Chapter 212: Conflict

“I don’t. Come, tell me about it.” Wang Ci, casting aside his usual regard for status, pulled Lu Da to the side of the road to sit, urging him to explain everything about the Australians’ school.

Lu Da recounted the details of the National School from beginning to end. Wang Ci listened intently. He didn’t ask what Lu Da’s sons, Lu Jia and Lu Yi, had actually learned—Lu Da was illiterate, so asking would have been pointless. However, Lu Da proudly declared that both his sons were learning the “Australians’ knowledge.”

“The Australians’ knowledge?” Wang Ci was momentarily confused.

“Yes. Take the land reform, for example. How to draw the lines, how to dig the earth—my son Lu Jia handled all of that.”

Lu Da was exaggerating. In reality, Lu Jia had only participated in the surveying for the agricultural waterworks as an apprentice. But with a father’s vanity, Lu Da crowned him with the honor.

Wang Ci, however, was skeptical. While he didn’t understand the Australians’ knowledge, he was certain it wasn’t something an illiterate country boy could master so quickly.

“Who are the teachers?”

“There are Australian chiefs, and also scholars from the Great Ming…”

“Scholars from the Great Ming?”

“Yes, quite a few. One is a local, surnamed Zhang. I hear he used to be from the Gou family estate…”

“It must be Zhang Xingjiao!”

Wang Ci knew of this man. Zhang Xingjiao was a registered student candidate in the county. Although he hadn’t passed the examinations, he fell under the jurisdiction of the county’s education official. Zhang Xingjiao’s family had once been reasonably well-off, but they were ruined by Gou Da’s oppression. For failing to pay his grain taxes, Zhang Xingjiao had been arrested, brought before the county yamen for punishment, and was even to be subjected to the cangue. It was Wang Ci himself who had pleaded for him, saving his life. He hadn’t heard any news of the man for a long time since. To think he had thrown in his lot with the kūnzéi bandits! It was likely he who had guided the kūnzéi bandits in their attack on the Gou estate right after they landed.

Wang Ci didn’t think his actions were entirely wrong—it was for the sake of avenging his family, after all. Besides, the Gou family were no saints; their destruction was a scourge removed from Lingao. But to continue serving the rebels after taking revenge was a great moral failing. Wang Ci thought he must find a way to meet him and persuade him to leave the kūnzéi bandits. In a way, he was Zhang Xingjiao’s teacher.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Are there any other scholars?”

“That, I do not know. I hear they came from Guangdong.”

“Are there any xiucai (county scholars)?”

“Probably not. Don’t xiucai have to stay in their own county to receive their stipend and cold pork?”

The remark was unintentional, but to Wang Ci, it sounded like a taunt. The scholars of Lingao hadn’t received their stipends, let alone the cold pork traditionally distributed during sacrificial rites, for several years. In recent years, they had to substitute a pig’s head for a whole pig at ceremonies, and after the ritual, the head became the exclusive property of the education official—frankly, a single pig’s head wasn’t easy to divide.

He asked perfunctorily, “Do they learn to read?”

“Of course, of course, they learn to read.” Lu Da pulled a small booklet from his tunic. “My boy even wants me to learn, but I told him I have neither the time nor the mind for it! But he insists anyone can learn. He said something about ‘education for all, without distinction’.”

Wang Ci chuckled. He hadn’t expected the Australians to know of such a concept. The ones he had met were crude in their speech. But since they claimed to be descendants of Huaxia, the offspring of the Great Song, it wasn’t so strange for them to have read a few of the Four Books and Five Classics. Still, Wang Ci mused, his interactions with them hadn’t given him that impression. On several occasions, when he had alluded to the Classics, the head chief, Wu Nanhai, had looked completely blank.

They seemed to know a lot, yet they spoke like uneducated men. What kind of knowledge did these Australians possess? He casually took the booklet from Lu Da and began to flip through it, his curiosity piqued. He had seen the Australians’ letters, notices, and newspapers before, but this was the first time he had seen one of their books.

The book was simply printed on slightly yellowed paper, but it felt smooth to the touch. The cover bore the title in standard script: New National Literacy Primer, First Volume (Trial Edition). Wang Ci only half-understood the title, but he paid it no mind and opened it. He was astonished. The printing was exquisite!

The paper was clean, the characters perfectly formed, with strokes of uniform thickness. Remarkably, every character was exactly the same size. There were no ink smudges between them. It was exceptionally neat and clear.

“A fine book!” Wang Ci praised. Even in the grand bookshops of Guangzhou, one couldn’t find such a finely printed volume. The saying that everything the Australians made was ingenious was indeed true.

But holding it felt awkward. The book opened from right to left, and the text was written horizontally from left to right. It was very unfamiliar. Reading on, he saw it was a primer for children, much like the Three Character Classic, containing folk songs and rhymes, but all written in simplified characters. A wave of disdain washed over him—having gone overseas and lived among barbarians, they had truly lost the authentic heritage of Huaxia.

