Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Fierce Debate with the Father of History

"Herodotus, it's Herodotus!"
Some Athenians wore proud smiles, and even a few foreigners whispered amongst themselves about this elderly man approaching the twilight of his years.
In Athens, where culture was deeply revered, the most respected were not the councilmen or elders—for every adult male citizen had a chance to become one—nor were they the magistrates, for most Athenians now had little interest in power.
No, the most respected of all were undeniably the scholars.
Herodotus, author of The Histories, held an exalted status throughout Athens.
In truth, these people could not know what Herodotus would come to represent for posterity.
Yan Luo gazed impassively at the old man in the Greek white robe before him. There was a gentle wisdom in Herodotus's eyes, as if he could see through the world, a look shaped by a lifetime of experience. In Yan Luo’s mind, the intelligence on Greek sages that Wang Dongwei had shared yesterday resurfaced.
Herodotus: writer, historian, founder of Western literature, an outstanding representative of humanism.
If these titles were not impressive enough, there was another epithet that had endured from Roman times to the present day:
"The Father of History."
"Child, do you understand my language?" Herodotus inquired—while compiling The Histories, he had traveled widely and understood that all debate and dialogue required a common tongue as a foundation.
"Of course, sir. Please speak as you wish."
It was Yan Luo who replied, while Wang Dongwei and Zhu Xiaoyong, standing behind him, barely managed to maintain their composure; in this setting, summoning the courage to even stand tall was an achievement—they could not find words to speak.
"Oh?"
Upon hearing Yan Luo's fluent ancient Greek, Herodotus's eyes brightened slightly and he smiled. "From your accent and choice of words, I can tell you are quite proficient in our language. In my view, the drive to learn a foreign tongue must first be born from interest and longing."
"Tell me, child, did you learn Greek out of admiration for Greek civilization and Athenian culture?"
Immediately, laughter broke out among the crowd. The question was, indeed, a matter of pride.
Some Athenian citizens displayed smug expressions, and many foreigners straightened their backs—even if they were not Athenians, most were Greeks.
The magistrates, elders, and councilmen all wore smiles.
Wang Dongwei grew anxious.
"Damn... Trust the ancient Greeks to be expert debaters—he’s set a trap with his very first words."
He glanced worriedly at Yan Luo. Though he had shared knowledge of this era over the past two days, he had no idea how Yan Luo would fare under such circumstances. If Yan Luo admitted to admiring Greek civilization while claiming to be an envoy from Huaxia, their status would immediately be diminished.
"Of course not."
Yan Luo set the “Mask of Human Emotions” he wore to “Joy,” increasing his intellect by ten percent, and replied with a faint smile, "We envoys from Huaxia have already stated our purpose in Athens: we are here to spread civilization and culture, to dispel ignorance and barbarism."
Herodotus's smile froze.
Pericles and the elders’ expressions halted mid-smile as well.
A wave of emotion swept over you:
Anger +1, anger +1, anger +1...
The fury radiating from the Greeks nearby surged like a tide, threatening to drown them.
Herodotus spoke: "Leaving aside whether your words are arrogant or a deliberate provocation against a great nation... I have heard you call us Greeks barbarians?"
"Yes," Yan Luo nodded.
A wave of emotion swept over you:
Anger +1, anger +1, anger +1...
Even though Yan Luo’s Heartless Automaton could only absorb emotions from its immediate vicinity, the accumulation of feeling within this Gift of Fate soared rapidly.
"Look at this hall of the gods, behold these finely dressed people—do you really believe Greece, and especially Athens, are uncivilized lands of ignorance? That we are a nation of foolish barbarians?" Herodotus's tone grew severe. "If you say so, I will take it as a deliberate insult to a great nation under the very gaze of the gods! We may show mercy to foreign envoys, but that does not mean we will tolerate those who come with ill intent, slandering our civilization—why, not even the Persians would dare such a thing!"
"Speak! Were you mistaken or not?"
Some soldiers gripped their spears tightly, and many Athenians glared furiously. Herodotus was, in truth, leveraging the power of the crowd, pressing down upon Yan Luo and his companions with sheer force.
Sweat beaded on Zhu Xiaoyong’s brow, soaking through the lining of his robe. He could not help but regret coming to this world of athletic contests—if it had to be ancient Greece, and if one wanted to compete in the Olympics, why on earth must one debate with the ancients first? It was maddening.
Wang Dongwei felt stifled; the question was impossible to answer—if Yan Luo insisted he was right, Athens could erupt in outrage. If he admitted to being wrong, their own side would lose all momentum, and the Olympics would be out of reach.
And this was only the first of Athens’ great minds...
But to face "The Father of History" right from the start—what formidable opposition.
"I wonder... how will Yan Luo respond?"
As he fretted, Yan Luo spoke: "Yes, I was wrong to call you barbarians."
"What?"
Wang Dongwei was bitterly disappointed, though he understood that Yan Luo had little choice. Perhaps his expectations had been too high... He thought, dispirited, "If only Mencius, Han Feizi, Zhuangzi—if only any of the great masters of Huaxia, even Gongsun Long, Su Qin, or Zhang Yi were here... they would never have conceded so."
Upon hearing Yan Luo admit his mistake, the Athenians resumed their smiles.
Laughter rang out.
Pericles nodded to himself; indeed, having Herodotus confront the envoys directly had been the right move. Even before the official dialogue between Athens and the foreign delegation had begun, the opponent’s momentum had been crushed, and he had been forced to admit fault.
A wave of emotion swept over you:
Pride +1, pride +1, pride +1...
Within the Heartless Automaton, the emotional readings continued to rise. The Athenians’ mocking voices swirled around, but Yan Luo's face remained expressionless. He took a deep breath and, in a loud, resonant voice, spoke in Chinese:
"We Huaxia have a classic: The Book of Rites, in the section 'Royal Regulations,' it says: 'The Rong and Yi, the peoples of the five directions, each have their own nature and cannot be changed. Those to the east are called Yi, who wear their hair loose and tattoo their bodies, and some do not cook their food. Those to the south are called Man, who carve their foreheads and cross their toes, and some do not cook their food. Those to the west are called Rong, who wear their hair and dress in skins, and some do not eat grain. Those to the north are called Di, who wear feathers and dwell in caves, and some do not eat grain.'"
The powerful cadence of his words silenced the crowd. Many Greeks looked at each other in confusion—what language was this, and what did it mean?
Yan Luo then translated the passage flawlessly into ancient Greek, his voice carrying across the entire Acropolis, thanks to the perfectly loaded program module.
Those who “do not cook their food” were a satirical reference to barbarians who ate raw meat like savages. Those who “do not eat grain” mocked the Di and Rong tribes for living only by herding and raiding, their character wild and untamed.
"Greece lies to the west of Huaxia. To be precise, you should be called 'Rong,' not 'Man,'" Yan Luo declared.
To shift from "Man" to "Rong" changed nothing in essence—they both referred to uncivilized barbarians. Yan Luo had translated perfectly, and everyone understood his meaning. Some Greeks grew so furious their faces twisted with rage at the insult.
"Hmph!"
Herodotus's face darkened with anger. Though he was the Father of History, as a man and as a historian deeply proud of Athenian civilization, such words were intolerable.
"We Athenians command slaves to toil in our fields. We eat bread, drink wine, feast on cooked meat and vegetables. The Rong you describe—surely you mean the Persians, not us!" No longer wishing to argue the point, Herodotus set aside the copy of The Histories he had been carrying and held it aloft.
"Do you know what this is?"
"This is my work: The Histories."
"We record events in writing, spread books and knowledge far and wide, bring civilization to the people, and pass truth down to posterity. Whether The Iliad, The Odyssey, or my own Histories, they are all testaments to the splendor of Greek civilization. What nation could presume to teach Greece about civilization?"
"Well said!"
Many Athenians and foreigners shouted in acclaim.
Herodotus looked at Yan Luo with pride.
The Iliad and The Odyssey together formed the Homeric epics—he had placed himself alongside the blind poet Homer.
Yan Luo replied coolly, "The texts you so proudly cherish, those papyrus scrolls inscribed with letters, are they not the very civilization that Egypt bestowed upon you? Without papyrus, would you not be forced to record your great works upon wood or clay tablets?"
Herodotus was momentarily lost for words, for in earlier times the Greeks had indeed used clay tablets for writing.
As for parchment—the technology had yet to be invented.
