Chapter Thirty-Seven: Ailment of the Heart

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Sensing that gentle, familiar warmth enveloping his body, Chen Jianchen felt as though he were basking in soothing sunlight—clear and relaxed. In that moment of insight, he finally understood the essential secrets to cultivating the “True Path of the Three Virtues.” They could be summed up in four key words: Strength, Integrity, Adaptability, and Clarity.

“Strength” meant one must be vigorous and resolute, possessing power and the courage to fight for what is right, rather than being a mere bookworm who only talks without action. As the saying goes, “A scholar is useless in a hundred ways,” or “It takes a scholar three years to start a rebellion.” Such outcomes stem from weak and docile natures, powerless to change their fate, and thus incapable of accomplishing great things.

With strength and vigor, one stands with confidence, unafraid of threats or harm.

“Integrity” signified standing upright, with an open heart, steering clear of crooked paths. With a righteous mind, one fears neither a crooked shadow nor ghosts knocking in the dead of night.

“Adaptability” was about flexibility.

In dealing with people and matters, if one is rigid and unyielding, unable to adapt to circumstances, one is likely to become trapped between a rock and a hard place. As the saying goes, “Too rigid, and one snaps; too soft, and one bends.” Adaptability allows for balance and finding the most reasonable solutions.

“Clarity” meant understanding reason, discerning right from wrong, refusing to blindly follow the crowd or be misled by appearances.

To cultivate the “True Path of the Three Virtues” is to refine one’s righteousness, and all four are indispensable. When mastery is attained, one’s upright spirit can dispel evil for a thousand miles!

Chen Jianchen organized these thoughts and principles in his mind, and everything became clear, as if the clouds had parted to reveal the bright moon. Such enlightenment was not something mere rote reading could provide.

Reading, after all, depends on what one reads—opening a book may be beneficial, or it may be harmful. Discerning selection is necessary; blindly thinking that the more books one reads, the better, is a serious mistake.

For example, if you wish to cultivate righteousness and achieve Strength, Integrity, Adaptability, and Clarity, but immerse yourself solely in the canonical texts meant for the imperial examinations, how could you possibly glean these virtues? The result would be to lock oneself in a cage, becoming rigid, and turning into a pedant who can only parrot the words of ancient sages.

It’s like setting out north when you want to go south—the carriage may be moving, but on the wrong path, you’ll never reach your destination.

As someone who had crossed over from another world, Chen Jianchen’s perspective was far higher, broader, and more penetrating than that of the local scholars, who devoted their lifetimes to books. If this world was a vast cage, then he was someone from outside it. He hadn’t broken free from within; he was, by his very nature, not of this cage.

That was his advantage.

Of course, understanding principles is just the beginning; one must put them into action. Otherwise, it all comes to nothing. Yet, with guidance, one can better grasp the right direction and, through constant self-examination, avoid straying from the path.

Chen Jianchen’s perseverance in practicing martial arts was his “Strength”; his filial piety, trustworthiness, and refusal to bully others were his “Integrity”; shunning rote learning was his “Adaptability”; and his ability to distinguish between the innocent Yingning and the wolf demon was his “Clarity.” In all these ways, signs showed he was walking the right path.

He let out a long breath, finally noticing that the class had ended. The other students were already leaving, and he alone was still sitting in a daze.

“Liuxian, you’re a bit too diligent. It’s good to relax when it’s time to relax,” called out Wang Fu as he hurried over.

Chen Jianchen just smiled in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

The two of them left the classroom together, intending to eat at the dining hall. Just as they reached the academy gates, Fan the Porter, who was lazing about, strolled over and said, “Young Master Chen, someone’s here to see you.”

Fan the Porter’s real name was Fan Hun, a former soldier who, thanks to his connections, had left the army and was now employed as the gatekeeper at Minghua Academy. Don’t underestimate this humble position—it was lucrative and leisurely, a cushy job indeed.

Fan the Porter had grown plump, his belly protruding.

Someone’s here for me?

Chen Jianchen was momentarily taken aback. Perhaps it was A’bao or his mother—had they come to visit, or was there trouble at home?

Uncertain, he quickly hurried toward the gate.

Minghua Academy had strict rules: during term, outsiders were not permitted inside without approval, not even family members. They could only request that the porter deliver a message. Likewise, students could not leave without permission.

At the gate, Chen Jianchen saw A’bao pacing anxiously outside.

“A’bao, what’s happened?” he asked directly.

At the sight of him, A’bao’s face lit up with relief, but her eyes quickly reddened as she said, “Brother Liuxian, Godmother is ill—seriously ill.”

When Chen Jianchen had taken A’bao in, Madam Mo had declared she would treat the girl as her own daughter, giving her the status of goddaughter to avoid neighborhood gossip. Thus, A’bao always referred to Madam Mo as “Godmother.”

What?

Chen Jianchen’s brows knitted as he asked calmly, “What illness?”

“I don’t know. Godmother fell gravely ill overnight—she has no appetite, her speech is slurred. We called for the physician, who said she’s suffering from a heart ailment, but the medicine hasn’t helped. I had no choice but to come to Jiangzhou to find you…”

A heart ailment—an illness of the mind. But why, without warning, would Madam Mo fall ill like this?

A suspicion arose in Chen Jianchen’s mind: was this the work of the Underworld again? Unable to deal with him directly, were they targeting an old woman instead?

Such a sinister and ruthless method—using any means to force submission, all for a mere stick of incense!

Chen Jianchen’s anger flared—he knew well that the so-called “gods and ghosts” of this world were quite different from those of legend. In fact, they were almost two distinct concepts. Sometimes villains are crueler than ghosts, and sometimes evil spirits are no weaker than wicked men. But he hadn’t expected his opponents to stoop to this.

“I understand. Wait here, I’ll go request leave.”

At the academy, requesting leave was straightforward, though it required a fee of twenty coins.

Soon, Chen Jianchen had completed the process, hired a carriage, and set off home with A’bao. On the way, A’bao explained, “I actually arrived at the academy gate early this morning, but the porter demanded a ten-coin fee just to deliver the message. I hadn’t expected to be charged, and left home in a hurry without enough money, so I had to run back to fetch it…”

Thinking of A’bao, penniless and anxious, pleading with that porter only to be turned away and forced to make another exhausting journey, Chen Jianchen could imagine how much hardship she’d endured.

Truly, it’s the petty demons who are the hardest to deal with…