Once the Confucian trio at Little Sage Village Hamlet plunged into the left-right hand chess enlightenment, their disciples followed suit one by one. The upshot? The entire village lost its collective mind—opponents no longer sufficed; all turned inward, dueling themselves.
After all, consider: you're locked in endless games with a rival hell-bent on eclipsing you, grinding till you're on the brink of shattering—would you seek him out again? Hell no. So you pit self against self, vowing revenge once your skill edges ahead. Or maybe you're neck-and-neck, but wouldn't you crave that extra notch, a swaggering upset? Only self remains. Or fresh to the board, while seniors multitask—one hand on stones, the other waving you off—humiliating, right? Skip 'em; solo till the storm breaks, the skies clear—now you're ready, emerge.
By the time Fu Nian and Yan Lu extricated themselves from their self-skirmishes, they found Little Sage Village Hamlet wholly ensnared in left-right chess mania. Days had slipped by. Fu Nian itched to thunder his headship's authority—but reflection curbed him: Wasn't I the spark? No recourse but to corner Yan Lu, pass the buck. Pin it on someone lesser—can't drag Xunzi in; where's our Confucian face? You're it, Brother—your mess now.
"Yan Lu, how'd you handle the disciples in my absence?" Fu Nian cornered him, face stern as stone.
Yan Lu: (Д`彡) ┻━┻You told me to try it—now I shoulder the blame? Rank trumps all, huh? No—scout a third steward, quick; need a patsy.
"Eldest Brother's right; I'll rally the disciples now." Yan Lu swallowed the blame, venting on the third-gen lot.
"Zi Feng, Zi Ye—gather the pupils. What a spectacle: me and the Head merely testing—if we vanished tomorrow, could Little Sage Village Hamlet stand? You've let us down." Yan Lu summoned his inaugural pair, voice even, laced with that iron-to-gold sigh.
Zi Feng and Zi Ye: (Д`彡) ┻━┻You sure this isn't you and the Head botching your own game, then dumping it on us?
"Yes, Teacher—our fault. We'll assemble them." Zi Feng and Zi Ye absorbed the heat in silence.
At Little Sage Village Hamlet's scripture podium, every Confucian disciple converged—buzzing like bees till Fu Nian and Yan Lu entered, hushing the hall.
"Greetings, Masters." All straightened robes, thumbs up in clasped hands, bowing deep.
"You've bitterly disappointed me and Master Yan Lu—sinking to such frivolous decay, how will you shoulder the world alone? All: twenty recitals of Exhortation to Learning." Fu Nian's face darkened, deadpan. Brother's ploy works wonders on us: feigned probe for your mettle sans us—epic fail, unfit.
"Our error." Disciples bowed anew, hearts be damned.
"Qin, chess, brush, strings hone the gentleman's wind—scholarship's your core. Yet you veer from straight to crooked. The Head's judgment: own it?" Yan Lu pressed.
"We own it." Another collective bow.
"This left-right self-duel stems from Daoist gift to our Ru fold—so henceforth, greet Daoists as kin; no slights." Fu Nian added. Confucians repay grace to the root; rites bind eternal.
"We heed." Bows rippled.
"Left-right duel isn't mere chess—it's self-mirroring: illuminate the heart, bare the nature. No skill, but art—lifelong, depth irrelevant. Echoes our nightly three reflections; take it as spur: hone the self, never forget Daoist debt." Yan Lu unpacked the kernel.
"We heed—Daoist grace unforgotten; kin-rites to them." Bows again.
"Log this art in our Ru canon: transmitted by Daoist Xue Nu." Fu Nian decreed, signaling the scribes.
Strictly? Pilfered tuition—unpermitted, it spread Ru-wide in days. How to square with Daoists? Fu Nian mulled: Learned now; likely leaked Sanghai. Can't purge all—slaughter the fold? Nah. Apologize post-facto.But compensate with what?
"Yan Lu—you handle Daoist amends." Buck-passed; one deed, one owner. You've shouldered once—balance it.
"I..." Yan Lu: (Д`彡) ┻━┻Me again? Scout that third steward, stat.
"Yes, Head." Ru matters, so 'Head' it was—Confucian rites ironclad; no wonder they spun Spring and Autumn sleights.
Problem: Yan Lu blanked on repayment. Turn heart-clarity, nightly reflections into a bow? Unearth Ru equivalent? Where? Fu Nian's faint smirk: You blank too—dumping on me.
Yan Lu dawdled to Forgotten Garden. What to offer? Join Daoists? Nab that still-heart art, endless elders for buck-passing.
