Choice

It was not that women no longer guarded the chambers in this land, but rather that, a little over a year ago, a middle-aged scholar named Mo Ran, dignified and refined, had arrived in Luo River County. Astonishingly, Zong Chentian, who had never done such a thing before, agreed to meet this unexpected visitor, and even provided funds for him to establish an academy here. Zhang Ling, who had been studying elsewhere, was also assigned to this place by Zong Chentian.

Upon his arrival, the scholar immediately proposed the idea of coeducation for both boys and girls, which aroused the dissatisfaction of many families seeking education for their children. Since ancient times, it was thought that women should not be learned; once they reached a certain age, discussions of marriage would begin. How could any respectable gentleman study alongside women? Yet the scholar paid no heed to such remarks. He personally visited nearby households—not because he was unable to travel far, but because he did not wish to trouble those from distant places with a daily journey. Out of compassion, he told families that tuition could be paid with preserved meats or pickled vegetables—anything that would keep, and if they had nothing, it mattered not; no one would be turned away for lack of means. The people were not wary of this peculiar scholar being a fraud—after all, it was only some food—and so they sent their sons to the academy. Still, few were willing to send their beloved daughters. For one, they feared that letting girls spend much time with boys would tarnish their reputations before marriage; for another, they believed that girls would marry and manage households, and what use was learning for that? The scholar did not press these families; whoever came was welcome, no matter how many or how few, and he never withheld his own efforts.

Those who enrolled merely hoped to learn a few more characters, thinking themselves fortunate to have such an affordable teacher. Because there were not many pupils, the scholar taught them all himself, upholding the principle of education for all without discrimination. Though he wielded an old, nearly broken ruler, he never struck or scolded even the slowest learner; instead, his instruction was always practical and beneficial. Some students, after only a short time, hurried eagerly to put their newfound skills to use in areas they excelled.

Before long, the scholar’s reputation attracted students from wealthy families, some of whom wished to hire him for private tutoring. Yet, without exception, he refused such offers. Curiously, those who expected special treatment for their sons due to their family’s wealth withdrew quietly, and those who tried to tempt him with gold or silver found themselves at a loss for words.

Not long after everyone was seated, the teacher entered the hall. Normally, the students arrived early, and the teacher would let them wait, but these days he did not wish to waste anyone's time, so he arrived ahead of schedule himself.

As he stood before them, all the pupils rose in unison and saluted.

After everyone sat, only Zhang Ling remained standing. She addressed the teacher, “Sir, today may I ask what is meant by martial strength?”

The other students felt a surge of displeasure. Women had no place in the academy, but since the teacher did not object, they had no grounds to protest. Yet now, to speak of martial matters in a place of learning—was this not disrespect to the teacher?

The scholar was not angered in the least, and, sensing her intent, he answered gently, “Martial strength exists for the sake of the righteous path in this world, to defend it, to bleed for it. The martial man strengthens his body, tempers his will, inherits the spirit, and upholds justice. The martial man is passionate, fighting for righteousness and the greater good of the nation. He is proud and upright, standing tall, neither cowed by power nor enticed by profit. In the simplest terms, to end conflict is martial strength itself.”

Before Zhang Ling could reply, the teacher asked in return, “Since you ask me what is martial strength, let me ask you: what is the role of the scholar?”

Zhang Ling answered, “A scholar should wield brush and ink to add color to the land, but more importantly, to understand oneself, reason clearly, and perfect one’s own virtue.”

Her response was calm and without bravado. The teacher nodded approvingly. But before Zhang Ling could gather her thoughts, he posed another question: “Today, the seven kingdoms keep each other in check. Only the strongest nation can upset this balance. Of law, military, and people, which do you deem most crucial?” Even his tone was solemn.

Zhang Ling knew this was a critical question. If her previous answers were not remarkable, this one must dazzle, or she would surely lose. For scholars, whether taking provincial exams or journeying to the capital, all aspired to take the world as their responsibility.

Zhang Ling took a deep breath and composed herself, her words clear and resonant: “A nation’s strength lies within, not without. Though a country may display economic and military might, its root is internal strength. If the nation is weak within, industries decline, people suffer, and the state is unstable. This is the first challenge to national power; thus, a strong nation must first strengthen itself internally. Internal strength is the cause, external might the effect; military power is but superficial. Soldiers are instruments of violence; precisely because of this, they are the last resort of governance. For a weak nation, the army exists less to defend from without than to maintain order within, making such a military little more than an empty shell. Law is the foundation of the country’s existence. Without law or order, no matter how powerful a force, it is merely a band of brigands, not a true state. Therefore, the pillars of a strong nation are, first, the people; second, the law; third, the military. Upon these three is built a great nation.”

Her words left the assembly astonished, though the teacher’s expression remained unchanged.

Seeing the teacher so composed, Zhang Ling hastened to ask, “Sir, have you any further questions?” She knew that if this continued, sooner or later she would stumble, so she sought to take the initiative.

But the teacher’s appreciation for talent was even greater; he wished to retain her, yet he needed to temper her sharpness, so he pressed on with another question. Turning, he produced a thin cord from somewhere, twisted it into a dead knot, and held it out to Zhang Ling, “How would you resolve this?”

The others looked on, bewildered—how could he present an unsolvable knot?

Zhang Ling looked at the teacher and asked, “Sir, do you know the solution?”

“There is a solution,” he replied, unyielding. “I wish to see how you will handle it.”

Seeing this, Zhang Ling sighed, and as silence fell, she swiftly removed the silver hairpin that secured her bun and sliced through the center of the dead knot. In an instant, the knot was cleaved in two.

“A knot with no solution—cut it, and it is solved.”

With that stroke, it was as though a stone had fallen, striking a blow to the teacher’s heart. He was both chilled and delighted; inwardly, he was already making plans.

The others were stunned.

At this, Zhang Ling bowed and said, “Sir, I must apologize, for I was in the wrong.”

The teacher, thinking she had changed her mind, was about to speak when Zhang Ling continued, “Sir, in truth, I came today to bid you farewell.”

“Farewell? Where are you going?”

“To study martial arts,” Zhang Ling replied.

“To abandon scholarship for martial pursuits—why such a sudden change?” Ordinarily, a disciple forsaking the path of learning was a teacher’s greatest sorrow, yet, in this moment, Mr. Mo Ran remained composed, almost as if he had anticipated it. Though he did not wish for Zhang Ling to abandon her studies, he respected her choice.

The other students were shocked by her words. The gentle and refined Zhang Ling, how could she make such a sudden decision?

Zhang Ling replied, “Not to abandon learning for martial arts, only to pursue the study of martial arts as well.”

The teacher asked, “Why do you wish to learn martial arts? With your talents, if you devoted yourself to study, you would surely achieve top honors and high office, and even command martial men under you. Why take up martial arts yourself?”

Zhang Ling did not answer. She simply stood there, not because she was unwilling, but because even she did not know the reason. Perhaps it was because she had never practiced martial arts before, and after reading tales of dazzling techniques and heroes who could stand against armies alone, she could not help but yearn for that path. But to give a rational explanation—she truly had none. Yet her eyes shone with determination.

“You truly wish to study martial arts…”

Seeing her resolve, the teacher wanted to say more, but stopped, and instead, with words that were more rebuke than regret, he said, “From this day forth, you will be as stubborn wood—what will you do?”

Zhang Ling bowed once more, then turned and left, waving back as she walked away, “Sir, I will prove to you that even stubborn wood can be carved.”

She did not look back, nor could she, until she disappeared from the teacher’s sight. The teacher, who had once thought of striking her with his old ruler, loosened his grip on the rotten wood.