"Your Majesty!!!"
Cao Mao had only just opened his eyes when Zhong Hui came rushing into the Western Hall in a frantic hurry. Cao Mao had never seen him look so anxious.
"Your Majesty! There was a debate in the East Hall-why wasn't I told?!"
Cao Mao paused in surprise. "Weren't you outside Luoyang inspecting the officials of Henan, Shiji?"
Zhong Hui's expression was extraordinarily complicated: disappointment, vexation, regret, and resentment.
Clearly, having missed this debate, Zhong Hui found it truly difficult to settle his heart.
Seeing his expression, Cao Mao could only express his regret.
I did it on purpose.
His debate with the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove could hardly be called a debate at all. Cao Mao's aim had never been to convince them; this was merely a way of steering public opinion.
When Cao Mao had debated Zheng Chong in the East Hall, had he done it to persuade Zheng Chong?
Cao Mao was no great scholarly authority. He had no need to go through that sort of routine.
He was merely using this incident to change the prevailing climate. Cao Mao bore no ill will toward those four old men of Shangshan, either. They had quietly cultivated themselves in the mountains and done nothing that offended Heaven and violated human decency. But to combat the current tendency to withdraw from the world and do nothing, he could only hang those four up as targets.
The intellectual mood among scholars was far too negative. Rather than admiring Xiao He and Zhang Liang, who had achieved great deeds and established illustrious careers, they admired celebrated scholars who hid deep in the mountains and forests, giving up and living in seclusion.
Ruan Ji's earlier words had made it clear that his generation regarded this sort of secluded