031. The People of Chu and the People of Qi
The staff at the Palace of Trials were well-versed in this line of work. Every year, numerous people sought to borrow the palace’s Platform of Merit and Disputation to invoke a manifestation of heaven and earth, thus opening the path to cultivation. After all, many lesser sects and schools didn’t possess a Disputation Platform of their own. Not just anyone could erect such a platform.
Moreover, these platforms varied in grade. The one belonging to the Confucians was personally brought from beyond the heavens by Sage Kong himself, and its effects were naturally extraordinary. The platforms of other sects were mostly forged from exotic stones fetched by their founders from the outer heavens as well. Of course, those celestial stones, too, came in different grades. Those of higher grade provided stronger aid and made it easier to draw forth a manifestation from heaven and earth. The lesser ones had weaker effects, making the phenomenon harder to evoke. This, however, only applied to ordinary folk. For geniuses, the grade mattered little; the impact was negligible.
The Disputation Platform at Jixia Academy was of no low grade—though not quite equal to the Confucians’, it was nearly as fine. After all, it was forged when the academy was founded, with several sages personally retrieving materials from beyond the heavens. That was also why the fee was so steep—ten pieces of Gewu coin, and you’d best not complain. Come if you wish; if not, so be it. Such was their pride.
After collecting Wang Yu’s payment, the staff member led him through the two-story building to a tall platform behind. There were no ornate edifices—just the platform itself, standing alone. Over ten fathoms high and shaped like a pyramid, the summit was not a sharp point but a square space, five fathoms across. This Disputation Platform was considerably larger than the Confucian one, though size was not the standard for grading. What mattered was the platform’s resonance with the Dao.
Wang Yu and his companion were not the first to arrive; a group had already gathered at the base of the platform, roughly a dozen people in all, divided into two factions, engaged in animated discussion. Atop the platform stood a lone figure, apparently preparing to validate his principles, invoke the celestial manifestation, and begin his cultivation. The staff instructed Wang Yu to wait at the side until the person above had finished.
Wang Yu was in no hurry. Along with Wei Wuji, he waited quietly. Having nothing else to do, Wang Yu took the time to study the two groups. Judging by their attire, all were scions of wealthy families, clad in silk and satin. The style of one group was unmistakably that of Qi—their clothing featured the distinctive design: upper garment over skirt, narrow sleeves to the knees, high crowns with rightward knots, and pointed wooden clogs. Every member of this faction matched these traits.
The other group drew Wang Yu’s attention. He gave a soft exclamation, for they wore tall veiled crowns fastened beneath the chin, broad robes with flowing sleeves, and curved hems—dress unique to the nobility of Chu. Wang Yu was surprised, for relations between Chu and Qi were hardly amicable—in fact, they were openly hostile. Not long ago, Chu had treacherously betrayed Qi. At that time, the state of Qin had grown powerful and aggressive. Qi and Chu had formed an alliance to teach their unruly junior, Qin, a lesson. But, tempted by Qin’s offer of six hundred miles of land, Chu conspired with Qin against Qi, enraging the King of Qi, who then joined forces with Han and Wei to attack Chu—though in the end, Qin came to Chu’s rescue. Qi’s campaign had cost them dearly in soldiers and resources, yet yielded little gain. Naturally, Qi now bore a deep hatred for Chu.
Given this backdrop, those from Chu daring to come to Jixia Academy and borrow the Disputation Platform must have powerful backing or be utterly reckless. Which it was, Wang Yu could not discern. Still, his curiosity was piqued—he was eager to see what would unfold, for the two groups were already at odds.
The Qi contingent was first to speak. Their leader, a middle-aged man with a long beard and an air of ethereal elegance, stepped forward in his pointed clogs. His expression was unfriendly—evidently, he was about to cause trouble. He cast a scornful glance at the Chu nobles and sneered, “Base traitors, and yet you dare show your faces in the land of Qi? Truly, you are barbarians with skin as thick as a wall.”
The leader of the Chu group was a young man dressed in garments adorned with nine phoenixes. In Chu mythology, the Nine Phoenixes were divine birds—such attire bespoke a most distinguished background. Indeed, this youth was none other than Xiong Huai, prince of Chu. The name might be unfamiliar, but another would not be: Qu Yuan. This Xiong Huai was King Huai of Chu, the very ruler who had once appointed Qu Yuan as his reformer, only to abandon him midway. Yet one should not underestimate him—despite his faults, his achievements were significant, most notably the conquest of Yue and the expansion of Chu’s territory eastwards to the Yangtze. His end, however, was tragic—he died in exile in Qin. That, of course, was in Wang Yu’s own world’s history; how events would unfold here was another matter.
Though faced with the middle-aged man’s ridicule, Xiong Huai remained calm. “Who are you, sir, that you speak so rudely? Is this the famed courtesy of Qi?”
The man’s expression darkened. He had not expected Xiong Huai to be so composed, let alone to retort. Still, he was not one to back down, and with a cold laugh replied, “Barbarians like you are not worthy to know my name. As for courtesy, should the people of Qi treat oath-breakers with respect?”
Xiong Huai showed no anger, nor did he answer the man’s barbed question. After all, there was truth in it—Chu had indeed betrayed its ally. In fact, Xiong Huai himself had been furious over the affair and had earnestly tried to dissuade his father. Unfortunately, the king was no longer wise as in his youth and had become stubborn, refusing all counsel. Of course, Xiong Huai kept such feelings well hidden.
Instead of responding to the accusation, Xiong Huai said, “I have always heard that Qi is a land of civility and manners. Now I see it still clings to the customs of the Eastern Barbarians.”
Wang Yu, listening nearby, could not help but click his tongue in admiration. What nerve! That was a direct slap to the face. Qi was once the land of the Eastern Barbarians; only after the Grand Duke of Hope took control did the customs begin to change, civilizing the people. Even so, many in Qi still carried the blood of the Eastern tribes. Yet, people of Qi prided themselves on their civilization and looked down on their “barbarian” roots. To claim Qi retained barbarian customs was almost tantamount to cursing their ancestors to their faces.
Thus, the middle-aged man flew into a rage.