Chapter 113: A Visit to Fangcao Academy—The Scholars' Worries

Though he had gained some clarity, Instructor Wang soon found himself consumed by anxiety once more.

“This is precisely what I fear!” Wang Ci said, his voice a hushed, urgent whisper. “Headmaster, consider this. The Australians have already defeated the court’s regular army. Given the state of the court today, I fear there will be no further action for another eight or ten years. The… Australians, even if they do not declare their own dynasty, will surely become a powerful vassal state. I am not ignorant of current affairs. The empire is in turmoil, the people destitute. If someone could bring peace and stability to the nation, secure the people and the court, that would be for the best. To reward them with a prefecture or several counties would not be excessive. But the Australians are in their ascendancy, and they possess so many secret arts. I fear they have ambitions to seize the throne!”

The words were shockingly blunt. If not for the endless chaos of the late Ming, which had desensitized the scholars, such a statement would have been treasonous.

Liu Dalin stroked his beard, silent for a long time. At last, he let out a soft sigh. “We have received great favor from the state and are not disloyal or unfilial men. But the Mandate of Heaven is fickle and cannot be resisted by human effort. My former students have been writing to me frequently of late, mostly to inquire about the Australians’ internal affairs. They say the situation at court and in the country is rotten beyond words. Even if His Majesty wishes to govern with vigor, I’m afraid it’s a futile effort! I fear that in less than ten years, something unbearable will happen…”

Instructor Wang was so startled he nearly dropped his chopsticks. “You mean to say—”

“I only hope this is my own groundless fear,” he said, his expression grave. “Since ancient times, the change of dynasties has been a common occurrence. The Australians have come with their secret arts and are governing with such diligence here. I’m afraid they have long harbored ambitions to contend for the throne.”

This view was not unique among the gentry and common folk of Lingao, but coming from Liu Dalin’s mouth, it carried a different weight. A chill ran down Wang Ci’s spine.

“Alas—”

“I’m afraid there are very few in this county who do not think this way,” Jinshi Liu said with a faint, bitter smile. Though he had been influenced by the Australians over the years, and they were even his saviors, he still felt he had received the grace of the Great Ming, the true “vast imperial favor.” Even as he saw the future clearly, he could not help but feel a sense of regret and reluctance for the dynasty that had given him grace and glory.

Wang Ci quickly added, “Headmaster, it has always been difficult to defy the will of Heaven, and I have no intention of going against it. However, since ancient times, no matter how dynasties have changed, one thing has remained constant: ‘the court governs the world only with the scholar-officials.’ Now, although these Australians can be said to practice ‘education for all,’ the books they teach and the schools they run have nothing to do with the sages’ classics. Yet, they govern Lingao so well. I often think that these students, upon graduation, will surely become the Australians’ right-hand men, and they will surely build factories and railways here. But if that happens, what will become of the gentry and the scholars? What will the future look like? I dare not think, cannot think, and cannot understand it!”

He had been pondering these words for a long time. Deep in the heart of this disillusioned minor official, the life and death of the Great Ming was not the most important thing. What mattered was that the Australian bandits were introducing a completely new system of knowledge. Under this system, all the old learning that he and the other scholars possessed would become worthless. The very thing that allowed them to command at least the basic respect of the common people, even in their most destitute moments, would turn to dust. This was what he feared and dreaded most.

What use was his position as an instructor to the bandits? He knew full well that he could still collect over a hundred circulation coupons from the county yamen to get by, all because the Australians were currently unwilling to shed the skin of the Great Ming. If one day they truly decided to “change skins,” he, the County School Instructor of Lingao of the Great Ming, would either have to pack his bags and go home, or go to the refugee camps to teach the “Hundred Family Surnames” and “Three Character Classic” to make a living. From this perspective, he was far more anxious than the detached Jinshi Liu.

Indeed, these words seemed to have moved Jinshi Liu. Seeing him nod slightly, Wang Ci pressed on:

“I came here for two reasons. One was to probe the Australians’ secrets and true strength, but I am incompetent. Even sitting in their classrooms, looking at their books, I cannot understand a thing. On the other hand, if the Australians can truly follow the tide of events, I am willing to persuade them to embrace civilization and not rely solely on brute force. I hope you will help me, sir.”

The more Wang Ci spoke, the more agitated he became, his tone growing more urgent. If not for the circumstances, he might have kowtowed to Liu Dalin. As it was, he still bowed with his hands clasped.

