radicalducati Chapter 7 Only when one's own mind is firm can one trust others.
Chapter 7 Only when one's own mind is firm can one trust others.
There was no provocation, no sarcasm, and not even any aggression in Zhuge Yan's tone.
He was talking about something very ordinary. You want to know the truth? Then verify it using the methods of a sorcerer.
You've studied divination for so many years, you should be able to do this much, right?
Zhuge Zhao opened his mouth slightly, but no sound came out.
Zhuge Ming lowered his head and rubbed his temples.
The silence lasted for about five breaths.
Zhuge Zhao's expression changed several times in five breaths.
First, he blushed because he had been outmaneuvered, then he hesitated, trying to figure out what trap was hidden in the sentence.
Then came something that slowly surfaced, something he himself was unwilling to acknowledge.
He had certainly studied divination techniques; not only him, but every disciple in the clan had studied them.
Judging the truth or falsehood of something, especially something directly related to oneself, is indeed one of the most basic applications of divination.
In addition, warlocks can also find the answers to their questions within the inner vision.
However, the latter is too risky, and ordinary sorcerers would not use it easily.
But after being stunned by Zhuge Yan's simultaneous lighting of the Eight Gates Strange Formation in the training ground, Zhuge Zhao's mind was filled with thoughts of "This is impossible" and "He must have something wrong with him."
So he rushed back to his room, getting angrier and angrier, and finally grabbed Zhuge Ming and charged over.
From beginning to end, he never thought of doing the calculations himself.
Because he was afraid!
The result of the calculation was probably that Zhuge Yan did not cheat!
Zhuge Yan observed the change in his expression but said nothing.
He turned his gaze away and picked up his teacup again.
The tea has completely cooled down, and the bitterness of the tea leaves is even stronger than before.
"It's okay if you can't figure it out."
His tone remained flat.
"There will be another exam in ten days. You'll see for yourself then."
Zhuge Zhao's lips moved several times.
He wanted to say something, to refute, to say something harsh, to at least save face before leaving.
However, Zhuge Yan did not give him any leverage point from beginning to end.
No arguing, no defending, no retaliating, just let him figure it out himself.
How does he calculate it?
He still needs to manually illuminate each of the eight elements when setting up a divination chart, let alone predict a question he's too afraid to face the outcome of...
Zhuge Zhao turned and left.
The door slammed against the doorframe when it was pulled open, making a dull thud.
His footsteps faded away along the west wing corridor, his steps faster and his heels slamming harder on the ground than when he arrived.
Zhuge Ming did not immediately follow.
He stood at the doorway, glanced back at Zhuge Yan, and his expression was complicated.
"Yan-ge'er..."
"fine."
Zhuge Yan waved his hand.
"Go see him."
Zhuge Ming nodded, turned and left.
He stopped at the door, hesitated for a moment, and whispered:
"I watched your game today from the sidelines. When all eight gates lit up at once, I got goosebumps."
Then he closed the door, and his footsteps followed in the direction of Zhuge Zhao.
The room fell silent.
Zhuge Yan sat for a while, then stood up and walked to the window.
The bamboo forest shone bright green in the midday sun, the bamboo leaves were completely still, and there wasn't even a breeze.
There was actually another layer of meaning behind what he just said to Zhuge Zhao, which he didn't say aloud.
Sorcerers can indeed predict truth from falsehood.
But the sorcerer himself must believe the results of the divination.
If a person is fundamentally unwilling to believe something, then no matter how many divinations or how clear the deductions, they can always find reasons to deny it.
Zhuge Zhao wasn't incapable of calculating it; he simply dared not.
Because he was already doubting himself.
Only with a firm conscience can one gain the trust of others; only with sincerity can one win the respect of the masses.
Zhuge Yan opened the window a crack, letting some of the outside heat in.
The sound of a bell signaling lunch could be heard from the direction of the kitchen.
He turned and walked towards the door.
It's time to eat.
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The kitchen of the Wuhou School is located on the east side of the ancestral home, and it is a large house made of blue bricks that is even more spacious than the martial arts training ground.
Long wooden tables stretched from the entrance all the way to the stove at the far end, seating hundreds of people at the same time.
The kitchen had no door and was open all day long. The heat and aroma of the food mingled together and poured out from the doorway, wafting across half the corridor.
When Zhuge Yan entered the kitchen, lunch had already been underway for about half an hour.
The long table was filled with people on both sides, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks and the sounds of conversation mingled together, making it as lively as a market.
No one noticed him coming in, or rather, after the scene of the morning's exam, some people did notice, but pretended not to.
Zhuge Yan did not care about this.
He walked to the wooden table where food was served and picked up an empty bowl.
The kitchen staff had a rule that everyone served themselves rice. The large wooden bucket contained steamed rice, and several large basins next to it held vegetables.
A pot of stir-fried garlic sprouts with cured pork, a pot of stir-fried bamboo shoots, and a pot of tofu and vegetable soup.
Although the Wuhou Sect is a large clan, its rules are simple. The disciples' meals are not fancy, but the portions are generous and filling.
Zhuge Yan filled a bowl to the brim with rice, piled it into a cone, and then poured two large spoonfuls of garlic sprouts and cured meat on top. He then took the bowl and found a place to sit down.
He's really hungry right now.
He overclocked the device three times from yesterday evening until now.
Although the three overclocking sessions combined took less than fifteen breaths, his hunger was like that of a starving ghost who hadn't eaten for days.
When Zhuge Yan shoveled the first bowl of rice into his mouth, he couldn't even taste it.
Stuff the rice and cured meat together, chew a few times, swallow, and then stuff in another bite.
His body was like a dried-out sponge; food was absorbed the moment it entered, leaving not even a crumb.
He ate a bowl of rice in less than a third of the time it would normally take to finish it, from the moment he sat down to the moment it was empty.
So he stood up and went to get a second bowl.
This time he piled the rice even higher, poured three spoonfuls of cured meat on it, and returned to his seat to continue eating.
The second bowl came just as quickly as the first, and finally there was something in my stomach. But the hunger was not relieved; instead, it seemed to be awakened and became even more intense.
Zhuge Yan could feel his body breaking down food with unprecedented efficiency—carbohydrates were rapidly converted into sugar, which entered the bloodstream and was then transported throughout the body.
Strangely, most of the energy did not stay in the limbs or torso, but went up along the spine, gathered near the Fengchi acupoint, and was then absorbed by the brain.
It felt like someone had installed a perpetually hungry machine inside his skull, which would drain his energy the moment he ate, no matter how much he ate.
All that's left for the rest of the body is scraps.
When Zhuge Yansheng was eating his third bowl of rice, the person sitting opposite him stopped eating.
He was a boy of about ten years old, two years older than Zhuge Yan. He had a round face and was a disciple of a collateral branch. Zhuge Yan only remembered that his name was A-Kuan.