Chapter Forty-Seven: The Illusory Figure of the Great Scholar

That was the fourth-generation ancestor of the Song family in Shiyang, once a renowned Grand Scholar of the Dawen Dynasty—Song Wenrong!

This towering apparition of the Grand Scholar stood a full hundred yards tall, his entire being emanating a faint golden glow. Beneath this ethereal radiance, the image of Song Wenrong, bearing the visage of a man in his prime, gazed down with solemn majesty upon the entirety of Shiyang County.

As the brilliance radiating from the Grand Scholar’s literary aura gradually condensed, the phantom began to slowly open its eyes.

In that instant, heaven and earth seemed to sing, and all creation shuddered in awe.

Everyone who witnessed this—be they human, demon, or fiend—was momentarily struck speechless.

Song Wenrong’s phantom cast its gaze toward the distant County Academy. In that moment, Song Mu, standing atop a rooftop, met those eyes, and it seemed as though an endless tide of emotion surged forth between them.

Just then, Song Mu noticed his robe, inscribed with verses, begin to flutter. Bathed in the golden glow, the entire garment slowly rose into the air.

Song Mu and the assembly of young scholars stared in astonishment as the robe ascended. At that moment, the distant apparition opened its mouth and waved its hand.

“What is past cannot be corrected; what is to come may yet be pursued.”

This line from the Analects reverberated through the world, and as the words faded, the sky transformed once more.

A dazzling beam of golden light shot forth from the phantom, pouring into Song Mu’s robe. At once, the robe blazed with a brilliance never before seen.

The radiance spilled outward in all directions, the embroidered words upon the robe flickering with golden light. The scenes described in the poetry began to manifest slowly.

This was the lingering might of Song Wenrong, awakened by Song Mu’s astonishing verses—the two resonated in perfect harmony!

Suddenly, from unknown corners of the city, cries of battle erupted. Countless golden apparitions formed wings of light born from poetry, as if an army of thousands had been unleashed within the city.

These myriad phantoms appeared in every corner, sweeping away all things ominous.

A ray of light shot from the floating robe and struck the remains of Shi Bufeng’s head, forcing a final, anguished cry from him. At the same time, the blood needles he had conjured were enveloped in golden light.

The beam, carrying the blood needles, slowly rose into the air as Song Wenrong’s apparition turned to look beyond the city.

Outside the eastern gate, the Clear River Demon King stood rooted in terror as the phantom’s gaze fell upon him, feeling as though a blade pressed against his back.

A deep, primal terror arose in the demon king’s heart, disrupting the flow of his demonic energy.

“It’s… it’s a misunderstanding, just a misunderstanding,” stammered the demon king through his enormous fish-shaped head, feet trembling. But Song Wenrong’s apparition showed no hesitation. The golden aura containing the blood needles shot toward the demon king.

“Retreat!” the demon king cried in panic, turning to flee, desperate to dive into the river and escape. But the blood needles pierced his body with blinding speed, and with a single agonized scream, he fell.

In an instant, the Clear River Demon King reverted to an enormous carp, over ten meters long, wild-eyed and flailing madly toward the Gan River.

“Those who harm the people of Shiyang shall be destroyed!”

Another declaration thundered from Song Wenrong’s phantom. As his words faded, waves of profound literary power swept outwards, and countless demons and fiends collapsed, gravely wounded in body and spirit.

The might of a Grand Scholar—even as a mere phantom—rendered demon kings and their beasts utterly powerless.

All across Shiyang, the people beheld this awe-inspiring spectacle. Many had never seen such wonder in their lives. Only now, in the city’s hour of peril, did they realize just how formidable—and reliable—the power of scholars could be.

Countless citizens knelt, murmuring prayers, while Jin Changwu soared aloft once more, gripping the county seal and shouting to all around:

“All defenders and scholars of Shiyang, hear me! I am the county magistrate. With the Grand Scholar’s aid today, we must give our all—protect the people of Shiyang, slay demons and expel fiends!”

As Jin Changwu’s words rang out, the guardsmen snapped out of their daze and rose to their feet. Looking around, they saw countless motes of light drifting down, healing their wounds and filling their bodies with renewed strength.

