**A Decade of Lectures: A Summons to Scholars of the Realm!**

The word spread forth from the city of Su, carried on the winds and whispered through the taverns, until it reached the very edges of the Zhao Kingdom. And those who had doubted Wang Lin found their voices silenced, their eyes wide with disbelief.

Su Dao himself had held lectures, but only for a year. Yet this Wang Lin spoke of ten! Such a pronouncement could not be called merely bold; it was the height of arrogance. These lectures were akin to a gauntlet thrown down in the martial world, a challenge to all scholars to test their wit against him for a decade hence!

After a moment of stunned silence, the decree sparked a wildfire of reaction. Fueled by the doubts of countless students and nobles, and fanned by the hidden hand of the Zhao Emperor himself, all those in the kingdom who deemed themselves worthy journeyed toward Su.

Hundreds of leagues from Su, at an inn beside the Imperial Road, travelers gathered. Amongst them were many scholars, their voices buzzing with discussion of Wang Lin’s ten-year lectures.

“Have you heard? Wang Lin, disciple of Su Dao, has proclaimed he will lecture for a decade! A decade! The realm is shaken, and those who questioned him are already on their way!”

“Hmph. The fellow possesses some talent, no doubt, but Su Dao is the true sage of Zhao. Wang Lin is not worthy.”

“I think not. To speak of ten years is no idle boast. I heard that scores of students visited him just days ago, and returned humbled and enlightened.”

A snort came from a table near the window. There sat four: three young men and an aged scholar. The elder sipped his tea, listening to the talk with an air of quiet disdain.

“A mere scholar dares to lecture? Master should never have taken him in! The title of Great Sage belongs to Su Yi alone!” Such scenes played out across the Zhao Kingdom, growing more frequent the closer one drew to Su.

In Su itself, the grand estate of Su Dao stood with its gates flung wide, never to be closed for a decade.

Within the courtyard sat Wang Lin, calmly drinking Osmanthus wine, gazing upon the hundreds of scholars gathered before him. Four months had passed since his proclamation, and over a thousand souls had already crossed his threshold. Today, these hundreds arrived, filling the courtyard and overflowing into the street. Carriages stretched into the distance, each bearing an aged noble. As time wore on, more and more scholars from Zhao converged upon the city of Su.

“I am Dong Yun, a scholar of your year, now a minister in the Imperial Court. I have come to seek an answer from you.” A middle-aged man stepped forward, his gaze proud, his posture stiff. “I seek to understand the meaning of the seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, winter… what is their purpose?”

Wang Lin took a sip of his wine. “You were born in spring, grew in summer, weaken in autumn, and close your eyes in winter. The seasons, to me, are simply life, old age, sickness, and death.”

“But what of an umbrella? Does it too have life, old age, sickness, and death?” the scholar asked, taken aback.

“Because you still live,” Wang Lin replied. “In the moment before your death, you will recall your life, and the journey from birth to passing will be but the seasons themselves. Show him out!” Servants hurried forward, guiding the scholar, his mind reeling, as though on the cusp of understanding, from the courtyard.

“Permit me to ask you a question, Master,” said a weary old man, bowing low. “I have read five cartloads of books, and my talent is as good as any, yet others prosper while I languish in obscurity. Why is it that after thirty years I have yet to succeed?”

“Zhao is a land of mountains, high and low. Yet a high mountain may not reach its peak, and a low mountain may yet be part of a great range. You compare yourself to the height of a mountain; why not open your eyes and see that high or low, they are but mountains! Show him out!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and many scholars were visibly moved, their eyes reflecting deep thought.

“Master, why does rain fall from the sky? What is the meaning of rain?” a young man called from the back of the crowd, pushing his way forward.

“A fine question!” Wang Lin rose and walked up the steps to a higher level, until he stood above the sea of faces. He knew this day was different, the arrival of so many at once was no coincidence. He glanced towards a tavern across the street, and saw a man sitting there.

Clad in rich robes, he exuded power. He sat drinking, surrounded by guards, his cold gaze fixed upon Wang Lin. In him, the middle-aged man saw a reflection of the past, of Su Dao himself.

Beside him, a haughty voice spoke.

Wang Lin took a swig of wine, his expression carefree, and answered the young man.

“In a dream, I heard a single phrase, and it is this that I give to you: The rain is born in the heavens and dies on the earth, but the journey in between, that is life itself!”

