The group dismounted at the entrance of the alley. The attendants remained there while Yang Feng led the Weary Marquis deeper into the lane.

The alley was narrow, with footprints densely covering the snow, but no hoof prints or wheel tracks. At a worn-down door, Yang Feng knocked twice with the door ring, then stepped back to the stairs and waited silently. Han Ruzi stood beside him, feeling as if they were visiting a recluse.

After quite a while, the door finally opened gently. A boy around ten years old emerged and bowed to them both, saying “Please wait in the back cottage.”

Han Ruzi suddenly noticed something interesting – the way martial artists bowed seemed more casual, with hands almost touching their chin and elbows lowered close to their sides, appearing both humble yet guarded, ready to switch from politeness to combat at any moment. The scholars’ etiquette was much more complex – even a child performed it properly: hands clasped about half a foot from the chest, arms spread wide like a fledgling’s wings.

After assuming the proper posture, martial artists would move their hands and mouth but not their head, keeping their gaze fixed to observe the other’s reaction. Scholars did the opposite – keeping hands and mouth still while bowing their head and waist slightly, only speaking after straightening up.

Though the scholars’ etiquette might seem rigid, these stiff postures indicated that they posed no threat and had absolutely no intention of fighting.

Han Ruzi and Yang Feng were led to the back courtyard where there was indeed a cottage. Inside there were mats but no tables or chairs. Han Ruzi recalled his study sessions in the palace and thought that maintaining these ancient customs was quite tiring.

There were several thin cushions on the mats. Han Ruzi knelt on the guest mat, with Yang Feng slightly behind him to show the master-servant distinction. The door was half-open, letting in both the cold wind and clear sounds of children reading.

“Is this a private school?”

“Yes,” Yang Feng replied.

Han Ruzi wasn’t surprised that Guo Cong’s friend was a teacher, though he hadn’t expected him to be teaching children.

They waited quietly, with Han Ruzi idly pondering the differences between martial artists and scholars, wondering which type Yang Feng leaned more towards.

The boy came several times, bringing braziers, charcoal, pots, water, tea, cups, spoons and various tea implements – about fifteen or sixteen items in total. However, he didn’t brew the tea, instead politely apologizing and asking the guests to wait a bit longer.

By the time the cold wind had made the inside as chilly as the outside, Guo Cong arrived. Though he sat on a chair when lecturing the emperor, now he properly sat on his knees opposite them. After greetings, he personally began brewing tea, his movements slow but methodical.

Yang Feng moved forward on his knees, slightly sideways, to assist Guo Cong with the tea. The host-guest roles were clear, yet they worked together seamlessly as if they brewed tea together daily.

This was the scholars’ way of social interaction. Like the martial artists’ secret codes, Han Ruzi couldn’t understand it.

Yang Feng handed a cup of brewed tea to the Weary Marquis. Han Ruzi took a sip and let out a long “hmm” before saying with a smile, “Now I understand why the door is kept open – only in the depths of winter can one truly appreciate the wonder of hot tea.”

“Haha!” Guo Cong laughed heartily. Here he no longer maintained his image of a decrepit old scholar, instead showing some spirit and vigor. “As they say, only in cold weather do we know the strength of pine and cypress, and only in poverty do we find true friendship. The Weary Marquis has a unique appreciation for tea.”

Han Ruzi smiled, holding the teacup with both hands and taking small sips. He found it slightly sweet but couldn’t discern more nuances.

Yang Feng only served the Weary Marquis and didn’t drink tea himself.

Guo Cong took a sip, seemed to want to critique it, but after some hesitation gave up and made casual conversation instead.

After about half an hour, the reading sounds outside stopped, and soon after, their host finally appeared.

He was a man in his thirties, thin in build, wearing loose robes with wide sleeves – completely matching the common image of a scholar, except his darker complexion somewhat diminished his scholarly air.

The small boat seemed safer but carried fewer people and could easily capsize in huge waves. The large boat was old but could carry more people and might withstand the waves. With only one chance, the large boat was clearly the better choice.

As Han Ruzi and Qu Zixi continued their pointed debate, Guo Cong and Yang Feng listened while refilling teacups and serving them to the two debaters. To ease the tension, Guo Cong smiled and suggested, “Why not use both boats?”

His comment was inappropriate. Han Ruzi gave him a cold look, while Qu Zixi also showed displeasure, looking Guo Cong up and down with apparent disappointment.

Though Guo Cong was the oldest and most prestigious of the four, he now blushed with embarrassment – far more uncomfortable than Han Ruzi had been earlier when failing to appreciate the tea’s subtleties – and bowed his head in apology with both hands pressed against the mat.

Qu Zixi said, “Though recent years haven’t been perfectly peaceful, there haven’t been major disasters, and most problems are man-made. We don’t need a large boat – a small one will suffice to cross safely.”

Great Chu faced external threats from the Xiongnu and internal troubles from displaced people, but these weren’t unprecedented crises. It was the court’s inaction that let things worsen. They just needed an unremarkable emperor who wouldn’t cause trouble to solve these problems and restore normalcy.

“When wind first stirs the tips of young apple trees, how many can recognize what’s coming?” Han Ruzi abandoned metaphors and spoke directly: “The palace is in chaos, with the Empress Dowager playing power games and bringing in fate seers to control the officials. If you want a mediocre emperor, you’ll likely end up with a puppet instead. How will you cut these puppet strings?”

“We have our ways to make the Empress Dowager transfer power and send the fate seers back to their world,” Qu Zixi said, but didn’t elaborate – that was their secret.

“The Xiongnu have been divided for long. The Western Xiongnu had settled in the far west, but they have suddenly moved east, defeating the Eastern Xiongnu in one battle. Their power hasn’t waned and their army remains strong. Yet they flee like frightened dogs because an even stronger enemy pursues them. This powerful force has sworn to fight the Chu people. Though the great waves are distant, when they arrive they will uproot trees and destroy homes. Do you have a plan to deal with this?”

Qu Zixi shook his head and smiled, “Though Great Chu is ailing, we don’t fear northern barbarians. The Weary Marquis creates an imaginary enemy – this is exactly the kind of intelligence we fear.”

Han Ruzi replied seriously, “How can scholars forget history? Great Chu has ruled for over 120 years, but defeating the Xiongnu happened just decades ago. Thirty years before that, we were deadlocked with them, and thirty years before that, we even had to sue for peace and pay tribute to the Xiongnu. Which period does the current Great Chu most resemble?”

Everyone would agree that today’s Great Chu couldn’t match its peak under the Martial Emperor.

After a moment of silence, Qu Zixi said, “These are just fanciful fears.”

Han Ruzi replied, “Regarding the distant enemy, the Western Regions must have sensed something, and the Ministry of Rites’ Reception Bureau may have heard news. Within days, Xiongnu envoys will arrive at the Capital – they know more.”

Qu Zixi smiled slightly and raised his teacup, signaling it was time for the guests to leave.

In the alley, Han Ruzi asked, “Did I handle that well?”

“Very well,” said Yang Feng.

“But I don’t think I convinced those two.”

“There’s no need. It’s enough that they know what kind of person you are.”

“But isn’t someone like me exactly what he doesn’t want? Never mind, I just want you to tell me one thing: can these scholars really turn things around?”

Yang Feng was cryptic again: “Without immediate benefit, who would pursue something eagerly? Over thousands of years, scholars have grown more numerous – this isn’t without reason. The Weary Marquis should be patient a while longer; you’ll soon see the scholars’ true power.”

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