Chapter 11: Speaking Such Nonsense in Front of Confucius

“There's a large crowd up ahead.”

After walking for several more months, Lu Ge suddenly stopped and looked into the distance.

Vaguely, he could see ox carts and horse carriages packed tightly together.

The throng of people was bustling, numbering in the hundreds.

“Little Lu, could it be that you've killed so many bandits that their families have come for revenge?”

“Maybe we should avoid them and take another route.”

The ox looked fearful as he spoke.

Lu Ge gave the old ox a sidelong glance.

“Avoid them?”

“Bandits, mere bandits—I’m supposed to shy away from them?”

“All these years I've been star-gazing, nearly blinding myself for nothing?”

“We’ll just keep moving forward.”

“If anyone dares block our path, let me unleash my sword qi and carve a clear way through.”

Lu Ge walked proudly, leading the ox forward.

As they approached, the crowd’s faces gradually became clearer.

Each person wore tall hats and robes, exuding an extraordinary aura.

“Seems these aren’t bandits after all.”

The ox murmured softly.

For some reason, Lu Ge sensed a hint of disappointment in his voice.

The old ox looked honest but was actually quite fierce himself.

“It’s Zi Qiu.”

Throughout their journey, the usually silent Lao Dan suddenly spoke.

Lu Ge squinted and looked ahead.

Indeed.

Among the crowd, he saw a familiar figure—Confucius.

Although they had only met briefly before, Lu Ge still held a deep impression of him.

“I heard the teacher has been traveling the world.”

“Qiu leads his disciples to protect the path.”

Confucius stepped out from the crowd, taking the lead, and cupped his hands in salute toward Lao Dan in the distance.

His voice was clear and resonant, like rolling thunder.

Lu Ge turned to look at Lao Dan.

“Looks like it’s not only Li Da who worries about your old age wandering outside.”

Lao Dan was now in his seventies, walking somewhat unsteadily these days.

Of course, that was just how others saw it.

Lu Ge knew better—the old man was just pretending.

If a fight broke out, Lao Dan could easily pin Lu Ge to the ground with a single gesture.

The two parties drew closer. Confucius quickly approached and stood beside the ox.

“Teacher.”

Lao Dan looked at Confucius and couldn’t help but say, “I have my own way, and you have yours. Why must it be like this?”

Confucius smiled, “The Way shares the same source; there is no division between you and me.”

“I have arranged for a reed shelter ahead.”

“Teacher, you’ve traveled far and hard. Why not come rest for a while?”

“The disciples have questions they wish to ask you.”

Lao Dan glanced at the distance, then at Confucius, and nodded slightly. He dismounted the ox.

Confucius hurried forward to assist him.

The old man looked like a candle flickering in the wind—one misstep could break him.

Guided by Confucius, the two men and the ox entered the reed shelter.

Lao Dan and Confucius engaged in philosophical discourse while Lu Ge listened attentively nearby.

Lu Ge understood that one day he would have to leave.

When that time came, if he wanted to comprehend divine powers, he’d have to rely on his own insight.

These days of listening to sages teach were fleeting—he had to seize every opportunity.

As time passed, the sun began to set.

Confucius earnestly asked questions; Lao Dan replied fluently.

Not only Lu Ge, but also the surrounding disciples of Confucius benefited greatly.

Some even held carving knives, continuously inscribing bamboo slips.

Curious, Lu Ge moved closer to observe.

“Brother Yan Hui, are you trying to record all the words and deeds of the sage?”

“How many bamboo slips will that take?”

At this moment, Confucius and Lao Dan were resting.

After a whole day of speaking, their mouths were dry and parched.

Yan Hui finally had a moment to reply, “So much wisdom lies in these little details.”

“As disciples, we must record it into books for future generations.”

“So that future disciples may understand the sage’s teachings.”

“As for how many bamboo slips it takes, I’ve lost count.”

“I only remember that two empty rooms at home have been filled.”

Lu Ge was astonished and couldn’t help but give a thumbs-up.

“Brother Lu, would you like to take a look?”

“This was carved some days ago.”

Yan Hui, generous as ever, handed over a roll of bamboo slips and asked Lu Ge.

Lu Ge accepted without hesitation, thanking him.

Opening it, he found the content surprisingly familiar.

Wasn’t this from the Analects?

“Look at this.”

“The Master said, ‘The Master does not speak of strange powers, violence, disorder, or spirits.’”

“The other day we encountered strange events, and many disciples said it was the work of ghosts and spirits.”

“The teacher said this to instruct us.”

“Brother Lu, what do you think?”

Yan Hui looked at Lu Ge eagerly, as if hoping Confucius’s words would be understood and accepted.

Lu Ge stroked his chin and said, “So that’s what it means.”

“It’s somewhat different from what I originally thought.”

Yan Hui was puzzled. “Oh?”

“What did you think these words meant?”

Lu Ge grinned. “I thought Confucius met an enemy, didn’t want to waste time talking, and simply used his own strange strength to beat the other into a daze.”

Yan Hui froze. “You understood it like that?”

“I record the sage’s words to pass them on to future generations.”

“But the people of today all misunderstand them this way.”

“If this is how future generations will understand, what then?”

“Is it because my records are incomplete or inadequate?”

Other disciples nearby also turned to look at Lu Ge with strange expressions.

“Well, what about this one? What do you think it means?”

Yan Hui, unwilling to give up, pointed to another phrase.

“To seek benevolence and attain benevolence, what is there to complain about?”

Lu Ge thought a moment and said, “Those who don’t understand benevolence and righteousness, even if I beat them to death, what grievances could they have?”

Yan Hui’s face turned pale.

“And this one?”

Lu Ge looked toward where Yan Hui was pointing.

“To hear the Way in the morning, to die in the evening — that’s acceptable.”

Yan Hui thought to himself: This phrase is almost literal; it shouldn’t be misunderstood, right?

“That one’s simple — just what it says.”

Lu Ge spoke casually.

Yan Hui breathed a sigh of relief. This time, it should be fine.

“It just means you learn the way in the morning, then go to your house at night and beat you to death.”

Boom!

Yan Hui sat there dumbfounded, as if struck by lightning.

The bamboo slips gradually fell from his hands.

“Am I really no good?”

“I can’t even record the sage’s words properly.”

“If future generations misunderstand the sage because of my records, won’t I be unforgivable?”

Seeing Yan Hui so thoroughly defeated, Lu Ge was somewhat startled.

“Brother, are you alright?”

“I was just joking.”

“Actually, I do understand the meaning.”

Yan Hui’s eyes moved slightly, lips trembling. “You really understand?”

Lu Ge nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes.”

“I truly understand.”

“People have many facets, all different.”

“The same words can be understood in countless ways.”

“So being misunderstood is the fate of anyone conveying ideas.”

Lu Ge kept reassuring him, afraid Yan Hui’s spirit might break and he’d collapse before his eyes.

He even felt a bit regretful.

People of this era took scholarship so seriously; his teasing nearly caused trouble.

Watching the color return to Yan Hui’s face, Lu Ge finally breathed a sigh of relief.