Chapter 121: The Glow of Fire

The bookstore was exceptionally quiet, as if all were listening to the profound discourse between the two scholars. Even the sound of turning pages was kept to a minimum. The proprietor slipped quietly to the doorway, understanding the significance of the exchange between Wei Zheng and Liu Buwen.

"However, the great affairs of the world are ultimately decided by a select few," Wei Zheng said, his tone shifting from casual conversation to solemn earnestness as he closed his book. "I often feel adrift. No matter what an ant does, shaking a great tree is nothing more than a castle in the air—a mere fantasy."

"Regarding the metaphor of the ruler as the boat and the people as the water, no individual should be slighted," Wei Zheng replied. "As for your ants and the 'select few,' you have merely caught a glimpse of those at the helm and the oars. It is true they decide the ship's direction, and if the vessel capsizes, the world will remember only the incompetence of those rowing. But the era itself is propelled by the combined force of everything."

Liu Buwen was astonished. Standing at such heights truly offered a different perspective. From his own position, he could only see a drop in the ocean, or the tip of the iceberg—the governance of the few—which is why so many scrambled to become the helmsmen of the era. Yet, with greater power came greater responsibility. People saw only the glory and status of the helmsman, never the burden of navigating the waters, the sleepless nights spent agonizing over the fate of the nation and its people.

In his mind’s eye, Liu Buwen saw himself amidst the torrent of the times. A massive ship surged forward through the waves, crowded with people whose lives rested in his hands. Yet, his only thought was a desperate, primal urge: *Survive.*

"To hear your words is worth more than ten years of study! Your insight, Duke of Zheng, has benefited me greatly," Liu Buwen said, bowing with deep respect.

Wei Zheng replied, "Since you understand this now, your courage in daring to face the life of a minor official is commendable."

"Scholars prize integrity above all," Liu Buwen said. "To be timid would be to lack spirit. If I could learn even a fraction from you, to resolve the doubts of many years, I would die without regrets!"

Wei Zheng looked displeased. "Absurd! Your body and hair were gifts from your parents; your life is theirs as well. Do not speak lightly of death. You should consider how to live. Only by facing setbacks and braving the storms can one be worthy of holding office."

Long after Wei Zheng had departed, Liu Buwen remained standing in the silent shop, pondering his own fate and the future of the realm. He had once only sought to pass the examinations to prove his worth, never considering what laws he would enact or what kind of world he truly envisioned. Books held the mysteries of heaven and earth, but one’s own value could only be found by oneself.

In a village in Anping County, the tranquility of farm life was shattered by fire. A farmer’s home had ignited, and the local garrison failed to intervene in time, allowing the blaze to consume the entire village. The farmer was nowhere to be found—neither his body nor a trace of him remained, as if he had evaporated into thin air. No matter how Erhu sifted through the ashes, it was in vain.

The entire village was a sea of flames; all things born from this land were now reduced to ash. For farmers, the loss of their homes was a catastrophe. Uncle De stared at the soaring flames and burst into wailing tears. "Oh, the houses are all gone! How are we to survive?"

Erhu shouted, "At a time like this, can’t you see that human lives matter more than houses?"

Uncle De shook his head, his face etched with bitterness. "You don’t understand. With everything burned to the ground, what leisure would the officials have to care about us?"

Erhu looked out at the desolate village. The dancing flames reflected in his eyes like an outburst of rage, like a cry of agony. "Let’s go find A-Luo. Let him think of a way."

In the snowy wastes, several horses galloped through the gale. Qin Yang and Gela Ye squinted against the wind, finding a dirt slope to take shelter.

"When will this snow stop? If it continues, no one will be able to move," Qin Yang said, his anxiety mounting. The diplomatic situation was volatile; a delay could easily trigger a war. Such things were commonplace, and the blame would inevitably fall on the courier. As a subordinate to the Duke of Ju, Qin Yang knew the weight resting on his shoulders.

"Snow on the grasslands is the will of heaven," Gela Ye said, his expression blank. "It gives those who have toiled all year a time to rest. All things hibernate; only those burdened with guilt go against the will of heaven." He seemed not to understand why the Duke of Ju insisted on traveling in winter.

Qin Yang spat on the ground. The dry air made them thirsty, and soon both men and horses were exhausted. As the vanguard, they had spent days searching for a path, but none had been found. The horses huddled in a frost-covered cave, breathing heavily. The men huddled together for warmth, like ants, their initial hesitation vanishing as they sought to survive the biting cold. The flickering fire was the symbol of life, the only hope to endure the winter and see what lay ahead.

"The fire is too small," Gela Ye remarked. "I told you to bring more firewood, but you wouldn't listen."

"I was thinking that more wood would weigh down the horses and shorten our range," Qin Yang retorted.

"And now, because you wanted an easy way out, we are all freezing," Gela Ye replied with disdain. Were he not so strikingly handsome, Qin Yang would have struck him to settle the score.

On Luo Gan’s face flickered the firelight filtering through the tent, illuminating the bottle of "superpower wine" that had aided him so many times. He checked the system; the mission progress remained stuck at 25%. Scanning the character logs, he realized the tribesmen actually had names—first and foremost the leader, Hu Namu, and the exquisitely featured Gela Ye. This confirmed that following this tribe would surely lead to events far from the ordinary.

Xiaozhi had managed to charm the Turks with his gift for gossip, trading for trinkets that he thought might make good wood carvings—a return to his old profession during his idle time. As for Yan Shan, he had taken to practicing martial arts with the Turks and developed a taste for their potent, pungent spirits. Though the grassland wine tasted like horse urine to the uninitiated, its fierce strength was intoxicating, leaving an unforgettable impact on the palate.

Back in Chang'an, Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui had returned to their respective duties. Servants had extinguished the lamps, and the room fell into absolute silence.