Chapter Fifty-Three: That Damn He Chang'an

What is a falsehood? What is nonsense? What is the Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker?

He Chang’an pondered for a while, unable to make up his mind. An illiterate man himself, the only books he was familiar with were illustrated tales like “Outlaws of the Marsh,” “The Golden Vase,” and scattered sayings of Confucian sages. How could he possibly know what was meant by this so-called Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker...

As for “falsehood,” Mr. Lu Xun had once mentioned it in passing: “Northerners with southern looks, southerners with northern looks are esteemed. I don’t believe this is a falsehood.”
It is only when one needs knowledge that one regrets having so little.
He Chang’an could only lament that the threshold for transmigration was growing ever higher—if you weren’t a top student, you didn’t even deserve to be reborn.

Of course, he could always resort to a more direct approach—wrap himself in righteous energy, charge forward, and pummel this so-called “Nonsense Speaker” who wore a scholar’s guise until his true form was revealed.
And if he could manage to stab him a few times in the thigh and land a few knees to his soft spots, the effect would probably be even better.

Yet He Chang’an hesitated. He felt that using methods meant for dealing with monsters and ghosts, simply copying them to handle a human who had fallen to the demonic path, might be a bit too crude and simplistic...

Before entering the path of cultivation, he hadn’t paid much mind to so-called demons, thinking that “lust demons,” “yin demons,” or “crouching demons” were already impressive enough.
But once he began cultivating the Qi-Absorbing Technique, he repeatedly encountered alarming terms like “heart demons” and “heretical devils,” which was enough to keep him on his guard.
Demons, perhaps, were the greatest enemies of human cultivators.

“Damn that Chen Double-Blade! If I find out you set me up deliberately, I’ll kill you for sure!”

Cursing inwardly, He Chang’an reached inside his robe, placed his hand on a Confucian classic, and initiated a mental connection: “Uncle Hao, are you there?”

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out!”

“Uh, so you are here.”

“…”

“I have a question: What is the Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker?”

“Nothing but a heap of absurd words and a handful of bitter tears—what scholar isn’t a Falsehood Demon? As for Nonsense Speaker, probably just someone babbling away.”

“Uncle Hao, that’s too harsh.”

“Harsh? Look at the so-called scholars nowadays—parroting, twisting meanings, which of them aren’t delusional and arrogant? And who can truly embrace all things, like the rivers embracing the sea?”

“Say it simply—I don’t understand!”

“Fine. Simply put, a Falsehood Demon is someone who lies and forges things to such an extent that even he believes his own lies.”

He Chang’an suddenly understood—wasn’t this just schizophrenia...

Uncle Hao seemed impatient, directly hurling a cluster of words into He Chang’an’s mind, which instantly unraveled into several pieces of “cultural knowledge”—

“A liar has an unclean heart, seeks to deceive others, conceals truth, speaks in strange tongues, committing verbal karma—this is falsehood…”

“The Buddha once said: Those who slander the Triple Gem, claim to have attained what they have not, offer false testimony, or disparage other sects—these are the gravest liars, for in seeking ascension, they fall instead, wandering into delusion and demonic ways…”

So that’s how it is.

It took He Chang’an quite a while to digest all this, but finally he grasped most of it and formed a rough guess in his heart.

The Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker before him, was probably what people called “possessed by demons”—in the process of Confucian cultivation, seeking to break through his limitations, he had unwittingly strayed onto a path of no return…

“This Uncle Hao is truly something. As the book spirit of Confucian classics, he can effortlessly draw on the Buddha’s correct sayings as supporting evidence for his own theories.”

“Slandering the Triple Gem, making false claims, disparaging other sects…”

He Chang’an mused to himself, momentarily distracted, when a bold thought suddenly struck him: “This Great Tang is founded on martial prowess, with martial cultivators as the sole orthodoxy, marginalizing and suppressing Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist practitioners—doesn’t this fit the very definition of…”

He Chang’an shuddered, hastily shutting down his wild train of thought.

Damn it, this is the Great Tang, this is the Demon-Slaying Bureau!

He Chang’an raised his head and activated his spiritual sight, looking at the “Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker.”

