Qin Dynasty: Who offended my frail and sickly minister?

The common people of Xianyang had no idea about the intricacies of the imperial court, nor could they distinguish which of the prisoners in the prison carts were real bandits and which were servants of powerful noble families or retainers of aristocratic households.

They only recognized that these people being taken away were all evil people who ran rampant in the village, oppressed the good and wicked, and exploited the people. They were the devils who weighed on their shoulders, making them work all year round but still go hungry and naked!

They knew that now that all the villains had been captured, there was finally a glimmer of hope for the future. Even if things got tough, they had something to look forward to.

So they clapped their hands in delight and spread the news far and wide.

But as I laughed, I started to cry...

Tears rolled down without warning, silently and uncontrollably, as if the sky had suddenly darkened, and the air was thick with an indescribable heaviness.

"It is Zhou Neishi who is watching from heaven! It is Zhou Neishi who is watching from heaven!"

An elderly man, barely wrapped in coarse cloth, with gray hair and a deeply lined face, suddenly wailed and fell to his knees with a thud.

His eyes were fixed on the front, on the evil official who had seized his family's land, driven his wife to the point of exhaustion and death in the barren fields, and whose grandson had starved to death.

They watched helplessly as he was bound tightly with ropes, dragged onto the prison van, until the procession was far away and his figure completely disappeared at the end of the street.

The old man stiffened his neck, raised his hands high, and stared at the sky with his cloudy eyes, wailing hoarsely over and over again, but not a single tear fell.

It has long since run dry.

As if some barrier had been shattered, from him onwards, the sobbing could no longer be suppressed, spreading like a tide, the hoarse cries, low yet deafening.

It was a lament that had been suppressed for too long and had finally found an outlet; it was the sigh of countless lives crushed and souls trampled into the mud, all released at that moment.

They murmured Zhou Neishi's name over and over again, reciting the king's kindness, and at that moment they finally came to their senses—

The Zhou Neishi, who could see them, cared for the common people, and was willing to stand up for them, can no longer see this world.

Even so, his spirit in heaven once again protected the "lowly people" he cared for, and sent down a final rain of "life" for them.

The streets and alleys of Xianyang are covered in a continuous expanse of white.

The people spontaneously changed into plain clothes. Those who were too poor to have any cloth to wear would find a piece of white cloth and a white rope to tie in their hair or on their wrists. Every inch of plain white cloth conveyed their endless grief and sorrow.

The Zhou family mansion remains as it was, with all sorts of objects piled up at the entrance.

A farmer brought a handful of millet, each grain plump and carefully picked out by hand; a merchant brought a jar of aged wine, not as clear as fresh wine, but still the store's prized vintage; a poor scholar brought an essay, the ink still wet, yet it revealed his ambition to emulate the historian of Zhou; even a child from the countryside brought a bowl of clear water, so clear you could see the bottom, reflecting the clean sunlight.

It wasn't that they were unwilling to offer more generous gifts, but rather—they were all politely stopped by the people in the mansion.

The figure of Zhou Neishi in blue was gone, but three young men dressed in white mourning clothes appeared in front of the Zhou mansion.

They stood outside the threshold, their clothes fluttering in the wind, like three bamboo stalks that had not yet grown, but had stubbornly endured the wind and snow that weighed down their branches, yet remained resilient and upright.

The young man at the head of the group was still rather thin, but his back was ramrod straight. He bowed solemnly to the people who had come to pay their respects, his voice still carrying a hint of youthful awkwardness, yet steady and polite:

"Everyone, please go back. Even if the master were here, he would never accept such precious gifts from you, causing you to tighten your belts and live a difficult life. He would never have the heart to do that."

That was Zhou Neishi's disciple, Liu Langwen, who was also the youngest lecturer at the Great Qin Academy.

After listening, everyone remained silent for a moment before dispersing. Not long after, they returned, bringing with them what they wanted the Inner Historian to see as well.

