The Qing Lord looked at Fang Yun, his heart a jumble of conflicting feelings.
The last time Fang Yun had arrived in Baling City for the Literary Battle over Xiang Prefecture, he had possessed the spirit of a man who, sword in hand, looked proudly down upon the heroes of the world. Yet he had lacked the composure of someone who saw only mediocrities wherever his gaze fell. A few years later, Fang Yun could already lay down rules for the Human Race's Great Scholars and the rulers of its kingdoms.
The words were the same: "At this Dongting Feast, we shall discuss only the wind and moon." Whether spoken by a kingdom's ruler or a court's Minister of Literature, they would have sounded merely like an announcement. But from Fang Yun, they sounded more like a Half-Sage of the Legalist School extending a finger to perform Drawing Borders to Imprison. Anyone who broke out of that prison would surely die.
The Qing Lord looked toward the Qing Kingdom's Great Scholars for help. The various measures the Qing Officials had devised beforehand were meant to keep striking at Fang Yun even before the Literary Assembly officially began.
But those Great Scholars were each occupied with their own thoughts, and none responded to the Qing Lord.
The Qing Lord sighed softly. With Zhang Longxiang absent, no one can face Fang Yun head-on. Better to abandon those measures. Now that Fang Yun has laid down rules, if I break them and provoke him into punishing me, all the Great Scholars present together would be powerless to stop him. Here in Baling City, supreme control of the Temple of Sages rests in his hands.
The Qing Lord glanced at Zong Wuyuan again. Zong Wuyuan lowered his head slightly, his eyes fixed on his