Chapter Forty-Three: Discussing Heroes Over Wine

After years of loneliness, the Hall of Listening to the Wind welcomed its newest students. This was their first lesson at the Washing Moon Academy, yet for their lecturer, Du Fu, it would be his last.

On this day, Du Fu abandoned his usual unkempt appearance, donning a brand-new robe of pale blue with narrow sleeves and a round collar. His long hair was neatly combed and tied high, tucked securely beneath his headscarf. Although a closer look revealed a few strands of white at his temples and fine lines at the corners of his eyes that could not be concealed, from a distance, the students found that Teacher Du truly deserved to be described as “a countenance like polished jade, with refined bearing and striking elegance.”

The female students discussed Teacher Du’s attire with great interest, yet Yang Yuhuan’s gaze toward Du Fu was icy cold.

Yu Lang, always observant and seated not far from Yang Yuhuan, noticed her apparent hostility and turned to strike up a conversation: “Sister Yuhuan, do you not like Teacher Du’s attire?”

Yang Yuhuan had always admired Yu Lang, and her expression softened slightly. “This man abandoned Sister Xian’er and is about to go alone to Chang’an to pursue his own future. From the bottom of my heart, I look down on him. I once thought Du Zimei was a man of rare talent, quite different from the usual frivolous young noblemen, which is why I persuaded Sister Xian’er to befriend him. Now, Sister Xian’er weeps all day, and I feel deeply guilty.”

Yu Lang wished to defend Du Fu, but feared that saying too much would ruin Du Fu’s carefully laid plans, so he held his tongue.

“Such a reckless man who betrays a woman—how can he be qualified to teach and guide us?” Yang Yuhuan was a woman of strong passions; the more she spoke, the angrier she became, her final sentence rising in pitch and ringing out in the hall, which fell suddenly silent.

Du Fu remained composed, tapping his ruler lightly. “Disturbing the order without cause, Yang Yuhuan, please step outside.”

Yang Yuhuan glared at Du Fu. “And if I refuse? Do you dare lay a hand on me?”

Du Fu smiled faintly and, with a gentle wave of his sleeve, Yang Yuhuan and her desk floated gracefully out of the hall. Suspended in mid-air, Yang Yuhuan’s beautiful face turned pale with fright, but she dared not move and could only submit to his will. Her startled cry faded into the distance.

To move objects with one’s will was a technique of the Upper Three Realms. Nan Jiyun, who had been distracted, immediately abandoned his earlier disregard. He had not expected that this seemingly frail teacher, no older than himself, was in fact a master of the Profound Enlightenment Realm.

The students burst into cheers. Though Yang Yuhuan was stunningly beautiful, she had always relied on Emperor Li Longji’s favor, behaving with considerable arrogance and treating all but Yu Lang with unmasked disdain. This act was, in the students’ eyes, a most satisfying turn of events.

Yu Lang felt a pang of bitterness. Now that you have offended the Emperor’s favorite woman, what hope can you possibly have for your future in Chang’an? Yu Lang knew that later historians often attributed the upheaval of the High Tang era to Yang Yuhuan’s beauty, and in the past he had wondered whether removing her early might prevent tragedy. But Yang Yuhuan had always treated him kindly and was, at heart, neither wicked nor cruel. Even her outburst was on behalf of Xian’er, simply the reaction of a woman of genuine feeling. Must one, simply for possessing rare beauty, be forced to bear the weight of such accusations? The so-called “beauty as calamity” was nothing more than a fig leaf for the incompetence of a fallen dynasty. In the end, Yu Lang felt no urge to harm her.

Du Fu smiled and gestured for silence. “Now that we have sent off the young mistress, let us begin our lesson in earnest.”

The students responded with enthusiasm, all shouting their approval.

“In this lesson, I will not teach you martial or scholarly arts. Instead, I wish to help you gain a deeper understanding of our Great Tang and those who cultivate its mystical arts.”

At this, Yu Lang’s interest was piqued. He was woefully ignorant of this subject, and with Du Fu’s cultivation and insight, his judgments would undoubtedly be fair and accurate.

“Let me begin with a question. Do you know who is currently the greatest master in our Great Tang?”

A flurry of names came from the hall, but Du Fu shook his head at each.

Li Dahu called out slyly, “Of course it’s our own Dean Chen of the Washing Moon Academy! The venerable Patriarch of the Yellow River, a famed master of the Upper Three Realms, was so cowed by a few of Dean Chen’s words that he cut off his own arm—what a display of might!”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Li Dahu’s flattery is quite on point. That’s both correct and not. Within these Academy walls, not even the Sword Saint Pei Wen would dare claim certain victory over Dean Chen. But outside the Academy, there are more than a few who could defeat him.”

The students understood; presumably, there was something within the Academy that enhanced the Dean’s power. Since Teacher Du could say so openly, it was clearly no secret.

“Then it must be the Sword Saint himself. In his youth, he once broke through an army of a hundred thousand enemy soldiers with sword in hand alone, earning the imperial edict conferring upon him the title of Sword Saint.”

Du Fu still shook his head. “To break through a hundred thousand enemies with a single sword—while this speaks to the Sword Saint’s matchless martial prowess, at its core, it was because the might of our Great Tang was overwhelming. The enemy had already lost more than twenty generals in a row, their morale broken, their ranks in disarray. Without the backing of our empire’s vast armies, even the Sword Saint would have struggled to escape unscathed.”

Xue Wenyang’s eyes sparkled. “So what Teacher Du means is that individual valor has its limits. I see! Then the true greatest master is the holy sovereign himself, who holds command over the armies!”

“Xue Wenyang is perceptive. This is precisely my point. In the future, you all will encounter many things. Always remember: individual heroics rarely achieve great ends. Even the mightiest masters need friends.” Here, Du Fu paused and glanced meaningfully at Yu Lang.

“Setting aside the armies of the state, even in the martial world, the most feared is not Sword Saint Pei Wen, but the Sword Pavilion of Mount Shu. The many Sword Slaves of the Pavilion—none can stand alone against the Sword Saint, but if the three thousand Sword Slaves and ten Sword Masters were to leave the western Sichuan region together, the world would tremble.”

“If, in the future, disaster should befall our Great Tang, all of you may seek refuge in the west, for that region is easy to defend and hard to attack, and with the Sword Pavilion at its heart, it is far safer than elsewhere.”

“Thank you, Teacher Du, for your guidance. Yet if disaster strikes, we, as students of the Washing Moon Academy, have a duty to step forward and quell the chaos. How could we hide away in the Sword Pavilion?” Zhang Chengxing came from a long line of soldiers and could not bear such defeatist talk.

Du Fu smiled. “Zhang Chengxing is right. The Washing Moon Academy has always been one of the pillars of the Great Tang, with half the nation’s finest talents emerging from these halls. I offer you a retreat not to encourage cowardice, but so that you might not despair if all seems lost.”

Li Dahu, ever the peacemaker, spoke up again. “Teacher Du is simply advocating caution in times of peace. Our Great Tang is in its prime—perhaps we shall never see a day of upheaval in our lifetimes.”

“Exactly, exactly!” The students chorused their agreement.

Xue Wenyang asked, “We have understood the true meaning of your words, Teacher Du. We of the Washing Moon Academy are as close as brothers and sisters, united in heart and action, advancing and retreating together as one. Still, we are curious: in terms of individual martial prowess, besides Sword Saint Pei Wen, Dean Chen, and An Lushan, who else ranks among the superlative?”

Du Fu nodded. “Young people do love tales of heroism. Very well, let us speak of such men and their deeds.”