Chapter Thirty: In the Days of Youth

The entrance ceremony for Washing Moon Academy was held at the Food-for-Thought Pavilion. Firstly, it was the largest building within the academy, and secondly, since ancient times, celebrations have inevitably involved eating and drinking.

Yu Lang, who had taken first place in the entrance examination's written test, was assigned the chief seat among the new students. To his left sat the prodigious youth Wu Songru, who had entered the Break-Through Realm solely by virtue of a painting. For some reason, whenever Yu Lang looked at Wu Songru, he recalled the swaggering manner in which Yu Family's Ao had once pressed a blade to the neck of a master painter, forcing him to create art. At this moment, that nameless short blade rested quietly at Yu Lang’s waist, and the painting was tucked into the inner pocket at his chest. He felt quite amused inwardly.

Before the ceremony officially began, Wu Songru thanked Yu Lang: “That night, I owe you much, Brother Yu. Your guidance ensured my ten years of hard work were not wasted.”

“We are fellow students; helping each other is only natural.” Yu Lang’s expression was bitter—had he known Wu Songru’s painting would enable him to ascend in a single leap, he would never have dared offer advice.

Wu Songru sighed. “Alas, my talent is limited. I managed to cleverly depict the pair of eyes hidden in the darkness, as you suggested, which allowed me to step into the Break-Through Realm. Later, Instructor Wang told me that if I had painted those eyes openly and honestly, awakening to the Profound Insight Realm overnight would not have been impossible.”

The Profound Insight Realm was the first of the top three realms. Yu Lang began to dislike Wu Songru; there ought to be limits to humblebragging. This endless self-praise, with a hint of blame directed at Yu Lang, was tiresome. If you had such talent, you would have soared long ago—why would you need my guidance? If I hadn’t taught you to use trickery, you’d have spent your life painting birds. Yu Lang had no desire to engage further.

Wu Songru realized his misstep and sensibly ceased speaking. Although Yu Lang was merely an ordinary youth whose energy center had yet to be opened, Wu Songru did not dare underestimate him—indeed, he even felt some fear. Perhaps it was due to Yu Lang’s perfect scores across four subjects in the written test, or perhaps it was the faint yet persistent aura of deadly intent about him.

In fact, Yu Lang’s current strength was on par with any practitioner in the Hundred-Refinement Realm. Within the short blade was a martial soul pool capable of storing internal energy; Yu Lang drew spiritual energy from heaven and earth to fill it, with a capacity far greater than the average person’s energy center. Without the blade, Yu Lang could reliably manifest the strength of three stones thanks to the unique, intermittent consumption of his cultivation method, and in bursts could reach five stones. With the blade’s aid, he could consistently wield ten stones of force, peaking at about twelve stones in moments of explosive power. Qingqing, with a beginner’s Hundred-Refinement cultivation, possessed only two stones’ worth of strength, while even those at the pinnacle of the realm had no more than fifteen stones. Yu Lang was fully capable of competing.

The ceremony began in earnest, with an elder instructor surnamed Meng delivering the address. He rambled on about five hundred years past and five hundred years hence, his speech meandering without focus, leaving Yu Lang drowsy. It would be unseemly to fall asleep in such a setting, so Yu Lang shifted his attention, scanning the hall for any young women whose eyes might be closed. His sly gaze collided with Qingqing’s, who threatened him with a look as if ready to strike. Yu Lang quickly withdrew, fixing his gaze on his nose, then his heart. After his survey, he gained some understanding of the gender ratio among the two hundred new students. Though Washing Moon Academy claimed to teach all without discrimination, there were inevitably more males than females; fewer than fifty female scholars were present. The academy set no restrictions on women in its assessments, but the times were not especially fair to them—educational opportunities were scarce, and physical disadvantages were real. In other words, most of the female students present hailed from prominent backgrounds, wealthy or noble.

“Yu Lang, they're calling you,” Wu Songru whispered.

Yu Lang snapped out of his reverie and proceeded hazily to Elder Meng’s side.

