Chapter Thirty-Four: Five Victories, One Defeat

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The news of the Mohist youth defeating Kong Huisuo spread through the Imperial Academy like wildfire. No one had expected the Mohist youth to deploy such an ingenious strategy, exploiting mathematics as a loophole to subdue Kong Huisuo.

“We won! We won!” Qin Huaiyu and his companions were beside themselves with excitement. Of the Academy's six disciplines, the Mohist youth had already claimed victory in four, ensuring their triumph. Did this not mean that nearly ten thousand taels wagered at the Academy were lost?

“This is simply cheating—shameless!” Some refused to accept defeat.

“A county magistrate who cannot even manage disaster relief has no business holding office!” Cheng Chumo retorted coldly, having long disliked Kong Huisuo. As a descendant of the Kong family, Kong carried himself with arrogance, looking down on those who had entered the Academy through connections.

“Exactly!” Yuchi Baolin nodded vigorously, then suddenly slapped his thigh and exclaimed, “But the Mohist youth wagered five hundred taels! According to the odds, aren’t we supposed to pay him five thousand taels?”

“Ah!” Qin Huaiyu and Cheng Chumo immediately felt a pang of pain—five thousand taels! They had labored to organize the betting, taken great risks, only to earn less than the Mohist youth, and their winnings had to be split three ways.

Qin Huaiyu recalled when Mo Dun placed his bet; he had glanced at the odds, and now, with a five hundred tael wager, it seemed the Mohist youth had calculated it in advance. The Mohist’s mathematical prowess was truly terrifying.

“Kong Huisuo has been defeated!” Kong Yingda was dumbstruck. He had high hopes for Kong Huisuo, a Kong family scion whose learning and insight were superb, yet even he had fallen before the Mohist youth.

When the messenger recounted the details of the debate, Kong Yingda was left speechless.

“This is mere opportunism! How can mathematics be considered a statecraft?” Liu Yinian, the Doctor of Calligraphy, jumped up in protest.

“Why shouldn’t mathematics be considered a statecraft?” Liu Yinian’s remark deeply offended the Doctor of Mathematics, who immediately retorted, “National taxes, your salaries, the operation of every region—all rely on mathematics!”

“Enough! No matter what’s said, defeat is defeat! There are still mathematics and calligraphy left; let’s see if they can salvage a shred of dignity for the Academy,” Kong Yingda said dejectedly. The Imperial Academy had suffered a great loss: four consecutive defeats at the hands of the Mohist youth. If they could win the last two, perhaps the situation could still be redeemed.

“Calligraphy will not disappoint you, Master!” Liu Yinian hastily pledged.

“Rest assured, Master. The Mohist youth may be clever in mathematics, but our representative is Zuo Mingjun, a descendant of Zu Chongzhi. His mathematical mastery is profound, supported by family tradition—he cannot possibly lose,” the Doctor of Mathematics assured, patting his chest.

Yet scarcely had his words faded when a flustered voice sounded outside: “Master, disaster—mathematics has lost again!”

“Ah!” The Doctor of Mathematics felt as if ten thousand wild horses had thundered past him. The slap to his face was resounding.

“What happened? How could defeat come so quickly?” Kong Yingda roared.

The Doctor of Mathematics, equally baffled, wondered what had occurred. Only a short while had passed, and Zuo Mingjun had lost! Did this mean mathematics was even more lacking?

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This shouldn’t be possible! Zuo Mingjun had been tested personally; his mathematical skills were on par with the Doctor’s own.

“What problem did the Mohist youth pose?” the Doctor of Mathematics asked urgently.

The messenger replied, “It was another disaster relief problem: The county office has only twenty thousand dan of grain, the refugees number seventy-five thousand—thirty thousand adults, forty-five thousand elderly and infirm. Adults consume five liang per day, the elderly three liang per day.”

“That’s no challenge. With Zuo Mingjun’s ability, he could compute it in fifteen minutes,” the Doctor frowned.

