Bearing the blue sky

Chapter 296: A Poem! (Newspaper!)

Zhu Ge's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a stone thrown into calm water, creating ripples.

He raised his head and looked into the distance, his gaze passing over the scattered villages on the plain.

Beyond the farmers toiling in the fields, beyond the people whose backs are bent by taxes, look towards a more distant place.

That's the direction of Shengjing.

But Zhu Ge knew that Shengjing was not the end.

Shengjing was just the beginning.

"Let's go."

"Let's go to the next village."

The carriage turned around, left the official road, and headed towards a village where smoke was rising from chimneys.

The wheels rolled over the ridges of the fields, startling a few sparrows that were foraging for food, which fluttered into the sky.

Liu Jianjian rode the snow wolf beside her, while Zhu Sisi perched on her shoulder, chewing on mulberry leaves, her face expressionless as she watched the village draw closer, as if pondering some profound question.

The village is small, with only a few dozen households. The houses are low, mostly with mud walls and thatched roofs. Only one house at the entrance of the village is a brick and tile house with a faded wooden plaque hanging at the door that reads "Li's Tofu Shop".

Zhu Ge disembarked from the carriage at the village entrance and walked into the village.

The village roads were dirt roads, and they were muddy after it had just rained. Several children were playing by the roadside when they saw a stranger approaching. They were so frightened that they ran home crying loudly.

An old farmer was chopping wood in the yard when he heard the noise. He looked up, saw Zhu Ge, and paused for a moment.

"Young man, you are—" The old farmer put down his axe and looked at him warily.

"Old man, I'm just passing by." Zhu Ge clasped his hands in greeting, "I'd like to ask for a bowl of water."

The old farmer looked him up and down a few times. Seeing that although his clothes were tattered and he was injured, his eyes were clear and his manners were polite, so he nodded and said, "Wait here."

He turned and went into the house, then brought out a bowl of water.

Zhu Ge took the water and drank a sip.

The water is well water, with a sweet taste.

"Grandpa, how is life here?" Zhu Ge asked.

The old farmer gave a wry smile: "What else can we do? We're lucky to have anything to eat."

Do I need to pay taxes?

"Hand it over," the old farmer sighed. "Thirty percent grain, thirty percent cloth, and thirty percent livestock."

"Everything costs 30%, after taxes, there's barely enough left to make ends meet."

"Is nobody going to do anything about it?" Zhu Ge asked curiously.

"Manage?" The old farmer shook his head. "Who manages? The village chief? He has to pay taxes himself! The city lord? He never leaves the city all year round, how would he know about the lives of us peasants? Anyway, we have to pay taxes as soon as the Jingzhe official comes."

The official in charge of the Awakening of Insects—Zhu Ge—was silent for a moment, then took out a few silver coins from his sleeve and stuffed them into the old farmer's hand.

"Here you go, sir."

The old farmer paused for a moment, then waved his hands repeatedly: "No, no, it's just a bowl of water, it's not worth that much money!"

"It's worth it," Zhu Ge said. "Take it."

The old farmer looked at the money in his hand, his eyes reddened, and his lips trembled as he couldn't speak.

Zhu Ge didn't say anything more. He turned around and walked to the earthen wall at the entrance of the village, where he wrote a line of words on the wall with his finger.

"The true path of humanity is fraught with vicissitudes."

The handwriting penetrates three-tenths of an inch into the wall, shimmering with golden light, as if it were alive.

The old farmer followed them out, and upon seeing the words on the wall, he froze: "Young man, what is this—"

"Keep it as a souvenir." Zhu Ge smiled. "Someone will come looking for you later."

He turned and left, the carriage drove out of the village and headed to the next place.

Behind him, an old farmer stood at the village entrance, looking at the words on the wall, and murmured to himself: "The right path in life—is vicissitudes—"

He didn't understand the meaning of those words, but he could feel their power.

That warm, solemn, and unshakable power.

In the days that followed, Zhu Ge traveled eastward, composing poems along the way.

