Academy of Scholars

Chen Miemie had always thought the Scholar Academy of the Sealed Library was something like the City Hall of Sixiang City.

Last time he came here, he had stealthily ambushed [Zhiliao] once, rushing in and out without taking a good look around.

Today, with the intention of “taking a stroll,” he immediately noticed many interesting details.

The scholars in the Academy belonged to two factions, wearing robes with different patterns.

One kind was gray with gold trim, embroidered with a candle emblem;

The other was blue with silver trim, embroidered with a mandala pattern.

The [Forbidden Fruit Codex] in his pocket explained:

“The Scholar Academy is divided into two factions. Those in gray robes are the Theorists, obsessed with theoretical research, delving into it day and night without rest. Those in blue robes are the Practitioners, who advocate applying knowledge to practice, believing that useless knowledge is just waste paper.”

Chen Miemie’s train of thought was peculiar: “Which faction is stronger?”

“For now, the Practitioners have the upper hand.”

“What does ‘for now’ mean?”

“Among the six Grand Scholars, the Theorists and Conservatives each have two guaranteed seats. The remaining two seats are open to both factions for competition. Currently, the Practitioners hold four seats.”

“So that means I actually helped the Theorists. [Zhiliao]’s leave of absence has something to do with me, too.”

[Forbidden Fruit Codex]: …

“You’re making me remember. Because [Zhiliao] is on leave, the Theorists now have only one Grand Scholar in office.”

“[Zhiliao] is a Theorist? A Theorist going and doing demolition jobs?”

“As long as there’s profit to be made, faction lines don’t matter much.”

“Well then, the power gap is pretty big, huh? What’s the relationship between these two factions? Do they fight to the death over power?”

[Forbidden Fruit Codex] gave a somewhat contradictory answer: “Their relationship is poor, almost irreconcilable. But the Theorists have never cared about power. For thousands of years, they haven’t fought for it at all.”

“If they don’t fight for power, why are things so bad between them?”

“Disputes over academia and ideology can sometimes be more brutal than power struggles.

Power struggles often involve compromises and coexistence, but conflicting academic opinions can mean that the victor denies decades of work by the loser.”

Chen Miemie wandered leisurely through the heart of the Scholar Academy, talking to himself. His unusual presence caught the attention of scholars passing by.

“Sir, hello. Who are you looking for?” a scholar in blue robes stopped him.

“Oh, I’m looking for the Grand Scholar in charge of finance.”

“You mean the ‘Logic Pledge Keeper’? Who are you, and what business do you have?”

Chen Miemie raised his nose to the sky, extremely arrogant: “I am the second-in-command of the [Chenpi] project team. I only discuss matters with Grand Scholars. Don’t ask too many questions. Lead the way, quickly.”

“Second-in-command of the [Chenpi] project team? [Chenpi] actually recruited someone? You must be some gullible newbie. Follow me.”

Treated like a nobody, Chen Miemie was annoyed, but he needed this guy to guide him, so he followed along for now.

On the third floor, outside an office.

“Here it is. Go on in yourself. [Chenpi]’s people don’t need an appointment.”

“Knock, knock, knock—” Chen Miemie knocked.

“Come in,” came a steady, deep male voice.

Chen Miemie twisted the handle and entered the office.

As soon as he stepped inside, he closed the door and locked it from the inside.

The office’s owner watched this move and nearly shouted, “Guards, an assassin!”

Chen Miemie walked to the chair in front of the desk and sat down directly.

“Sir, how can I help you?”

“You’re the ‘Logic Pledge Keeper’? Head of finance?” Chen Miemie cut straight to the point. The ‘Logic Pledge Keeper’ gave him the same feeling as Commander Sun from Sixiang City—no match for him when it came to bureaucratic talk.

“Yes. My surname is Luo. I’m in charge of the city’s finances.”

“Since I’ve found the right person, this is easy. Transfer 5,500 years of funding to me. This is a note specially approved by [Chenpi].”

Scholar Luo took the crumpled note that Chen Miemie handed over. The writing looked like chicken scratches.

“Mm, this really is [Chenpi]’s handwriting. But it says 5,000 years here, doesn’t it?”

