I will make Qin Shi Huang immortal in the Great Qin Dynasty.

All eyes in the hall were fixed on Wang Jian.

The body was covered with old scars, and a deep knife wound on the left shoulder stretched from the collarbone to the lower edge of the shoulder blade.

Three parallel arrow wounds under his ribs left three round scars the size of soybeans after they healed.

There is an old, diagonal scar on the right side of my lower abdomen, which is lighter in color than the surrounding skin and has a slight protrusion of flesh.

Those scars lay haphazardly across the bulging muscles, like the marks that time had etched onto this body in the most brutal way.

General Wang Jian is over seventy years old, and should have reached the age of physical decline long ago.

Yet, the muscle definition of the body standing in the main hall was still clearly visible, with its pectoral muscles bulging high.

His biceps bulged like cast iron balls, and his back muscles were full and powerful, with the trapezius, latissimus dorsi, and erector spinae muscles forming distinct sections that rose and fell slightly with his breathing. Each section had been shaped through countless hours of training.

Having practiced the Yuan Power Guiding Technique for over a month, Wang Jian was already much younger than veterans of the same age.

Now that his muscular physique is exposed to everyone's gaze, it's even harder to associate his appearance with the stereotypical image of a septuagenarian.

He stood still, his arms slightly bent and stretched, the muscles in his shoulders and back undulating with each movement, like an old bear just awakened from its slumber, lazily stretching out its claws.

Then he did a few muscle-flexing poses on the spot.

With his right arm bent, the muscles on his upper arm bulged into a solid lump, and the veins throbbed faintly under his skin.

Switch to the left arm, the same bulge, the same force.

He turned around, his back facing forward, and his back muscles coalesced into distinct plates as he deliberately exerted force.

The hall was so quiet that only the sound of breathing could be heard. The eyes of all the civil and military officials were focused on Wang Jian's back, specifically on a spot between the two trapezius muscles on his back.

Qin Tian stood behind Wang Jian, his gaze fixed on the old general's back. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction.

Between the two bulging trapezius muscles on Wang Jian's back, on that taut muscle that was exceptionally full due to his cultivation of Yuan energy, a pattern resembling writing was faintly visible.

The pattern wasn't intentionally created by Wang Jian; it was simply a natural texture formed when muscles exerted force in a specific way, yet it happened to look like a blurry "德" (de) character.

Qin Tian pointed to the character "德" (virtue) and said to Fusu, "Look, this character on General Wang's back is the '德' (virtue) you often talk about in 'to subdue people with virtue'."

Fusu's gaze fell on the muscle lines, looking at the vaguely formed character "德" (virtue).

A chaotic image flashed through his mind, as if the word had jumped up in his head, somersaulted, and turned into a burly man with broad shoulders and a thick waist, giving him a nonchalant smile.

"Fusu," Qin Tian's voice rang out leisurely, "you just said that Confucius was a refined and virtuous figure who won people over with his virtue. I want to tell you—you are wrong."

Fusu's Adam's apple bobbed: "Grand Preceptor... what makes you say that?"

Qin Tian walked to Wang Jian's side, reached out and patted the old general's broad and sturdy back: "The true image of Confucius is that of a strong man who is nine feet tall, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a sword at his waist."

Fusu's pupils suddenly contracted.

The image of Confucius in his mind—gentle, refined, humble, and polite—began to shake violently.

Qin Tian continued, "Look at General Wang's appearance right now, he looks remarkably like Confucius. He's all muscle, his beard and hair are all standing on end. Confucius was a head taller than General Wang, and the muscles on his back, just like General Wang's, subtly form the Chinese character '德' (virtue). This is the true meaning of Confucius's teaching of winning people over with virtue—using muscles shaped like the Chinese character '德' to win people over."

Fusu stared wide-eyed at Wang Jian's bulging muscles, then turned to look at Qin Tian, ​​and then back at Wang Jian.

After repeating it several times, the lingering image in my mind became clearer and clearer.

A burly man, nine feet tall, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a long sword as tall as a man hanging at his waist, his muscles bulging like mountain ridges, and a faint "德" (virtue) character etched on the muscles of his back.

He was looking at him with a scrutinizing gaze that seemed to ask, "Do you submit?" It was as if if he dared to say no, the sword would be drawn without hesitation.

Fusu shook his head vigorously.

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if to blow all the chaotic images and subversive impressions out of his mind.

He opened his eyes and looked at Wang Jian again. The character "德" (virtue) was still there, and the image of Confucius with a long sword was still lingering in his mind.

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

Fusu's voice was forced out through clenched teeth, "I've read the Analects for over a decade and studied Confucian classics for over a decade. I know better than anyone what kind of person Confucius was and what kind of image he had. He couldn't... couldn't possibly have looked like that... absolutely impossible..."

Standing before Fusu, Qin Tian looked at his crumbling beliefs and shaky worldview, and felt a pang of pity, a feeling unique to an elder looking at a younger generation.

Fusu, in the end, was trapped in the study he built himself. He read too many books and heard too many道理 (principles/truths), but he never had the chance to see the world for himself.

He believed that the words written on bamboo slips were the truth, that Confucius was the gentle and refined figure depicted in the book, and that governing the world required only benevolence and morality.

Qin Tian decided to give him another push, to make him finally step out of that study.

"What's impossible about it?" Qin Tian continued, "Think about the era in which Confucius lived. It was a chaotic time, the late Spring and Autumn Period, with feudal lords vying for supremacy and constant warfare between states. The Zhou emperor was merely a figurehead, and the entire land of China was in turmoil. Confucius traveled to various states and was treated as an honored guest by the rulers of each state. Was that achieved through mere words?"

Fusu opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

His mind was racing, trying to find a reason to refute Qin Tian, ​​but Qin Tian's confident tone made him waver.

Qin Tian took a step closer, his gaze fixed directly into Fusu's eyes: "No. It's about winning people over with virtue."

"Just imagine, Confucius, nine feet tall, broad-shouldered and burly, with a sword at his waist, traveling through the states with three thousand disciples, preaching principles to everyone along the way. If you encountered such a Confucius, would you dare not listen to his reasoning? If he spoke of 'benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness,' would you dare not listen? If he spoke of 'the ruler being a ruler, the minister being a minister, the father being a father, and the son being a son,' would you dare shake your head and say 'I disagree'?"

Fusu's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

The image of the gentle and refined Confucius in his mind was being gradually squeezed out by a burly man.

Qin Tian continued, "Confucius said, 'If I hear the Way in the morning, I can die content in the evening.' Think about that. If he hears the way to your house in the morning, he can come to your house in the evening and have a proper 'reasoning' with you. Who would dare to offend a Confucius like that when he travels around the states?"