After paying the price of skipping one meal a day, Mu Lin finally managed to escape the concern of three beautiful girls. Goodness, he thought, this is even more exhausting than cultivating my skills.
Mu Lin began his university life here. Since his spiritual awareness had already awakened, and with the guidance of the curriculum, he didn’t waste extra time attending lectures. Instead, he spent his time in the university library, eagerly absorbing modern scientific knowledge in hopes of uncovering the secrets of cultivation. He only attended lectures when teachers conducted thesis defenses or exams.
Thanks to the “Honor Code,” exams could be taken without direct supervision. This allowed him to simultaneously complete mid-term and final exams for three different majors. According to this system, Mu Lin completed basically all the major courses from freshman to senior year in one semester, earning half the required credits.
Speaking of the “Honor Code,” this system had existed at the university for over a hundred years, almost as old as the school itself, though the specific clauses had evolved with the times. The practice was: every new student attended a special lecture explaining the system, then signed a document titled “Honor Code,” pledging on personal honor to strictly abide by these rules, including no stealing, cheating, plagiarism, or drug use.
The university administration addressed the new students: Regardless of your past behavior, the moment you enter this school, we regard you as a person of honor. You must respect your own dignity and have the responsibility to supervise and uphold this system.
In addition, there was an “Honor Dinner” held for new students, inviting parents to participate, aiming to involve families in the commitment. In fact, the system had already been explained to applicants and their parents before enrollment.
The principle emphasized self-management by students. A student committee, composed of representatives from each grade and returning alumni, was responsible for reviewing violations and proposing disciplinary actions.
When disputes arose or students appealed their punishments, the matter was referred to an arbitration committee chaired by the president, with faculty and student representatives participating. Penalties varied depending on the severity, with the harshest being permanent expulsion. So far, the system had proven effective, with an average of about three or four academic violations per year, mostly involving plagiarism.
Faculty at the university viewed plagiarism seriously, as it concerned the student’s lifelong principles of conduct. However, first-year students received more leniency, as they were often unaware of the rules. “Dormitory violations” were slightly more common, such as first-year students having boyfriends stay overnight or using marijuana. Theft was nearly non-existent.
According to the “Honor Code,” besides abiding by the rules oneself, students also had the responsibility to report violations. This clause was the hardest to implement, as while honesty was valued in U-country society, “snitching” was deeply despised, especially when it involved friends.
Drawing the line between justice and injustice, and distinguishing between caring for or harming one’s peers, was complex. Therefore, it must be acknowledged that this rule could not be fully enforced; violations could not always be detected one hundred percent.
However, the core spirit of the system was positive education, not relying on exposure and punishment. Its essence was to awaken a person’s sense of self-respect and honor, to consciously live up to the trust bestowed upon them. Teachers’ honesty, integrity, and leading by example were crucial. Every faculty member took this seriously, frequently emphasizing it in class and strictly enforcing it as a strong guarantee.
Mu Lin noticed that in the main student activity hall, large panels displayed enlarged photocopies of the signed “Honor Code” by generations of students, serving as a constant reminder and spiritual inspiration.
Exams were conducted collectively in classrooms without proctors, or students could apply for individual exams. Teachers handed out the exams and then left the room, demonstrating trust in the students.
Similarly, each student had to sign at the end of the exam paper, guaranteeing no cheating occurred (exact wording varied), or the exam would be invalidated. Based on their own experiences from both student and teacher perspectives, they all believed this system was feasible.
From a practical standpoint, the “Honor Code” was more effective in curbing cheating. It gained spontaneous approval from university administrators, students, and professors across different types of institutions.
Of course, these random observations couldn’t replace comprehensive surveys and quantitative analysis, so it was still impossible to determine how representative this system was across U-country universities.
However, a few points could be affirmed: First, although this system still carried some idealism, it wasn’t just an individual educator’s experiment but had become a traditional educational institution, effective at least within certain limits in the present day. Second, in a highly developed market economy, honesty remained a virtue respected and promoted by society. Third, what distinguishes humans from animals is having a conscience and moral awareness. Inspiring and awakening this moral awareness, especially in the youth, was possible. Starting from the premise that individuals are trustworthy and giving them trust was more effective than assuming everyone might cheat and imposing strict surveillance. It was like the difference between guiding water flow versus blocking it, as exemplified by the legendary Yu the Great’s flood control. Fourth, this education wasn’t rootless but was deeply rooted in the soil of traditional morality. Mu Lin vaguely sensed that this system in U-country universities was not unrelated to the Christian tradition.
