Chapter 6: 6, Walls and Science

There was only one teacher in the school, named Zhang Jinglin, and all the lessons were taught by him alone.

Others thought the teacher was impressive, knowing everything. But Ren Xiaosu had always wondered—wasn’t it said that expertise lies in specialization? Could a single person truly know everything?

Ren Xiaosu was different from others; he loved to reflect when pondering matters. Later, hearing Zhang Jinglin’s lectures, he learned this was called a dialectical way of looking at things.

Yan Liuyuan sometimes felt puzzled, for Ren Xiaosu often challenged Zhang Jinglin’s views, yet whenever he had free time, he would rush to attend the teacher’s classes…

During the afternoon session, Ren Xiaosu specifically brought Yan Liuyuan to celebrate—for now, he could listen to lectures in the courtyard.

Usually, crouching on the wall too far from the classroom, it was hard to hear clearly. Originally, Zhang Jinglin kept doors and windows shut while teaching, fearing outside noises would distract the students.

But after discovering Ren Xiaosu eavesdropping, he began leaving a window open.

Now, he simply invited Ren Xiaosu into the courtyard.

Many parents, living in chaotic times, did not send their children to school to gain knowledge, but to secure better prospects for marriage—especially educated girls, who could marry well.

In this era, literacy and basic arithmetic were already commendable.

Everyone was preoccupied with survival; who cared about culture when food was scarce?

Thus, most parents sent their children not out of long-term planning, but because this small settlement had both rich and poor, and competition was inevitable.

Yan Liuyuan watched Ren Xiaosu buy a filtered cigarette from the grocery store, and Lao Wang proudly claimed his cigarettes were absolutely safe, free of additives.

Twenty coins for one, rarity makes things valuable.

Yan Liuyuan asked curiously, “Brother, why buy cigarettes?”

“Since the teacher lets me attend classes in the courtyard, I won’t pay tuition, but I should show some gratitude,” Ren Xiaosu said with a smile. “I know this Zhang respects smokers.”

In Ren Xiaosu’s view, when others showed kindness, he must repay it.

The two went to the school’s backyard during lunch. Zhang Jinglin was eating stir-fried cabbage when Ren Xiaosu cheerfully handed him the cigarette.

Zhang Jinglin didn’t refuse but told Yan Liuyuan to stay back: “You’re still growing; smoke isn’t good for you.”

Ren Xiaosu thanked him: “Thank you, teacher, for letting me attend your lectures.”

“Phew,” Zhang Jinglin lit the cigarette with his own fire-making match, exhaled contentedly, and said, “Students like you who crave learning are rare now. Listen as much as you want, but stay outside the classroom.”

“Got it,” Ren Xiaosu replied. “Teacher, I have a question.”

“Speak,” Zhang Jinglin, rarely smoking, didn’t mind whatever Ren asked.

“You once said humanity had advanced technology before the catastrophe. Since we didn’t go extinct, why hasn’t that technology reappeared?”

Zhang Jinglin glanced at Ren Xiaosu: “In the chaos after the catastrophe, no one could count how many years we’d survived—living another day was a blessing. Who had time for scholarship?”

“But we must have preserved some records. Couldn’t we rebuild civilization quickly by studying them?” Ren Xiaosu asked curiously.

“The chain was broken,” Zhang Jinglin said regretfully. “Tell me, if I gave you blueprints for an airplane, could you build one?”

“I’ve never studied it. Even with materials, I’d start from scratch,” Ren Xiaosu replied.

“Exactly. Now, we’re all starting from scratch,” Zhang Jinglin, eyeing his half-smoked cigarette, hesitated—whether to finish it or save it.

He wanted to keep half for later, but doing so in front of Ren Xiaosu and Yan Liuyuan might seem undignified…

Ren Xiaosu remained puzzled: “Surely, in those years, no one overcame hardships to continue learning?”

“No, they all starved to death,” Zhang Jinglin said.

“Are those knowledge truly lost?” Ren Xiaosu refused to give up.

This time, Zhang Jinglin gazed at Ren Xiaosu meaningfully: “They’re held by a few.”

…

“Enough,” Zhang Jinglin stood and said, “Let’s drop this. Class is about to start.”

Ren Xiaosu pressed for one last question: “Teacher, when was the refuge barrier wall built, and why?”

“After the catastrophe, beasts ran rampant. Long ago, there was even a locust plague. Humans were forced to build high walls to block danger,” Zhang Jinglin explained.

“But most beasts, even evolved, don’t attack humans actively. Monkeys are herbivores, sparrows still eat grains—they don’t prey on people.”

Now, Sanctuary 113 lies within humanity’s habitable zone, its “inner circle.” Most ferocious beasts are excluded to the “outer circle.”

Higher-numbered sanctuaries are more perilous. Legend says Sanctuary 178 suffers casualties yearly from beast expulsions.

Sanctuary 113 is already considered “inland.”

Still, dangers exist—wolf packs, but not insurmountable. If so, why maintain such towering walls?

Zhang Jinglin smiled: “As long as wild dangers persist, refugees depend on sanctuaries, providing cheap labor. Do you think the conglomerates behind the sanctuaries lack the firepower to purge wild threats? Human weapons are fiercer than you imagine, but why bother? They’re no threat.”

Ren Xiaosu fell into deep thought. Though precocious, some truths eluded him—his hunger for knowledge stemmed from this ignorance.

Zhang Jinglin continued: “They won’t tear down the walls. Why would the entrenched elite surrender this natural class barrier?”

As he spoke, Zhang Jinglin changed clothes. Ren Xiaosu asked curiously, “Why change? Your previous outfit wasn’t dirty.”

Adjusting his collar, Zhang Jinglin said, “It reeked of smoke. Students shouldn’t be exposed to it.”

Yan Liuyuan was awestruck, while Ren Xiaosu grew annoyed: “Then why didn’t you ask me to step back earlier? I smelled it too.”

Zhang Jinglin pondered long: “Scram.”

At that moment, Ren Xiaosu heard the palace in his mind speak again: “Task: A thirst for knowledge is never a bad thing, but what you learn must be taught to others.”

Ren Xiaosu froze, unsure what the task demanded.

…

During the afternoon class, students found it novel—a figure several years older than them stood outside the door, drawing many glances.

Zhang Jinglin rapped the blackboard repeatedly to quell their curiosity: “This afternoon, survival class.”

This was the school’s uniqueness—it taught not only literature and reason but also survival.

Yet this lesson always troubled Zhang Jinglin, for he’d never ventured into the wild. Born in the town outside Sanctuary 113, he’d lived thirty-odd years—relying on parents as a child, becoming a teacher as an adult. Wild survival was his weakness.

Thus, he could only recite from preserved materials.

Zhang Jinglin addressed the students: “Focus. Don’t think danger is distant. Your parents protect you now, but when you grow up, you must protect yourselves. Today, we discuss: if you meet wolf packs in the wild…”

The students loved survival class; other subjects bored them at their age. Survival lessons intrigued them.

At that moment, the classroom fell silent. Zhang Jinglin looked at Ren Xiaosu, standing by the door: “Come, tell us—how to handle wolf packs in the wild?”

Ren Xiaosu pondered: “Choose a hillside with trees all around—for better feng shui in choosing a grave.”

Zhang Jinglin: “???”