Chapter 1557: Dominating the Inner Realm, A Letter Home

Years turn into years, and years turn into years.

In a flash, another ten years passed.

Su Dao finally passed away three years ago. He departed in the winter of that year. He struggled, wanting to get through that winter, wanting to live a few more months to see the willow catkins of the next year.

However, while his mind could comprehend the heavens and earth, his body could not change the alternation of life and death. In the depth of that winter, with snowflakes dancing throughout the city, and the river in Su City covered with a thin layer of ice, he gazed at the falling snowflakes as if they were eternal.

Wang Lin pushed his wooden chair, walking on the streets of Su City. Wang Lin, now nearly forty, exuded a sense of composure and world-weariness. Dressed in a white long gown, he silently pushed Su Dao along.

That winter was exceptionally cold. The falling snowflakes were carried by the cold wind, landing on both of them. In the early morning, the distant bells of Su Mountain Temple rang out, their resonant chimes capable of cleansing one's soul.

"Lin'er, your master is leaving… I had no children in my life. Your three Senior Brothers inherited many of my principles, but only you are close to my way of thinking… I know you have already gained some insight into Karma, though it's still vague, you will eventually understand. What you seek is not merely Karma.

This residence, I give it to you." Su Dao's voice was weak, carried by the wind into Wang Lin's ears. Wang Lin remained silent, his eyes revealing sorrow.

Su Dao had been with him for seventeen years. In these seventeen years, Wang Lin grew from an eighteen or nineteen-year-old youth into a middle-aged man. By Su Dao's side, Wang Lin learned a lot, gained much knowledge, and understood many things.

The snow was heavy. Under the sound of the bells, it obscured the view ahead, covering the heavens and earth, Su City, and the street where Wang Lin and the other person were, completely.

The creaking sound of the wooden chair being pushed was almost imperceptible. Only the two lines of marks left on the ground, like life itself, when one looks back, appear long and winding, showing the starting point. But before one's eyes close, the end point remains unseen.

Snowflakes fell, covering the two lines of marks on the ground, gradually blending them together until even the starting point was no longer visible.

"Take me… to Su Mountain outside the city…" Su Dao's aged voice became even weaker, but his eyes were bright, gazing at the heavens and earth, as if seeing his own end.

Wang Lin nodded silently, pushing the wooden chair. With a creaking sound, he slowly walked forward, towards Su Dao's end.

The snow grew heavier and heavier. Facing the wind, letting the snowflakes fall on his face, on his hair, letting them melt into cold that penetrated his heart. Wang Lin pushed the wooden chair, walked out of this ancient street, out of Su City. In the distance, he saw that small mountain outside Su City.

The mountain was not high, yet it possessed a spirit.

This spirit was unseen, but closing one's eyes, one could conjure every blade of grass and tree on that mountain in their mind, could feel the mountain's breathing in the cold wind. This alone was enough.

After ascending to the peak along the mountain path paved with bluestone, Su Dao slowly closed his eyes. He seemed to be barely holding on, but within his slightly closed eyes, there was a bright glow, just as it had been seventeen years ago.

The eyes are the windows to the heart. Su Dao's body might decay, but his thoughts, the trajectory of his life, would never dissipate once they had appeared.

"Carry me… there." Su Dao's voice grew weaker. Wang Lin walked in front of him, carried Su Dao on his back, and followed the direction he pointed, leaving the bluestone mountain path. Under a blanket of white snow, he walked step by step towards a place in the mountains where no one seemed to go.

At the very end, there was a solitary grave. The grave stood there in the snow, as if waiting for something, perhaps for decades, until this very day.

Before this grave, Su Dao sat, gazing at the tombstone, his eyes tearless, but filled with gentleness.

"I'm here… You said you wanted to keep watching me, so I buried you here, so you can always watch me at home, down the mountain." Su Dao murmured, touching the tombstone, his aged face gently pressed against the stone, forgetting its coldness.

Or rather, the coldness of the tombstone had transformed into warmth in his heart.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, and stopped breathing… Su Dao returned to the void.

Wang Lin stood there for a long, long time. He turned around, his gaze falling upon the mountain foot behind him. From this position, he could see Su City, and within Su City, Su Dao's residence.

A deep sense of melancholy filled Wang Lin's heart. He was lost, constantly pondering what kind of existence this world truly was.

Was it his past life, his Reincarnation, or a dream? Yet, none of these could clearly explain all phenomena, as if in the midst of truth and falsehood, an eternal circle had existed for ages, making it impossible to find the beginning or the end, blurring the distinction.

Half a month after this seventeenth year, another grave appeared beside the solitary grave on Su Mountain. They were no longer alone.

Three years after Su Dao's death, Wang Lin was thirty-nine years old.

His parents had also been brought by him from the mountain village years ago, but they were accustomed to village life and found Su City very uncomfortable. After staying for a few months, they returned to their hometown, living an ordinary life in the mountain village.

