Chapter 663: Chapter 385: The Weight of Cause and Effect, Heavier Than Buzhou
This life seems utterly unremarkable.
He was born in the countryside, began reading at the age of six, and at fifteen ventured into the martial world, gaining immense fame, but by thirty, tired of the clash of swords and chose to withdraw and live a reclusive life.
He selected a secluded mountain hollow to build a cottage, from then on not concerning himself with battles of the martial world or the turmoil of nations.
Farming, hunting, he’d also help the townsfolk nearby by writing letters and doing carpentry work,
because he was one of the few in town able to read and write, his age made the people respectfully address him as "Mr."
In a blink, more than twenty years passed, the young Mr. Zhang became an old Mr. Zhang.
Fifty-seven years old that year.
On a cold night just after the awakening of insects, the mountain wind swept rain against the thatched house,
the old Mr. Zhang was repairing a damaged window paper in the dim light of an oil lamp, the long sword hanging on the wall was rusted and mottled.
Outside the door came a faint sound of sobbing,
the old Mr. Zhang paused, picked up the oil lamp, opened the door, and saw a three-year-old child curled at the stone steps,
the child was wrapped in a tattered hemp garment, lips purple from cold, clutching tightly a wooden plaque with vague carvings, crying softly like a mosquito buzz.
"Little one, come inside."
The old Mr. Zhang’s voice involuntarily softened.
The child raised a mud-stained face, eyes shining bright, like two hidden stars, warily examining him,
after a long time, slowly shuffled into the cottage.
When the rain eased a bit, the old Mr. Zhang, leaning on a cane, descended halfway down the mountain, inquiring townspeople, only then learning,
this child is from the neighboring village, his father just passed, his mother succumbed to anxiety-induced illness, the clan coveted their meager inheritance and drove him out, he had become a homeless wanderer.
"Stay here."
Returning to the small house, the old Mr. Zhang handed a bowl of hot ginger soup to the little one, sighing gently,
the child held the coarse ceramic bowl, sipping slowly, the warmth dispelling the cold.
The old Mr. Zhang didn’t ask his name, nor did he say,
just from that day forward, the cottage hosted another figure, another ’little one.’
The little one was sensible, following him around all day, gathering firewood, fetching water, doing things properly, quietly like a wild grass growing by the wall.
One day.
The old Mr. Zhang, as usual, flipped through bamboo scrolls, the little boy as usual squatting aside, staring intently at the crooked characters on the bamboo scrolls.
"Want to learn?" the old Mr. Zhang asked.
The little one just over three years old nodded vigorously, eyes very bright.
So the old Mr. Zhang started teaching him literacy, from the foundational words of [Cangjie’s Works], to the ancient remnants of [Gui Zang],
the little one learned swiftly, not only memorizing instantly but often asked questions that cut to the essence.
"Mr., why should people establish themselves?"
"Why do the sun and moon always rise in the east and set in the west?"
"Mr., I love reading, why do you still want me to practice martial arts?"
Whenever he asked questions, he’d tilt his small face, eyes full of complete trust, as if the old Mr. Zhang was the sole truth between heaven and earth.
The old Mr. Zhang always answered what he knew without reservation, gently smiled:
"Among nations, chaos gradually rises, in such times of ritual collapse and music fade, scholars must also know some martial arts."
"In the future, when you grow up, encounter those adhering to law and morals, use your virtue to persuade; meet those defying law and morals, you can also use fists to persuade."
The little one seemed to understand incompletely, nodding with bewilderment.
Through cold and warm seasons, years flowed under the flicker of the oil lamp.
In the modest days of the cottage, besides teaching knowledge, the old Mr. Zhang would also teach survival skills in the wilderness,
the unyielding spirit of ancestors battling heaven and earth, the benevolence of sages in using the Tao to transform people.
The little one often listened engrossed, frequently under the oil lamp unable to put down the scroll, when tired, resting on the old Mr. Zhang’s lap to sleep,
murmuring ’Mr. Zhang’s teachings.....’.
Over time, the little one grew more calm and modest, but relied heavily on the old Mr. Zhang,
no matter what happened, the first response was always to look toward the old Mr. Zhang,
as if with Mr. Zhang there, all problems were solvable.
Thirteen years swiftly passed, the child became a young man standing seven feet tall, with gentle brows and eyes, a calm demeanor,
the old Mr. Zhang now seventy, body hunching, blood weakening, needing support against walls to rise,
the young man, taught by him, became not only learned but also understanding of benevolence and forgiveness, people ten miles around the foot of the mountain respectfully called him ’wise man,’
encounters with disputes and arguments, as long as he mediated, they got resolved properly, gradually earning much reputation,
yet in front of the aging old Mr. Zhang, the young man was still the obedient ’little one,’
daily bringing him water and medicine, wiping his body, when confused, he’d still seek advice at his bedside like in childhood:
"Mr., how to handle this matter?"
Another four years passed.
"Cough, cough, cough....."
Inside the room, the old Mr. Zhang struggled to rise, the young man supported him to sit by the bed, from beneath the pillow he took out a smoothly carved wooden plaque—
it was the result of half a month’s painstaking work after he sensed his declining health.
The flame of the oil lamp flickered, casting a warm yellow glow over the cottage and on his face lined with wrinkles.
The young man sat upright on the low stool before the bed, hands on knees, demeanor respectful yet with undisguised worry:
"Mr., for seventeen years, you’ve provided me food and clothing, taught me principles, treated me as your own... yet this kindness I’ve repaid not even a bit!"
The old Mr. Zhang only slowly raised his hand, handed the wooden plaque to the young man’s hand, fingers trembling slightly with age, voice carrying a hint of weakness:
"My Great Limit has arrived, I’m afraid I won’t see you succeed and become famous later on."
"Just your nature is somewhat too gentle, I’m worried... remember, what can educate people isn’t just articles and principles, but also fists."
Comments