Between Trees and Clouds: An Educator's Thought Walk
I
I still remember that question.
Last winter, my friend Xiaowen's (小文) daughter—a six-year-old girl with two little braids—suddenly looked up at me with that completely unguarded puzzlement only children possess: "Why are you so gentle with the little cat, but so strict with me?"
Her eyes were bright, like two grapes freshly plucked from water. She wasn't质问 (interrogating); she simply truly didn't understand.
I was sitting beside her, holding a teacup. Hearing that question, something inside me was轻轻拨动. A six-year-old child, using her most原始直觉, was already pursuing the core paradox of education: if love is gentle, why strict? If love means freedom, why discipline?
I thought about this for a long time afterward. I thought of the line Jaspers (雅斯贝尔斯) wrote in What Is Education? (《什么是教育》). That line—we are all too familiar with it, familiar enough to forget its sharpness—
"Education is one tree shaking another tree, one cloud pushing another cloud, one soul awakening another soul."
The beauty of this statement lies in the fact that it does not要求 one tree to shake an entire forest, one cloud to push an entire sky, one soul to awaken the entire world. It requires only "another tree," "another cloud," "another soul."
This is the most easily forgotten truth of education. We are always attracted by the grand narrative of "peaches and plums filling the world" (桃李满天下),激动的 by the heroic dream of "changing the world," yet forget that education's original form is simply a matter between two people—one willing to awaken, one willing to be awakened.
I decided to enter the education and training industry (教培行业). Not because I believe I can change many people's destinies, but because I渴望 to become the "other tree" beside the "other tree"—having been shaken, and then trying to shake.
II
To understand education, we must return to the root of the word "education."
In Latin, education is educare, composed of "e" (out) and "ducere" (to lead), meaning "to lead out" (引出). The ancient Romans believed every child is born with a seed inside; education is not about stuffing things in, but about引出 that seed and letting it grow on its own.
In Greek, there is a related word: paideia. It means more than education—it means "the shaping of culture" (文化的塑造)—using the power of an entire civilization to shape a natural person into a complete person.
And in our Eastern tradition, Confucius said: "In teaching, there should be no distinction of classes" (有教无类). He also said: "I do not enlighten those who are not eager to learn, nor guide those who are not struggling to express themselves" (不愤不启，不悱不发). The starting point of education is not the teacher's authority, but the student's "eagerness" (愤) and "struggle to express" (悱)—that inner渴望 and困惑. Only when the student cannot figure it out themselves or cannot articulate it clearly does the educator gently give a push.
Sukhomlinsky (苏霍姆林斯基) served as principal at Pavlysh Secondary School for over twenty years. Every morning he stood at the school gate welcoming students. He said: "Education is first and foremost the education of the human person. The human being is the highest value." He believed the core of education is not knowledge, but the soul. A teacher's most important ability is not explaining knowledge clearly, but "seeing into the inner world of the human person."
These ancient wisdoms,跨越 time and space, all point in the same direction: education is not灌输 (imposition), but awakening (唤醒).
But awakening has never been a gentle thing.
III
The answer to Xiaowen's daughter's question actually隐藏 in the word "引出" (to lead out).
Leading out requires direction. Direction implies boundaries. Boundaries imply "no." When I say "no" to you, I am not pushing you away—I am marking the boundary of your safety zone. Within the boundary, you may grow freely; beyond it, there are places I cannot let you step into.
Gentleness is the posture of leading out—I am willing to wait, willing to listen, willing to trust that what is inside you will eventually grow on its own. Strictness is the posture of shaping—I must provide a safe space within boundaries for you, must pull you back when you lose your way, must push you forward when you want to give up.
Gentleness and strictness are not对立. They are two sides of the same coin. The name of that coin is love.
Sukhomlinsky said: "Loving children is something even a hen can do. But educating them well—that is a great matter for the nation." He distinguished two kinds of love: one is unconditional acceptance, the other is guided direction. The former is本能; the latter is wisdom.
Confucius said: "If you love them, can you refrain from making them work hard? If you are loyal to them, can you refrain from teaching them?" (爱之，能勿劳乎？忠焉，能勿诲乎？) To love someone—how can you not let them endure hardship? To be loyal to someone—how can you not instruct them? Here, "劳" (hardship) is not torture, but磨砺 (tempering); "诲" (instruction) is not nagging, but guidance.
So, I am gentle with the cat because the cat is a cat. A cat doesn't need to learn to cross the street, doesn't need to complete homework, doesn't need to one day face the world alone. A cat is always a child.
But you are not.
You are my student, the soul I shall awaken. My strictness toward you is not because I love less, but because I love more deeply.
IV
This raises a deeper proposition: does true education make people服从 (obey), or make them free?
In Chinese everyday discourse, "听话" (being obedient) is an extremely high praise. Parents希望 children are听话; teachers希望 students are听话. But when a child is "听话," what motive underlies it?