“Uh… but the Mohist youth added another condition! Scholar Zuo immediately surrendered his pen and admitted defeat,” the messenger said timidly.

“What condition?” Kong Yingda asked, suppressing his anger.

“If five hundred refugees from other counties enter daily, and seven hundred refugees leave daily, how long will the county’s grain last?”

No sooner had the messenger finished than everyone fell silent, heads bowed in calculation.

One by one, they sighed and gave up, with only the Doctor of Mathematics stubbornly persevering.

“I cannot solve it either!” he finally admitted, defeated after just twenty breaths.

Indeed, this was the sort of maddening problem posed to modern elementary school students: a pond with an inflow and an outflow, asking when it would be full. Mo Dun brought this to the Tang Dynasty; it was a devastating, unsolvable weapon.

“A humiliating disgrace! In my view, His Majesty was wise to send the Mohist youth—there are grave issues in the Imperial Academy! One question stumps scholars from both halls; look at what kind of students the Academy produces!” Kong Yingda could no longer contain his fury and roared.

Previously, they all believed the Imperial Academy to be the pinnacle of official education, home to the nation’s finest scholars. Yet a single Mohist youth had shattered all their pride.

It was clear: the Mohist youth had defeated Kong Huisuo and Zuo Mingjun with essentially the same question, the real challenge being what Kong Huisuo faced; his was merely a simplified version.

Kong Huisuo felt his world turned upside down. The Mohist youth had posed a weakened question to him, implying he valued Zuo Mingjun more highly—a mortifying blow to Kong Huisuo’s pride.

“The Mohist youth has gone too far!” Kong Huisuo, overwhelmed, fainted, inciting a flurry of alarm.

Unlike Kong Huisuo’s collapse, Zuo Mingjun, after admitting defeat, continued to ponder Mo Dun’s problem in silence.

An unprecedented real-world issue, an unprecedented question—it was as though Zuo Mingjun had opened a new door to the world of mathematics. She sensed that if she could comprehend it, her achievements would surpass even her ancestor Zu Chongzhi.

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“There’s only one discipline left!”

All eyes converged on Xiong Maocai, the calligraphy scholar, for the Academy’s honor now rested upon him.

Xiong Maocai watched Mo Dun approach, as if facing a formidable enemy, every fiber of his being focused on Mo Dun’s every move.

“Xiong Maocai, it’s up to you!” the Academy students shouted.

His heart was in turmoil, restless and uneasy. Though confident in twenty years of diligent practice, the Mohist youth was simply too fierce! Every previous challenger had been defeated—Wang Ling, the one surnamed Cui, all were stronger than he, not to mention renowned heirs like Kong Huisuo and Zuo Mingjun, who had both lost decisively. How could he, Xiong Maocai, hope to stand against such an opponent?

He now hated Wang Ling bitterly—had it not been for Wang’s instigation, he would not be in this untenable situation.

Soon, Mo Dun stood before him, offering a gentle smile that chilled him to the bone.

“I admit defeat,” Mo Dun said seriously to Xiong Maocai.

“Come, I’m not afraid of you… Oh! What did you say?” Xiong Maocai’s eyes widened; he had intended to utter some harsh words but did not catch Mo Dun’s statement, incredulous.

“I admit defeat,” Mo Dun repeated, enunciating each word.

“Oh!” Xiong Maocai was struck as if by lightning, standing still in a daze.

Watching Mo Dun’s departing figure, Xiong Maocai felt as though he were in a dream. He had won—he wanted to cheer, yet could not summon any joy.

For this victory was handed to him by the opponent, not earned by his own merit.

The other Academy students felt equally heavy-hearted. Five to one—the Imperial Academy had suffered a crushing defeat. When they had confidently plotted to challenge the Mohist youth, they had never imagined such an overwhelming loss.

The grand contest was over; the Academy students lost both their money and their dignity.