The Athenians began to murmur among themselves once more. Though they had just gained the upper hand, now Herodotus—and even the prestige of Greece itself—was being pressed down by the foreign envoy. Magistrate Pericles frowned slightly as he observed the battlefield—not of swords, but of debate—between Yan Luo and Herodotus.

After a moment's thought, Herodotus shifted the topic once again.
"In my youth, I traveled north to the shores of the Black Sea, south to the furthest reaches of Egypt, east to the lower Euphrates, and west to Sicily... My footsteps have covered all Greece, as well as Byzantium and Carthage... Wherever I went, I paid homage to historic sites, studied the geography, learned the customs, and delighted in hearing local legends and histories... If there are learned men in this world, I am surely among them."
"But why have I never heard the name Huaxia? If it is a nation of flourishing civilization, why has not a single rumor reached us? Does this country truly exist, or is it mere invention? How do you prove it?"
To Herodotus's challenge, Yan Luo remained expressionless: "That is because you know too little. Huaxia has a fable: 'The frog at the bottom of the well believes it sees the whole sky, but knows nothing of the vast world beyond.' "
Ancient Greeks delighted in using fables to persuade others, and Yan Luo's story gave many scholars pause.
"My mighty Huaxia, resplendent among all the peoples, is called 'Hua' for the beauty of its attire, and 'Xia' for the grandeur of its rites. Even if you, Herodotus, have not heard of us, does that mean we do not exist? Even if you do not believe, does that mean we do not exist?
To gaze at the sky from a well and boast with such pride—how shameless."
At Yan Luo's retort, Herodotus flushed with shame and anger.
"I..." He tried to respond, but Yan Luo gave him no chance, raising his voice in a sonorous declaration: "I know what is written in your history—let us speak only of the opening. King Candaules, mad with love for his wife, urged his guard Gyges to secretly view her naked body.
When Gyges did so, the queen discovered his spying, felt gravely insulted, and laid a trap, summoning Gyges and presenting him a choice: either he must die, or kill Candaules. So Gyges slew the king, took the beautiful queen and the kingdom for himself."
Yan Luo wore a mocking smile—deliberately so. "Is this the history written by a learned Greek such as yourself? All I see is vulgarity and malice. A husband betrays his wife, a guard betrays his master, a wife betrays her husband, and a servant kills the king and gains everything—is this the worldview your history seeks to spread?"
Step by step, Yan Luo advanced, while Herodotus retreated.
"What have you brought to others? What have you left for posterity? Books, in our Huaxia tradition, are vessels for moral instruction, nurturing future generations through the written word. Your history does not warn against the devastation of war for future generations to heed, nor does it honor the toil of common people for posterity to revere and respect.
What have you written? Voyeurism, betrayal, and regicide!"
Yan Luo's ringing voice was like a series of heavy blows, striking at the heart of the Father of History.
"Let me tell you what values should truly be conveyed in books!
Prosperity, democracy, civilization, harmony, freedom, equality, justice, rule of law, patriotism, dedication, integrity, friendship!"
With each word, Herodotus's face turned from red to deathly pale, until at last he fell heavily to the ground.
The entire square before the Parthenon, from magistrates to citizens, from foreigners to slaves—thousands of Greeks were stunned into utter silence.
"Beautifully said!" Wang Dongwei was filled with excitement.
He had never imagined that, facing the Father of History, Yan Luo would defeat him so incisively!
Zhu Xiaoyong, who had been trembling with fear, now lightened considerably at the sight of the Greeks’ incredulous, slack-jawed expressions, and the defeated, devastated Herodotus sitting on the ground. He even began to wear a look of smug satisfaction.
"Does anyone else have something to say?" Yan Luo swept a cold gaze around the assembly.
"I do!"
An even older man than Herodotus, his forehead deeply creased, stepped forward, leaning on a white ash staff, barely able to stand.
"And I as well!"
Another elder, his body thin and stooped beneath a long robe, his face still flushed with anger, joined him.
"I am Sophocles!"
"I am Euripides!"
Wang Dongwei drew a sharp breath—
These were names no less illustrious than the Father of History. Of the three great tragedians of ancient Greece, the "Father of Tragedy" Aeschylus was already dead, leaving these two as the most formidable dramatists of the age.