Sure enough, peering at his brow, he saw the spirit of this scholar-turned-demon was abnormal—a mass of gray threads clouded his soul.

That gray tangle writhed ceaselessly, like countless sinister serpents, devouring the scholar’s soul and then feeding it back, forming an endless cycle.

“So this is… self-consistent theory…”

He Chang’an immediately abandoned the idea of “subduing him with facts and reason”; at the same time, he gave up on physical intervention.

He turned and left.

He Chang’an had a vague sense that this so-called Falsehood Demon, the Nonsense Speaker, might be a trap set for him…

Without his “little black rod,” He Chang’an, with his current strength, could do nothing against this creature.

“Hey, sir, please wait! I offer my respects!”
“As the Master said, is it not a joy to have friends come from afar!”
“Damn it, you don’t say a word, just turn around and leave—walk your damn way, I’ll curse you to death, you little bastard…”

Behind him, the Falsehood Demon tried to detain him, sending chills down He Chang’an’s spine as he hurried away.

“Brother He, finished your task already?” Chen Double-Blade saw He Chang’an enter, looking pale, and hurried over with a pressing question.

“Chief Chen, that demon… is too powerful…” He Chang’an reversed his Qi flow and directly fainted.

No wonder these scenes pop up so often in dramas—they really are useful at critical moments…

As long as he wasn’t embarrassed, let others feel awkward instead.

Fortunately, Chen Double-Blade’s cultivation was shallow and he couldn’t detect He Chang’an’s “fake collapse.”

Chen Double-Blade squatted beside him, placed a finger on his pulse, frowning, his eyes flickering as he pondered something…

---

In the Mud Lane, the scholars of the academy had slain all the yin ghosts, and now began moving bricks and digging earth, entering full “infrastructure maniac” mode.

Unlike the crude martial artists and commoners who needed all sorts of tools to work, the scholars only needed to move their lips—every bit of hard, tiring, or dirty work was eagerly snatched up by someone else.

This was thanks, in large part, to the academy’s remaining funds…

Dean Zhao Zheng, Vice-Dean Du Thirteen, and Wen Taiyuan, the three great scholars, ignored all this, hiding in the academy to play chess, drink tea, and squabble;
Occasionally, they’d have a fight to limber up.

That scoundrel He Chang’an had a point—scholars, useful for nothing, could not be allowed to merely bury themselves in dead learning…

Of course, the real reason was He Chang’an himself. It was his two rounds of scolding and a flurry of fists and kicks that made these scholars realize, deep down, that hands-on ability always trumped empty talk.

They elected Shen Yan as senior brother to oversee Mud Lane, launching a sweeping transformation of the nearly abandoned alley.

In Shen Yan’s vision, once the renovation was complete, Mud Lane would have bookshops, taverns, tea houses, gambling dens, and brothels…

In short, Mud Lane would not only ring with the sound of recitation, but also be filled with the bustle of everyday life.

“That scoundrel He Chang’an once said, ‘The righteous are often butchers, the heartless often scholars’—shouldn’t there be a slaughterhouse in Mud Lane?”

“Out of context! Rotten wood cannot be carved!”

“To come up with such a frivolous idea, you truly are a model of Tang dynasty scholars!”

“You want us scholars to really slaughter chickens and butcher dogs? That’s pure nonsense and a gross error.”

“Yes, yes, let’s just add a few more brothels…”

“Get out!!!”

And so, silver flowed like water and Mud Lane changed by the day—within just over ten days, the basic infrastructure was complete.

All that remained was to attract investment.

For bookshops, taverns, and tea houses, the academy’s students could easily cultivate a few outstanding talents.

Only the gambling dens and brothels troubled Shen Yan. Even with several hundred taels of silver left in his hands, he found the matter thorny.

Especially the brothels…

They couldn’t very well have the scholars bathe, powder their faces, and strike a pose to go… sell themselves…

Ahem—what a disgrace to the literati!

In a small tavern deep in Mud Lane, Shen Yan heaved a long sigh: “Damn you, He Chang’an, hurry up and come back to life—this student is completely out of ideas…”