A roar erupted from the crowd, spreading outwards until it reached the street. Many of the nobles in their carriages were visibly moved. Some rose silently, bowing respectfully towards Wang Lin before ordering their servants to depart. With a single sentence, he showed them that the title of Great Sage was no mere boast.
From beyond the courtyard walls, a voice, aged and resonant, cut through the murmur of scholarly debate. “Rumor speaks of your tutelage under the sage Su Ru for over a decade, Master Wang. Your wisdom, they say, is profound. I must ask, then: why does this world harbor immortals, and why do they deem us mortals as mere ants?”

The assembled scholars parted like reeds before a gust, revealing an elder of evident distinction. Though Wang Lin knew him not, many recognized the figure and bowed in respectful greeting.

Wang Lin, unfazed, took a swig from his flask. “Immortals possess power, and that power swells within their hearts, inflating their sense of self until it fills the heavens. Hence, they see those less potent as insects. Yet, should *you* cultivate thought, allowing it to expand and encompass the cosmos, to illuminate all truths, then you shall see the immortal as merely another being. The awe dissipates, and even an immortal may appear as insignificant as a humble ant!” He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the courtyard.

The elder trembled, muttering to himself. After a long moment, he bowed deeply to Wang Lin, a servant offering support, and turned to depart.

One by one, the scholars posed their inquiries, and with each draught of Osmanthus wine, each word spoken, Wang Lin sowed seeds of understanding. More and more supplicants offered a parting bow, their gaze upon Wang Lin now imbued with a newfound reverence. Yet, as some departed, others, drawn by the tales, pressed forward, eager for enlightenment.

“Master Wang,” a scribe began, “the ancient texts speak of ‘attuning the ear…’ ” But before he could complete the quote, Wang Lin interrupted.

“The formal compositions, I have forgotten. It is the truths of heaven and earth that I seek, the cultivation of my own thought. These rote recitations, I have no use for. Ask me no more of them!”

Another stepped forward. “Master Su Ru devoted his life to the unraveling of causality, a concept that has eluded understanding for millennia. I beseech you, Master Wang, have you grasped its essence? Can you grant me some sliver of understanding?”

Wang Lin paused, contemplating. “Causality *is* causality. It is not to be dissected, but to be *felt*. It cannot be explained, only experienced. If you understand, you understand. If you do not, I could speak of it for ten years, and you would remain ignorant.” He tilted the flask, draining it dry, then tossed it aside. “Da Fu! More wine!” Da Fu, puffed with pride, swiftly retrieved another flask and presented it to the master.

A stern voice cut through the air. “Wang the Scholar,” a figure challenged, stepping forward. “You spoke of encompassing the heavens with thought, of shedding fear, of viewing immortals as ants. Can *you*, yourself, truly achieve such a feat?” It was an older man, his face grim, his eyes fixed upon Wang Lin. He recognized the face – Su Yi, first disciple of the late Su Ru, and now a powerful court official.

“Why should I not?” Wang Lin replied, laughing as he took another swig.

The moment those words left his lips, in the tavern across from the estate, the robed youth seated beside the middle-aged man snapped his eyes open. With a surge of power that shook the very foundations, he erupted into a streak of light, piercing the heavens as he descended towards Wang Lin, cleaving through the air above the stunned crowd.

“Insolent mortal!” The youth’s voice boomed, laced with divine authority. “To disrespect an immortal is a crime punishable by death!” His words resonated through the air, causing the scholars below to pale and fall to their knees in terror.

“An immortal!”

“He dares defy an immortal! This punishment is well deserved!”

The streak of light, a blade of pure energy, thrummed with disdain. The robed youth, wielding a celestial sword, swept down upon Wang Lin in a heartbeat.

But as the youth descended, Wang Lin’s countenance hardened, losing all traces of joviality. He stood tall, unshaken by fear, and unleashed a primal roar that echoed through the heavens.

“You dare!” The words ripped from his throat, unleashing a torrent of righteous fury, an invisible wave of power that engulfed the world. The skies roared, splitting with lightning, as if the heavens themselves were tearing asunder. The peaceful day transformed into a tempestuous storm.

The kneeling scholars gasped, their faces twisted with dread. In the tavern across the way, the middle-aged man’s hand trembled, his wine spilling onto the table. His face turned ashen.

“Impossible!” the second robed youth beside him cried, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror.