Chapter 534: The Final Lesson

“Zihou’s growth has far exceeded this old man’s expectations. Back then, I thought you were but an unpolished jade—promising, yes, but still in need of carving. Yet now… even ‘unpolished jade’ is no longer enough to describe you.”

Old Master Sun stroked his beard slowly, his aged fingers moving with habitual ease. His eyes rested on Zhu Ping’an with deep satisfaction, and he nodded as if confirming a long-held judgment. After a brief pause, he continued, his tone turning softer yet more deliberate.

“You have even inscribed a title for this painting, resolving a matter that has weighed on my mind for some time. I have no grand gift to offer you in return… so instead, I shall give you one final lesson.”

The final lesson?

Zhu Ping’an was startled, the words striking him like a sudden clap of thunder. His heart tightened at once.

Why would Master Sun call it the final lesson? Had he done something wrong without realizing it? Had he offended his teacher in some way? Was he about to be cast out—his name erased from the lineage of disciples?

A flicker of unease crept into his thoughts. Could it be… that his earlier remark—“ten zhang of dragon grandchildren encircling the Phoenix Pool”—had seemed too fanciful, too detached from reality in his teacher’s eyes?

“Final lesson?” Zhu Ping’an stepped forward quickly, cupping his hands in a respectful salute, his voice earnest and slightly hurried. “A teacher for a day is a father for life. I will always come to listen to your teachings, no matter when.”

Seeing the anxious look on his face, Old Master Sun could not help but chuckle softly. He shook his head, his beard swaying gently with the motion.

“Zihou, your growth has already surpassed my expectations. There is nothing more I can truly teach you.” His gaze grew steady, almost solemn. “And besides… a master can only lead one to the gate—the rest of the path must be walked alone. From here on, it is your own road to travel.”

“But, Teacher—your knowledge is vast. Whether in conduct or scholarship, you far surpass me…” Zhu Ping’an began hurriedly, his voice filled with urgency, as though trying to grasp something slipping away.

Before he could finish, however, Old Master Sun raised his hand slightly and shook his head, gently cutting him off. His expression turned more serious as he looked directly at Zhu Ping’an.

“Zihou, you are gifted, diligent, and ambitious. You are like a sharp blade, honed and gleaming, destined for great achievements in the future. But the official world is treacherous, and the path of office is fraught with hardship. You must remember what I tell you today.”

He paused, lifting his teacup as if to take a sip, yet he set it down again without drinking. His eyes remained fixed on Zhu Ping’an, who listened intently, not daring to miss a single word.

“To be a man is to be like a sword. If its edge is used lightly, it will wound at every motion—such a blade becomes a weapon of harm. But if it is concealed, appearing dull, and only drawn at the right moment, then it becomes a true instrument of precision.”

The meaning was clear.

A sword, if brandished recklessly, injures indiscriminately and becomes nothing more than a dangerous object. But if one learns restraint—hiding its brilliance and choosing carefully when to act—then that same sword becomes a powerful and effective tool.

As Zhu Ping’an absorbed these words, understanding dawned upon him. He felt the depth of his teacher’s concern, the careful thought behind every sentence.

Master Sun was warning him: in life, and especially within the perilous currents of officialdom, one must learn to temper one’s brilliance. To remain low-key. To avoid flaunting talent carelessly or letting arrogance take root.

For talent displayed without restraint invites resentment. It breeds jealousy. And in the end, it may summon disaster upon oneself.

In such a case, one’s own brilliance ceases to be an advantage—it becomes a weapon turned inward.

As the saying goes: A gentleman conceals his talents within and acts only when the time is right.

Only by learning to hide one’s edge, to bide one’s time, can one seize the moment when it truly matters—revealing one’s brilliance in a decisive stroke. Just as described in the Art of War: still as a maiden, swift as a startled hare.

When not acting, remain still. But when action is taken, it must strike true.

In ordinary times, conserve strength and conceal ability. When the moment arrives, act decisively—cutting through chaos like a sharp blade through tangled threads.

Restrain your edge in peace. Reveal it only when it counts. And when you do—let that single move determine the outcome.

“Thank you for your teachings, Teacher. I will remember them.”

