Killing Monks

The vote on the issue of village schools was cast by thirteen people.

Thirteen votes in favor, zero votes against. No abstentions. It wasn't that no one wanted to abstain, but that no one dared to.

Your abstention means you disagree.

Your disagreement stems from your belief that children from poor families shouldn't have access to education.

If you think poor people's children shouldn't go to school, then you're a lackey of Buddha.

The Buddha's lackeys are not worthy to sit at this table.

The official who made the suggestion stood in the middle of the room, watching the thirteen hands raised, like thirteen flags, fluttering in the candlelight.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but it felt like something was choking him, and he couldn't utter a single word. He stood there for a while, then turned and left.

The door slammed shut behind him with a soft "bang," which shook the entire room.

This is the most efficient decision-making method in the Tang Dynasty.

It's faster than a court assembly, faster than a memorial to the throne, and faster than any "further discussion," "deliberation," or "long-term planning."

The issue is raised, discussed, debated, argued, banged on the table, smashed a glass, and then voted.

The results will be implemented as soon as the voting results are announced.

There was no "further discussion," no "deliberation," and no "long-term planning."

What's there to discuss? Everything that needed to be said has been said, everything that needed to be argued has been argued. What's left to discuss? Execute. Only by executing will we know if it was right or wrong.

If it's correct, continue; if it's wrong, correct it. Once corrected, continue executing.

This is a rule set by Guangyuan.

He said that nothing in the world is thought out; everything is done.

Thinking for three years is not as good as doing it for three days. If you do it and make a mistake, you'll know where you went wrong; if you don't do it, you'll never know whether you're right or wrong.

Even the Twelve Earthly Fiends cannot easily overturn a resolution that has already been passed.

Unless there are major problems in the implementation of this resolution, so major that everyone feels it is wrong, so major that even those who voted in favor regret it.

Only then can the issue be brought up again, discussed again, and voted on again. Otherwise, you have to accept it.

If you voted in favor, you have to accept it; if you voted against, you also have to accept it.

Once you've accepted it, stop dwelling on it. Overthinking will only hinder your progress.

The remaining meetings, one topic after another, were like stones in a river, which we waded through one by one.

Some stones are big, some are small; some are slippery, some are rough; some are stable to step on, some are wobbly. But no matter their size, slipperiness, roughness, stability, or wobbling, you still have to wade through them.

If you manage to wade through, looking back, it wasn't so bad. If you can't wade through and drown, that's because you weren't capable enough, and you can't blame anyone else.

The Tang Kingdom progressed day by day amidst these contradictions. It progressed slowly, but it gradually grew stronger.

The martial arts faction is constantly purging the imperial faction. It's not about killing, it's about replacing people. You might be in this position today, but not tomorrow.

It's not because you did anything wrong, it's because you're not one of us.

Our people are people who have crawled out of the underworld; they've fought alongside us to kill Buddhas, burn down temples, and roll in piles of corpses.

If you haven't rolled around, then you're not one. It's that simple.

The imperial court's faction, on the other hand, kept infiltrating the martial arts world.

It's not about squeezing it in; it's about slowly, quietly, and little by little seeping inside.

Like water seeping into the cracks of a stone, it's invisible and intangible, but over time, the stone loosens, cracks, and breaks.

They taught the people of the Jianghu (江湖, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry) about the principles of being an official, strategies for governing the country, and the social etiquette hidden within classical Chinese texts.

As he continued speaking, the people from the Jianghu faction began to listen. Once they listened, they were no longer considered members of the Jianghu faction.

Power changes people.

It's not changing slowly, it's changing quietly.

Like autumn leaves, you see them still green, still green, still green, and then one day, you look up and they've turned yellow.

It didn't turn yellow overnight; you just didn't notice. While you weren't paying attention, it was constantly changing. By the time you noticed, it had already completely changed.

Later on, it became very difficult to distinguish who belonged to the imperial court and who belonged to the martial arts world.

The people sent by the imperial court have been mostly removed. The remaining people wear the clothes of the Jianghu (江湖, a term referring to the martial arts world) and speak the language of the Jianghu, but they sit in the yamen (government office), approve official documents, manage the people, and collect taxes, doing exactly the same things as the officials of the past.

They themselves didn't know.

Or even if they knew, they wouldn't think there was anything wrong with it. People from the Jianghu (江湖, a term referring to the martial arts world) become officials; once they become officials, they are officials, and officials are different from ordinary people.

Officials sit in the hall, and the people kneel below; officials speak, and the people listen; officials eat, and the people watch. This is the rule. It wasn't set by anyone, but by Heaven.

What is ordained by Heaven cannot be changed. If you try to change it, the sky will fall. If the sky falls, no one will survive.

The Twelve Earthly Fiends gradually split into two factions. Not the imperial court faction and the martial arts faction, but two other factions.

One faction wanted to maintain their position and have their son inherit the throne.

There are a lot of people in this faction. So many that when you raise your hand at a meeting, it's a sea of ​​black hands, all of them.

They were not disloyal, nor did they lack worship; they had not forgotten the words Guangyuan spoke by the campfire, on horseback, and in the dilapidated temple.

They remember. They remember it perfectly.

What's the use of remembering? Remembering is remembering, doing is doing. You can remember one thing and do another at the same time. That's just how people are. It's not contradictory.

The other faction wanted to make a name for themselves in history.

This faction is small, so small that you can count them out at a glance during a meeting.

They didn't want their son to inherit the position, not because they didn't love their son, but because they felt that their son had his own path and they had their own way.

If you walk your own path well, your name will be written in history books, and people will still know who you are a thousand years from now.

Let your son walk his own path. Whether he walks it well or not is his business.

You can't take his place, just as you can't eat for him, sleep for him, or die for him.

The two factions were arguing at the meeting. The argument was fierce; they slammed their fists on the table, smashed cups, and cursed at each other.

Some say you've forgotten your roots; others say you're out of touch with reality.

Some say this is a rule set by Guangyuan; others say that when Guangyuan set the rule, the Tang Kingdom had not yet been conquered, and now that it has, the rule must be changed.

What cannot be changed are inflexible rules; what can be changed are flexible rules. For the Tang Dynasty to live, it must change. If it doesn't change, it will die. Do you want the Tang Dynasty to die? No. Then change it.

They argued back and forth, but in the end, neither of them could convince the other.

The vote went well. The majority won, the minority lost. The winners were happy; the losers were unhappy.

Whether you're happy or not, once the voting results are in, things will be carried out as they should be.

These are the rules. Rules cannot be broken.

Once it's broken, everything is gone. Not even the right to argue anymore.

Guangyuan, who was in a primary school a thousand miles away, knew nothing of these things.

Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn't. What if he knows? What if he doesn't? He can't control it. He never intended to.

He was just doing his own thing.