Chapter Seven: The Philosophy of Zhuangzi

Three days later, Zhou Qing accompanied the disciples responsible for purchasing supplies for the sect on a trip. Upon returning, his expression was noticeably animated.

“So it really is like that, but how exactly can those records assist my cultivation?”

Having come to understand the source of the records, a weight lifted from Zhou Qing’s heart. For a moment, his curiosity about the records waned. Yet, this thing called ‘records’ was neither the primordial energy of heaven and earth nor their essence—how could it aid his cultivation?

Moreover, judging from his recent progress, there seemed to be no major issues. Under the Gate of Mysteries, the profound meanings within volumes of scriptures were exceptionally clear and seamlessly governed. Various techniques and knowledge came to hand effortlessly.

“Why ponder so much? This world itself is peculiar; encountering such a strange thing is not surprising.”

Nevertheless, Zhou Qing soon shook his head and dismissed the thought. It was pointless to dwell on such matters. Instead, he resolved to swiftly enhance his mastery of the records and rapidly improve his cultivation.

According to the rules of the Heavenly Sect, someone of his status needed to reach a fully formed innate cultivation level before descending the mountain to refine and experience the world. According to his senior brother, at his current pace, it would take at least two more years.

If there was a way to shorten this process, why not take it?

******

“Zong Quan, how many people do you think there are in the entire realm?”

The entire Heavenly Sect was constructed along a mountain range. Apart from cutting into some unnecessary mountain bodies during the construction of sect buildings, most of the natural terrain remained preserved. On one side of the ridge, huge dark green stones were embedded.

Early the next morning, Zhou Qing’s small figure was still seated cross-legged atop a high stone. The air here was excellent, the breeze refreshingly cool. From this vantage point, he could almost overlook the entire sect’s grounds.

Following the instructions of his senior brother, Zong Quan had stayed with Zhou Qing for these days to cultivate together. Though Zong Quan was already seventeen or eighteen, after spending time together, he seemed no longer concerned with Zhou Qing’s youth.

“Oh? Little Junior Uncle, why this question?”

He approached Zhou Qing and found a comfortable spot, sitting cross-legged beside him. Listening to his little junior uncle, he couldn’t help but be puzzled—this question seemed unrelated to cultivation!

Still, based on what he knew and what others had discussed before, after counting on his fingers for a dozen breaths or so, he gave his answer. Although not necessarily precise, it should be fairly close.

“How many rulers are there?”

The youthful voice spoke again. Zhou Qing had ceased cultivating for the moment, propping his face with one hand as he gazed toward the distant misty scenery. As soon as Zong Quan finished, he uttered another quiet question.

“There are dozens of feudal states, so naturally dozens of rulers!”

Zong Quan smiled faintly and answered quickly.

“How many ministers and officials?”

Zhou Qing’s expression remained unchanged, as if bored, blinking before asking again.

“At least ten thousand!”

Zong Quan thought for a moment and believed the number was more likely an underestimate. Each feudal state had its three highest ministers and six assistants, with countless officials and nobles, so tens of thousands was a reasonable figure.

“Among the tens of millions in Zhuxia, how many people know the name of our Daoist Patriarch?”

Zhou Qing fell silent for a moment before asking again. The topic seemed unrelated, leaving Zong Quan uncertain what this little junior uncle truly sought to know.

“There are still about a million who know!”

As a hidden sect, Daoism was well known among the other major schools of thought. Nobles and officials of the states certainly knew, so a million was plausible.

“How many people know the name of Confucius of the Confucian school?”

Upon hearing this, Zhou Qing smiled faintly. The question was growing more interesting.

“There should be more than those who know our Daoist Patriarch. Recently, Confucianism dominates the Qilu region. The Small Sage Village is home to many Confucian masters with wide influence.”

At this time, Confucianism and Mohism were the prominent schools, so naturally more people knew of them. But Daoism’s pursuits were different, so Zong Quan did not probe further.

“Can ordinary people read the Daoist classics? And the Confucian classics?”

With each question, Zhou Qing seemed to be drawing closer to an answer.

“No.”

The Patriarch’s teachings were profound and obscure, even for the learned. How much less for common folk. Confucian texts were laden with rules and often dull and uninviting.

“When you think of the ancient sage Zhuangzi, what is the first thing that comes to mind?”

Pulling his arm from under his chin, Zhou Qing stretched lazily before turning his head toward Zong Quan.

“Hui Zi said: ‘You are not a fish; how do you know the happiness of fish?’”

“Zhuangzi said: ‘You are not me; how do you know that I do not know the happiness of fish?’”

“When I think of the ancient sage Zhuangzi, the first thing that comes to mind is this dialogue between Zhuangzi and the logician Hui Zi on the Hao Bridge. Little Junior Uncle has asked so many questions, but what answer do you seek?”

Having answered so many questions, none particularly difficult, Zong Quan was inwardly puzzled. First, Zhou Qing asked about the population of Zhuxia, then about ancient sages, and now spoke in ambiguous terms.

“I want to know which philosophy can truly spread throughout the realm, understood by all the people of Zhuxia. What you have said today has moved me deeply. The Hundred Schools of Thought flourish with countless doctrines.”

“Yet most serve only their own growth and power. Among them, the largest force is the Agricultural school, but even it numbers only a few hundred thousand and cannot represent all farmers across Zhuxia.”

“The Great Zhou ruled the realm for eight centuries. Confucius wrote the Spring and Autumn Annals. The Warring States were divided among seven powers. Regardless of how the world’s situation changed, only a small fraction benefited. Therefore, I want to revive one of the teachings of the ancient sage Zhuangzi!”

“A true philosophy, a genuine Hundred Schools of Thought, one that truly carries its ideas to the ears of all people throughout the realm!”

His tone gentle, after much thought, perhaps it was time for him to do something—whether for increasing the records or for not having lived this life in vain. The five-year-old Zhou Qing sat upright once more upon the great stone.

His words flowed slowly, ignoring Zong Quan’s surprised murmurs beside him. The true contest among the Hundred Schools should span the entire Zhuxia, not just a small faction.

“One of the teachings of the ancient sage Zhuangzi?”

“What does Little Junior Uncle mean?”

Zong Quan knew quite a bit about Zhuangzi. As a Daoist sage, his teachings mostly aligned with Daoist classics. Of course, influenced by other schools, some of his ideas were not strictly Daoist.

“To speak of it, this teaching was also touched upon by the ancient sage Liezi, though not as distinctly as Zhuangzi. As for the specifics, I will ponder it carefully and discuss it with you later.”

Zhou Qing shook his head lightly, his mind turning over the Zhuangzi texts he had read. One essay, “External Things,” once said: “When raising a pole and binding it, tending to the irrigation ditches, guarding the fish traps, it is hard to catch the great fish; embellishing trivial tales to appease the county magistrate is far from achieving great success.”