Chapter Twenty: Weiyang Academy

He Chang’an led his skinny donkey, the donkey carrying the little nun. They hurried along for seven or eight miles, and by the time they reached the academy, dusk was already falling.

He swore that from now on, he would treat the donkey better. Just look at it—so thin that its spine jutted out, every bone plain to see.

The mountain road was rough, and the little nun, perched on the donkey’s back, kept grimacing in pain and repeatedly clamored to get down. Yet, at the thought of having to walk and risking blisters or calluses on her small feet, she gave up each time.

This made He Chang’an grumble inwardly. A little nun from some obscure sect, acting as if she were a princess of the grand Tang, pampered and delicate! Really! The donkey was so thin, even he himself was reluctant to ride it. If he hadn’t suddenly remembered X Lili, who had once been just as willful and full of girlish airs... he wouldn’t have let the little nun ride at all!

When the two of them and the donkey arrived at the academy, the first thing they saw was several plump, strong horses tied to the hitching post by the gate, their new saddles and gleaming stirrups making He Chang’an green with envy.

“Damn it, civil officials and wealthy merchants flaunt their fine horses, while he, a constable chasing thieves, is stuck leading a scrawny donkey...” It was always like this: villains in luxury vehicles, and those who catch them left with only a beat-up ride.

The main gate of Weiyang Academy was once a grand sight, with high eaves and imposing beams. In front stood a row of eight massive wooden pillars, once inscribed with words now obscured by deep scars from axes and blades.

At the center hung a newly written plaque. The calligraphy was ordinary, but it exuded a stern, upright energy. It read: “Weiyang Academy.”

To one side of the gate was a freshly whitewashed wall, still damp with several lines of calligraphy—typical grandiose phrases like “The academy is restored for the rectitude of heaven and earth.”

Beyond the gate, a straight path paved with blue stone led directly to the sanctuary housing the statues of the sages.

Skirting the sanctuary and entering the rear courtyard, a dense bamboo grove spread to the left, while to the right lay vegetable plots and flowerbeds, now overrun with wild, tangled weeds.

He Chang’an and the little nun made their way through the bamboo, following a narrow path worn by footsteps, until they reached a small complex with three courtyards. Over the entrance hung a brand-new plaque inscribed “Lecture Hall.”

The lecture hall was where Confucian scholars taught and resolved doubts, usually the residence of the academy’s head.

At the center of the courtyard was a crescent-shaped pool, a hallmark of government-run schools.

As they entered the lecture hall’s courtyard, they saw, by the pool’s edge, a dozen or so figures clad in white scholar’s robes, gathered in small groups, talking quietly.

“This time, in eradicating the specter and restoring the academy, Senior Brother Ma Dai’s contributions were indispensable.”

“Yes, Weiyang Academy was once a sacred place of learning, but it declined for so long that it fell to ghosts and monsters. By day, demons strutted in human guise; by night, a hundred ghosts roamed. A disgrace to the scholars of the Tang!”

“Yes, yes, a disgrace to scholars!”

The students all chimed in, mostly blaming the previous generation’s scholars for their weakness and cursing the cruelty and violence of the demons and ghosts. He Chang’an just listened silently.

Let them talk, believe what you will. A lowly constable, a rough man of arms, had never cared for such refined affairs, nor could he afford to.

What did matter to He Chang’an was just where all these fresh-faced scholars had come from; there were certainly no such elegant gentlemen to be found in Weiyang County...

As for the little nun, clinging to his side like a shadow, she seemed unsettled by the students’ talk, her delicate brows tightened with worry.

She followed He Chang’an into the main hall of the lecture hall.

At the center, behind a pine table, sat a scholar in white on the left, and on the right, a man in sky-blue official robes—none other than the county captain himself.

Seeing the two enter, the captain nodded slightly, signaling them to stand by his side.

“Master Ma Dai, the restoration of the academy must still be reported by the magistrate and approved by the Bureau of Education before it is official,” the captain said, taking a sip of tea.

“Hmph, those people at the Bureau of Education,” Ma Dai sneered, “all about their own interests and petty intrigues. Do you think they’d ever approve the academy’s restoration?”

“Master Ma Dai, do think twice,” the captain replied, unruffled.

“No need to think twice. Even in Chang’an, it isn’t for the Bureau of Education to meddle in scholars’ affairs,” Ma Dai declared righteously.

“Well, I, Yang, am but a man of arms and don’t pretend to understand your scholarly affairs.” The captain smiled, then suddenly asked, “A specter of three hundred and eighty years, using secret ghost arts, slaughtered seven or eight hundred people in Weiyang, its power equal to a warrior of the eighth rank. I wonder... how did Master Ma Dai defeat it?”

Ma Dai’s eye twitched imperceptibly. He took a sip of tea, coughed lightly, and replied with a smile, “Demons may have their secret arts, but do you think disciples of the sages have nothing up their sleeves? May I ask what the captain’s question implies?”

The captain only smiled faintly, raising his cup and drinking slowly.

The atmosphere in the hall instantly grew awkward.

After a few moments, Ma Dai forced a laugh and said, “Actually, Lord Yang, since you ask, there are a few puzzling matters worth discussing. You were right: at first, my junior Li Yishan and I threw everything we had at the specter, pitting our righteous energy against its ghostly sorcery, but we gained no ground; then, somehow, its power suddenly drained away, without us knowing how. The specter tried several times to escape, but my junior and I kept it entangled, so it couldn’t break free.”

At these words, everyone’s expression changed slightly.

Especially He Chang’an, whose heart skipped a beat. “Damn it, so that’s what happened. No wonder that old fiend didn’t come crawling down the line after me—turns out it was locked in battle with the scholars... That was close!”

The captain fell silent, drumming his fingers lightly on the table, his eyes flickering as if deep in thought.

“Master Ma Dai,” the silence was finally broken by He Chang’an stepping forward, bowing, and asking, “Are there still ghosts in the academy?”

“Not at the moment. But tonight, who can say?” Ma Dai’s simple answer made He Chang’an jump.

“Then, tonight...?” He Chang’an looked pleadingly at his superior, Captain Yang, hoping for a word of retreat.

But the captain calmly set down his teacup and replied, “Tonight, we’ll stay right here in Weiyang Academy.”

“Thank you, Lord Yang!” The scholars all stood and bowed, expressing their thanks for the captain’s bravery in staying at such a perilous time to help defend against the threat.

Scholars and their glib tongues—unbelievable!

He Chang’an groaned inwardly. “Damn it, you’re all masters, no wonder you’re fearless. At worst, you can escape with your secret arts. But I’m just a lowly constable... I can’t outrun any of you. A hundred ghosts roaming the night—surely they’re not all just wailing spirits... right?”