The presence of the Grand Scholar’s phantom at their side filled everyone with unshakable resolve.

No one knew who shouted first, but suddenly, all raised their weapons high and roared their battle cry.

This humble city erupted with a fresh surge of fighting spirit.

The demons and fiends fled in a frenzy.

Upon the city wall, Master Xun, battered and disheveled, slowly rose to his feet. Gazing at the towering apparition in the distance, his expression brimmed with longing.

That was the pinnacle of scholarly power, the aspiration of countless souls.

It was said that Song Wenrong had spent fifty years to become a Grand Scholar known throughout the realm.

Master Xun swallowed hard, his gaze drifting toward the floating point of light above the County Academy. He murmured softly to himself:

“The Song family’s literary lineage shines anew. Perhaps one day… their brilliance will outshine all else.”

Shiyang County was finally delivered from peril. Song Mu, too, stared in silent awe at the towering apparition.

That was his ancestor—the pride of the Song family’s literary heritage.

Like a meteor streaking across the sky, Song Wenrong had left a legendary tale for his family and all the world. Yet he had not vanished; a fragment of his will remained in Shiyang, guarding the very root of the Song family’s scholarly lineage.

In a daze, Song Mu saw the phantom turn to look at him once more. Clad in dignified robes, those eyes of light held a glimmer of approval.

Song Wenrong spoke no further, but simply nodded gently, and then his image faded slowly into the sky.

This was an affirmation for Song Mu and praise for his verse—the descendants had not forgotten their ancestor’s glory, nor fallen into irredeemable decline. The resonance of poetry and prose had summoned the Grand Scholar’s apparition, and with it, divine power enough to turn the tide in an instant.

In that moment, countless citizens cheered, grateful to have survived.

But Song Mu, feeling a strange sensation within, discovered his own scholarly aura had begun to change from pure white to a hue tinged with sunlight.

He murmured to himself, sensing the transformation within. The floating robe drifted down from the sky, settling upon his shoulders once more.

On the robe, each bold character shone with a subtle glow.

“Young scholar, you may soon become renowned throughout the land.”

A clear, lively voice sounded at Song Mu’s side. He turned to see Li Mo’er, clad in dark robes, smiling at him.

“Miss Mo’er…” Song Mu replied hastily, then quickly asked, “Are you alright?”

“Of course. Though I was caught off guard for a moment, I must say, these people’s skills are not yet fully honed,” Li Mo’er replied lightly, though Song Mu’s heart skipped a beat.

For someone like Li Mo’er—a scion of the Li School of Poetry and a scholar in her own right—to suffer a loss meant their enemies were truly ruthless.

But the young lady clearly had no intention of showing weakness before him.

Recalling the earth-shattering events just moments ago, and the terrifying demon, Song Mu still felt a lingering fear.

Yet he only offered a faint, composed smile, and Li Mo’er returned it.

The other young scholars, seeing the two of them, scratched their heads in embarrassment at the scene.

The arrival of Jin Changwu abruptly broke the spell.

He and Registrar Zhou both landed on the rooftop, first eyeing Song Mu, then turning their attention to Li Mo’er.

They could scarcely believe that the young girl brought back days ago by Prefect Kong was, in fact, a scholar of such rank.

The Celestial Guard, dedicated to slaying demons and fiends and handling all matters related to the supernatural, was composed of formidable and mysterious individuals. This Celestial Guard scholar before them was not only a descendant of the Li School of Poetry, but also bore nine-tenths the blood of Li Bai. In the future, she was certain to become a pillar of the Li School.

Even if Jin Changwu did not fear her using her status to pressure him, he worried she might report the day’s events to the court, which would be far beyond his ability to manage.

With both their lives and futures at stake, the two men dared not be negligent and bowed with utmost respect.

“Greetings, honored member of the Celestial Guard.”

Jin Changwu bowed reverently, his gaze sweeping once more over the pair, a strange feeling rising in his heart.

Song Mu and Miss Li Mo’er seemed very familiar with one another, and looking at them now, there was a certain mutual understanding, perhaps even something more…