

"You scoundrel! You villain sabotaging the nation’s fortune! You wretch bringing calamity upon the people!" Zhou Fulin, now restrained, tore off all pretense and unleashed a torrent of curses.

The bystanders frowned; Zhou Fulin’s words were excessive. Everyone knew the events in this chamber were no accident—they were orchestrated. Yet Zhou Fulin’s reaction was far from normal.

No matter what, Deng Qing was still a general of high rank. If the speaker were someone of similar status, such words might be understandable. But Zhou Fulin, who possessed no official title himself—his only claim was his family’s position at court—speaking so wildly and slandering Deng Qing seemed unreasonable.

Deng Qing, growing impatient, quickly ordered his men to throw Zhou Fulin into the prison. Yet before the guards could act, Mr. Lin and Mr. Zhong stepped forward in unison, bowing to General Deng and urging him to reconsider. They pleaded with him: this was no ordinary time, but a period of crisis. Arresting Zhou Fulin now would bring nothing but harm—a useless endeavor.

Even Li Zisheng agreed that, though Zhou Fulin’s conduct was extreme, it remained within the bounds of tolerance. General Deng’s actions, however, were unusual, and Li Zisheng could not fathom his intentions.

Arresting Zhou Fulin might indeed draw out those behind him, but the Turkic exam was imminent. This was not mere cultural exchange, but a conspiracy. General Deng surely knew more about this than Li Zisheng did. Why, then, was he acting so strangely? His actions seemed calculated to deprive Tang of its scholars for the exam, ensuring failure. The consequences would be dire.

Even Li Zisheng could see the situation clearly. How could General Deng be so foolish? Li Zisheng was deeply puzzled, unable to guess Deng Qing’s true intentions.

As Li Zisheng had anticipated, the moment Zhou Fulin was taken, the other scholars immediately protested, united in their indignation, glaring at General Deng. Perhaps irritated, Deng Qing ordered his men to ignore the scholars and Mr. Zhong and Mr. Lin’s pleas, and had Zhou Fulin imprisoned.

The scholars voiced their outrage, but Deng Qing remained unmoved, summoning Mr. Zhong and Mr. Lin, and together with Li Zisheng, left Lingzhou Academy.

Their purpose in coming to Lingzhou Academy had been to acquaint themselves with their companions for the upcoming exam, but clearly, this goal had not been met. Everyone was confused, and their greatest concern was now the exam itself.

Li Zisheng cared little; his real purpose was to investigate the murder of the great scholar. The exam was only related in some way, though the exact connection was unclear. Regardless of who won or lost, the truth would eventually be revealed, exposing the conspiracy behind the exam. Thus, he was not particularly invested in the outcome, only curious about Deng Qing’s actions.

Back in the military camp, Eight Liang returned to his own tent. Li Zisheng sat alone in his quarters, nothing happening until evening. The entire camp was eerily quiet, a calm so oppressive it seemed to portend a coming storm.

The rain continued, showing no sign of stopping.

As night fell, Li Zisheng retired early—he was truly exhausted.

At dawn, Li Zisheng shouldered his small cloth bundle once more. At the far end of the camp lay a large lake, ringed by farmhouses. Since arriving, he had discovered this place. His habit of practicing calligraphy had not changed with his location; he always sought out water, making it convenient to write.

He had been here for two or three days. The lake behind the camp was rarely frequented. On this morning, after the rain finally ceased, he welcomed the long-awaited sunshine and went to the lake early, only to find someone already fishing at the shore, seated on the stone platform where Li Zisheng usually practiced his calligraphy. The fisherman was an elderly man with white hair, looking rather troubled.

Judging from his early arrival, the old man must have been plagued by worries. Fishing has its rituals: spring and autumn are good all day, summer is best in the morning, winter at noon. Now, in early spring, the water is still cold; fish are most active at midday when the water warms. The old man’s early fishing trip surely meant he was seeking distraction from his concerns.

Li Zisheng took out his tools from his bundle, paying no mind to the white-bearded elder sitting nearby. He dipped his brush in the lake water and began practicing his calligraphy. Thanks to his diligence, his semi-cursive script had matured considerably; writing came easily, without the awkwardness of before.