Chapter Forty-Six: Philosophy

“Yan, are those bullets a skill?” Zhu Xiaoyong asked.

“They’re a reward for the ‘Debate Against Sages,’ along with the title.”

Hearing this, Zhu Xiaoyong was filled with envy—not only had Yan gained the title “Sage,” but also a new skill. Yet, recalling the scene earlier, he knew that if he had been in Yan’s place, he wouldn’t have managed a debate with the sages; under so many watchful eyes, simply speaking would have taken all his courage.

“It’s not fair…”

Zhu Xiaoyong sighed toward the heavens. As an otaku fond of anime and fantasy, he yearned for special abilities. The cheapest skill he’d seen in the Dream Space—Arcane Missile—cost five thousand points of life energy, far beyond his means.

He wondered when he might acquire a skill himself.

“This world was never fair,” Wang Dongwei replied calmly. “Compared to some, at least we’re still alive. Think about Tang Tianjie: even with luck that broke human limits, he still died. We should be grateful just to survive.”

“I’m exhausted. I need to sleep,” Yan Luo said.

“Rest easy. We’ll stay vigilant.”

As Yan Luo closed his eyes and fell into deep sleep, regaining his strength, the city of Athens—even as dusk settled—remained noisy and vibrant.

Playwrights debated the poem “Bring in the Wine.”

Social activists discussed Yan Luo’s critique of the city’s veneration of nudity.

Doctors coveted the Chinese medical texts.

Young girls and noblewomen alike dreamed of an encounter with the perfect-bodied envoy from the East—for Athens now admired the concept of ‘one-day marriages,’ a night of passion.

Yet the hottest topic in Athens was the history of China: Pangu splitting Heaven and Earth, mortals cultivating to become immortals, wondrous weapons and artifacts, the divine register where writing a name bestows godhood…

Most captivating of all was the Jade Creation Disk, which contained three thousand paths of the Dao!

Within the Hall of Elders, Pericles was in a rage, his expression reminiscent of the “Angry Leader.”

As the city’s chief general and statesman, confident and proud, having led Athens to its zenith, he now faced the humiliation of a foreign envoy’s visit. Despite the gathering of scholars, not only had they failed to subdue the outsider who insulted Greek civilization, but the entire city had been conquered.

It was truly a disgrace!

“You can’t blame Herodotus, Sophocles, and the others… That Chinese envoy is simply too learned,” said one elder.

“Yes, and to think that China possesses such a vast history. Greece simply cannot compare.”

“Do you think we might cultivate into immortals? I’d love to ask… Even if we fail, becoming a deity would be splendid. If only I could acquire one path from the Jade Creation Disk and become a king among gods…”

A group of elders began discussing the possibility of becoming immortals or gods. For Pericles, who had little faith in the divine and doubted their existence, this only fueled his anger. Unable to restrain himself, he slammed his golden staff onto the floor.

“This is infuriating!”

At the sudden outburst, everyone fell silent. After a long pause, a cautious elder spoke: “Chief General, Pericles, don’t be so angry. There’s still hope!”

“Socrates!”

“Yes, that man. If anyone can subdue the Chinese envoy, it’s him.”

The elders all agreed, “After all, Socrates is the wisest man in Athens, perhaps all of Greece!”

“General, Socrates has arrived,” a herald called as he hurried in.

“Excellent, let him in!” The previously furious Pericles was now overjoyed.

Just as they spoke of Socrates, he appeared.

Upon Pericles’ command, a man of about forty entered the hall.

He was, by appearance, quite unattractive: a bulbous nose, thick lips, bulging fish-like eyes, wild hair, short stature, clad in a thin chiton and barefoot. Looking at him, no one would guess what a powerful soul resided within.

Socrates—the Gadfly of Athens!

He had chosen this nickname himself, believing Athens to be a fine horse grown fat and sluggish, needing a gadfly to sting, reproach, and exhort it to revive its spirit and run again.

Many disliked him.

Socrates’ most common refrain was, “I am an ignorant man.”

But all had to admit:

He was the most intelligent and wise philosopher in Athens.

In the real world, in Western history, among the shining stars of ancient Greece, if one were to choose the greatest sage, it would doubtlessly be Socrates. In fact, in the West, Socrates’ place is seen as equal to Confucius in the East.