There is one kind of "听话" called屈从 (submission). Submission is出于恐惧—fear of punishment, fear of losing love, fear of being abandoned. The submissive child closes her mouth, lowers her head, does what you要求, but her heart is bleeding. Her reason did not participate in the decision; her will did not认同 the directive. She simply chose safety under the威慑 of force.
Another kind of "听话" is called服从 (obedience). Obedience is出于 understanding—she understands why this must be done; she trusts the person issuing the directive; she is willing to temporarily relinquish her own preferences for a larger goal. Obedience is the product of freedom: an unfree person cannot obey, because they have no room for choice; only a free person can actively choose to follow.
Submission is the failure of reason; obedience is the triumph of reason.
Jaspers said: "Authority is not suppression, but guiding a person toward himself." True authority does not make people fear—it makes people trust. Fear can only produce compliant sheep; trust can培养 proactive citizens.
Then, what do those who issue commands—parents, teachers, leaders—themselves obey?
Socrates obeyed truth. He could have fled, but he chose to remain in an Athens prison and drink the poison. He was not obeying the Athens court's verdict; he was obeying the conviction in his own heart: "The unexamined life is not worth living."
A mother obeys love. Her strictness is not because she wants to control, but because she obeys the calling of "letting the child become herself." Her "no" is not rejection—it is protection.
Confucius said: "My way is bound together by one continuous thread" (吾道一以贯之). His "way" is obedience to仁 (benevolence), obedience to礼 (ritual), obedience to "do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire" (己所不欲，勿施于人). He did not lack the freedom to choose; among countless choices, he actively chose the hardest path.
The leader obeys, and therefore he is free. A person who never obeys is永远困 within their own desires; a person who only obeys fear is永远困 within others' will. Only the person who actively chooses to obey truth, love, community, and the future truly attains freedom—because they are no longer passive executors, but creators of meaning.
The ultimate目的 of education is not to make students obey you forever, but to enable them one day to no longer need to obey you—because they have already learned to obey their own reason, obey truth, obey love.
V
In this sense, I重新理解 the "sacredness of education."
Someone asked me: you chose to enter the education and training industry rather than take the teacher certification exam—was it because you couldn't pass? I smiled and didn't answer. Actually, the answer is simple: I believe the places where education occurs have never been limited to schools.
In the Chinese conceptual world, "education"似乎 naturally binds to the institutional system. If something cannot be set as a required course in elementary school, listed as a必考 subject in middle school, or至少 established as a major or master's program at a university, it似乎 "doesn't count as education." This认知 narrows education to "authoritative认证 within the system." Thus, when sex education teachers can't find school positions, people say "sex education is受阻"; when traditional culture has no one to传承 it, people say "education has declined."
This is merely a误解.
The sacredness of education never lies in the authority of diplomas, but in whether it truly changes people's behavior and expands their freedom. Romania has an古老 proverb: "It is not the school that成就 the person, but the person that成就 the school." When we forget this, we begin judging education's value by "whether there are positions within the system" and measuring education's success by "whether one can earn professional titles."
Sukhomlinsky's Pavlysh Secondary School was just an ordinary乡村 school. It had no重点中学 designation, no provincial or municipal重点光环. Yet because Sukhomlinsky was there, because a group of teachers坚守 "education of the human person," that school became a monument in the history of world education.
Confucius was even more so. He never established an official school, had no编制 (institutional position), no职称 (professional title). He took a few disciples, traveled through various states, teaching by the roadside, under trees, in carriages—anywhere and everywhere. He said: "From the one who offers a modest gift upward, I have never denied instruction" (自行束脩以上，吾未尝无诲焉). As long as you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach. Education is not a privilege—it is something everyone can participate in.
A training class can be education, as long as it truly changes students; an online course can be education, as long as it truly唤醒 souls; even a single conversation, an article, a video can be education—as long as it achieves "one tree shaking another tree."
VI
Then, by what should education's success be measured?
Chinese people often say: "Peaches and plums fill the world" (桃李满天下). This is the highest praise for an educator. But I think: if "peaches and plips filling the world" means "teaching countless people without truly changing anyone," then those world-filling peaches and plums are merely world-filling passersby.
What truly measures education's success or failure is not the number of people who认同 it, but how long those willing to传承 it generation after generation will continue传递 it. It is measured by "length," not by "width."
If one person forms the habit of applying something you said, and goes on to teach others—their children, their friends count too—you have already educated someone, and succeeded. Even if that person only teaches one other person, and that person teaches one more... as long as this chain hasn't broken, you have left an不灭 trace in the long river of human civilization.
An永世不灭 lineage of thought传承, amid the infinite future's shifting circumstances, will sooner or later抓住 a generation and develop into a壮观局面. That局面 will又消散 as times change, but as long as the传承 hasn't broken, sooner or later another spring will arrive.
This is the sacredness of education. It does not pursue短暂的 "influence"—it pursues eternal "vitality." It does not fear being forgotten, because it believes: as long as there is one spark, a prairie fire will eventually ignite.
Jaspers's statement that "one soul awakens another soul" is precisely the best annotation to this "logic of length"—not one tree shaking an entire forest, but one shaking another, and that other shaking the next.
