Chen Wenqian narrowed his eyes slightly. "How so?"
Cui Hao's tone was solemn, his delivery measured yet forceful. He seemed to have prepared for a long time, intent on reclaiming the ground he had lost last time:
"Horse refers to form; all horses share this form. White refers to color. A white horse, then, is form and color. A white horse has whiteness in addition to being a horse. How can the two be equal?"
"If I ask for a horse, a black or yellow one will naturally do. If I want a white horse, would giving me a black horse or a yellow horse also do?"
"Neither substance nor name can be dispensed with, so how can a white horse be a horse?"
As Cui Hao's words fell, silence settled over the gathering.
Chen Wenqian regarded Cui Hao with a profound gaze. To be a Great Confucian, apart from reading a great many books, having a quick mind was also paramount.
The white horse question appeared to concern horses, seemingly bearing no relation to this Scholarly Debate. It looked like mere verbal sophistry, an attempt to gain a little advantage.
But Chen Wenqian understood that this was not the case.
This question was actually an interrogation of the Confucian School's foundations.
What it truly debated was Cui Hao's mention of name and substance-the Confucian School's ritual and reason.
This was by no means pure sophistry, but a dagger concealing murderous intent.
Chen Wenqian did not rush to answer, inwardly astonished at the dagger Cui Hao had prepared. With such a dagger in hand, no wonder they had suddenly brought the debate forward.
He glanced slightly to his side, only to discover that the other Great Confucians were also lost in thought.
At that moment, faint sounds also came from