Wherever he went, he would leave a poem on the walls, archways, and steles of villages and towns.

Sometimes it's a complete poem, sometimes just a line, and sometimes even just a single word.

But every word carries a literary air, and a power that penetrates the heart.

"Behind the red gates, meat and wine go to waste, while on the road, the bones of those frozen to death lie."

"When a dynasty prospers, the people suffer; when a dynasty falls, the people suffer."

-

"I only wish that all people may be well-fed and clothed, and I will not hesitate to leave the mountains and forests despite the hardships."

"Lying in my office, I hear the rustling of bamboo and suspect it is the sound of the people's suffering."

These verses mostly come from his memories of his previous life.

But in this world, they were written down for the first time, and seen by the people of this land for the first time.

Each character carries immense power, leaving golden marks on the walls, archways, and steles.

When passersby saw those words, some stopped and stared at them, some silently shed tears, and some knelt down and kowtowed.

The literary spirit flows through those characters, like an invisible river flowing from one place to another, connecting people's hearts together.

Zhu Ge could sense that the handwriting was undergoing some kind of change.

They are not just left on the walls, but have become part of this land and in the hearts of the people on this land.

"Master, the words you wrote seem to have a life of their own," Liu Jianjian said.

"It's not life," Zhu Ge shook his head. "It's reason. When reason is written on a wall, and more people see it, reason comes to life."

"Come back to life?"

"That's right." Zhu Ge nodded. "When principles come alive, people's hearts come alive. When people's hearts come alive, the world will change."

Liu Jianjian nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

On this day, Zhu Ge arrived in a small town.

The town wasn't big, but it was bustling. People came and went on the streets, and shouts rose and fell.

Zhu Ge walked down the street, his gaze sweeping over the shops on both sides. He saw a bookstore with a wooden plaque above the door that read "Wenhan Bookstore".

He went inside.

The bookstore wasn't big, but it had a lot of books. The bookshelves were packed full, with everything from classics and historical texts to poetry and prose, from novels to martial arts manuals.

The shopkeeper was an elderly man with white hair, wearing reading glasses, and sitting behind the counter reading a book.

"Sir, would you like to buy a book?" The shopkeeper looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"I'm not buying books," Zhu Ge said. "I'd like to borrow your pen and ink."

"May I borrow a pen and ink?" The shopkeeper looked him up and down. "What would you like to write, sir?"

Write a poem.

The shopkeeper paused for a moment, then smiled: "Sir, although my bookstore is small, it is a place for scholars. If you write well, I will frame it and hang it on the wall for you."

"Thank you in advance, shopkeeper." Zhu Ge walked to the counter, picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and wrote a few words on a piece of Xuan paper.

"Lying in my office, I hear the rustling of bamboo, and I suspect it is the sound of the people's suffering. We petty officials of the county are concerned with every single branch and leaf."

After finishing writing, he put down his pen, took two steps back, and looked at the few lines of text.

The shopkeeper leaned over, took a look, and froze.

He pushed up his glasses, looked at it carefully again, then looked up at Zhu Ge, his eyes filled with shock.

"Did you write this poem?"

"Yes." Zhu Ge nodded.

"Who are you----"

"A Song of Blessing"

The shopkeeper was stunned: "Is that the Zhu Ge who created a new Confucian path?"

"That's right." Zhu Ge was used to it; as long as he gave his name, someone would recognize him.

The shopkeeper was silent for a moment, then stood up and bowed deeply to Zhu Ge.

"I am Li Hanwen, and I offer you a cup of tea," he said.

"No need to be so polite." Zhu Ge helped him up. "I was just passing by and needed to borrow your pen and ink."

"No." The shopkeeper shook his head: "Sir, your poem is not written for me, but for all people in the world. On behalf of all people, I thank you, sir."

Zhu Ge remained silent.

Looking into the shopkeeper's cloudy yet bright eyes, a warm feeling welled up in his heart.

