Cui Hao quickly stepped closer.
He saw Third Senior Sister Chen Baiqing squeezed beside their master, looking at him with joyful eyes.
Master Chu Xingchen was holding a brush, facing a blank sheet of paper, seemingly writing something.
This wasn’t unusual—everyone in the sect knew Third Senior Sister often stayed by their master’s side.
But Cui Hao’s gaze swept past his master and senior sister, landing on a man he had never met before.
Though unfamiliar, the man exuded an air of profound mystery just by standing there.
Yet… his attention was entirely absorbed by whatever their master was writing on the paper.
Chen Baiqing asked, "Master, are you handling this personally?"
Chu Xingchen set down the brush and patted her head with a smile.
"I’ve had some free time lately. When I heard the news, I naturally had to come."
Lin Luoyu stepped forward, a hint of apology in her tone. "Apologies for troubling you to make the trip, Master."
Chu Xingchen turned to her, his tone indifferent. "Well, what can I do? I’m your master, after all."
Hearing this, Lin Luoyu felt warmth in her heart—their master always stood by them without hesitation when trouble arose.
Li Junzi sighed lightly, a wry smile on her face.
"It’s been a while since I last saw Sect Leader Chu… I didn’t expect such a minor matter to disturb you."
Chu Xingchen chuckled. "Hardly minor. Before coming, I looked into it—the commotion is quite significant in the Confucian cultivation world. You don’t mind me dropping by to observe, do you, Scholar Li?"
Li Junzi quickly replied, "Not at all. If anything, I’m honored."
Still stung by his earlier defeat, Cui Hao lacked the spirit for banter and simply stood silently to the side.
Chu Xingchen naturally noticed this disciple who bore some resemblance to himself and asked,
"I take it today’s debate didn’t go well for our brilliant scholar either?"
Cui Hao nodded with a hint of frustration, then glanced at Daoist Yuyang, who was still fixated on the paper.
They had been inside for quite some time—any normal person would at least glance up or greet them. Why was this man so engrossed in a single sheet of paper?
He asked, "Master, who is this gentleman?"
"His name is Yuyang. He came along with me for no particular reason."
As he spoke, Chu Xingchen reached out and tapped Daoist Yuyang’s arm.
Yuyang snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at the group. He had noticed their arrival but was too absorbed in deciphering the strange content of Chu Xingchen’s writing to acknowledge them.
Now that he had been nudged, however, he clasped his hands in greeting.
"My apologies. I am Yuyang."
Cui Hao returned the gesture, then curiously stepped closer. What had his master written that captivated even someone as enigmatic as Daoist Yuyang?
His eyes fell on the paper, and he frowned slightly as he read aloud, "A white horse… is not a horse?"
Then, like Yuyang, he found himself unable to look away.
Li Junzi watched Cui Hao’s sudden absorption with curiosity.
Chu Xingchen continued, "I’ve studied this debate. The current Confucian theories emphasize righteousness and goodness as their foundation. After all, scholars cultivate virtue through study—how could they deny that goodness is right? And indeed, goodness is not wrong. This is a universally accepted value."
"But Confucianism uses this as a basis to emphasize ethics, binding people with morality and rituals."
"Yet this approach only glosses over the surface, often overlooking the essence of matters."
"A son may be right but must yield to his father out of propriety. A ruler may be wrong, yet his ministers remain silent out of duty."
"Nothing in this world can be judged by a single template—why should we be confined by the word ‘propriety’?"
He pointed at the paper he had just written on.
"So, I pose a question to Confucianism: Is a white horse not a horse?"
Li Junzi froze momentarily, then hurried to the table and stared at the paper.
After a moment, she murmured softly, as if questioning herself,
"A white horse… is not a horse?"
Chen Baiqing skimmed the content and quickly dismissed it. A white horse was obviously a horse—this was nothing but sophistry.
A child could see through such a blatant paradox.
"Confucianism values rituals over logic. If you try to counter it with Confucian thought, you’ll only end up confused."
Hearing this, Chen Baiqing looked up at her master, who had seemingly sensed her skepticism. His expression carried a hint of amusement.
Cui Hao finally tore his gaze from the paper and looked at his master with admiration.
"Master, you really are the best at sophistry."
Chu Xingchen immediately flicked his forehead.
"Sophistry? This is philosophical thought. And you call yourself a Confucian genius?"
Cui Hao rubbed his forehead—it didn’t hurt, but he feigned grievance.
"Master, I was complimenting you."
Then, his expression turned solemn. "Whether I’m a genius or not, I don’t know. But with this question alone, you’re undoubtedly one. Have you ever considered becoming a Sage, Master?"
Chu Xingchen gave him a sidelong glance. "Your master may be impressive, but I’m not that omnipotent. I’m just borrowing from others’ ideas and spouting nonsense. A Sage? Definitely not me."
Li Junzi withdrew her gaze and sighed softly.
"Sect Leader Chu is truly remarkable, with the potential of a Sage…"
Her peripheral vision lingered on the paper bearing the "white horse is not a horse" argument. She felt as if she was on the verge of grasping something profound.
For the first time, she stood at the threshold of a new principle.
Before, she had only sensed something was amiss, her thoughts constrained by years of rigid study.
How could one become a Confucian without accepting its tenets?
Yet once one became a Confucian, breaking free was akin to discarding one’s cultivation.
Now, with this single question—"Is a white horse not a horse?"—
Li Junzi felt the narrowness of her perspective for the first time, as well as a faint inkling of how to transcend it.
Lin Luoyu also read the argument. It was indeed a question that could unsettle any Confucian scholar. She asked,
"Then, Master, is there an answer to this?"
Chu Xingchen was about to reply when he noticed Li Junzi’s breathing grow erratic, her gaze urgent.
He swallowed his initial response and instead said,
"Your master enjoys posing questions. Solving them is the burden of those who are troubled."
"All I do is ask. Rather than asking me, wouldn’t you rather see how the great Confucian scholars answer?"
Cui Hao’s eyes lit up as he imagined the expressions of those esteemed scholars—struggling, knowing a white horse was a horse, yet unable to refute the argument.
Though this question alone might not decide the debate’s outcome—after all, it was clearly a paradox—
winning through sophistry was still better than a crushing defeat.
And it would be sweet revenge for today’s humiliation.
Li Junzi’s gaze steadied, but her mind raced, desperately chasing that elusive spark of insight.
A white horse… is not a horse.