Zhu Ping’an straightened, his posture solemn. He cupped his hands again in a formal salute, his voice deep and resolute.

Old Master Sun nodded lightly, then continued, his tone shifting once more.

“First learn to be a good man—only then learn to be an official. To serve as an official, one must first understand how to conduct oneself. As for your character, Zihou, I have no worries. But the world outside is full of temptations, and full of setbacks as well.”

His gaze grew sharper, carrying both warning and care.

“Remember this: no matter what situation you find yourself in, always choose goodness. Choose good in advance; turn away from evil before it arises. Especially once you step into officialdom. The line between good and evil is but a single thought—but that thought may determine the fate of countless people. You must never neglect it. Never fail to uphold it.”

“I will obey your instruction, Teacher.” Zhu Ping’an nodded firmly, his expression resolute. “No matter the circumstances, I will always choose goodness.”

He understood.

Master Sun feared that one day, amid the turbulence of official life, he might lose sight of his original heart—just as Liu Bei once warned his son. To take goodness as the foundation of all conduct.

“With such a heart, I am at ease.” Old Master Sun nodded with quiet satisfaction.

Then he added, his voice calm yet resonant:

“To do good is the greatest joy—it seeks no recognition and leaves no regret. To do evil is the greatest suffering—one fears exposure and lives in constant unease. Practice good and shun evil, and your heart will stand in an unassailable place.”

These words echoed a line from Zhuangzi: The utmost joy lies in doing good.

Master Sun elaborated further—good deeds bring peace because they require no acknowledgment; one’s conscience remains clear. Evil deeds, however, bring endless anxiety, for one lives in fear of being discovered. And though justice may seem slow, it is never absent—eventually, the truth will come to light.

His reasoning was simple, yet profound.

If one does good and avoids wrongdoing, one leaves no leverage for enemies to exploit. With a clear conscience, one stands on ground that cannot be shaken.

“Thank you for your teachings, Teacher.”

Zhu Ping’an bowed once more, deeply and respectfully.

Old Master Sun waved his hand lightly, then turned to retrieve brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. After dipping the brush into the ink, he wrote a couplet upon a sheet of fine xuan paper. When the ink had dried slightly, he handed it to Zhu Ping’an.

The upper line read:

“If you wish for a noble household, you must practice goodness.”

The lower line read:

“If you desire worthy descendants, they must devote themselves to learning.”

The couplet was simple in wording, yet rich in meaning—something to be pondered again and again. It was, in essence, a family maxim entrusted to Zhu Ping’an, and also a reflection of Master Sun’s hopes for him.

Throughout history, it was not unheard of for scholars from humble origins to rise to prominence. But to elevate an entire family—that was far more difficult.

One man’s success is easy. A family’s lasting prosperity is not.

As the saying goes: wealth rarely lasts beyond three generations.

Objectively speaking, great aristocratic families endure far longer than those who rise suddenly from obscurity. Beyond social systems, the deeper reason lies in culture itself.

Culture is the lifeblood of a family—its invisible strength, its enduring soul.

Those who rise quickly often lack this foundation. And at its root, what they lack is precisely that—culture.

Though Zhu Ping’an had achieved the highest honor as a top scholar, his background remained humble. His family lacked deep roots.

It was for this reason that Old Master Sun gifted him this couplet.

If you wish for a noble household, you must practice goodness.

The stature of a family is not measured by wealth alone, but by the hearts of people. Without kindness, even great success amounts to nothing more than arrogance.

To truly elevate a family, one must cultivate goodness.

In times of famine or disaster, those families who open their granaries to aid the people—those are the ones remembered as truly great.

And when the crisis passes, gratitude flows back in unseen ways—through trust, through relationships, through opportunity. Over time, such families grow stronger, until even if they were not once noble, they become so.

“Teacher, this couplet is simple, yet deeply profound. I have learned much from it.”

Zhu Ping’an accepted the scroll with both hands, handling it with utmost care, as though it were something precious beyond measure.

“I will make this the family teaching of the Zhu clan, passing it down through generations, never forgetting your guidance.”

This visit to his teacher had yielded more than he could have hoped for.

From Old Master Sun, he had gained not only words, but wisdom—treasures that would guide him through the long and uncertain road ahead.