Martial Cultivator-Chapter 740.2: There Aren’t a Lot of Truths in This World That Ought to Be - Part 2

After finishing his drink, the madman gently set down his cup, looked up at the countless stars in the sky, and fell silent.

Tutor Su asked, "Have you figured it out, Sir?"

Madness, in many cases, is not related to ailment, but to one's state of mind.

The madman shook his head and said quietly, "Occasional moments of clarity, glancing at the world, wondering when everything became so muddled. I do not wish to awaken in this life."

Tutor Su sighed. "It seems that the confusion and pain in Sir's heart is something ordinary people would never understand in their lifetime."

The madman said nothing but continued to gaze at the starry sky. He had too many confusions, and he could not figure them out. If he did, perhaps he would simply die.

Tutor Su did not know what to say, so he poured another drink for the madman and filled his own cup. Then he smiled and said, "I am Su Zhensheng. It's an honor to meet you, Sir."

The madman smiled and replied, "It's not an honor. I'm grateful you took me in."

The two exchanged a smile.

After finishing his drink, the madman said softly, "The children here, when they grow up, they will most likely follow in their parents' footsteps, walking up that Great Wall. It may not be long before they turn into a pile of white bones. What use is there in teaching them all these principles if they are to die tomorrow?"

Tutor Su shook his head solemnly and said, "On this point, I must disagree with you, Sir. Even if they are to die tomorrow, they still have the right to know many things today."

"Is there any meaning?"

The madman said softly, “Could it be that one writes essay after essay, then chooses a fine-weathered day to burn them all?”

Tutor Su gave a bitter smile. “Sir, that way of putting it is truly... something else.”

The madman said nothing.

Tutor Su said quietly, “Even if that's the final outcome, having written the essays makes it feel worthwhile. At least someone might have read them. Even if no one did, the paper itself is the final witness.”

The madman smiled. “It's the logic that it's fine to have come and gone, even if no one ever knew.”

Tutor Su nodded. “Precisely that.”

The madman thought for a moment, then suddenly said, “While I'm still clear-headed, bring out the book. I'll explain some of it to you.”

Having long since realized that the madman before him was no ordinary scholar, Tutor Su was overjoyed. If this gentleman truly was one of those deeply learned figures, then tonight would be a rare lesson indeed. Even if he was not, it did not really matter.

But he most certainly was.

The madman watched as Tutor Su turned to go back into the house. He said nothing, just picked up a stick and slowly wrote a character on the ground.

Wei [魏].

In this life, if he could not see through this character, then his death would be in vain. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

He had once thought of simply dying like this. But then he thought of his own teacher, who for his sake had willingly gone to the Northern Frontier Great Wall to suffer wind and swallow snow. So no matter what, he had to make sense of this character first.

But he did not know how long it would take.

Perhaps in this life, he would never see through it.

In this world, life is difficult in every way. Some things, even with great effort, may still not end well.

——

Northern Frontier Great Wall, even before winter had fully set in, heavy snow was already pouring down.

In past years, when the heavy snow arrived, the northern demon race would always temporarily cease hostilities, and no battles would occur. But this time, it was not that the other side did not want to come, it was that they could not.

On this side of the Northern Frontier Great Wall, there had already been more than half a year of peaceful days.

Yet even in times of peace, the Northern Frontier remained as vigilant as ever. Near the wall itself, there was a modestly sized small city, home to the families of Northern Frontier generals who had long taken root there. These people had served on the wall for generations, and some had even relocated their entire clans here. The original intention was naturally to guard the Northern Frontier Great Wall for generations.

After years of development, the population of the city was not much different from that of a prosperous town in the south. The only difference was that although all kinds of shops could be found here, there was not a single school.

In the eyes of the people here, the one thing the Northern Frontier needed the least was scholars.

As a result, when the middle-aged scholar arrived here more than half a year ago, it took him three months just to take in a single in-name disciple.

The youth's name was Song Mian. He was born to a modest local family. Although his family had also served in the military for generations, they never held high rank. The highest position their ancestors had ever attained was that of commander of a ten-thousand-strong cavalry unit, and that only once. The family had not exactly declined in later generations, but they had never again reached such heights. The current head of the Song Family was a Northern Frontier general in charge of suppressing bandits, commanding only three thousand men.

Song Mian was his eldest son.

Originally, Song Mian had not intended to take that seemingly unremarkable scholar as his teacher. But he had been frail since childhood and was unable to cultivate, unfit to be a martial artist. Although the family said nothing about it, they figured that as long as the boy could grow up safely, even if he never made it to the wall, it would be fine as long as he could marry and carry on the family line.

The Song family took this matter rather lightly. If their son could not fight on the wall, then at the very least, if he could stay alive and live a good life, there was no need to think too much.

Song Mian claimed he was taking the middle-aged scholar as his teacher, but in truth, he initially did so out of boredom, just to see what kind of scholar this person really was. So even though the scholar rarely taught him the words of saints, he did not mind.

The two of them often ended up drinking together.

That afternoon, Song Mian once again came to the dilapidated house in the city to look for his nominal teacher, but having forgotten to bring alcohol, he was turned away.

Song Mian climbed over the wall with difficulty, and as he jumped down, he landed poorly and twisted his ankle.

Just as Song Mian grimaced in pain, the middle-aged scholar lying on the old reclining chair in the courtyard mocked him, “Barely counts as a general's son, and this is all you've got?”

Song Mian forced himself to hold back the pain. Limping over to the scholar, he plopped down beside him and rolled his eyes. “I've never trained before, but beating you would be a piece of cake."

The scholar did not get angry at his nominal student's bold words. He simply drawled, “Want to give it a try? I'll let you have the first three punches.”

Song Mian snorted coldly, then quickly shook his head. Though he did not really treat this man as a teacher, he still understood some basic principles, who goes around hitting their teacher?

The scholar sneered, “That's all you've got? Just words? With guts that small, if you ever make it to the wall and come face-to-face with demons, I doubt you'd even be able to lift your saber.”

Song Mian shot back, “I may not be able to go up the walls, but there are plenty of martial artists on the wall. As for you scholars, I've yet to see even one.”

The scholar raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Says who?”

Song Mian froze, thinking: isn't that just the truth?

“That sword-loving Liu Banbi, even though he's a sword immortal, if you asked him whether he's a scholar, would he dare say no?”

The scholar snorted coldly. “One of him is worth ten thousand of you all.”

Song Mian furrowed his brows. He had heard of him, that sword immortal Liu had indeed come from the academy in his early years, and on the Northern Frontier wall, his merits were beyond count.

“But he uses a sword. Does he still count as a scholar?”

The youth snorted coldly, unwilling to concede.

The scholar chuckled. “Since he studied books, why wouldn't he be a scholar? Just because he uses a sword, he's no longer a scholar? That doesn't quite make sense. And do you even know who his teacher was?”

The youth muttered, “Yeah, I know. That guy with the title of Academy Dean, right? Hasn't really done anything either, has he?”

Hearing that, the scholar's expression changed, but it quickly returned to normal, and he said calmly, “So only fighting and killing up here counts as having done something? Do you know how many court officials came out of the academy? Without them, the court wouldn't even be able to feed the army at the front.”

Song Mian frowned. “It's the commoners and farmers who grow the grain. What's that got to do with you scholars?”

The scholar wanted to speak but swallowed the words back.

Strangely enough, he felt the kid sort of had a point.

Song Mian grinned. “Got nothing to say now, do you?”

The scholar sneered coldly but said nothing.

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