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Elder Meng’s face radiated joy, his eyes full of boundless hope for the younger generation: “Student Yu Lang, perfect scores across four subjects in the written test, personally rated as ‘Celestial Alpha’ by the Dean’s red brush. A genius rare in a hundred years at Washing Moon Academy. I ask all students to take him as an example.”

“In three days, the final round of the entrance tournament will be held, determining each student’s ultimate ranking. The top student will receive a precious quota for the ‘Purify Meridians and Refine Marrow’ ceremony at Washing Moon Academy. In addition, this year’s tournament has been adjusted—students who entered by internal nomination may now contend for the top spot as well…”

Hearing this, Yu Lang’s mood soured. There were forty-one students who had entered via internal nomination; originally, a hundred and fifty-nine competed for the quota, but now the pool had expanded to two hundred, increasing the difficulty for Yu Lang considerably. Yet this was a decision by the academy’s leadership, and Yu Lang had neither the right nor the means to object—even if he spoke up, nobody would listen.

At the subsequent banquet, the academy provided many rare delicacies, but Yu Lang found them tasteless. He began to suspect that Washing Moon Academy was perhaps not as sacred as he had imagined—money could indeed buy divine favor.

After the ceremony, Yu Lang collected his number plate and followed his senior guide into the Self-Reflection Hall.

Self-Reflection Hall housed the student dormitories, laid out much like the guest rooms of contemporary inns. Inside, several neat bamboo beds were squeezed together, and the remaining passageways were so narrow that only two people could walk side by side. There were no bunk beds; otherwise, much space could have been saved. Yu Lang considered suggesting bunk beds to the academy, but soon dismissed the idea. He even regretted producing roller shoes during the third round of the competition. Ever since realizing he was not the only transmigrator in this world, Yu Lang had grown far more cautious. If his identity were discerned by another of his kind due to some trivial detail, the consequences would be unpredictable.

“Well, the champion has arrived!” Xue Wenyang greeted Yu Lang with a wink.

Yu Lang recognized him as one of the internally nominated students, from a family of physicians in Gaoyou County. Though his tone was teasing, it carried no malice, so Yu Lang returned the gesture.

“Is a lesser sort who needed to pass the entrance exam really worthy of Brother Xue’s special attention?” scoffed another student, half-reclining on a bamboo bed with a book.

Yu Lang had reviewed the dossiers of his dorm mates and knew this was Xie Zhiqian, the nephew of the Xie County Magistrate, from an illustrious family that rivaled even the Li family of Yangzhou, and was known for his arrogance.

“Your Xie family is but a fallen house—what right have you to boast?” retorted Dai Yang, who had invited Yu Lang to team up after the second round.

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Xie Zhiqian’s face flushed. “When our Xie family rose to prominence, what was the Li clan of Longxi…”

Insulting the imperial family in public was a grave offense, punishable by extermination. The Li-Tang royal house itself harbored a certain insecurity regarding its bloodline; if exploited by those with ill intent, the consequences would be dire.

Though Xie Zhiqian was brash, he was genuine, and Yu Lang could not bear to let him risk disaster. He interrupted: “No matter how illustrious one’s lineage, in the end, dust returns to dust, earth to earth. Swallows once nested in the halls of kings and nobles, now they fly into the homes of ordinary folk.”

All were astonished. Though the verses were plain, they lacked artifice and bore the mark of a true master, their meaning profound.

Xie Zhiqian rose and solemnly performed an elaborate ancient ritual, the kind only self-proclaimed noble families would pass down through generations.

“Brother Yu, your talent is great. I, Xie, have been reckless.”

Yu Lang appreciated the scholar’s straightforwardness and hurriedly returned the gesture: “Xie Dongshan is a predecessor I deeply respect. To have the fortune of studying alongside his descendant is an honor.”

Outside the door, Du Fu saw the dispute resolved, silently recited the verses, smiled, and departed with hands clasped behind his back.