Science?
Hearing the strange word, confusion deepened on the faces of the tens of thousands gathered on Mount Nan.
Yet, these scholars of Chi Kingdom—who had rushed here from every corner of the land—did not know: this was only the beginning.
"Science," Lin Tuo began calmly, "is, put simply, a discipline that aids us in understanding the world.
It is an ordered system of knowledge, built upon verifiable explanations and predictions about the form and organization of objective reality… knowledge that is systematic and formulaic."
With steady tone, he delivered his lesson, just as he had prepared.
From time to time, he picked up a piece of chalk and traced words and diagrams upon the vast blackened wall.
Yes—
For the first lecture he would bestow upon humanity in the Evolution Sand Table, Lin Tuo had chosen to begin with science.
Of course, mindful of the "national conditions" of this world, Lin Tuo's true intent was not to drown them in abstractions. After opening with a deliberately difficult and grandiose definition—enough to command respect—he shifted to the basics.
He began from the simplest, most intuitive ways of perceiving the world.
A few small physical demonstrations caught the audience's attention; then he posed question after question, using mathematics as a tool to build a foundation of scientific reasoning.
"What is the world made of?"
"How do we explain the true essence of the natural phenomena we observe?"
"Spring, summer, autumn, winter—what laws govern the turning of the seasons?"
As the chalkboard filled with words and sketches, the blank stares in the audience gradually lit with understanding.
Leaving aside the outer crowd of auditors—those who had brought their own mats, cushions, or scraps of paper and ink to the foot of the mountain—the ones within the academy itself were already among the brightest minds of the kingdom.
Even the seemingly aged ministers seated by the Emperor had, in their youth, survived the gauntlet of the imperial examinations. They were the elite of humanity.
And since Lin Tuo deliberately limited himself to foundational knowledge, his aim was clear: not to impart mastery, but to plant in them a way of thinking.
Soon enough, they realized that what "Master Lin" was teaching—strange though it sounded—was like the turning of a great key.
A key that opened a door the sages of old had never noticed.
Beyond it stretched a vast, unseen world.
"Sha, sha, sha…"
The wind stirred the mountain. Lin Tuo stood before the blackboard, speaking with calm rhythm.
At times he paused, eyes momentarily unfocused, as he switched his consciousness back to his true body—where he swiftly checked his notes on the computer—then shifted back to continue the lecture without missing a beat.
Absorbing Ether had strengthened his memory, and his preparations were thorough.
Thus, what seemed effortless improvisation to the crowd was, in truth, meticulous craft.
To the thousands of students, he only seemed ever more profound and unfathomable.
At the front rows, a section of desks was filled by official recorders. They need not understand a word. Their sole task was to write—unceasing, tireless—every phrase Lin Tuo spoke.
And so, all across Mount Nan, only the sound of the wind and the Sage's voice remained.
After one hour, Lin Tuo announced a short break.
Then the lecture resumed.
An hour passed.
Two.
Four.
Six…
Unnoticed, the sky shifted from morning to dusk. On the mountainside, students rotated in and out, those who could not endure replaced by fresh arrivals.
Those leaving did so quietly, slipping away by the edges so as not to disturb the rest.
As for Lin Tuo himself—his transformed body, strengthened beyond ordinary limits, made endurance trivial.
During breaks, he switched consciousness back, ordered food delivery, or lay down to rest briefly. Then he returned, continuing seamlessly.
Whether the students endured or not did not matter.
"I will speak regardless. No one can digest it all at once. As long as the recorders capture everything, that is enough."
This he knew well.
Like the lessons themselves, the goal of teaching science here was not to impart immediate mastery of physics or chemistry. It was simply to plant the seed of a way of thinking. Nothing more.
"Have you heard? Master Lin has been teaching on Mount Nan for an entire day without pause!"
"I heard several ministers collapsed during the lecture, carried away unconscious. When they awoke, they stuffed down a few bites of food and had themselves helped back into the hall. Madness, isn't it?"
"You don't understand. A chance to hear a Sage speak comes once in a lifetime. To miss it is to regret forever. Besides, with His Majesty still enduring, what minister dares slack?"
At the tea houses of Tao County, with sunset glowing in the west, the subject of conversation shifted.
"Surely the lecture will end when night falls? Otherwise, even if every desk is lit, it won't be enough…"
At the mountain's foot, an imperial attendant in charge of logistics frowned at the sight of endless scholars.
"It matters not," said the county magistrate beside him with a smile. "When night comes, the heavens themselves will provide light."
"Heavens…?" the attendant blinked.
And soon understood.
When the last glow of sunset faded, Lin Tuo—still mid-lecture—switched consciousness back, flicked on the flashlight fixed upon its stand…
And a column of blinding light pierced the night sky, flooding Mount Nan and half the county in radiance.
Scholars from afar gasped in stunned silence.
But the townsfolk of Tao only smiled knowingly, explaining with pride shining in their faces.
Time slipped on.
Under the "heavenly light," night was brighter than day. More and more newcomers arrived, while those who had faltered earlier returned.
Tao County had no lodgings to spare, yet none complained. Quietly, they camped upon the fields outside the town, content so long as they could hear the Sage.
The fresh arrivals replenished the weary, keeping the seats always full.
Watching the faces shift endlessly, Lin Tuo felt a pang of emotion.
In truth, he had learned these past days that Chi Kingdom already harbored inklings of thought akin to investigating things to attain knowledge.
Yet these were fragmentary, shallow, and contrary to tradition.
Had an ordinary man stood here to speak of science, he would have drawn mockery, perhaps been driven off the stage entirely.
But cloaked in divine mandate, bearing the name of Sage—acceptance came readily, and the path ahead would be far smoother.
Thus reflecting, he continued.
At last, near midnight, Lin Tuo dropped the chalk from his hand, brushed the dust from his palms, and looked over the exhausted but shining faces below.
Bathed in radiant light, he smiled.
"What I have taught today is but the most elementary. In the great house of science, this is no more than opening the door.
What lies beyond must be explored by you—and by those who come after."
He paused, then nodded.
"That concludes the first lesson: the lesson of science.
Go, rest, recover your strength, or review what you have learned. At noon tomorrow, I will begin the second lesson."
"The second… lesson?" asked the chief minister, still weak from fatigue, tugging his beard.
"Yes," Lin Tuo said lightly. "As for the subject, you will know in time.
I will only give this warning in advance—the second lesson will be longer. Bring ample paper and ink."
His gaze swept over the thousands of robed students.
And with quiet finality, he declared:
"The second lesson… will be greater."
(End of Chapter)