"Shopkeeper, can your bookstore do me a favor?" he said.

"Sir, please speak."

"Copy these poems into a book and distribute them," Zhu Ge said, "so that more people can see them."

The shopkeeper looked at him, then nodded solemnly: "I will certainly do it."

Zhu Ge nodded slightly, though she did have some thoughts in mind.

newspaper!

Standing in the bookstore, looking into the shopkeeper's cloudy yet bright eyes, Zhu Ge examined the thoughts that surfaced in her mind.

In the past, those newspapers printed on cheap paper were tools for transmitting information, uniting people, and monitoring power.

The world has no newspapers, but the world needs newspapers.

Moreover, along the way, he found that his literary talent was becoming stronger and stronger.

His literary and martial spirits were like different spaces within his chest, overlapping yet unable to touch each other and incompatible.

His martial arts heart and literary heart were the same from the beginning; his heartbeat could be described as the greatest sound being the silence.

However, when he left Yunjiang, the true meaning of martial arts in his heart was countless, including not only various martial arts, but also the techniques he learned from various animals.

"Shopkeeper, you just said you could help me copy the poems into a book?" Zhu Ge asked.

"Of course, by the way, sir, my name is Li Han." Li Han nodded: "Although I am old, my hands are still steady, so copying a few poems is no problem for me."

Li Han also possessed the cultivation level of Confucianism and Taoism, so his hands wouldn't tremble.

However, the blessing song was not enough.

"Not just a few." Zhu Ge shook his head: "I want you to copy many poems and articles, and then distribute them to passersby, ordinary people coming to the city, and students studying, so that more people can see them."

Li Han paused for a moment, then said, "Sir, copying takes time, and paper is expensive—"

"Money is not a problem." Zhu Ge took out a bag of silver coins from her personal space and placed it on the counter: "Take these for now, and let me know if you need more."

"As for paper—"

Zhu Ge narrowed her eyes: "Don't worry, there will be a solution in the future."

Li Han looked at the bag of silver coins, opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he only nodded: "I will do my best."

"Well, as for the paper issue, I'll think of another way."

Zhu Ge looked around and asked, "Li Han, is your bookstore your own, or is it a partnership?"

"It was passed down from my ancestors," Li Han answered honestly, his face slightly embarrassed. "But my strength is insufficient; even at eighty years old, I'm only at the first realm of cultivation, unable to carry on the bookstore's legacy!"

"Making it flourish is not difficult," Zhu Ge said thoughtfully. "I'd like to buy your bookstore. What do you think? Of course, I'm only buying it to make things easier. How about five hundred gold coins?"

With Zhu Ge's financial resources, establishing a new bookstore wouldn't be difficult.

And five hundred gold coins?

That's worth the equivalent of ten bookstores.

"Five hundred gold coins?!" Li Han was surprised, but then hesitated.

Just as Zhu Ge thought, with so much money, what couldn't you do?

Why use that money to buy this bookstore?

"I'm going to Shengjing, I can't stop." Zhu Ge smiled. "I can't find anyone more suitable for the time being, so I want you to work for me and join my Six Paths Palace. What do you say?"

Join the Six Paths Palace!

Upon hearing this, Li Han seemed to realize something, his expression calmed down, and he made up his mind, saying, "Okay!"

"Next, I'll tell you the key points—"

Zhu Ge didn't care what Li Han would do with the money, and Li Han didn't care whether Zhu Ge would give him the money or not. The two of them simply talked and listened, preparing for the newspaper.

From content selection and layout to release cycle and target audience, from funding sources to distribution channels, every aspect is explained in great detail.

At first, Li Han just nodded, but as he listened, his eyes grew brighter and brighter. Finally, he simply took out a blank booklet from behind the counter and started taking notes while listening.

"Sir, is this newspaper really meant for everyone to read?" Li Han put down his pen, looked up, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of expectation.

"Yes," Zhu Ge nodded. "Everyone."

