This heart-wrenching ceremony lasted for three whole days; he didn't eat a single grain of rice or drink a drop of water, and was almost emaciated from grief. This site's new domain name is the initials of Kele Novel Network (k1), the largest free Chinese romance novel website, come and join us! â, Duanmu Ci has lived so long; what he has endured is beyond the reach of ordinary people. He experienced the grief of losing all his relatives and friends in the Spring and Autumn Period, witnessed the most tragic scenes in the world during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, and heard the most magnificent lament in history at Yai Shan. He has seen too much, heard too much, and experienced too much. Although he hasn't reached the extreme coldness of "my heart is not stone," his will is extremely firm.
With such a mindset, one would expect him to be free of major emotional fluctuations, let alone shed tears. But only when he thought of his teacher, the teacher who always sat on the apricot altar, stood atop a high mountain, or walked beside a flowing stream, earnestly instructing his disciples, would Duanmu Ci's seemingly impenetrable defenses always reveal a crack, from which tears would flow.
These tears have flowed for over two thousand years and have never dried up.
"Ci! Why have you come so late!" Whenever he thinks of these words, Duanmu Ci always bursts into tears.
Confucius was a man who valued etiquette above all else! It's likely that, tracing back three dynasties and down to the Ming and Qing dynasties, spanning thousands of years, no one would have valued etiquette more than him. Yet, this very man who valued etiquette above all else, upon learning that I was coming to visit him, disregarded the proper etiquette of respect between superiors and inferiors, and, despite his frail and ailing body, leaned on his cane and tremblingly waited for me to enter.
As soon as his figure appeared in the inner courtyard, the Master couldn't help but cry, pounding his withered hands on the doorframe as he sobbed, "Ci! Why are you so late!"
Ci, why are you so late!
Yes, why am I so late?
Even the Master did not get to see him one last time. His junior brother, Gongxi Chi, said that the Master's face was turned south until his death, and his eyes were reluctant to close, as if he was waiting for news from someone, his eyes filled with longing.
Duanmu Ci, of course, knew what this meant. He was in the southern state of Chu at the time, and his master had faced south until his death, undoubtedly wanting to see him one last time. What the master was waiting for, of course, was news of his unfilial disciple.
Unfortunately, the Master died before he could see it.
The Master's regret lasted only until the moment he closed his eyes, but Duanmu Ci's regret and guilt lasted for more than two thousand years.
To make up for this regret, Duanmu Ci took extra care of Confucius's descendants; otherwise, even though the Kong family was a descendant of a sage, they probably wouldn't have been able to escape the repeated calamities throughout history. If it weren't for the fact that the Kong family was of Confucius's bloodline, given their repeated submission to foreign aggression, Duanmu Ci would have long since stood by and done nothing. Where would the glory of the Kong family of Qufu, the Duke Yansheng, have come from?
This was his way of making amends to his teacher.
After the Master died, his disciples built a hut in front of his tomb and observed three years of mourning for him, but he alone observed six years.
People of the world and later generations say that Zigong was loyal and righteous, and was indeed a favorite disciple of Confucius. But they did not know that this was just a small compensation he made to his master.
He felt unworthy of such praise.
...
...
Three days of mourning had passed, and one cannot remain immersed in grief forever. Duanmu Ci slowly rose from the ground. Having knelt for so long, his blood circulation was impaired, and his legs were numb and devoid of feeling, as if they didn't exist. An ordinary person would likely be considering a wheelchair by now. Moreover, he hadn't eaten or drunk anything for three days, and his constitution was extremely weak. Fortunately, he was an immortal, his constitution different from that of ordinary beings.
Even so, Duanmu Ci was in a lot of pain. In fact, the best thing to do now was to spread his legs on the floor to allow blood and qi to circulate slowly and regain feeling in his thighs.
However, Duanmu Ci did not do so. Sitting with legs spread wide, known as "įŽå" (jizuo), is an extremely impolite act, almost an insult. When Jing Ke failed in his assassination attempt on the King of Qin, he sat facing the King, leaning against a pillar in the main hall of Xianyang Palace, precisely to express his resentment and contempt for the King. Many ancient scholars, to demonstrate their "unyielding pride against kings and nobles," would often do the same.
The meaning of "sitting with legs spread apart" is similar to that of young people who like to give the middle finger.
Duanmu Ci certainly didn't want to sit with his legs spread apart in front of the Master!
Although people today have long forgotten these ancient and noble rituals, and even kneeling has been abandoned, this does not mean they no longer exist. Others may not know, but he knows, and the Master knows, and that is enough.
He could not be disrespectful in front of his teacher.
Duanmu Ci supported himself on the floor, using his hands for support, and slowly lifted his knees off the ground. After a moment, he felt his legs gradually regaining feeling, as if he had regained some control. So, dragging his legs and supporting himself on the wall with one hand, he slowly stood up.
He lost his balance and fell to the ground.
However, he still insisted on standing up, supporting himself against the wall as he slowly walked to the door, opened it, and then strolled out, not forgetting to close the door behind him.
Bu Tongxun had been waiting downstairs, her eyes constantly watching the door upstairs. When she saw the adult come out, looking like he was about to collapse, how could she hold back? How could she remember Duanmu Ci's prohibition that "no one is allowed to go upstairs"? She couldn't wait to go upstairs and support the adult.
"Help me...help me back to my room," Duanmu Ci ordered, before fainting.
...
...
When Duanmu Ci woke up again, it was a day later. He rubbed his temples and slowly sat up in bed. He glanced at the time and then started calling for help.
Hearing the noise, Bu Tongxun came in from outside. Seeing that Duanmu Ci was awake, she immediately looked relieved. "My lord, you're finally awake! I was just wondering whether I should call the doctor!"
"Didn't I tell you before? Never call a doctor!" Duanmu Ci glanced at the time again. "Why didn't you call me yesterday? I missed a whole day of class."
Bu Tongxun rolled her eyes at her mother, annoyed. "Looking at you yesterday, you looked like you were going to die. How were you going to teach? Weren't you afraid of scaring the students if you fainted in class?"
Duanmu Ci checked his physical condition, but all he felt was hunger. He said, "I'm hungry."
"Then I'll go cook some porridge." Bu Tongxun was about to leave.
"Hey, wait a minute." Duanmu Ci called out to him, "I've been hungry for so long, I don't want to drink porridge, I want to eat meat, can you make me a plate of sweet and sour pork ribs?" He remembered that Bu Tongxun's skill in making sweet and sour pork ribs was much better than before he went abroad.
"No!" Bu Tongxun refused decisively. "The master hasn't eaten for so long, and his stomach is exhausted. He can only have some porridge, not meat and fish!"
Actually, I could... Duanmu Ci really wanted to say that, but it involved some secrets, so he had to hold back.
Let's just have congee then. Century egg and lean pork congee is not bad either, at least there's meat in it... (To be continued.)
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