002. Expelled from the House? Climbing the Celestial Ladder

Wang Yu recited the three sentences aloud with utmost confidence, his voice echoing over the contest stage. In his heart, he began to anticipate some extraordinary phenomenon—a sign from heaven and earth. In his estimation, it should at least be something on the level of ten fathoms of purple qi, perhaps even a white arc piercing the sky or a hundred fathoms of purple aura. Such were his hopes.

Yet, after a long moment, not to mention any celestial omen, not even the slightest breeze stirred atop the stage; all was silent, the atmosphere thick with awkwardness. Wang Yu felt so embarrassed he could have scratched a three-room, two-hall house right into the stage itself. He could almost sense the cawing of crows overhead.

What was going on? This couldn’t be right. Was the contest platform broken? Had heaven and earth themselves gone awry? How could such philosophical words fail to evoke even the faintest celestial response? Wang Yu was utterly perplexed!

The great scholars of the Confucian sect presiding over the trial wore dark expressions. In their eyes, Wang Yu’s words were nothing short of heresy—wild ramblings inferior to those of a country child. If word got out that an outer disciple of the Confucian sect had spoken such vulgarities, it would disgrace the most prestigious school in the world.

Seeing that Wang Yu had failed to elicit the slightest sign and still made no move to leave, their brows furrowed in displeasure. One, with five flowing locks of beard and a jade-like face, was especially incensed. His name was Zhu Bingli, and true to his name, he placed immense importance on ritual and propriety, believing that without knowledge of courtesy, one could not be considered human. To him, Wang Yu’s behavior was a gross insult.

He spat out a single word: “Down!”

At that moment, the word took form and substance—a great hand appeared, flinging Wang Yu from the contest stage. “Any further delays in the trial will be severely punished!”

The contest platform was set above Goose Lake. Thrown by the great scholar, Wang Yu plunged from the stage straight into the lake, emerging soaked to the bone, a veritable drowned rat. One moment he was pondering his fate, the next he was hurled into icy water. Outraged, he gasped, “Which bastard ambushed me?”

The moment Wang Yu spoke, the crowd fell utterly silent—you could have heard a pin drop. He quickly realized that the only ones who dared act on the contest stage were the presiding scholars and masters. Glancing up at the ashen face of one of them, he knew at once who had thrown him.

Wang Yu wanted to explain himself, but Zhu Bingli, consumed by fury, had no intention of listening. He bellowed, “Arrogant and disrespectful, lacking in virtue—unworthy of being called a son! Someone, expel him from our rolls and cast him out!”

Now Wang Yu was truly angry. Was it such a crime to linger a little longer on the stage? It was bad enough to be thrown into the lake, but now they wanted to expel him as well. When had he ever wronged this man?

Not one to take injustice lying down, Wang Yu shouted, “I’ll accept expulsion if you must, but you must apologize for throwing me into the lake. Otherwise, I will not let this rest!”

Zhu Bingli had not expected Wang Yu to defy him and was so enraged he trembled. Never, in all his years in the Confucian sect, had he met such insolence or been contradicted in this way by a student. In his anger, Zhu Bingli prepared to act again and fling Wang Yu out entirely.

But just then, someone at his side intervened. “Hold, Mr. Bingli—let me speak.”

It was Tao Yuan, head of the outer academy. He had always regarded Wang Yu with some favor; though the latter’s natural talent was poor, he was diligent, eager to learn, humble, and courteous. In Tao Yuan’s eyes, Wang Yu need only awaken once, and his prospects would be limitless. Even if Wang Yu failed the contest trial again, Tao Yuan intended to use special means to keep him in the sect.

Seeing Zhu Bingli ready to expel Wang Yu and erase his name, Tao Yuan could no longer remain silent.

Zhu Bingli turned a frosty gaze on Tao Yuan. “What, Dean Tao, would you block me for the sake of this disrespectful wretch?”

Tao Yuan sighed inwardly—what had gotten into the boy today, to make him so reckless? Nevertheless, he wished to protect Wang Yu.

He saluted Zhu Bingli. “Sir Bingli, this is Wang Yu. He has failed the contest trial for two years running; this is his third and final attempt. Perhaps the blow was too much, and in his distraction he acted disrespectfully. I ask you to be generous and not take offense.”

Zhu Bingli let out a cold laugh. “With such feeble resolve, no wonder he has failed three years in a row. Arrogant, rude, and dull of wit—he is unworthy. According to the rules, anyone who fails the trial three times must be expelled and never readmitted. What, Tao Yuan, would you break the rules?”

The Confucian sect valued rules and propriety above all—they were its very foundation. Tao Yuan dared not admit to such a thing; if he did, he would lose his post as dean and be sent to reflect on his conduct.

So Tao Yuan replied hastily, “I would not dare. But Wang Yu is diligent and courteous—could we not give him one more chance? What does Sir Bingli think?”

Zhu Bingli glanced at the dripping Wang Yu, who still held his head high, eyes unwavering and full of defiance. Zhu Bingli let out an angry laugh. “Look at him—where is there any humility? All I see is arrogance and rebellion. He cannot remain.”

Having been shown no face whatsoever, Tao Yuan felt a spark of anger himself. Their ranks were equal—his own attitude had been humble enough, but Zhu Bingli was going too far.

He straightened, meeting Zhu Bingli’s gaze. “And what if I insist on keeping him?”

Zhu Bingli did not yield an inch. “Then let him ascend the Celestial Stair.”

Tao Yuan’s face changed at these words. The Celestial Stair! That was a real test.

The Celestial Stair was a trial forged by the sect’s founder, embedded in the body of Mount Tai. To pass its path was to reach the mountain’s summit. This trial was far more arduous than the contest trial—a last glimmer of hope for those who had failed three years in a row. Should one succeed, one could remain in the sect and be treated as a scholar of the Hall of Elites.

It sounded promising, but the Celestial Stair was not so easily climbed. Along its way, the wisdom of countless great scholars and masters was inscribed. You had to debate and contend with their teachings, earning their approval to pass through—a task nigh impossible.

Ninety-nine percent of those who attempted it ended up with shattered minds, rendered simpletons for life.

So, hearing Zhu Bingli propose the Celestial Stair for Wang Yu, Tao Yuan understood his malicious intent. The hearts of great scholars were indeed as deep as the abyss, killing without a trace—using rules and propriety as their weapons, more lethal than any sword.

Yet, this was Wang Yu’s only chance to stay.

Tao Yuan did not wish to choose for him. He reached into Goose Lake, lifted Wang Yu out, dried his clothes with a flick of his sleeve, and explained the situation.

At last, Tao Yuan said, “Whether or not you attempt the Celestial Stair is for you to decide.”