“I went through the trouble of coming all this way. Don’t I deserve a little extra for my effort? Careful, or I’ll tattle to [Chenpi] about you.”

Scholar Luo let out a wry laugh. “How shall I address you?”

“Chen Miemie.”

“Mr. Chen, do you know why [Chenpi] herself didn’t come to collect the funding?”

Chen Miemie suddenly had a bad feeling.

Scholar Luo answered his own question: “So far, [Chenpi]’s project has consumed over a hundred thousand years of city funds, with zero results to show for it. She still owes the Scholar Academy about thirty-five thousand years. So, would you like to settle the earlier debt first…”

Chen Miemie was not alarmed—he was overjoyed.

Owing money for a few centuries made you a deadbeat; owing money for tens of thousands of years made you a big shot.

“Scholar Luo, that’s not quite right. Think about it—you’ve already invested so much. If you stop now, the sunk cost is way too high. Why not throw in a bit more and give it another shot? This time, it’s bound to work.”

“Mr. Chen, you really are from that project team. You sound just like [Chenpi]. I admire that.

But the Scholar Academy has already reached a consensus. We don’t dare hound [Chenpi] for the debt, but we will never invest another single unit into that project. Even if they replace me, the next officeholder, and the one after that, will never agree.”

“You’re that firm?”

“What can I do? Holding this position, I have to be answerable for the people’s hard-earned resources. Knowing this is a bottomless pit with no return, how could I waste city funds?”

Chen Miemie wasn’t easy to shake off. “Clearly, you’re a sensible man. But the [Chenpi] project team is different now. Things have changed. The hope of success has appeared.”

“How so?”

“Can’t you tell? With me joining the team in a powerful capacity, great things can be accomplished.”

“Mr. Chen, you look a bit unfamiliar. Are you a Grand Scholar from another city?”

“Mm, pretty much.” Chen Miemie said vaguely. It was true he was from another city—whether he was a Grand Scholar or not was anyone’s guess.

As a city’s financial officer, Scholar Luo was hardly going to be swayed by a few words from Chen Miemie.

For the next hour, the two engaged in a fierce back-and-forth.

“Slap—” Chen Miemie slammed the desk hard.

“[Chenpi] is a veteran of this city, with enormous merits for the Scholar Academy. Now she’s merely applying for some research funding, and you’re making all kinds of excuses. This is ingratitude! I’ve never seen such a shameless person!”

Scholar Luo remained as steady as a mountain, unfazed. “Mr. Chen, it’s not that we haven’t supported her. Even though [Chenpi] is deeply in debt, the Sealed Library still allocates her 3,000 years each year. She’s just already blown through this year’s budget.”

“Hmph. With this petty attitude, you call yourself a Grand Scholar? Scientific research requires burning through resources. Without the investment of the first 99 years, how could you achieve a breakthrough and harvest in the 100th year? Truly shortsighted, like a mouse with tunnel vision.”

“99 years? That project has already consumed over 3,000 years of investment. How many more millennia do you expect people to wait?”

Even though he was putting up a fuss, hearing that number made Chen Miemie’s heart skip a beat. Just how many resources had been poured into this? No wonder the Academy of Scholars had given up—if it were him, he would have overturned the table long ago.

After all the commotion, he knew deep down that there was probably no hope, but he still had to throw out some harsh words:

“Hmph, too much time has passed. You’ve all stopped taking [Chenpi] seriously. You don’t care about her anymore.”

After all the arguing, Scholar Luo finally realized something: “Mr. Chen, you haven’t truly understood that project yet, have you?”

Chen Miemie played dumb: “How could that be? I’m the second-in-command of the project team.”

Scholar Luo had no time to waste, so he finally spoke his mind:

“Neither the Sealed Library nor the Academy of Scholars have ever forgotten the contributions of the great [Chenpi]. You should take a deeper look into the research methods and content of that project.

A little bit of time? We’ve already given thousands of years—there’s no shortage of a bit more now. We can afford it.

But the body of the great [Chenpi] can no longer withstand further research. She won’t be able to hold out.”