Chapter Sixty: The Rules for Disciples

“Is this truly what you say?” The God of the Gate was overjoyed.

The other gods wondered if they had misheard.

Chu Youcai stood solemnly, bowed to the God of the Gate, and declared, “I am willing to share life and death with Yanzhou City. I will not retreat. I vow to protect the incense, to safeguard the people!”

In that moment, he abandoned all hesitation.

The path he had learned was one of unity between knowledge and action—one must not only possess a good heart, but also carry out good deeds. In times of crisis, how could one possibly retreat? If he lacked this sense of responsibility and magnitude, how could he ever protect those around him?

“Excellent!” The God of the Gate leapt to his feet, and with a wave of his hand, a golden scroll appeared, bearing the imperial seal. He announced, “This is the Celestial Register of the City God, which I now bestow upon you. This register not only affirms your identity, but allows you to concentrate your poetic energy within it and unleash attacks. Its power is akin to the Smoke and Dust Cauldron. Guard it well!”

At this, the other gods could not help but show their astonishment. None had expected the God of the Gate to grant such a precious Celestial Register to Chu Youcai, and whispers spread among them.

Throughout Loulan’s thousands of city gods over centuries, only three or four Celestial Registers had ever been bestowed.

This register not only represented the position of city god, but more importantly, it could transform poetic inspiration into literary force, forging a weapon of attack.

Though it was a single-use treasure, its value was immeasurable.

With great gravity, Chu Youcai received the register, feeling the ever-flowing literary energy within, as if his heart and spirit were merging with it.

Then the God of the Gate swept his gaze around and said, “Chu Youcai has proven himself with ‘Bamboo and Stone,’ and now, in face of disaster, takes up the city god’s post without hesitation. I grant him the Celestial Register. You are envious? If any among you dares to shoulder this office now, I shall also bestow the register upon him.”

At this, the other gods revealed expressions of shame.

The God of the Gate then turned to Chu Youcai, saying, “Since you can compose poems like ‘Bamboo and Stone,’ now that locusts have ravaged a thousand miles, leaving only desolation, I hope you can write an even more stirring verse in response!”

“If you have a worthy poem already, you may inscribe it now. The register can store the poem’s power, to be unleashed at will.”

Hearing that the register could preserve and release poetic force, Chu Youcai realized its true value.

He accepted the register and replied earnestly, “Yes.”

At that moment, holding the register in his hand, he felt a burning heat.

Thinking of Second Mother and Yan Yunfei, who had struggled so hard against the locust disaster, he was deeply moved. With the crisis looming, he stepped aside, ground his ink, took up his brush, poised the tip in the air, and prepared to begin.

The other gods were startled—they hadn’t expected Chu Youcai to be so composed. Could he have a poem even finer than “Bamboo and Stone”?

They could not help but feel anticipation.

The God of the Gate’s eyes shone with approval; clearly, Chu Youcai was gifted with extraordinary talent.

Just then, Chu Youcai’s brush paused, then danced swiftly, and soon three characters appeared: “Rules for Disciples.”

“Rules for Disciples,” originally titled “Instruction for the Pure,” was composed according to the teachings of the Sage Confucius. It was a code of daily conduct, the finest text for moral enlightenment and the education of the young, holding an irreplaceable place in history.

Though “disciples” referred to the students of sages, it could, in truth, mean all people. The text comprises seven sections: filial piety at home, respect outside, caution, trustworthiness, universal love, closeness to the virtuous, and diligent learning.

At this moment, Chu Youcai wrote the section on “Closeness to the Virtuous.”

“All men must be loved, for heaven shelters all, earth bears all; those whose conduct is noble are esteemed, and true worth is not in appearance…”

As he wrote these lines, a purple mist issued from his brush, imprinting itself upon the register, each word a gleaming pearl.

The God of the Gate chanted softly, his face struck with awe. Chu Youcai’s words were simple but their wisdom was not universally known.

All people must cherish one another, for we share the same heaven and earth. Those of lofty virtue earn true respect; it is character, not rank or power, that commands heartfelt esteem.

The other gods held their breath, waiting for Chu Youcai to continue.

He moved his brush once more:

“…Love all, and draw near the virtuous. Use spare energy to study and inquire. Know honor and shame, distinguish right from wrong, understand dignity, and discern good from evil.”

This taught generosity to all, affinity with the virtuous, and with the strength left, one should learn and question. To act with a sense of honor, shame, and discernment is essential in all conduct.

As he wrote, Chu Youcai felt as if his body were aflame. Within him, the frozen valley shattered, and a mountain range surged upward, breaking through the ice.

Instantly, the icy valley within him transformed into a soaring peak.

That sound of splitting sky was wondrous beyond compare.

He felt an unprecedented strength, as if he could hear the voice of the Dao itself, as if some source of all principles was now within his grasp.

At the same time, the entire Celestial Register burned in his hands, as if all the world’s literary energy was fusing within, flowing with the promise of flourishing life.

Yet soon, the register seemed burdened beyond what it could bear, weighed down by the very words inscribed upon it, on the verge of shattering.

From above, a long, gentle sigh descended, infusing the scene with a tranquil power, seeping from the heavens, from the myriad stars, as an eye opened and gazed down upon Chu Youcai.

A single word, “Granted,” rang out—soft, yet weighty as the heavens.

The Celestial Register blazed with golden light, no longer at risk of breaking. It leaped from Chu Youcai’s hands, soared into the sky, crossed the cold sand lake, swept over the panicked crowds, rushed southward, parting mists as it raced toward the southern reaches of Yanzhou City.

The God of the Gate and the other gods were overjoyed; none had expected Chu Youcai’s talent to move heaven and earth, and for his classic to be worthy of eternal fame.

Now they placed their hopes in the register to halt the demon locusts. Yet they sighed as well—before, they had felt the register was a great treasure, but now, it seemed unable to carry the weight of Chu Youcai’s “Rules for Disciples.”

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Yang Riduan, his master, and Second Mother were trapped amid the locusts. No matter how they struggled, they could not break free. Thus passed a whole day.

By the time the hour of the Pig arrived, Yang Riduan hoped for a miracle from Yanzhou’s literary assembly. Yet to his despair, the powers within the assembly were easily shattered by the demon locust, who expended only half its curse’s strength.

As midnight approached, Yang Riduan was overcome by helplessness. If dawn came, and the demon locust regained its ability to use the cursed artifact three more times, there would be no hope left for any of them.