010, I possess a noble spirit that can overcome all obstacles!

This question stumped Wang Yu for a moment.

The matter of benevolence has already been thoroughly and clearly expounded in the foundational text of the Confucian school, the Analects. Benevolence is, indeed, the heart of Confucianism. When Fan Chi asked about benevolence, the Master said: "To love others." Self-restraint and a return to propriety constitute benevolence; if one can practice self-restraint and observe propriety for a single day, the world will be suffused with benevolence. Benevolence is dependent on oneself—does it depend on others? The benevolent man wishes to establish himself and so helps others to establish themselves; wishes for success and so helps others to succeed. The ability to draw analogies from oneself is the way of benevolence. Is benevolence distant? If one desires benevolence, it is already at hand. Firmness, courage, simplicity, and reticence are close to benevolence. Do not impose upon others what you yourself do not desire. A gentleman does not depart from benevolence for even the time it takes to eat a meal; in haste or in distress, he cleaves to it.

If one can practice these five things throughout the world, one is benevolent. And so on.

Those who understand may take the meaning; those who do not may search elsewhere.

Thus, to move beyond the bounds of the Analects is not easy—it is exceedingly difficult. Even the great Confucian masters of later generations have made little progress in the concept of benevolence, remaining largely within the scope of the Analects.

Only one man ventured a new path, establishing a foundation in the Confucian school to stand alongside benevolence: that was righteousness.

Countless profound truths concerning benevolence and righteousness swirled in Wang Yu’s mind, converging at last into four sentences:

"The Master speaks of achieving benevolence; I speak of pursuing righteousness. Only when righteousness is fulfilled does benevolence arrive!"

As soon as Wang Yu uttered these words, a brilliant radiance burst forth. Boundless, awe-inspiring energy gathered from the heavens and earth, shattering the three characters in front of him. Not only that, but this majestic energy surged upward, breaking through all ninety-eight remaining steps of the staircase. Every principle and law imprinted there was rendered void, unable to withstand the force of this righteous energy.

It was not that Confucius was inferior to Mencius; rather, the imprints here were all the doctrines of the Sage, rigid in their nature. Wang Yu’s four sentences appeared for the first time in this world, stirring the awe-inspiring energy of heaven and earth in an unprecedented way.

Had Wang Yu awakened his literary spirit, these words alone would have been enough to claim the title of Great Scholar or even Grand Master. For this sentence could truly serve as his declaration of the Way.

The core principle of Mencius, the Second Sage, is righteousness—cultivating the awe-inspiring energy of heaven and earth, complementing benevolence, each enhancing the other in perfect harmony.

Yet Wang Yu’s heart was not set upon this path. The way of benevolence and righteousness was not his own.

That awe-inspiring energy stretched between heaven and earth like a pillar upholding the sky. Those outside the heavenly staircase witnessed it; the crowd was utterly stunned by Wang Yu, overwhelmed beyond measure. Even so, amazement and shock lingered in their hearts.

What manner of prodigy was Wang Yu, to evoke such a grand phenomenon within the heavenly staircase—so terrifying in its magnificence?

Wang Yu himself had not expected that these words would summon such extraordinary celestial signs. Mencius, truly, lived up to his reputation as the Second Sage.

After breaking through all obstacles ahead, the awe-inspiring energy returned, transforming into a small violet dragon that darted into Wang Yu’s body, vanishing from the world.

For this phenomenon of something entering his body, Wang Yu remained calm, unperturbed. He had already experienced it nine times before; it was nothing new. Practice makes perfect—if resistance is futile, one might as well enjoy it.

With all barriers shattered, Wang Yu did not hesitate. He strode upward, leaping over the final ninety-eight steps to arrive at the true summit of Mount Tai.

Time within the heavenly staircase did not seem to match that outside, perhaps fixed by the Sage himself.

When Wang Yu reached the summit, at first there was nothing extraordinary—rocks, ancient pines, and mist shrouded the surroundings. Only a large green stone lay across the edge of the cliff, as if suspended in midair.

Wang Yu scanned the area, finding nothing else. Looking back, the eighteen twists in the path had vanished; there was no way back.

He was not anxious, but after a brief contemplation, he sat cross-legged upon the great green stone, awaiting quietly.

The sky was dark and heavy; the west was iron-hued, the east tinged with faint white, the world merging in vastness.

Before him stretched a sea of clouds, piled like white jade. In every direction, clouds flowed, sprawling before the dawn, resembling countless flocks of sheep, necks entwined and backs pressed together in sleep, their ears and curved horns faintly discernible.

Seated alone atop the misty summit, Wang Yu entered a strange reverie.

His body seemed to expand without limit; the mountain below was but a stone beneath his feet. This giant, hair unbound, long locks streaming in the wind like a dark banner, stood on the pinnacle of the earth, facing east, arms outstretched, as if gazing intently at something.

The giant’s hand pointed eastward.

At that moment, radiant colors blossomed across the eastern sky. Magnificent light bathed all, as a red sun soared upward.

Rose essence, grape nectar, redbud sap, agate distillate, frosted maple leaves—

A multitude of hues worked in the layered clouds. Countless serpentine dragons slithered into the pale cloud banks.

A burst of brilliance swept away the slumber of the heavens, awakening the luminous clouds in all corners.

The divine steed of light galloped fervently...

The sea of clouds came alive; the sleeping beast-shaped waves resumed their mighty howling, raising their heads and tails, crying out to Wang Yu.

The morning dew washed the green-hued, bun-shaped islets, stirring foam and spray along the four shores, shaking the floating reefs of life, as if heralding the arrival of light and joy...

Golden clouds spread like a fan from the boundless shoulders, unfurling along the edge of the earth.

The blazing orb of pure flame probed upward, leaping from the horizon, climbing atop the clouds to shine upon the sky...

As the radiant sun soared above the sea of clouds, its light shone upon Wang Yu, and he suddenly regained his senses.

What a splendid vision—the rising sun, its path aglow.

But what was the Sage’s purpose in leaving this scene atop Mount Tai? What did he wish to convey to his disciples?

Could it be that only by comprehending the true meaning of this vision could one depart from this place, completing the trial of the heavenly staircase?

Fortunately, the Sage did not deliberately make things difficult. When the scene faded, words appeared above the sea of clouds:

"Fulfill the aspiration of your Way; receive my gift, and you may depart."

Wang Yu understood instantly.

So, it was about one’s ambition.

It seemed the final trial tested the climber’s resolve.

As the saying goes, "An army’s commander may be taken, but not the will of a common man." Aspiration is intent; it reveals a person’s spirit and character.

This was a test to select the inheritor, indeed!