Schools were not utopias and could not be separated from the prevailing social atmosphere. “Sincerity” and “trustworthiness” occupied important positions in traditional morality both in China and abroad. Whether it was the ancient Chinese gentlemen or Western knights and gentlemen, keeping one’s word and honoring promises were considered the highest qualities of character, even more valuable than life itself. This kind of personal integrity was not enforced by law but by conscience, a kind of self-aware moral discipline.
In the current transitional period in the mainland, this issue had become even more prominent. In some circles, “sucker” had become a synonym for honesty and trustworthiness. In such circumstances, could the most basic traditional moral education appealing to people’s “conscience” still be effective for the younger generation?
The “Honor Code” system in universities allowed students to take exams without proctors. Even within a certain period, each student could decide their own exam dates for each course, taking the exam papers back to their dorms to complete. Students only needed to sign at the end of the exam paper, guaranteeing they had not received any inappropriate help—in other words, cheating. This was a traditional system already existing in U-country’s prestigious universities, though the degree of adherence varied among institutions.
After the start of the freshman semester, Mu Lin was fortunate enough to pass interviews and successfully enroll in piano, violin, saxophone, guitar, and drum classes. In university, one’s major imposed no restrictions at all.
Even after selecting a major, students could still take unrelated courses, as long as they completed the requirements of their major. Thus, Mu Lin began his journey of learning Western music. Due to Mu Lin’s lack of actual performance experience, his mentor initially only gave him half an hour of lessons per week. Mu Lin didn’t consider this discrimination, even though he was already proficient in Chinese traditional instruments like the guzheng, xiao flute, dizi flute, and erhu. He had never had the opportunity to play Western instruments.
When alone, he often practiced piano and violin in the music classroom. Mu Lin believed this could coordinate his nervous system, harmonizing his hands, eyes, body, and mind, which would greatly benefit his martial arts practice. The one-on-one learning atmosphere greatly motivated him.
Mu Lin’s learning was completely open-ended. His mentor encouraged him to choose pieces he liked to play, sometimes recommending specific pieces. He would enthusiastically introduce different playing techniques for a melody. A sonata, a nocturne, a waltz—Mu Lin and his mentor would each play a piano, taking turns, the music rising and falling, communicating through the language of music. Even the simplest exercises suddenly gained a spark of inspiration, broadening Mu Lin’s horizons.
During this time came the Western holiday of Christmas. Claire invited Mu Lin to spend Christmas at her home and gave Christmas gifts to her two younger sisters, but there was none for Mu Lin.
Although Mu Lin could take care of his sisters’ daily life, girls often had secrets that could only be shared with their mother. During this period, Claire temporarily took on the role of mother, caring for Mei Fang and Mei Zi very well. Mu Lin changed his weekly visits and martial arts lessons for his sisters to every two weeks, as he sensed Claire was not very friendly toward him.
After two months of studying music, when Mu Lin immersed his spiritual awareness into his inner performance, a large group of students always gathered outside the music classroom at night, listening to his performances. However, since people here generally disliked interfering in others’ private matters, after listening, they simply dispersed.
Yet among the students, a rumor began to spread that the school had produced another genius band. By the end of the semester, teachers already felt they had imparted all their knowledge to Mu Lin. As these were elective courses, the teachers didn’t know that in just a few months, Mu Lin had mastered so many instruments. Still, they were all happy to have such a talented student and suggested that Mu Lin should pursue further studies at a professional music conservatory.
However, Mu Lin was indifferent. He believed that the role of a teacher was to teach students the basic methods of study. For example, with piano, once the teacher imparted the fundamental music theory and playing techniques, the rest required the student to practice independently to achieve proficiency. Through personal experience, one could grasp the inner essence of the music, understand the composer’s intentions, and make the piece one’s own. Then, through the instrument, one could express the piece, allowing the performer to clearly convey the composer’s intent while also expressing personal emotions. This deep understanding and interpretation of music was something no teacher could ever teach.
After the mid-term exams, Mu Lin played “Autumn Thoughts” in the music classroom. “I wish to follow autumn’s footsteps to chase the severity of winter, the warmth of spring, and the brilliance of summer. I wish to stir the autumn breeze to bring golden leaves across the endless blue sky. I wish to scatter autumn’s frost to give this land mature fruits… I wish to carry this deep longing to the lonely late autumn.”
The next night, Mu Lin completed these elective courses. That night, because of “Autumn Thoughts,” many people couldn’t sleep. Mu Lin completed his study of Western instruments, filling the gap in his ability to play them.
Later, when he performed in public, many people assumed Mu Lin was a top graduate from a famous music conservatory. However, after checking all the renowned music schools in U-country and Europe, no one could find Mu Lin’s name. Later, they heard that Mu Lin had only taken music electives for half a semester at MIT. Stunned and speechless, he was thereafter hailed as a musical genius from the Chinese world.
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