In the winter of Wang Lin's thirty-ninth year, Wang Lin stood in his courtyard, watching the falling snowflakes, and received an imperial edict from the Emperor of the State of Zhao.

This was the fifth imperial edict in the three years since Su Dao's death.

The contents of the five edicts were largely similar, but the rhetoric became more elaborate each time, all stating that Wang Lin should go to the capital to become the Imperial Tutor.

Over twenty years, Wang Lin's name rose among the scholars of the State of Zhao. Although he had never left Su City in these twenty years, scholars taking the imperial examinations each year would come to visit and seek guidance.

All of this was related to Su Dao, but equally, it had a great deal to do with Wang Lin himself. In these twenty years, some high officials and nobles, some scholars and successful candidates, were all convinced by Wang Lin's words during their visits.

It was widely known that Wang Lin carried on the Legacy of the Great Confucian Su Dao, and this belief became even more deeply rooted after Su Dao's death.

However, nothing is absolute. A considerable number of people did not recognize Wang Lin's existence. They believed that Wang Lin was unworthy of being called a Great Confucian, with the Emperor of the State of Zhao being the primary example.

Such dissenting voices were scattered before Su Dao's death, but in the three years after his death, they grew more numerous and louder. Eventually, during Wang Lin's three years of silence, they turned into a chorus of doubt.

Wang Lin did not pay attention to these matters. He lived a peaceful life, accompanied by Da Fu.

Wang Lin's silence made those who doubted him even more presumptuous. They admitted that Wang Lin was Su Dao's disciple, but they believed that Wang Lin was a person who sought fame by dishonest means and was unworthy of being called a Confucian. Driven by interested parties, this matter gradually escalated, and such voices even appeared throughout the entire State of Zhao.

Despite this, Wang Lin still paid no attention. He watched the sunrise and sunset, observed the changing seasons, comprehended the heavens and earth, understood Karma, sought traces of life and death, truth and falsehood, and pursued the beginning and end of everything.

Although he himself was in confusion, he constantly tried to experience life. He did not want to bother with those trivial matters, nor was he willing to prove anything. These things held no meaning for him, like children playing, engaging in verbal disputes.

However, the more he remained silent, the louder the voices became. Even more critically, among Su Dao's other three disciples, except for Su San, who was now old and terminally ill, the other two both stepped forward to question Wang Lin.

As a result, the scholars of the State of Zhao fell into disarray, even affecting ordinary people. The clamorous voices swept across the State of Zhao like a storm.

Some even dug up Wang Lin's imperial examination paper from twenty years ago, when he became a Xiucai, and vehemently criticized it, using Wang Lin's mere title of Xiucai to arrogantly and rampantly accuse him.

Amidst such chaotic voices, the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth imperial edicts from the capital of the State of Zhao arrived like snowflakes, directly targeting Wang Lin.

Even more excessive was the impact on Wang Lin's parents. His parents were already old and could have enjoyed a peaceful old age, respected by all. However, under these constant accusations, even peddlers in the mountain village somehow learned of the matter, and as it spread, the pointing fingers in the village ignited a surge of anger in Wang Lin's parents.

The elderly were already advanced in age, and with this anger, Wang Lin's father fell ill.

In the winter of that year, Wang Lin stood in the courtyard, holding a letter from home. The letter was written by his mother, who had asked someone to write it and entrusted his Fourth Uncle to send someone to deliver it.

The letter home informed Wang Lin that his father was fine.

Reading the letter repeatedly, a hint of anger slowly appeared in Wang Lin's calm eyes.

"This has gone too far." Wang Lin folded the letter, put it into his bosom, and slowly spoke as he watched the falling snow.

He originally had no intention of proving anything. Even if the clamor in the State of Zhao grew louder, it would not affect him in the slightest. The word 'Confucian' was an empty title; he did not care.

He was like an old man, simply wanting to slowly comprehend the heavens and earth.

But everything has a limit, and Wang Lin's bottom line was his parents. His parents' anger, his parents' pain, his parents' sorrow, were his anger, his pain, his sorrow.

"Da Fu, make arrangements. I will lecture for ten years. From today onwards, for ten years, I invite all people under heaven to come to Su City to discuss scholarship with me. If anyone believes they can surpass me, they can take this residence from my hands." Wang Lin flicked his sleeve and turned to leave.

Behind him, the already aged Da Fu, still as excited as he was twenty years ago, showed excitement in his expression. He had also been deeply indignant for the past three years. Those who used to be respectful to him had not only gradually distanced themselves but had also begun to speak coldly.

Hearing Wang Lin's words today, he was smug and filled with anticipation, and immediately went to make arrangements for the matter.

"Hmph, hmph, my Young Master is still so magnificent! Ten years of lecturing, hehe, I'd like to see the expressions of those who were clamoring and stirring up trouble after repeated failures."