An incomparably majestic voice rang out at that moment.
It was Xu Qingxiao's voice, amplified by the power of a Grand Confucian.
Xu Qingxiao had long wanted to accept disciples far and wide. He had refrained from contending for them only because the time was not yet ripe.
Now that moment had come.
White-haired and hoary, old yet refusing to die.
This was a common phenomenon in feudal society.
No matter the place, important positions were generally held firmly in certain people's hands.
As long as they lived, they called the shots.
Under such circumstances, talented young people were left without opportunities to display their gifts.
Their destinies seemed fixed. In the vigor of youth, they could not spread their wings, but could only follow the prescribed steps.
By the time they attained high office, the difficulty of getting there made them exceedingly cautious. Everything they did had to serve some purpose, and their original aspirations had long since changed.
They became a new generation of the rotten old guard.
Why was it said that troubled times bred heroes?
This was precisely why. In prosperous times, everything became a stalemate. Everything had already been fixed in place.
Had Great Wei not fallen into such decline, Xu Qingxiao could never have achieved so much in less than a year.
If Great Wei's national treasury had been overflowing, would he still have gone to kill the foreign merchants?
If Great Wei had held its military command tallies firmly in hand, would it have allowed him to kill a commandery prince?
In many matters, the times made the hero-and those times arose from instability and upheaval among the social classes.
Once the rules had hardened, no one could leap beyond them. One person's strength was insignificant, after all.
Xu Qingxiao understood this deeply,