"Miss Xue Nu—Uncle Wu Chenzi still adrift?" Yan Lu eyed the zoning Xue Nu.
"Nope—skips meals, sleep; guards those sprouts like ascension's gate." Xue Nu said.
"Any Daoist lacks—relics, canons?" Yan Lu probed.
"This!" Xue Nu jabbed at leaf-crusted, soil-smeared, hair-matted, bloodshot Li Haimo.
Sorry—out.Daoist unsolvable? Think Ru can? Yan Lu craved flight—this gig was no mortal's.
"Can't aid there. Say... Miss Xue Nu versed in strings?" Yan Lu pivoted: Ru-Dao tie? Sole thread: guqin Dialogue of Fisher and Woodcutter. From Zhuangzi's miscellany Fisherman—Confucius and fisher's exchange, veiled heavenly Dao.
"A touch." Xue Nu said—dance maids mastered rites-music, naturally.
"Good." Yan Lu bowed out.
What just happened? Xue Nu baffled. Master Yan Lu fancies me? Cheeks warmed. Excellent man, but Master's handsomer—wait, why compare? If he woos like Yan's qin-master, strings for love—accept or nay? Brain spun wild yarns.
No, Xue Nu—steel yourself. Born Daoist, die Daoist soul—no defection.
Next morn, Yan Lu consulted Fu Nian: Dialogue score aptest gift. Fu Nian agreed; Yan Lu transcribed, festooned with crimson cord bow—polished, gifting flair.
"Miss Xue Nu—for you." Yan Lu proffered the ribboned bamboo slips.
Xue Nu froze. Ru so bold? But Xue Nu, hold firm—grave rebuff. "Sorry, Master Yan Lu—my humble weeds ill-suit you. Withdraw it; as Master's sword maid, I'm bound lifelong—no outsiders!"
Yan Lu blanked. What weeds ill-suit? Lifelong bound? Rejection?Ah—spit. Love unthought, rebuffed? My first? Nah—what? Just delivering thanks-gift; suits, binds—what tie?
Yan Lu petrified long; Xue Nu fretted overkill—struck deep, this Ru second, era's open suit spurned a man's pride. Softening: "Master Yan Lu, you're truly fine—finest I've met, bar Master. But we're mismatched."
"Miss Xue Nu—hold; let me... breathe." Yan Lu sank to a stool. Daoist wiring? Did I slur ambiguity? Replay: entry-bow, greet, tender Ru thanks—no slip, no tease. Unless... Eyed Xue Nu, then Li Haimo. Ah—root there. She fancies her master; tutor bonds, plus Aunt Xiao Meng like-sister—Xue Nu's unhinged, mistook me for Uncle Wu Chenzi.Still... chest aches. Not my suit, but rebuffed? Humiliating.
"Miss Xue Nu, Daoists scorn worldly snubs—so if love calls, chase joy bold. Ru and I back you! Fight!" Yan Lu rallied—pretty lass mad's a waste; soothe her.
Xue Nu's autumn-pool eyes blinked. Rebuff insufficient? Whole Ru cheers—now what? Master Yan Lu shines, but no. "Master Yan Lu, I..." She started.
"I get it—all of it. Daoists ape heaven-earth natural; Ren Sect transcends more. Fear not—love fierce!" Yan Lu cut in, set the score, turned to leave.
Paused, returned—latched the door: "Aunt Xiao Meng's away—rare shot. Go for it! Ru cheers!"
Master Yan Lu—struck senseless? Xue Nu rooted. What now? Sanghai, Little Sage Village—word of spurning him, live out? Aunt absent—her tie?
Yan Lu stormed Little Sage Village, cornered Fu Nian, thrilled: "Eldest Brother—secret unearthed!" Spilled the tale: "So we back Miss Xue Nu, right?"
Fu Nian eyed him oddly, slow: "So... Miss Xue Nu turned you down?"
Yan Lu fossilized—discovery's thrill dust. No—share the load! Bolted to left-right Xunzi, retold.
"So... Miss Xue Nu turned you down?" Xunzi matched Fu Nian's gaze—laden weird.
Yan Lu craved a sinkhole. Focus on her crush on her master? Not me!
"Yan Lu—you're no youth." Xunzi softened—Ru's future; can't crush. Clapped his shoulder.
"Later, Fu Nian'll scout fits for you both. Brothers grown—for Ru, you've suffered." Xunzi rued the years' debt—time to tap old pals; match their mates, settle the knot.
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