Volume One: Youths Meet in Humble Times Chapter Eighty-Three: Dean Cao and City Lord Zhang

Everyone who had arrived in Tianmen Town was busy preparing for the opening of Tianmen. The leaders of each sect were arranging their responsibilities with relentless urgency.

Zhang Helun’s task was to discern the intentions of the Daoist Lin Dao.

Earlier that day, Li Yu had visited Xu Kaijiang’s home. By the time Zhang Helun arrived, the door of the Temple of Another View stood slightly ajar. He knocked at the entrance, but no one came. He wondered, could the child be absent?

Just as he was about to knock again, Lin Dao’s voice echoed from the inner courtyard, “Come right in—who would dare stop you?”

The words were as acerbic as ever, the Daoist’s tone swept across the courtyard, almost making Zhang Helun spit blood in exasperation.

As he pushed open the door and stepped inside, Zhang Helun found himself in a courtyard he had not visited for many years, his thoughts drifting back to his first arrival.

Back then, he had just taken up the post of Town Lord of Tianmen. One day, he noticed fluctuations of the Great Dao above the town, which shocked him deeply. Tianmen Town was a place devoid of the Dao—such fluctuations should have been impossible unless someone was breaking through a realm within the town.

But for Tianmen Town, a place without the Dao, breaking through was as difficult as ascending to the heavens. For the first ten realms, the process was merely the accumulation of spiritual energy and the transformation of the body. Only the final five realms triggered the ripples of the Great Dao.

He remembered that day—the sky above Tianmen Town showered multicolored clouds, clear and bright as water. The central plaza’s stone monument radiated dazzling light in concert, while the Sea of Nether remained unusually calm; every sea beast hid deep within, as if in reverence or awe. Even the most feared Nether Beast was subdued.

Such anomalies persisted for ten days, after which Tianmen Town returned to normal.

Zhang Helun carefully sensed the changes in the town, tracing the fluctuations to a certain direction. There, in a small alley to the west, he discovered this Daoist temple.

That time, he met Lin Dao without difficulty, and their discussion was brief. From that day forward, he held the Daoist in high esteem—the power Lin Dao displayed seemed ever closer to the legendary realm.

Years had passed since his first visit; this was only his second. In all that time, they had no dealings. Zhang Helun’s status made it unwise to befriend powerful solitary cultivators in Tianmen Town, lest he arouse suspicion. Lin Dao had also shown no desire for friendship, and Zhang Helun would not impose.

It was only with Li Yu’s arrival that Zhang Helun found an opportunity to establish a tenuous connection with the Temple of Another View. Though this link was fragile, it was nonetheless his only way to reach Lin Dao.

Once inside, he sensed a faint, elusive presence of the Dao. Had his cultivation not been profound, and his mind attuned through years in Tianmen Town, he would have noticed nothing.

By the pond, he caught a glimpse of the two Yin-Yang fish, his pupils dilating in shock as waves of astonishment surged within him. He thought, “What a remarkable feat!”

Yin-Yang fish existed only in books; no one had ever truly found them. Yet today, he saw them here, in Lin Dao’s possession. If Lin Dao could tame such creatures, everything else in the courtyard must be extraordinary.

Following the corridor, Zhang Helun reached the rear courtyard, where Lin Dao’s voice continued, “I cannot come out now. Speak whatever you have to say here.”

Such casual disregard—Zhang Helun had only ever experienced it when he was a minor figure. Now, with his cultivation and status elevated, he was accustomed to respect.

For a moment, Zhang Helun was stunned, then forced a bitter smile. Adapting to the atmosphere, he found a seat—the very spot Li Yu had occupied before.

He began, “I’m sure you’re aware that Tianmen is about to open. What is your stance?”

Lin Dao’s voice issued from within, “I have no stance. Do whatever you wish—it’s none of my concern.”

Zhang Helun had not expected this answer. He had considered several possibilities before coming: assistance, opposition, indifference, or even a sudden move to seize everyone’s efforts.

Yet Lin Dao’s words suggested he would not interfere at all.

Zhang Helun hesitated, “May I ask—what is your attitude towards Tianmen itself?”

At first glance, it seemed the same question, but upon reflection, there was a difference: the former concerned Lin Dao’s attitude toward their actions, the latter toward Tianmen itself.

Zhang Helun was no fool. Whether Tianmen truly existed was uncertain; only fragments of rumor remained. Years of stewardship in Tianmen Town had filled his knowledge, yet the more he learned, the more he doubted Tianmen’s existence. Perhaps it was real—but was its existence truly beneficial to the world?

Lin Dao replied, “Let me tell you—I’ve never believed that ascension must rely on Tianmen. For countless years, people have failed to ascend, but how many have questioned why? All they think about is opening Tianmen, reclaiming that elusive path to ascension.”

