Chapter 82: The Hundred Schools Contend

The city of Linzi, capital of Qi, truly lived up to its reputation as the wealthiest metropolis of the Warring States era. Even walking its streets, Chen Fan could feel the lively bustle all around him. Though this was only a miniature version, the frenetic pace of commerce alone was enough to leave both him and his companion marveling in amazement. The local customs, too, were far less restrained than those of the southern Lu state. After all, Qi had been founded by the Dongyi, known as barbarians, and their open-mindedness was almost excessive. Civilization had come, yet the wildness lingered in their blood, and the degree of open flirtation between men and women was beyond anything Chen Fan had ever imagined.

Chen Fan turned and asked, “Which school are you from?”

“I’m from the Carefree School,” Li Peijun answered slickly, refusing to fall for the trick.

Chen Fan wasn’t satisfied and probed further. “There’s no such school among the Hundred Schools, don’t joke around.”

“I say I’m from the Daoist School—would you believe it?”

“I believe you! What a coincidence, we’re fellow disciples.” Chen Fan even gave an exaggerated, awkward bow, thinking to himself, “Believe you? Not a chance. The Daoists are the civilian class—no one ever reveals their true identity.”

On the invitation, each representative’s identity was marked in the corner: the Legalists, masters of power and strategy, were the werewolves; the Mohists, advocates of universal love and non-aggression, were the wild child; the Militarists, experts in warfare, were hunters; the Daoists, champions of non-action, were commoners; the Agriculturists, devoted to primary industries, were witches; the Yin-Yang School, believers in the five elements, were seers; and the Diplomatists, masters of debate, were magicians.

Curiously, the Confucians—so revered in later generations—were given the cold shoulder, but Chen Fan didn’t dwell on it, chalking it up to the needs of the plot.

The Jixia Academy was set at the heart of the marketplace, its architecture reminiscent of a private garden, though purposely more archaic. It was clear that effort had been put into its design, but beside the grand palace of the King of Qi, it seemed rather paltry.

“I wish we could argue in the great hall—by comparison, this place feels so shabby,” Li Peijun sighed, dragging his feet as they approached.

Chen Fan teased, “Daoists pursue desirelessness; Priest Li, your cultivation is still lacking.”

Li Peijun shrugged and strode forward carelessly. “I don’t buy your nonsense—let’s see what it looks like inside.”

Inside the main hall, the other players had long since taken their seats, with only two cushions left vacant—clearly, Chen Fan and his companion were the last to arrive.

Wine and delicacies had already been set out on the table. The wine cups bore each player’s number inscribed in archaic script; Chen Fan needed no guesswork to know this was another feast that could be deadly.

“Lost again?” asked Number 5, Xiao Yuhé.

Chen Fan pouted. “It’s not my fault. Li Peijun and I both spawned outside the city, and just getting in took a lot of time. The gate guards even thought I was a Qin or Jin spy and interrogated me for ages.”

Xiao Yuhé covered her mouth and laughed. “That explains it. Xie Yuqi and I started inside the Jixia Academy’s inner quarters—a short walk and we were here.”

“Maybe the system wanted me to soak up more of the Warring States flavor, so it deliberately threw me further out,” Chen Fan mused.

He noticed a figure ascending the steps. Though not draped in the yellow robes of television dramas, the man’s bearing left no doubt—this must be the King of Qi himself.

“The king will serve as judge? Not bad, but this vantage point…” Chen Fan wanted to complain about the arrangement of seats: twelve players split into two rows of six, making it impossible to see the other side’s expressions when it was their turn to speak.

The King of Qi addressed them. “Gentlemen, I am delighted that we could all gather here in pursuit of greatness. Each of you is an elite from the Hundred Schools, possessing unique perspectives on the current state of the world. Frankly, I am at a loss as to whose counsel I should heed, and so I have summoned you here to determine the victor through a contest of words. I trust this is a prospect you all welcome.”

“The contest will be held tomorrow. To spur debate, a renowned scholar will be chosen to summarize the arguments and draw on the strengths of all schools, so that my grand ambitions might soon be realized. For now, the hour is late; let us dispense with business and make merry!” With this, the king raised his cup in a toast.

The players followed suit, raising their cups and sampling the feast.

“Why is everything raw and cold? Even the cooked dishes are underdone,” Chen Fan complained after a few bites, abandoning his chopsticks. The wine, too, had been watered down; no matter how much he drank, he didn’t feel the least bit tipsy.

Once the meal was over, the slightly flushed King of Qi said, “Rest well tonight, everyone. Tomorrow I look forward to witnessing your war of words.”

Guided by a maid, Chen Fan returned to his quarters. Though it was a simple suite, it oozed a refined charm. Chen Fan even paced it off—thirty square meters in all.

“It’s a pity I can’t really sleep here—what a waste,” he muttered.

No lovely lady awaited him on the bed, either. Chen Fan sighed twice, then made his way to the study and sat down on a wooden chair to wait for dawn.

On the bookshelf were a few bamboo scrolls. To his relief, they were written in simplified modern script. Bored, Chen Fan grabbed one and flipped through it.

“What on earth is The Art of War by Chen?” he wondered. A quick glance revealed it was just a plagiarized version of Sun Tzu’s classic. Sun Wu must be rolling in his grave, he thought.

He picked up another scroll—also a military treatise, this one titled The Art of War by Chen Fan.

“This time, it’s Sun Bin’s coffin that can’t rest easy,” Chen Fan said with a shake of his head, uninterested. He wondered if there might be any gossip rags instead.

To his surprise, he actually found a copy of the Qi Daily among the bamboo scrolls, and couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

“Famed tactician Chen Fan surrounds Wei to save Zhao at the Battle of Guiling, successfully defeating Wei’s main force. Pang Juan suffers wounds and flees.”

“Chen Fan, blessed with uncanny foresight, again ambushes the Wei army at the Battle of Maling, beheading a hundred thousand foes and cementing Qi’s dominance among the states.”

“Tian Ji’s Horse Race—Chen Fan’s ingenious tactics help the underdog triumph over the favorite.”

“Shocking! The untold dealings between the King of Qi and Chen Fan.”

“The Seventh Qi Beauty Pageant: Xu Gong of the North City wins the crown for a fifth straight year.”

“Zou Ji’s Satire: When the King of Qi takes a concubine, is it the degradation of humanity or a distortion of morality?”

Chen Fan read with relish and sighed, “Now this is real quality content! The attention to detail, the user experience—everything is so believable. The author must have been a sensationalist writer in a previous life.”

“Physician Chen, the King of Qi summons you to the hall for council,” came a gentle voice from outside.

Chen Fan reluctantly set down the local tabloid, his enthusiasm for the game already much diminished.

He analyzed the situation: with a magician in play, victory was quite possible if the role went to someone skilled—far more potent than a hunter or witch, as long as the magician survived. Being a four-wolf, one wild child setup, though, if the role model died too soon, the situation could spiral out of control. All in all, the outcome was highly uncertain; it was hard to say whether the advantage lay with the good guys or the werewolves.

As a militarist-hunter, Chen Fan knew there was little he could do while alive except avoid making things worse and, after death, try to take the right shot.

“With less than a fifty percent chance of picking the right target, this won’t be easy,” he thought, stroking his chin. “The first day’s speeches are absolutely critical—I must choose the right side.”

“Come then, Jixia Academy—let the Hundred Schools contend!”