Li Daoxuan did not immediately answer the noise below. Instead, he turned slightly toward Gu Yanwu, his expression calm yet carrying the faintest trace of amusement, as though everything unfolding downstairs was already part of a larger design.
"Furthermore," he continued in an unhurried tone, "human society is not a simple machine that can be paused at will. It is an intricate, living structure. Once a concept appears, once a technology is born, it begins to circulate. You may delay it. You may obstruct it. But you cannot imprison it forever."
Gu Yanwu listened carefully.
Li Daoxuan lifted his cup, studying the steam rising from the tea.
"The Westerners acquired cannons. It did not take long before our own artisans replicated them. A few more years passed, and even the Manchus fielded their own artillery. Did anyone grant them permission? No. Knowledge spreads because necessity compels it."
Gu Yanwu's brows furrowed slightly. "Then Dao Xuan Tianzun means that even the Heavenly Books…"
Li Daoxuan smiled faintly. "The Heavenly Books I grant you may offer advantage. But only temporarily. Sooner or later, others will approach similar truths through their own paths. It may take five years. Ten. Perhaps longer. But inevitability is a patient force."
Gu Yanwu's heartbeat quickened.
"If that is so… then what is the ultimate purpose of founding schools?"
Li Daoxuan's gaze sharpened.
"To learn from the Heavenly Books," he said quietly, "and then surpass them."
The words settled heavily between them.
Gu Yanwu felt something shift inside his chest. Until this moment, the Heavenly Books had seemed like the pinnacle of knowledge, artifacts bestowed from a higher realm. To hear Dao Xuan Tianzun speak of surpassing them felt almost blasphemous. And yet, the calm certainty in Li Daoxuan's voice left no room for doubt.
"Education," Li Daoxuan continued, "is not about preserving secrets. It is about cultivating minds that dare to question even what I have written. If one day your students refine, improve, and overturn what you learn from me, that will not be failure. That will be success."
Gu Yanwu finally understood.
To build a school was not to guard divine scripture.
It was to produce people unafraid of challenging divinity.
A dangerous thought in any era.
He hesitated before asking the question that had been pressing against his conscience.
"Why… me?"
Li Daoxuan looked at him with a trace of warmth.
"Because from the first day I met you, I saw in you the seed of popular governance. In a land shaped by hierarchy and ritual, you still dared to imagine power flowing upward from the people rather than downward from the throne. That courage is rare."
Gu Yanwu lowered his head slowly.
To surpass the Heavenly Books would require someone who did not worship them blindly. Someone who would treat them as foundation rather than ceiling. Across the realm, how many possessed both reverence and defiance in equal measure?
Perhaps very few.
Perhaps only one.
A long silence followed.
Then Gu Yanwu bowed deeply, more resolute than ever before.
"I have already chosen a site," he said. "Luoyang."
Li Daoxuan nodded. "The ancient center of the world. A symbolic choice."
"Symbolism matters," Gu Yanwu replied. "If education is to reshape the realm, it must stand at its heart."
At that very moment, the quiet atmosphere shattered.
"Sister Yiye! Sister Yiye! They are about to start filming at Thirty-Two Middle School! It is about our childhood! Aren't you coming?"
Gao Sanwa's voice rang out from below with the urgency of someone announcing the end of the world.
Gao Yiye leaned over the balcony. "Lower your voice. Dao Xuan Tianzun is here."
A brief pause followed.
"Oh."
The single syllable carried pure panic.
Li Daoxuan stepped forward and looked down, amusement flickering across his face. "It is fine. We have finished discussing state-altering matters. A little cinema will not shake the heavens."
Gu Yanwu's eyes brightened with curiosity. "May I observe as well? If this film concerns the school, it may offer insight into how public perception is shaped."
Li Daoxuan chuckled softly. "Come. Consider it practical research."
They descended together.
Thirty-Two Middle School had transformed into a sea of bodies. Students crowded in thick layers, standing on benches, craning their necks, whispering excitedly. At the center stood Chen Yuanyuan, dressed in white garments identical to the style Mrs. San once tailored for Gao Yiye's youth.
She looked almost unreal beneath the afternoon light.
By now she was the unquestioned star of the Liberation Zone. Her advertisements for woolen sweaters played daily before Gaojia News and during cinema intermissions. Her face had become as familiar to the populace as seasonal harvests. Yet she carried herself without arrogance, greeting even the youngest students with gentle courtesy.
When Gao Yiye saw her, she blinked in disbelief.
"To cast her as my younger self feels excessive," she said honestly. "She is far more refined than I ever was."
Chen Yuanyuan immediately lowered herself in a respectful curtsy. "The Saintess exaggerates. I am anxious that I may fail to capture even a fraction of your presence."
Gao Yiye snatched the script.
Moments later her expression changed.
"Who wrote this?" she demanded. "Why does this make me sound like some ethereal being floating above mortal dust? I stole cotton. I once dragged Gao Sanwa into skipping lessons. I even borrowed the Solar Car No. 1 without permission. Where is that in this script?"
All eyes turned in unison toward Gao Sanwa.
He coughed.
"Sister Yiye," he began cautiously, "a story does not need to be accurate. It needs to be compelling."
Gao Yiye narrowed her eyes.
He pressed on with unexpected boldness. "The truth is secondary. The narrative is primary. If the audience desires a Saintess bathed in celestial light, then that is what we provide. The real you is irrelevant. The legend is what matters."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Gao Yiye kicked him cleanly.
He flew backward and landed in a dignified sprawl.
She withdrew her foot calmly and smiled at Chen Yuanyuan. "That kick," she said gently, "is authentic."
Even Li Daoxuan could not suppress a faint laugh.
Gu Yanwu, observing the entire exchange, felt a subtle revelation forming.
When the public watched this film and saw that the Saintess and other prominent figures had once been mischievous students within these very walls, something would shift in their perception. Education would no longer appear distant or sacred. It would feel accessible.
He turned to Li Daoxuan.
"This film will influence the common people deeply," he said. "They will send their children here not merely for knowledge, but for possibility."
Li Daoxuan nodded.
"Yes. The truth of history matters less than the direction it pushes the future."
Below, Gao Yiye had already seized Gao Sanwa by the ear and was dragging him aside to "revise" the script.
Around them, laughter erupted, cameras rolled, and the machinery of narrative quietly began shaping the next generation's imagination.