He examined the content further and found the language crude and ungrammatical. Wang Ci shook his head. If this was a children’s primer, it was simply misleading the young. It was filled with simplified characters—wouldn’t writing them make one a laughingstock? Let alone use them for the imperial examinations. The only merit he could see was that every sentence, whether in a song or a phrase, was punctuated, saving the teacher a great deal of effort.

Flipping to the very beginning, he found a series of strange, curved symbols, like talismans. Wang Ci didn’t recognize them. “What is this?”

“Lu Jia says it’s called the Pinyin alphabet. It’s another kind of writing.”

This must be the Australians’ script, Wang Ci thought.

“…Lu Jia says that in their school, everyone starts learning to read with these letters. Once you’ve learned them, you can recognize characters much faster—”

“Absurd!” Wang Ci exploded, throwing the book to the ground. “To learn barbarian script before learning Han characters—is this not turning the civilized into savages?! And these Australians dare call themselves children of Huaxia! A bunch of people who have forgotten their ancestors!”

Lu Da was bewildered by the official’s sudden rage and the way he had thrown the literacy textbook, which his son had so solemnly given him, onto the ground. He scrambled to pick it up and dust it off.

“Master Wang—”

“This book, you’d better not let your children read it! It will ruin them, ruin them!” Wang Ci declared passionately.

Lu Da stared blankly at the education official’s somewhat contorted face, wondering if the old master had lost his mind. Why this sudden fit? He didn’t dare speak, just nodded meekly.

After his outburst, Wang Ci suddenly remembered that the man before him was an illiterate farmer. Talking to him about “ruining the children” was pointless; he wouldn’t understand. He softened his tone.

“You should call your two sons back to farm the land. This book is not to be read.”

Lu Da looked incredulously at the “Master Wang” he had always respected. In his eyes, Master Wang had always been a knowledgeable and gentle official. But hearing these words now, a great sense of resentment grew in his heart.

What was wrong with the Australians teaching his children to read so they wouldn’t be illiterate? They provided food and clothing. Even the county’s xiucai didn’t receive such treatment.

He mumbled a noncommittal response. Wang Ci knew he was unwilling and would have normally not bothered to say more, but remembering that Lu Da was the head tenant of the school lands and he might need his help in the future, he patiently explained:

“Lu Da! Everything taught in this book is wrong!” He wanted to explain that the characters were simplified and the grammar was poor, but communicating this to an illiterate man was incredibly difficult. After a long pause, he couldn’t find the right words.

Lu Da grew impatient. “Since it’s all wrong, would Master Wang be willing to teach my two sons the right knowledge?”

Wang Ci immediately caught the sarcasm in his tone. His face changed color, and he cursed inwardly, “He’s been bewitched!” But then he thought again: he had no money, no men, and couldn’t even raise the stipend for a few scholars. The other side not only taught but also provided food and clothing. In comparison, he was utterly powerless. A sense of despair washed over him.

The common people, what do they seek but food and clothing? The kūnzéi bandits have seized upon this to deceive the masses. What use is a belly full of classics? Even if Confucius himself were resurrected, he would be helpless!

At this thought, he was overcome with despondency. Wang Ci feebly rebuked him, “What do you know! Go on!” He dragged his feet and headed back towards the county town.

Watching the education official’s stooped figure recede into the distance, Lu Da spat on the ground. “An armchair critic! Useless scholar, all his learning has gone to the dogs!”

Lu Da couldn’t care less whether the knowledge his sons were learning was right or wrong. All he knew was that at the National School, his sons were well-fed, well-clothed, and had learned many things. They were even teaching everyone how to farm recently—was that knowledge fake? Was a belly full of incomprehensible gibberish true knowledge?

In that instant, Lu Da’s long-held reverence for the county scholars, for the education official, and for all the learned men of the county crumbled. He suddenly realized that they weren’t the only ones in the world with knowledge. The Australians had another kind of knowledge, one that was far more useful.

Wang Ci stumbled back to the county school. The Lingao County School of this era had been rebuilt in the third year of the Hongwu reign on the ruins of the Song and Yuan dynasty schools. It was renovated in the third year of the Yongle reign and had undergone several repairs since, but the last major renovation was in the eighth year of the Chenghua reign. Since then, the school had gradually fallen into decline.

Despite its decay, the original structure remained. Entering through the Lingxing Gate and passing the Ji Gate, one reached the Minglun Hall. On either side were the Jinde and Xiuye halls, which served as the school’s classrooms. Behind them were numerous supporting buildings, including examination halls. In terms of scale, it was among the largest on the entire island of Hainan.

The school’s staff was also large on paper, with six school attendants, two cooks, three gatekeepers, and three warehouse keepers. But these were just regulations in the official records. By the late Ming, the silver meant for hiring these staff was collected from the households responsible, but the men were not necessarily employed. As a result, the grand county school was left with only three staff members.