First Position

Chapter 6: The Wall and Science

There was only one teacher in the entire academy, a man named Zhang Jinglin. All subjects were taught solely by him. To others, Mr. Zhang was a prodigy—an omniscient scholar whose knowledge knew no bounds. Yet Ren Xiaosu harbored doubts. He often questioned the notion that one person could master all disciplines, especially when it was widely accepted that every profession demands its own expertise and human energy is finite.

Unlike most people, Ren Xiaosu was always inclined to reflect deeply. When he later heard Mr. Zhang describe this approach as a "dialectical way of thinking," he finally found a name for it. Yan Liuyuan often found himself puzzled. Why did Ren Xiaosu always challenge Mr. Zhang’s views, yet still rushed to attend his lectures whenever he had time?

That afternoon, Ren Xiaosu took Yan Liuyuan to the academy in celebration—not for any grand occasion, but simply because he could now listen to lectures from within the courtyard. Sitting atop the wall was too far; he could hardly hear a thing.

Originally, Mr. Zhang used to shut all the doors and windows tightly during class to block out distractions and keep the students focused. But ever since he discovered Ren Xiaosu eavesdropping outside, he would leave a window ajar. Eventually, he went a step further and invited Ren Xiaosu into the courtyard itself.

Many parents sent their children to the academy not for the pursuit of knowledge, but because an educated child—especially a girl—had a better chance at securing a respectable marriage. In an era when survival trumped all, and food was scarce, who had the luxury to care about education? Reading, writing, and some basic arithmetic were already seen as valuable skills.

The town had its poor and its wealthy, and wherever there were people, there was comparison.

Ren Xiaosu went to a general store and bought a filtered cigarette. Old Wang, the shopkeeper, boasted proudly, “No funny additives in this one. Safe as they come.” It cost twenty yuan—a high price, but rare things were precious.

“Why are you buying a cigarette?” Yan Liuyuan asked curiously.

“Our teacher let me into the courtyard. I don’t pay tuition, so I figured I should show some gratitude,” Ren Xiaosu replied with a grin. “I know Mr. Zhang enjoys smoking.”

To Ren Xiaosu, kindness should always be repaid.

They headed to the backyard of the academy during lunch. Mr. Zhang was eating stir-fried cabbage when Ren Xiaosu cheerfully handed him the cigarette.

Mr. Zhang didn’t refuse. He took it and turned to Yan Liuyuan, “Stay a bit farther away. You’re still growing, the smoke’s no good for you.”

“Thank you for letting me listen in from the courtyard,” Ren Xiaosu said gratefully.

Fwoosh. Mr. Zhang struck a match from his stove and lit the cigarette. He took a slow, satisfied drag. “There aren’t many students as eager to learn as you these days. If you want to listen, do so. But you’ll stand at the door—don’t step inside the classroom.”

“Got it,” Ren Xiaosu nodded. “Sir, I have a question.”

“Go ahead,” Mr. Zhang replied, unusually accommodating, perhaps thanks to the rare smoke.

“You said that before the Cataclysm, humanity had vast technological achievements. Since we didn’t go extinct, why haven’t those technologies reappeared?”

Mr. Zhang gave him a thoughtful look. “In the years following the disaster, survival was the only priority. People didn't even bother counting how long they were scraping by. Who had time to pursue scholarship?”

“But surely we preserved some data, right? Can’t we relearn from that and rebuild civilization?”

“There was a complete rupture,” Mr. Zhang said with a hint of regret. “Let me ask you—if I gave you a manual on building an airplane, could you make one?”

“I’ve never studied it before,” Ren Xiaosu admitted. “Even with the manual, I’d still be starting from scratch.”

“Exactly. Everyone now is starting from zero,” Mr. Zhang said, glancing at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand, reluctant to finish it all at once. He considered saving the rest for later, but wasn’t sure if that would look too stingy in front of the boys.

Ren Xiaosu pressed on, “But in all those years, were there really no scholars who endured and kept learning?”

“No. They starved to death,” Mr. Zhang replied plainly.

“Then… has all that knowledge truly been lost?” Ren Xiaosu asked, unwilling to accept it.

Mr. Zhang finally looked at him seriously. “That knowledge still exists… but it is held in the hands of a privileged few.”

“Enough of that,” Mr. Zhang said, rising to his feet. “Time for class.”

Ren Xiaosu trailed him with one last question. “Sir, when was the wall of this Refuge Fortress built, and what purpose does it serve?”

“After the Cataclysm, beasts ran rampant,” Mr. Zhang explained. “There was even an insect tide at one point. Humans had no choice but to build tall walls to keep the dangers out.”

“But most beasts, even those that evolved, don’t actively attack humans. Monkeys are still herbivores. Sparrows still eat grains,” Ren Xiaosu said, puzzled.

Refuge Fortress 113 was well within the human habitation zone—the “inner circle.” Most of the truly vicious beasts were beyond the outer boundary. Higher-numbered fortresses, like the infamous No. 178, saw countless deaths each year due to beast-clearing missions. But No. 113 was practically considered “the heartland.”

There were still dangers—like wolf packs—but nothing insurmountable. So why build such massive walls?

Mr. Zhang smiled. “As long as the wilds remain dangerous, the refugees must cling to the safety of the fortresses. And with that comes an endless supply of cheap labor. Do you really think the corporations behind these walls lack the means to eliminate those threats? Humanity’s weapons are far more powerful than you realize. But the danger doesn't threaten them—so why bother?”

Ren Xiaosu fell silent. Though wise beyond his years, he hadn’t yet encountered such realities. It only deepened his thirst for knowledge.

Mr. Zhang continued, “They’ll never tear down the wall. The elites inside won’t give up their natural barrier of privilege.”

With that, he went to change his clothes.

“Why change? Your outfit isn’t even dirty,” Ren Xiaosu asked.

“It reeks of smoke. Wouldn’t be proper for the students to smell it,” Mr. Zhang said, straightening his collar.

Yan Liuyuan stood in quiet admiration, but Ren Xiaosu grew indignant. “So it’s okay if I smell it? You didn’t tell me to step back earlier!”

Mr. Zhang thought for a moment. “Get lost.”

Just then, Ren Xiaosu heard the voice from the palace in his mind once more:

“Quest: A thirst for knowledge is never a fault. But what is learned, must be passed on.”

Ren Xiaosu paused. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was asking of him.

…

That afternoon, the students were intrigued. Outside the classroom stood Ren Xiaosu, clearly several years older than them. Many turned to sneak glances. Mr. Zhang had to rap the blackboard several times to restore order.

“Today’s lesson,” he announced, “is on survival.”

This was what set the academy apart in this era—it didn’t just teach academics, it taught how to survive.

But survival class always gave Mr. Zhang a headache. He wasn’t exactly an expert in the wilderness. Most of his lessons came straight from preserved materials.

“Pay close attention,” Mr. Zhang addressed the class. “Don’t assume danger is far from you. Today you are under your parents’ protection, but when you come of age, you’ll need to protect yourselves. Let’s begin: what should you do if you encounter a pack of wolves in the wild?”

The students loved survival class—it was far more exciting than literature or math. A hush fell over the room.

Mr. Zhang turned to Ren Xiaosu, standing by the door. “You. What would you do if you ran into a wolf pack?”

Ren Xiaosu thought for a moment. “I’d find a hillside surrounded by trees… because it’s the best spot for a burial. Good feng shui.”

Mr. Zhang: “...???”