How could Jinshi Liu not understand the meaning behind these words? But he knew this would not be easy. The Australian bandits were not like the barbarians of the Five Hu and Sixteen Kingdoms or the Mongol Yuan, who didn’t even have their own written language. They were a people with their own thoughts and values. Their daily conduct seemed to be a mix of Legalism and Mohism, with elements of various other schools of thought—a hodgepodge by any measure. To make them “embrace civilization” would be as difficult as ascending to heaven. With their strength, they were more likely to “transform China with barbarian ways” in the future.

Liu Dalin thought for a moment, and was about to speak, but was interrupted by a burst of noise from the students in the distance. A few female students were laughing and cheering as they watched two large male students arm-wrestle, shouting “Go! Go!” The sunlight shone on their youthful, vibrant faces, leaving Liu Dalin and Wang Ci at a loss for words. They only felt old, and powerless.

Huang Bingkun paid no attention to the commotion. He was sitting across from an Elder teacher, eating. It had been several years since the Australians landed and did so many earth-shattering things, but this was the first time he had come face to face with one. It was Teacher Dong from the first day’s lecture. He looked to be a man of about thirty, with dark skin and muscular arms, but his knowledge was beyond Huang Bingkun’s comprehension. The Australian across from him seemed to be watching him with amusement as he ate, which made Huang Bingkun feel very unnatural. He wanted to say something, but felt he couldn’t get any words out.

Today, he had woken up early specifically to observe the morning run of the school’s six thousand students. Two hundred 30-person “internal affairs classes” appeared on campus at the same time, running in neat formations along specific routes, crisscrossing without interfering with each other, a sight he found breathtaking. A question arose: if the bandits were using teaching as a pretext to secretly train an army, most of these students were very young. They couldn’t be sent into battle in two or three years. To spend so much energy drilling such young children seemed less effective than directly recruiting and training young adults. Among the thousands of northern refugees recently transported here, there were plenty of able-bodied young men to be conscripted. And judging by the huge investment they were making, these “imitation-Australian” students were destined to be the core of their forces in the future. They would never be used as cannon fodder.

What was their ultimate goal in investing so much capital to educate so many children with Australian learning? Huang Bingkun felt he was beginning to see a faint outline of their plan.

Though Second Young Master Huang didn’t see things as clearly as Instructor Wang and Jinshi Liu, he understood that the students of Fangcao would inevitably become the trusted confidants of the Australian bandits. Besides being soldiers and workers, they would undoubtedly also become officials and “cadres” to govern the people. People like himself, he feared, would not only have a hard time getting ahead in Lingao in the future, but the “old matter” of his father leading troops to besiege the bandits would be enough to cause the Huang family endless trouble.

For now, their footing was not yet stable, so they allowed him to be a member of the county advisory board as a gesture of appeasement. Once their wings were fully grown, he feared, it would be the day of reckoning for the Huang family.

“Mr. Huang, you don’t have much of an appetite.”

Somehow, the man across from him had struck up a conversation. Huang Bingkun quickly pulled himself together.

“No, it’s just that I feel a bit unwell, so my appetite is poor.” Over the past few years, Huang Bingkun had learned a smattering of “Australian Mandarin.” Though not standard, it was enough to communicate.

“You should participate in more physical exercise. Your body will be healthier, and your appetite will improve,” the Elder said.

In fact, Huang Bingkun came from a family of scholar-farmers. He not only worked in the fields with his hired hands but also practiced martial arts. He was no stranger to physical exertion. But he was in no mood to explain this now and just said “yes” a few times.

“There’s a ball game this afternoon, you should come and watch. I hear your Huang family has many members. You could start a team and play for fun. When we organize a league, you can field a team to compete.”

The Elder’s enthusiasm was, in fact, driven by his own “selfish” motives. Like most male Elders, he was a huge fan of sports like football and basketball. Though conditions had made it impossible to organize those sports, the less equipment-intensive games of English rugby and baseball had taken off. As a committee member of the “Rugby Grand Alliance,” he was keen on expanding the league by recruiting more teams. The industry-based teams were mostly organized, and they were now expanding to the villages. Huang Family Village was a large settlement, and its militia had a reputation for being “able to fight,” so he wanted to pull them into the league.

“A ball game?” Huang Bingkun vaguely recalled Huang Ping mentioning something about it. He had heard it was a very intense sport. The Great Ming didn’t have any competitive sports; they were generally classified as “pastimes.” Now, hearing this Elder personally invite him, it seemed to be an important matter to the bandits, so he readily agreed. “Of course, I must go and see it.”

“It’s at the stadium, starting at one in the afternoon,” the Elder quickly pitched. This was the second young master of the Huang family, a man of considerable importance. If he could be persuaded, it would be much easier to get the Huang family to field a team.