This time, Ah Zhu did not refuse.

He stood outside the threshold and accepted them one by one. After receiving each item, he bowed respectfully, accepting these weighty gifts on behalf of his teacher.

Then, carrying these sentiments, he went to the Great Qin Academy.

When the academy was first established, the school buildings were simple, with only a few lecture halls. But on this day, sunlight streamed through the windows and shone on the rammed earth ground, making it bright and clear.

The room was already packed with people. The students were of varying ages, some nearing twenty and others still in their childhood. They were all from poor families and were the first batch of students at this Great Qin Academy.

Among the crowd, several faces stood out—Manbao, Ahua, Xiaoshitou, Shuisheng…

They've all arrived.

All of these teachers' earliest students are here, without exception.

After receiving letters from Mr. Zhou, Azhu, and Fusu, the villagers set off immediately with their children as soon as spring plowing was finished.

Since there were no carriages or horses in the village, they carried dry food on their backs, step by step, enduring wind and rain, trekking through mountains and rivers, to send their children to Xianyang City, which they had never set foot in before, and then hurriedly returned to the village to participate in the next round of busy farming.

Even with such difficulties and separation from her family, even the youngest, Ahua, did not cry or make a fuss. She stayed obediently in the school dormitory, studying and learning to read diligently.

Because whether they were villagers or children, they all believed in—believed in the Lord Zhou who had always protected and cared for them.

Trust his character, trust what he said in the village, and trust the promises he wrote on the letter:

Studying is useful. Come to Daqin Academy. I will make sure that all the children in the village have access to education, food, a way out, and a bright future.

Therefore, even after receiving news that Young Master Zhou was no longer alive, they resolutely chose to trust the Great Qin Academy.

Because this is the academy that the teacher built for them.

They wore coarse cloth clothes, faded from washing, patched upon patched, but their backs were ramrod straight, their eyes bright like stars in the night, staring straight at the podium.

Ah Zhu, dressed neatly and with a serious expression, stood on the university podium, teaching the students to read word by word and pointing out each item for identification:

"This character represents millet, the foundation of agriculture. Every meal and every bowl of porridge should remind us of the hard work involved in its production..."

"This character represents medicine, which can relieve the suffering of the common people. Doctors should have a benevolent heart and a desire to help the world..."

"These characters are on paper, connecting the past and present, carrying laws, etiquette, and moral education to all directions. Students, please remember them well..."

The sound of students reading aloud could be heard continuously.

Outside the window, in a corner of the corridor, Li Si listened quietly and nodded slightly.

His gaze slowly shifted from Ah Zhu's still somewhat immature yet already composed face to Wei Liao beside him, and he couldn't help but exclaim, "The younger generation is truly formidable!"

Wei Liao didn't speak, but stood with his hands behind his back, looking at the students sitting upright in the lecture hall, and at the young lecturer who needed to stand on a low stool but didn't seem out of place at all.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, "If Zicheng were here, he would be overjoyed to see this."

"Tsk!" Li Si frowned upon hearing this and immediately glared at him. "What do you mean by 'if'? That's terribly jarring, and rather ominous!"

"Hey, keep your voice down!" Wei Liao hurriedly reached out to cover his mouth, looking around nervously. "Be careful, the walls may be listening."

Li Si was suffocated by the hand covering his mouth. He finally managed to pry the hand off, slowly turned his head to look at the King of Qin standing behind the two of them, and then turned back to look at Wei Liao with a slightly resentful look in his eyes.

—No, with the King clearing the area, what wall is there to separate us from? What ears are there to listen to?

Ghosts? A ghost wall?

Wei Liao awkwardly touched his nose and gave a sheepish laugh.

I'm just being careful with my words and emotions when I'm out in public. It's become a conditioned reflex because I'm used to killing.

He coughed lightly, feeling a little guilty, and whispered, "It's always better to be careful."