A dynasty that lasts a hundred years, noble families enduring for a thousand, and a tradition of the Way that continues for ten thousand generations.

Although what Wang Yu said made some sense, Fan Ruansha absolutely did not dare let him continue. With every word, another enemy was made; if this went on, even if Wang Yu was unafraid, she certainly was. She dreaded the possibility of their conversation leaking out, for that would bring endless trouble. Thus, after Wang Yu finished his critique of the Daoists, Fan Ruansha decisively ended the topic, using the excuse of drunkenness to bring the banquet to a close.

Wang Yu and Wei Wuji were no fools; seeing that the young lady clearly wished to end the evening, they bid their farewells and returned to their cabin. For the rest of the journey, Fan Ruansha never sought Wang Yu out again, evidently wary of him and fearful he might utter something even more astonishing.

Without further incident, three days later, they arrived at Linzi, the capital of Qi. At that time, Linzi was famed throughout the land—a bustling metropolis, teeming with people. The idioms “shoulder to shoulder” and “sweat falling like rain” were coined to capture the city’s vibrancy and prosperity.

Built along a riverbank, Linzi had the Xi River to its west, the Zi River to its east. North to south, the city stretched for some twenty li, while its width from east to west spanned about ten li. Its walls soared over ten zhang high—truly a city fit for heroes.

With thirteen gates, Linzi was well fortified. The Fan family’s merchant ship anchored at a dock not far from the southern gate, awaiting their contacts to receive the goods. Meanwhile, Wang Yu and Wei Wuji intended to settle in at Wang Yu’s residence first. They made plans with Fan Ruansha to meet the next day at the Jixia Academy.

And so, Wang Yu and Wei Wuji disembarked and headed straight for Wang Yu’s home. Making their way through the crowded streets, the air was filled with the cries of vendors. What set the city apart, however, was the proliferation of academic societies—evidence that this was a city graced by the presence of the Jixia Academy.

Wei Wuji could not help but exclaim in admiration, “This is truly a sacred place!”

Wang Yu readily agreed. As they walked, they observed the many societies lining the streets, but, being swift of foot, it wasn’t long before they reached the southeastern quarter where the noble families resided.

The atmosphere here was markedly different. The streets were broader, and from a distance, one could sense faint purple mists rising skyward, vanishing into some unknown void. Passersby moved quietly, their eyes filled with awe and envy as they glanced at the stately residences, only to hurry along as if afraid of being noticed.

Guided by memory, Wang Yu soon found the Wang estate. The King of Qi had indeed been generous, granting his family a sizable mansion in the heart of Linzi. When Wang Yu and Wei Wuji arrived at the entrance, Wei Wuji could not help but marvel, “Brother Hongjian, your residence is truly imposing—no less than my own!”

Wang Yu shot him an exasperated look, “I am but a mere viscount—how could I ever compare to you, Master Wei?”

Wang Yu had come to realize that Wei Wuji possessed a rather humorous streak, quite unlike the formidable commander who would one day lead allied armies against Qin.

No matter; Wang Yu had no interest in quibbling with him.

Although Wang Yu was now the sole survivor of the royal house of Nie, some loyal servants had remained. Thus, when Wang Yu knocked, it was not long before an elderly retainer appeared, his hair white as snow, leaning on a bird-headed staff. At the sight of Wang Yu, the old man was visibly moved; he fell to his knees, saying, “This old servant greets the master of the house.”

Wang Yu felt uncomfortable seeing the old man bow so deeply, and hurried to help him up. “Uncle Geng, you have always been as a teacher to me. I have told you before, such formalities are unnecessary. Why put yourself through this? Have you kept well these past years?”

This old servant was no ordinary man. Once the chief minister of Nie, he was named Zuo Chang Geng. After the fall of the kingdom, he had voluntarily taken on the role of servant, raising the then-young Wang Yu himself. The original Wang Yu had held him in the highest esteem.

Zuo Chang Geng rose with a hearty laugh, “Thank you for your concern, Master. These old bones still have a few years left in them!”

He then looked at Wei Wuji, a puzzled expression on his face.

Wang Yu quickly explained, “This is Wei Wuji, son of the State of Wei, a friend I have made.”

He then turned to Wei Wuji, “Brother Wuji, this is Uncle Geng, who raised me. He was formerly chief minister of the State of Nie.”

Wei Wuji had been surprised to see Wang Yu treat a servant with such respect, but on hearing the explanation, he immediately understood, feeling a newfound admiration for the old man. He hurriedly bowed, “Wei Wuji greets Uncle Geng.”

On learning that Wei Wuji was the son of Wei, Zuo Chang Geng was startled; he had not expected Wang Yu, in just a few years away, to have befriended a prince of Wei—a powerful nation far greater than the small state they had lost.

He did not dare be remiss, and returned the greeting at once, “This old servant greets Master Wuji.”

Wang Yu said, “This is not the place to talk. Let us go inside.”

The three entered the house. Sensing that Wang Yu and Zuo Chang Geng had matters to discuss, Wei Wuji excused himself and retired to his guest room.

When they were alone, Zuo Chang Geng regarded Wang Yu solemnly. “Master, have you befriended the prince of Wei with the intention of restoring our kingdom?”

Wang Yu was taken aback.

Restore the kingdom? What kingdom? The State of Nie?

I have neither the means nor the men—such a venture would be courting death.

He shook his head, “Uncle Geng, you worry too much. My friendship with Brother Wuji arose by chance. I see him as a friend, nothing more. I have no thought of using Wei’s power to restore our kingdom.”

At this, Zuo Chang Geng breathed a sigh of relief. In truth, he would not have objected if Wang Yu did harbor thoughts of restoration; such aspirations are natural for the scion of a fallen house. But acting rashly would be sheer folly. To rely on the strength of another state for such a cause was the height of naivety. Even the mighty Wei would not suffice.

Qi was, at that time, the most powerful state in all the land—perhaps even unrivaled. Unless internal discord plagued Qi, no nation could hope to surpass it. If Wang Yu intended to rely on Wei to restore his throne, it would be a path to ruin.

Still uneasy, Zuo Chang Geng lowered his voice. “Master, I do not oppose your desire to restore our country, but you must not act blindly. If Qi learns of your intentions, death will be upon us.”

Wang Yu could not suppress a laugh. Never had he imagined that his friendship with Wei Wuji would lead Zuo Chang Geng to suspect him of plotting restoration. In truth, Wang Yu harbored no such ambitions. What good is it to be the ruler of a state? His aspirations lay elsewhere.

It is said: “A dynasty may last a hundred years, a noble house a thousand, but the Way endures for ten thousand generations.”

Wang Yu sought to establish a lineage of the Way, to become master of the Dao—a sage for all ages.