017, every single one of them is an old tortoise, hiding themselves away so well.

Wang Yu strode out of the Confucian Gate laughing heartily, exuding an unrestrained and wild spirit, his magnanimity and boldness on full display.

No sooner had Wang Yu departed than three figures appeared out of thin air at the mountain gate: Ziyou, Tao Yuan, and Old Ji.

Old Ji glanced at the calm faces of Ziyou and Tao Yuan, then gave a mocking snort. “Such a rare jade, and you just let him walk away? Aren’t you afraid old Kong will come back and have your heads for it?”

Tao Yuan remained silent. Even if their patriarch returned, the blame wouldn’t fall on him. Besides, he had his own master to rely on. When his master’s temper flared, even the patriarch would have to stand his ground against him. For this reason, Tao Yuan felt no fear at all.

As for Ziyou, his expression remained tranquil. “Everyone has their own aspirations. If he insists on leaving, what am I to do?”

Old Ji clicked his tongue twice. “Little Yan, you’re as shameless as ever. No wonder you’re Kong’s disciple—when it comes to shamelessness, you truly have a touch of his style. You’re dying for the boy to leave, yet you put on this act of helplessness. It almost spoils my appetite.”

Ziyou paid no heed to Old Ji’s ridicule. Though others might not know this old man’s true identity, Ziyou knew it well. This was a man who dared mock the master to his face; Ziyou couldn’t afford to provoke him. If not for being outmaneuvered by the master years ago, with his cultivation and status, Old Ji would never have ended up as the gatekeeper of the Confucian School.

Thus, Ziyou adhered to a single principle regarding Old Ji: never retaliate, never argue, just ignore him.

Seeing Ziyou’s indifference, Old Ji quickly lost interest, vanished in a flash, and no doubt returned to his lounge chair to continue his wanderings in thought.

With Old Ji gone, a silence settled between Tao Yuan and Ziyou. Watching Wang Yu’s distant figure, Ziyou’s gaze flickered with uncertainty.

To be honest, he was indeed conflicted. Initially, he had wholeheartedly wanted to expel Wang Yu, for the youth’s actions clearly clashed with the code of propriety he had upheld all his life. Propriety meant order, hierarchy, everyone secure in their place, without overstepping their bounds. In Ziyou’s eyes, Wang Yu was the very embodiment of unruliness—arrogant, unpredictable, reckless.

So, Wang Yu’s departure suited him. Yet, this man had actually earned the genuine approval of all nine senior brothers, which was in itself remarkable. Most crucially, even the master had recognized his worth, bestowing upon him the scale of the Five-Colored Auspicious Kylin—a clear sign of high hopes.

This left Ziyou in turmoil. Had he, perhaps, acted against the master’s will?

The truth was, Ziyou did not fear contradicting his master. The master would not grow angry simply because a disciple held a different view; rather, he would engage in debate. Such contention was common between the Sage Kong and his disciples.

Ziyou’s true concern was whether his own understanding of the Way had faltered. This was the crux of his conflict. For cultivators, it was the Way and oneself—Sage Kong was so, and all who walked the sacred path were the same.

That was why Ziyou had come—to see Wang Yu one last time, to give both Wang Yu and himself another chance.

But Wang Yu’s final words—“I stride out the door laughing at the heavens; how could men like us be mere commoners?”—banished Ziyou’s last doubts.

Such an arrogant soul could never belong in the Confucian School. To keep him by force would invite disaster. Ziyou convinced himself, his resolve only firmer. Only propriety is the Way of Heaven and Earth. No matter how great his talent and insight, one on a deviant path cannot be taught. The farther he goes, the better.

Tao Yuan had not spoken a word from beginning to end. His purpose in coming, apart from seeing Wang Yu off, was to see if anyone dared make a move against Wang Yu’s life.

For though Wang Yu had climbed the Heavenly Stairway, he had failed the Platform of Contention’s trial and was utterly without cultivation. Anyone wishing to kill him would find it all too easy.

No one should imagine the Confucian School free of base and despicable men; there were plenty. Not only within Ziyou’s lineage, but also among those blinded by jealousy.

Tao Yuan intended to stand at the gate and see which cowards would dare act. If any did, Old Master Tao was ready for a contention of his own.

Perhaps the presence of the three deterred them, or perhaps others harbored deeper schemes, but aside from the three, not a single soul appeared at the mountain gate.

Wang Yu’s figure grew ever more distant, soon vanishing from sight.

Ziyou glanced at Tao Yuan, said nothing, and disappeared. There was nothing more to say. Though Ziyou was Tao Yuan’s senior uncle, the two were not of the same lineage and shared little real affection.

With Ziyou gone, Tao Yuan simply seated himself cross-legged on a great bluestone at the gate and closed his eyes in contemplation. He had decided to remain there in meditation for three days, allowing no one to pass during that time.

If anyone wished to leave, they would have to test the weight of Tao Yuan—Tao Zi Hou—themselves.

This gesture was not only to protect Wang Yu, but also to assert his own authority. As Dean of the Outer Court, and not of Ziyou’s line, many had coveted Tao Yuan’s position over the years.

But these people had forgotten whose disciple Tao Yuan was.

He was the disciple of Zi Lu.

And who was Zi Lu? Resolute and straightforward, devoted to his parents, upright and brave, a man of his word, loyal and steadfast. Among Sage Kong’s disciples, he ranked among the top three in martial prowess.

Despite his usual gentle and affable demeanor—an image necessary for a dean—Tao Yuan had inherited seven or eight parts of Zi Lu’s temperament and abilities. They were simply hidden beneath his official persona.

Anyone who mistook this old master for a harmless good man would be gravely mistaken. Before becoming dean, he was a veritable replica of Zi Lu, bold enough to challenge even his own master when the mood struck him.

Was this not the very essence of fortitude?

The younger disciples of the Confucian School might not know the true nature of this old killer, but the elders knew it well. Thus, when some ill-intentioned ones saw Tao Yuan seated on the great bluestone at the gate, they were instantly startled and abandoned their schemes.

It was no laughing matter—among the great scholars of the Confucian School, this old killer’s combat prowess ranked in the top three, second only to his master.

Who would risk offending this old killer over Wang Yu? Were they tired of living?

Tao Yuan was truly capable of killing, his ruthlessness legendary.

No wonder some said this old man might have belonged in the School of War—perhaps, in another life, he would have become a Martial Sage of the Military Sect.