Chapter 72: This Is What It Means to Reason

During the grand New Year, the entire city of Chang’an was enveloped in a heavy silence. Apart from a few strings of firecrackers near the imperial palace and a symbolic recitation of prayers, most common folk seldom ventured outside, preferring to stay home. The world was turbulent; if one could manage a mouthful of food and survive this once-in-a-century bitter cold, it was already considered auspicious and fortunate.

Master Lü, clad in an old cotton robe, wandered through the streets and alleys, walking with steady steps—neither too large nor too small, every stride precise, exactly three feet three inches, not a fraction off. He was followed closely by He Chang’an, who was obedient and silent, uttering not a word.

To He Chang’an, a rough, uneducated martial man, this measured, meticulous gait seemed somewhat rigid and old-fashioned, though no one had ever explained to him the meaning of “never stepping out of line.” “Heaven is vast, the earth is vast, the Way is vast, and man is vast as well, but nothing surpasses the importance of rules, nothing exceeds reason.” Even if he had heard such lofty principles from scholars before, He Chang’an could never recall them, and even if he did, he couldn’t comprehend them.

He followed Master Lü for one reason: he wished to ask how to help the Jade-faced Spirit Fox reason with the world.

Master Lü merely smiled and said nothing, leading him out of the academy, out of Yellow Clay Alley, and into the deep night of Chang’an. The jade-faced spirit fox, no larger than a fist, hid uneasily in the spirit beast pouch at He Chang’an’s waist, peeking out nervously.

Taiping Lane, Gong and Drum Lane, Hibiscus Garden, Vermilion Bird Street, Mule and Horse Alley, Lantern Alley… They passed through myriad facets of human life—joy and sorrow, parting and reunion, secret strife, contests of will. Insights flowed through He Chang’an’s heart like water, allowing him to grasp some truths while forgetting others.

At last, the old scholar, the young man, and the fox arrived beneath Star-Plucking Tower. The old scholar looked up at the high building, his gaze gentle. He stood there with casual ease, indistinguishable from any other destitute scholar. Yet He Chang’an sensed an inexplicable literary aura—like ripples on the surface of a lake, gently spreading, refreshing the mind and calming the heart. Many perplexing truths suddenly became clear.

Above, in Star-Plucking Tower, a middle-aged Daoist could no longer sit still. He set aside his teacup, stepped out, and in an instant appeared before the old scholar, bowing respectfully and saying, “Master Lü, please come upstairs for tea.”

Master Lü remained where he was, smiling warmly. “Li Qinglian, you passed the problem to the academy, and Zhao Zheng, Du Thirteen, and Wen Taiyuan—those three useless fools—passed it on to Zheng Xiaomei. Then Zheng Xiaomei, the most mischievous of all, handed it to He Chang’an, a young student from Yellow Clay Alley. What kind of reasoning is this?”

“In Chang’an, do your words as the Daoist leader still hold authority?” Master Lü continued.

Li Qinglian bowed deeply, sweat streaming down his back and soaking his clothes in an instant. He managed a sheepish smile and answered, “As the sage of Confucianism says: know what you know, and acknowledge what you do not know. I… junior… truly do not know how to respond.”

“You are the leader of the Daoist sect, and I am a scholar. On what grounds do you call yourself a junior?” Master Lü sighed, though his tone remained gentle, as if a teacher patiently guiding a student.

“Master Lü is an equal of my teacher. My calling myself junior does not break the rules,” Li Qinglian replied.

Master Lü regarded this State Preceptor of Tang, the leader of the Daoist sect, with a hint of disappointment. He looked up at the sky and muttered softly, “Rules, rules… If the Daoist sect breaks them first, am I, a scholar, supposed to follow suit? Very well, Li Qinglian, compensate me with a few things and we’ll call it even. What do you say?”

Li Qinglian forced a bitter smile. “Just a few useless trinkets—how could they possibly catch your eye?”

Master Lü also smiled bitterly. “These days, I’m so poor I can barely keep the pot boiling. My students are hopelessly foolish, incapable of earning a living, yet each acts so proud and self-important that it makes me angry as their teacher. But you, Li Qinglian, are different—elixirs, talismans, materials for formations, flying swords… If you give me a few hundred pounds, surely it wouldn’t hurt you much?”

…

Leaving Star-Plucking Tower, the old scholar, the young man, and the fox carried bundles of “spiritual materials” toward the Bureau for Slaying Demons. He Chang’an remained silent. He knew without asking that Master Lü was going to reason with Lord Zheng.

The jade-faced spirit fox could not suppress its excitement, chattering endlessly about “Was that old Daoist Li Qinglian?” and “What is the greatest difference between humans and demons?” and so forth. Master Lü answered every question patiently, always with a gentle smile, meticulous and earnest. Even when he could not answer, he would ponder carefully and say, “I truly do not know.” To know what one knows and admit what one does not—such is wisdom.

Indeed, he was a fine teacher.

Soon they arrived at the entrance of the Bureau for Slaying Demons. Master Lü turned to He Chang’an and asked, “Should we go in directly, or will you announce us first?”

He Chang’an was taken aback and replied, “I’ll go in and announce us.”

Master Lü considered for a moment, then smiled, “That makes sense.”

He Chang’an, shouldering the large bundles of “spiritual materials,” muttered as he walked toward the Demon-Suppressing Tower, “How is it that what I say makes sense? Isn’t it just to avoid trouble with Lord Zheng?”

He had barely approached the Demon-Suppressing Tower when he encountered Lord Zheng, descending hurriedly with a grim expression.

“Lord Zheng, Master Lü…” He Chang’an swallowed the rest of his words.

For Lord Zheng, from a distance, was already laughing heartily, clasping his hands in greeting and approaching Master Lü with quick steps. “Master Lü, your esteemed presence honors us. Zheng Xiaomei failed to welcome you properly—please forgive me.”

“So he really is called Zheng Xiaomei…” He Chang’an suppressed his inner grumbling and followed Lord Zheng, carrying his bundles to the entrance.

“Zheng Xiaomei, I just reasoned with Li Qinglian, and he compensated me with a heap of useless junk,” Master Lü greeted with a gentle smile. “What do you think of this?”

Lord Zheng’s expression remained unchanged, and he laughed heartily. “That rascal Li Qinglian doesn’t know how to reason—he deserved to compensate you!”

“Zheng Xiaomei, so what about us?” Master Lü pointed to himself and then to Lord Zheng, smiling awkwardly.

“It’s just some magical treasures and spiritual materials—I'll compensate you!” Lord Zheng waved his hand generously, and Zhang Yichao hurried over with several bundles.

“Lord Zheng…” Zhang Yichao glanced at Master Lü, hesitating to speak. A fierce aura was written plainly on his face, making He Chang’an’s heart race in alarm.

Lord Zheng’s expression shifted, and he glared fiercely at Zhang Yichao. “Go back and serve three months confinement.”

Master Lü stood there, relaxed and smiling. “Ah, you see, it’s embarrassing. I am a scholar—reasoning is my forte. But Zheng Xiaomei doesn’t reason with me and simply sends a heap of things with little use, which is even more unreasonable. No, your compensation must be doubled.”

Zhang Yichao, scolded by Lord Zheng, had nearly reached the Demon-Suppressing Tower. Hearing the old scholar’s shameless demands, clearly extorting Lord Zheng, he became furious. He spun around and, from thirty paces away, unleashed a punch toward Master Lü.