Zhang Helun pondered, “So you believe Tianmen is a calamity? That we should not open it?”

Lin Dao sneered, “Even if I did, would you—or they—not open it anyway?”

Zhang Helun fell silent, and Lin Dao continued, “Thus, my stance doesn’t matter. You need only know I will not interfere with your attempt to open Tianmen.”

Lin Dao was right. Whatever his attitude, would they listen? No.

They only heard what they wanted, saw what they wished, believed what suited them. If the truth contradicted their desires, reality became illusion. If illusion brought hope, illusion became reality.

Before leaving, Zhang Helun mentioned the plan to sacrifice Tianmen Town’s people to Tianmen. He expected Lin Dao to be enraged, but Lin Dao merely replied, “That is your karma—not mine.”

Thus, their conversation ended.

As he departed, Zhang Helun glanced back at the Temple of Another View, suspecting that Lin Dao’s claim of indifference was not so simple. No one realized that this small temple housed a master capable of shaping Tianmen Town’s destiny.

While Zhang Helun sought out Lin Dao, Dean Cao of the Academy of Humanity and Harmony visited the scholars at the study hall.

He arrived on a day of rest; the study hall was nearly deserted, quiet like the Temple of Another View.

The air was imbued with the righteous energy of students’ daily readings. Though Cao was not of the Confucian path, entering the hall filled him with a vast sense of serenity, as if witnessing the sunrise over the sea—majestic and upright.

Cao Xihe was Dean of the Academy of Humanity and Harmony. Beneath the Sovereign of the Imperial Hall were three academies and six departments: Humanity and Harmony, Earthly Law, and Celestial Dao. Each followed a different path: Celestial Dao pursued the supreme Dao of Heaven; Earthly Law focused on the birth and death of all things; Humanity and Harmony concerned itself with human affairs, the seasons and world, similar to the Confucian principle of putting people first, yet subtly different. Its essence lay in how one fulfilled their destiny, uniting heaven, earth, and humanity.

Cao Xihe had been Dean for countless years, mastering his path. The righteous energy in the study hall resonated with him in subtle ways. Unconsciously, a gentle breeze stirred the room, rustling all the books.

“Indeed, you’re the Dean of Humanity and Harmony. You must be close to the unity of the three talents,” Liang Hui remarked, stepping out from the inner chamber.

Cao Xihe brushed his sleeve, dispersing the wind, and replied, “Not at all. I am still far from that step—not like him, who has already reached the summit.”

The old scholar was astonished, “Is that true, Dean? Can you confirm he has reached that stage?”

Liang Hui shook his head, “Mufeng, that’s not the point. What we need to know is what that person intends.”

Mufeng bowed, “Yes, Third Teacher. Forgive my rashness.”

Cao Xihe regarded the two scholars without preamble, “I do not know his true intentions. Our Sovereign sent me to inform the Confucian school: regardless of past grievances, he is the Sovereign’s junior. Whatever he wishes to do, our Sovereign cannot aid him, but hopes you will not interfere. Otherwise, our Sovereign will not let it pass easily.”

Mufeng grew indignant, “Are you threatening us?”

Liang Hui remained silent, tacitly accepting the challenge.

Cao Xihe was unperturbed, responding calmly, “Not a threat—a kind reminder. The Sovereign is aware of your collaboration with the Imperial Advisor. He has not minded before because your actions were harmless. But if you provoke him, will he allow you to stir trouble under his watch?”

It was true—the Confucian school and the Imperial Advisor had cooperated, never intending to deceive the Imperial Hall. They had not expected their actions to be so disregarded, merely because they were insignificant.

The Imperial Advisor sought to use the Confucian school’s strength to weaken the Imperial Hall, especially its influence in the imperial domain. The Confucian school, in turn, aimed to leverage the Advisor’s power to propagate their teachings across the continent. Both sides benefited.

Liang Hui considered, then replied, “With Tianmen opening, not only will Confucians come, but people from other continents will as well. Restricting only our actions is futile.”

Cao Xihe said, “Our Sovereign anticipated this argument. He asked me to say: as long as the Confucians beneath the clouds do not act—even if all the ascension-hungry cloud saints from five continents arrive—they cannot affect him.”

Usually, Liang Hui was unmoved by Cao Xihe’s words. But hearing this, he suppressed his shock, keeping his expression steady, and wondered, “Do they know our true intentions?”

Despite his composure, Cao Xihe noticed a subtle shift. He mused, “It seems they have plans beyond Tianmen.”

Cao Xihe did not know what those plans were; the Sovereign had only instructed him to relay the message, offering no explanation.

Having delivered their words, both Cao Xihe and Zhang Helun departed. Lin Dao’s side could be set aside for now, but the scholars’ hearts stirred with unease and tumult.