"Wouldn't that mean—the ugly deeds of those corrupt officials would also be exposed to the world?" Li Han was somewhat bewildered.

"Exactly." Zhu Ge's eyes shone brightly: "Not just corrupt officials, but also those tycoons who oppress the people, those bullies who prey on the locals, and those officials who hold positions without doing their jobs. Their deeds should be known to the whole world."

Li Han took a deep breath: "I understand, I'll take this job!"

"It's not just about answering," Zhu Ge said, looking at him. "You should treat it as the most important thing you'll do for the rest of your life."

"I understand," Li Han nodded solemnly.

Zhu Ge took out five hundred gold coins from his own realm and placed them on the counter: "Take this money first. Use part of it to repair the bookstore, part to buy paper and ink, and the rest as working capital."

Li Han looked at the pile of glittering gold coins and swallowed hard. "Sir, this—this is far too much."

"Not much." Zhu Ge shook his head: "You can't do big things without money. If you run out of money, just tell me."

Li Han did not refuse again and carefully put away the five hundred gold coins.

"Sir, what would be a good name for this newspaper?" he asked.

Zhu Ge thought for a moment and said, "Let's call it 'Human Race Newspaper'."

"The Human Race Newspaper—" Li Han repeated the name, a glint of light flashing in his eyes. "A good name, the human race's newspaper."

"Yes." Zhu Ge nodded. "This newspaper is the newspaper of my human race. There will be supplements like the Human Race Daily in the future, but that's for later."

He paused, then said, "For the first issue, I will personally write a few articles."

"From now on, you'll have to collect submissions yourself. Remember, anything that's valuable, authentic, and touching can be published."

"I've noted it down," Li Han said.

Zhu Ge had just talked a lot about newspapers, and Li Han naturally understood what Zhu Ge meant.

"In addition, distribution channels are also very important," Zhu Ge continued. "We can't just put them in bookstores; we need to have them delivered to markets, teahouses, and schools."

"To ensure that illiterate people can read the contents of the newspaper, we can arrange for people to read the newspaper aloud on the streets and alleys."

"Read the newspaper?" Li Han was taken aback for a moment, then his eyes lit up: "That's a great idea! I know a few storytellers, they're very eloquent, having them read it will definitely be effective."

"Then let's do it that way." Zhu Ge nodded. "Also, we need to leave an address in the newspaper so that readers can write in and submit articles."

Good articles can be paid.

"Payment?" Li Han was taken aback again.

"That's right," Zhu Ge said with a smile. "Those who write articles put in a lot of effort and deserve to be rewarded."

"It's not a lot of money, but it represents respect."

He doesn't believe that a manuscript written by someone who has wasted time, energy, and brainpower should be taken for free.

Li Han remained silent for a moment, then bowed deeply: "Sir, on behalf of all scholars in the world, I thank you."

"No need to thank me." Zhu Ge helped him up. "I was just doing what I was supposed to do."

The two then continued their conversation.

Zhu Ge did not rush to leave this small town.

He stayed at Wenhan Bookstore and personally guided Li Han in preparing the first issue of the "Human Race News".

He took some paper from his pocket and wrote several articles on it.

One article recounts his experiences in Honghe Prefecture, Yunnan Province.

Those villages invaded by monsters, those people struggling with the plague, those families crushed by taxes.

One of the articles recounts his experiences in Xianyang.

Behind the scenes of revelry and prosperity, the people suffered immensely; behind the scenes of extravagance and debauchery, starvation was rampant.

One article describes the farmers, woodcutters, fishermen, and merchants he encountered along his journey.

Their hard work, their suffering, their hopes and despair.

After finishing writing three articles, Zhu Ge put down his pen and let out a long breath.

Li Han picked up the manuscripts, read them one by one, and then looked up, his eyes filled with shock.

"Sir, these articles—every single one of them can bring tears to my eyes."

"Tears are just the beginning." Zhu Ge shook her head: "After the tears are over, we need to get them back on their feet and get to work."

Li Han nodded solemnly.