“You’ve finally come,” Pericles warmly grasped his hand.

“I was surveying tombs in Kerameikos. Upon hearing the news, I rode here at once, but still arrived late.” Socrates eyed the statesman’s orange leather jacket and azure leggings, unable to help but admire their beauty. “From my students, I’ve learned what transpired today. Who would have thought such a great nation exists in the East?”

“But…”

The short man’s expression suddenly became leonine, filled with authority. “No one may insult Greek civilization! I love Athens, and I will not permit our sacred spirit or national confidence to be defiled. Though the day is late, tomorrow I will challenge that man!”

“Good!” Pericles, face full of approval, then hesitated, “All the wise men of Athens have failed, even been defeated. Now, all my hopes rest on you… If you should lose…”

“I am ignorant, perhaps not as learned as the Chinese envoy, but I fight for Athens—I will not fail! Tonight and tomorrow morning, I’ll prepare with all my might.”

Seeing Pericles’ lingering anxiety, Socrates smiled, “Don’t worry… I’ll discuss philosophy with him.”

He paused, then said with unshakable conviction, “I am philosophy!”

“Therefore… I will not lose!”

That night passed in Athens. Socrates sat by the lamp, pondering topics for tomorrow’s debate. Yan Luo slept, while many citizens and foreigners, still excited, stayed awake through the night. Some scholars debated until dawn…

The next day, Yan Luo awoke from sleep, his life and mental energies fully restored.

His body and mind brimming with vitality, he jumped from the bed, stretched, and his bones crackled softly.

“You’re up,” Wang Dongwei greeted him, looking tired—Zhu Xiaoyong snored heavily nearby.

Clearly, Wang had kept watch alone through the night.

Nodding to his companion, Yan Luo left the room. Outside, soldiers greeted him with respect, and two Persian slave girls brought honeyed bread and wine—esteemed delicacies of the age.

Their respect for him was heartfelt. In Athens, the most admired qualities were knowledge, wisdom, and physical beauty.

Yesterday, Yan Luo had displayed all three.

After breakfast, he requested papyrus, a pen, and ink.

Papyrus, precious and imported from Egypt, was the finest writing material of the time. The pen was simply a wooden stick, and the ink, soot-based. Hearing his request, the city’s internal affairs officer personally delivered them.

Returning to his chamber, Yan Luo placed the supplies on the table.

Wang Dongwei, now exhausted, said, “I can’t hold out any longer. I need some sleep.”

“Go ahead.”

With both companions asleep, Yan Luo spread the papyrus and began to write, dipping the pen in ink. The room quickly grew quiet, broken only by their breathing and the soft scratch of pen on paper.

He filled each sheet with Greek letters, thinking as he wrote. After finishing one, he would pause to reflect, then begin the next.

Each sheet was large; after five were filled, he set the pen aside, sat on the bench, and closed his eyes to rest.

By noon, Wang Dongwei and Zhu Xiaoyong were still sleeping. At that moment, a man radiating iron will and fiery determination appeared at the door.

“Socrates, here to call!”

Though he had not slept all night, and spent the morning pondering philosophical debate, Socrates was full of vigor—a force born of spirit and conviction manifest in the physical body.

With passion and resolve, Socrates entered and saw Yan Luo seated at the table.

“You’ve come,” Yan Luo nodded to him.

“I have!” Socrates’ gaze was sharp and profound.

“Sit,” Yan Luo gestured to a bench beside the table.

“Thank you!” Socrates took the seat without hesitation, his presence weighty and taut, wild hair nearly standing on end, his short body tightly muscled.

Yan Luo raised his hand, took the stack of papyrus from the table, and handed it to Socrates, whose aura burned fierce. “Take a look.”

He was about to announce the first topic for their philosophical debate, but was interrupted. Yet the “gadfly of Athens” felt no wavering in his battle spirit. He coldly took the papers, looked down, and began to read.

Upon seeing the first line, beads of sweat appeared on Socrates’ prominent brow.

He read on, and his thick lips trembled uncontrollably. Having finished the first sheet, the robust middle-aged man shakily turned to the second.

With each line, Socrates’ face grew paler, almost ashen.

By the end, even his white chiton was soaked with sweat, clinging damply to his body.