noffsinger Chapter 424 Reflection
Chapter 424 Reflection
"I haven't finished reading the words of the saints..."
Li Qinghuan's voice was as dry as sandpaper grinding against a stone wall. He pointed in the direction of the study not far away, "On the third bookshelf in the east wing, there is still my unfinished Annotation to Zuo Zhuan; the old plum tree in the west wing was grafted with a new variety this winter; the poor student I accepted last month is extremely talented and will be able to take part in the provincial examination in half a year..."
He talked on and on, as if counting his unfulfilled wishes, and every word was filled with attachment to life.
He is no longer the scholar who would be beaten to a pulp for a word of "truth" in his youth.
The white hair at his temples and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes all remind him of the weight of time.
Those heroic words of "sacrifice one's life for righteousness" may seem like noble character when written in a book, but when they happen to one's own head, they become a knife cutting into one's heart.
He had seen too many people crying bitterly while holding the tablets of their loved ones after the floods receded, and he had also seen the streets filled with corpses that had not been buried in time when the plague was raging.
The shadow of death has never left Xiangsheng City, and he is just a mortal who is lucky enough to "start over again". He does not have the courage to "do something knowing it is impossible", but only the instinct to survive like an ant.
"You young people always think that dying is a heroic thing, but when you really experience the feeling of drowning and feel the pain of your lungs being burned by icy water, you won't say that anymore..."
He paused, his Adam's apple rolling violently, "I have been teaching for my whole life, telling students 'If you hear the truth in the morning, you can die in the evening', but when it comes to myself, I understand that 'hearing the truth' is easy, but 'dying in the evening' is too difficult..."
It's not that he didn't want to resist, but the remaining obsession of "leaving his name in history" had long since turned into shackles that bound his hands and feet under the erosion of time, leaving him with no choice but to watch in "lucid numbness" as he turned into the accomplice he once despised the most.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to be an upright Confucian scholar, but when death is no longer a noble word in books, but becomes a fear that penetrates the bone marrow, even the most firm beliefs will crumble in the face of reality.
What Li Qinghuan said was true. Yan Zhaoming, who had originally had an aggressive attitude, calmed down, and the people around him also paused.
They feel that they are the backbone of the sect, the chosen ones of heaven, and are burdened with an unparalleled mission. Therefore, their lives are passionate, warm and brilliant, like a burning flame that illuminates all the darkness in the world. However, they forget that not everyone has the responsibility to do so.
In the pursuit of justice, are we too harsh on others and forget that all living beings have their own helplessness and struggles?
Yan Zhaoming grew up in Fentian Valley. What he heard most was the teachings of "slaying demons and eliminating evil" when practicing martial arts. He was accustomed to seeing his fellow disciples sacrifice their lives to protect the people. As a genius who fought against the demons, the word "sacrifice" had already been engraved into his bones.
But at this moment, looking at the frayed edges of Li Qinghuan's cuffs and listening to him muttering about the unfinished annotations and the grafted plum trees, those concerns that were once regarded as "trivial matters of mortals" suddenly pierced his heart like needles.
Yes, not everyone in this world has the hands to wield a sword, and not everyone can shoulder the burden of "destiny".
They call themselves immortal masters and are very arrogant.
I always like to look down on those mortals who are struggling for a living, but now looking at the white hair on Li Qinghuan's temples trembling in the wind, I suddenly realize that not everyone can be like them and regard "breaking the formation and saving the world" as the only question in life.
These wishes, which seem insignificant to them, are the worlds that mortals spend their entire lives measuring.
Ye Yingzhou was actually a little surprised - he had read all the strange stories from ancient times to the present, and believed that everything in the world was either black or white. He also had experienced many things with Lu Wensheng and the others, and felt that he had understood a lot.
But the fear in Li Qinghuan's eyes at this moment was so real, like a mirror reflecting their arrogance.
They are used to using "righteousness" as a yardstick, but forget that this yardstick cannot measure the survival instinct in human bones.
When the icy water of the Zhuolang River poured into Li Qinghuan's throat and when his fingertips touched the swollen corpse, how could the "sacrifice one's life for righteousness" in the books of sages easily overcome the bone-chilling chill of dying?
They always thought that swords should be used to chop down demons and enemies, but they never thought that sometimes they should also chop down the "black or white" wall in their own hearts.
It was not wrong for Li Qinghuan to be afraid of death, just like the millions of people who grabbed drifting wood in the turbulent waves back then, he just wanted to hold on to the hope of survival in his hands.
Whether a monk or a mortal, the attachment to life is engraved in their bones and blood.
Those who shoulder the sect's mission may have already forgotten, in the passion of slaying demons and eliminating evil, that "fear of death" is never a derogatory term, but the most primitive instinct of every living being.
Tang He remembered what Lu Wensheng had said: The reason why the right path is right is not because it seeks profit and avoids harm, but because it is done even though one knows it is impossible - but this "doing" should not be to use justice to force others to die.
He looked at Li Qinghuan's shirt with patches on the cuffs and suddenly realized that without guidance, they would always think that they were saving people, but they might unknowingly trample on their suffering.
It’s not that the old scholar was unwilling to sacrifice, but under the shadow of floods and plagues, his obsession with “life” had long since grown into a tangled tree that was difficult to cut off easily.
Tang He looked at his hunched back and suddenly realized that the great scholar was not the detached sage in the books, but an ordinary old man bent by the reality - he understood the way of sages, but could not escape the fear of mortals; he longed to leave his name in history, but was more attached to the mundane world.
This struggle between justice and survival is more real and more sad than any eloquent speech.
As if they had grasped something, the light in their eyes, in addition to the determination to break the formation, seemed to have something more - it was a kind of helpless sympathy for all living beings after experiencing the polish of worldly affairs. On the road to pursuing the great way, they finally learned to bend down and listen to the sighs of mortals in the mud.
Perhaps the meaning of breaking the formation has never been to let anyone die heroically, but to allow everyone who has been drowned by the flood like him to regain the courage to "live", even if this courage is accompanied by the fear of death.
The "great justice" we seek is never to let anyone die, but to give people the right to choose "life".
Yes, so they only really understood what Lu Wensheng had just said to Zheng Xiu now.
Perhaps, this is what Lu Wensheng called the "right way" - not standing on the clouds and overlooking all living beings, but squatting in the mud, accompanying mortals, picking up those concerns that were washed away by the flood, and holding them in your arms.
Even if the road ahead is still full of thorns, even if the cost of breaking the formation is as heavy as a mountain, but at least at this moment, they understand how to make "righteousness" no longer cold, how to make "sacrifice" no longer forced, but mortals and monks, in the turbulent world, support each other and move towards the possible glimmer of light.