Zhang Xiaofan saw that the Third Prince's bearing had changed somewhat, but he only glanced at him and did not interfere.
In Zhang Xiaofan's view, such a change was a good thing. Living in a world woven for you by others—wasn't that no different from living inside an illusion? Until death, it would all be nothing but a fraud.
"Use your eyes to see, your ears to listen, your limbs to touch, and your heart to experience! Only then will you obtain the truth of this world. Not by looking at what others show you, listening to what others let you hear, or feeling what others choose for you. Experience it yourself. Search for it yourself. Get to know this world properly!" Zhang Xiaofan did not look at the Third Prince. Instead, as he rode past him on horseback, he suddenly spoke.
To others, it looked as if Zhang Xiaofan was talking to himself, as if he was the one gaining insight. But the Third Prince knew those words were meant for him.
The Third Prince did not respond. Instead, he lowered his head and sank into thought.
The group hurried toward the mountain bandits' stronghold. From far away, they could hear the sounds of opera and laughter drifting from within, interwoven with curses, sobs, and screams. The opera was so wildly unrestrained, the laughter so filthy and foul. The curses were filled with such despair and grief, and the cries were so heart-rending.
Zhang Xiaofan's face turned cold in an instant.
Behind him, the captain of the soldiers raised his hand and swung it sharply toward the stronghold's gate. Dozens of soldiers rode their fine horses straight forward, holding their breath, suppressing the fury about to erupt, while controlling their mounts to trample out a perfectly uniform rhythm of