Ultimate Teacher

Huang Haoran wanted to give up.

You can always tell if someone is truly skilled as soon as they make a move.

He had specifically chosen two rather obscure questions from the realm of Chinese literature to test Fang Yan, and Fang Yan had answered them quickly. Moreover, his answers far exceeded Huang Haoran's expectations.

If Fang Yan could answer such specialized knowledge with ease, he must be even more familiar with the more commonly taught material from high school Chinese textbooks.

This meant that Fang Yan was completely qualified to be a high school Chinese teacher.

Huang Haoran felt pleasantly surprised. This teacher wasn't just another young, inexperienced face—he had read many books. Otherwise, he couldn't have answered such difficult questions so smoothly. Even The Book of Han, a classical text that made Huang feel overwhelmed, was clearly memorized by heart.

A skilled teacher naturally benefits the students.

Yet at the same time, Huang Haoran felt a deep bitterness. The knowledge of ancient literature that he had always prided himself on had been so easily overshadowed by Fang Yan. This harsh reality wasn't something he wanted to accept.

So, he insisted on asking a third question.

He took off his glasses and carefully wiped them with a yellow cloth.

Huang Haoran didn't rush to ask the third question because he knew that the young teacher standing in front of him, who looked almost the same age as him, wasn't easy to deal with.

He wanted to make the third question more challenging—he wanted to use this last chance to stump Fang Yan.

This was somewhat impulsive, a deliberate act of making things difficult. But he wanted to win. To win this one, to regain some pride and dignity.

Fang Yan looked at Huang Haoran. All the students in Class Nine were also looking at him.

Having lost the first two rounds, Huang Haoran was clearly determined to turn the tables.

This was his final chance.

What would his third question be?

Huang Haoran put his glasses back on, clenched the glasses cloth in his hand, and softly said, "Recite the Laozi's Five Thousand Words."

"What?"

Many students didn't understand. What was the Laozi's Five Thousand Words?

"It's the Dao De Jing," a student explained.

Woosh.

All the students stared at Huang Haoran like he was a madman. Was he insane?

Most people weren't familiar with the name Laozi's Five Thousand Words, but the Dao De Jing was something they all knew at least a little about.

Never mind that classical texts were notoriously difficult to memorize—just the length of the Dao De Jing itself was enough to give anyone a headache.

Laozi's Five Thousand Words—the name clearly indicates that the text contains over 5,000 characters. The modern version of the Dao De Jing is divided into eighty-one chapters, reflecting the Daoist principle of the cyclical return of all things.

Asking someone to recite this entire classic text, word for word, was simply bullying!

"That's way too much!" A pretty girl stood up and said. "Huang Haoran, you're being unfair. Even if you want to challenge Mr. Fang, you don't have to stoop so low. Why don't you just ask him to recite the entire Dream of the Red Chamber while you're at it? Then you'd definitely win."

"Exactly. You ask him to recite it—can you do it first?" Another girl chimed in.

"Mr. Fang, don't listen to him. You've already won. You've proven that you're qualified to be our teacher," a third girl said, standing up.

Suddenly, Fang Yan felt a wave of homesickness, missing his dear parents.

Thanks to Dad, thanks to Mom, thank you for making me so handsome.

Being good-looking really has its perks. Even though I can't swipe my face at the bank to get cash, it's so much easier to get support from the girl students!

As a teacher with idol-like charisma, Fang Yan felt absolutely no pressure in life.

Huang Haoran sneered and said to the girls, "I already said that I'll ask him three questions, and he can ask me three questions. If he finds this question too difficult, then let him ask it back to me."

The room fell silent.

A true academic genius was scary—being able to recite the entire Dao De Jing from memory? Was there anything that could stand in their way?

"Are you sure you want to go with this question?" Fang Yan asked calmly, looking at Huang Haoran.

Talented people always easily earn others' respect. Honestly, Fang Yan had been somewhat annoyed with Huang Haoran at first.

The other students had all quietly accepted him as their new teacher without saying a word, but why was this kid making such a fuss?

"What gives you the right to be my teacher?"

Look at the nerve of that question—how irritating!

But now, Fang Yan forgave him and even started to like him a little. Any student who could memorize the entire Dao De Jing had the right to be a bit arrogant.

With a vast knowledge of literature, a strong personality, and a refusal to easily compromise with reality, Huang Haoran possessed qualities that many students lacked.

If all the students in Class Nine were like Huang Haoran, Fang Yan would have no face or right to stay on as their teacher.

But because of Huang Haoran's presence, Fang Yan found value in his role here.

"Exactly." Huang Haoran's gaze was firm as he stared at Fang Yan. "If you find it difficult, I will recite it word for word."

"Mr. Fang, I now call you my teacher. You have proven you're worthy to be our teacher. But this time, I want to beat you. Even if you're the teacher, I still want to win."

"Are you sure you don't want to change the question?" Fang Yan smiled, enjoying his confidence, and asked again.

"No." Huang Haoran's attitude was resolute, his answer only a single word.

"Alright." Fang Yan took a few steps on the podium and said, "This question is too easy. Let's add some difficulty—I'll recite the Laozi's Five Thousand Words backward."

Fang Yan cleared his throat and began reciting loudly:

"Truthful words are not beautiful. Beautiful words are not truthful. Good people do not argue, and those who argue are not good. Those who know are not widely learned, and those who are widely learned do not know. The sage does not hoard. The more he helps others, the more he has. The more he gives, the more he gains. The Dao of heaven benefits without harming. The Dao of the sage is to act without contending."

He continued, moving to the next part,

"A small country with few people. Even if there are tools for ten or a hundred people, they will not be used. The people take death seriously and do not travel far. Though they have boats and carriages, they will not ride in them. Though they have armor and weapons, they will not display them. The people return to tying knots and using them. They enjoy their food, admire their clothing, are content with their homes, and find joy in their customs. Neighboring countries are within sight of each other; the sounds of roosters and dogs can be heard. But the people grow old and die without ever having visited each other."

As he recited, he wrote on the blackboard.

One line after another of beautifully flowing cursive characters poured from his hand, like mercury streaming smoothly across the surface, accompanied by a rhythm in his voice that created a wonderful harmony.

The faster he recited, the faster he wrote. The chalk screeched against the board as he moved.

His recitation was clear and brimming with righteous energy. His calligraphy flowed effortlessly like drifting clouds and flowing water. The reciter, the writer, and the ancient classic Dao De Jing seemed to merge into one.

He was like Li Bai composing a hundred poems after a drink, a youthful swordsman dancing amid a sea of bamboo, or Ji Kang playing the Guangling San before his execution. When any form of art is pushed to its limit, it becomes a breathtaking, awe-inspiring beauty that touches the soul.

"The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the origin of heaven and earth; the named is the mother of all things. Therefore, constantly desireless, you will observe its essence. Constantly desiring, you will observe its manifestations. These two emerge together but differ in name. Together they are called the mysterious. The mystery of mysteries, the gateway to all wonders."

At the final line, which was also the first verse of the Dao De Jing, the chalk in Fang Yan's hand snapped under the pressure.

The young man's smile was bright, his posture relaxed and confident. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over him.

In that moment, he was like a deity!

Silence.

Then, all the students stood up.

Clap, clap, clap.

Thunderous applause erupted, some with tears in their eyes.