“Market competition?!”
Provost Sima Heng threw his head back and laughed so hard that his white fox-fur collar shook.
Beside him on the high marble steps, dozens of aristocratic young masters joined in, their jeering laughter echoing through the freezing drizzle.
“Listen to this provincial merchant!” Sima Heng mocked, pointing his carved ivory fan at Lin Mo. “He thinks founding an immortal university is like opening a noodle stall! Do you have any idea what it takes to charter an imperial institution?! You need ancestral land, celestial registry from the Ministry of Rites, and imperial sovereign approval!”
One of the noble scions in an embroidered purple cloak chuckled, swirling warm wine in a silver goblet.
“Provost, do not waste your breath explaining statecraft to a bumpkin,” the young master sneered. “He probably thinks an academic degree can be bought by the pound like dried beans. Out in the border wilderness, anyone who can write their own name calls himself a scholar!”
Sima Heng took two steps down the stairs, his cruel sneer deepening.
“Even if you had the permits, where would you build your school? On a dung heap in the outer suburbs? Will your turnip-diggers study celestial Dao in an abandoned pigsty?!”