I do not aspire to be a famous teacher with "peaches and plums filling the world"—that追求 would make me焦虑, exhausted,迷失. What I want to do is find that "other tree," that "other cloud," that "other soul." Then, with all my heart's力量, shake it, push it, awaken it.
As for how many trees it will subsequently shake—that is not my concern. That is the wind's concern, time's concern, fate's concern.
VII
But the education of this era faces a profound困境.
Many lament "education's decline" or "education's difficulty." They see deep reading被 replaced by short videos, traditional culture with no one to传承 it, young people increasingly unwilling to think. They believe education's困境 lies in "no platform," "no resources," "no institutional support."
But the true困境 is not this.
Sukhomlinsky said: "There is no and cannot be an abstract student." Every student is a concrete, living person, carrying their渴望, their困惑, their挣扎. Education's困境 has never been "no one to teach," but "no one willing to learn."
When the student is ready, the teacher will appear—this古老 wisdom is not fatalism, but a profound洞察 into human nature. If a person does not憧憬, does not渴望, is unwilling to exert effort for a certain kind of education, then no amount of institutional support or resource investment can make education occur. Because the essence of education is not "passive reception," but "active participation."
Education is something that benefits yourself. The person teaching you certainly also derives benefit, but this is secondary. If you yourself are not clear, do not憧憬, do not渴望 this value, then given the same investment of effort required, the person teaching you will显然 prefer those students who渴望 this value and are willing to配合 with effort.
This is not冷酷—it is respect for the sacredness of education. Education is not a commodity, subject to强买强卖; education is not a task, subject to forced execution. Education is the calling of souls, and only those willing to listen can hear it.
So I don't need to说服 those unwilling to learn. I only need to find those "already ready" students—they may have a natural兴趣 in mathematics, may渴望 rigorous logical reasoning, may feel好奇 about "writing proofs with code." Then, with all my ability, I provide them the finest "knowledge dramas" (知识剧).
VIII
Speaking of "knowledge dramas," I think of a转变 currently underway.
In traditional society, what was the image of a teacher? A "priest of knowledge" (知识的祭司)—possessing sacred texts unreachable by ordinary mortals, through whose interpretation alone could truth descend to the human world. An "engineer of human souls" (人类灵魂工程师)—shaping students' spiritual worlds with absolute authority, like a craftsman雕琢 stone. A "custodian of the keys to civilization's treasure house" (文明宝库的钥匙保管者)—possessing the power to决定 who may enter and who is shut out.
This was a威严 role of profound learning and moral rectitude. You must尊敬 them,服从 them, to obtain their special favor, gaining advantage over others.
This model was formed in an era when knowledge was极度匮乏 and monopolized. Books were luxuries; literacy was a privilege; teachers were scarce resources. Students begged teachers to teach them, not the reverse.
But today, all this has already changed.
Knowledge's垄断性 has been击穿 by the internet. You can find courses from the world's best university professors on Bilibili, search for in-depth answers to any question on Zhihu, and hear industry-leading experts' insights on knowledge付费 platforms for the price of a cup of coffee. Teachers' moral authority and social赋权 have greatly减退. Students'弱势地位 has seen fundamental improvement.
In this era, if teachers still坚守 the posture of "I am the authority, you must beg me," it's akin to a gatekeeper guarding an already-opened treasure vault yet still collecting entrance fees from passersby. It's not that the gatekeeper has become worse—the times have changed.
Then, in this era of knowledge泛滥 and attention scarcity, what should be a teacher's core competitiveness?
My answer: knowledge performance (知识表演).
所谓 "knowledge performance" is not哗众取宠, not reducing knowledge content to迎合浅薄, but transforming knowledge into engaging "knowledge dramas" (知识剧)—with cause and effect, with past and present, with suspense, with punchlines, with emotion, with imagery.
A good teacher is, in reality, a "performance artist"—someone who transforms knowledge into experience and memory, absolutely not merely an "advanced script-reading machine."
Why did Li Yongle (李永乐) become popular? Because he excels at performing "knowledge dramas." For a single knowledge point, he tells its entire history: who discovered it? Why was it discovered? What twists did it经历? What problem did it solve? What new problems did it bring? Students aren't listening to枯燥 formulas—they're hearing vivid stories with温度.
Confucius was the finest "knowledge performance artist." He never lectured with a stern face. He walked with disciples by the river, chatted under trees, using the most everyday scenes to convey the most profound道理. "Only when the year grows cold do we know that the pine and cypress are the last to fade" (岁寒，然后知松柏之后凋也)—he wasn't teaching botany; he was teaching character. "It passes like this, not ceasing day or night" (逝者如斯夫，不舍昼夜)—he wasn't teaching hydrology; he was teaching time.
Sukhomlinsky was likewise. He transformed the school into a garden, taking children to plant flowers, plant trees, observe small animals. Knowledge was not in books, but in life; education was not in classrooms, but in every encounter with nature.
I渴望 to become such a teacher. Not standing on a podium居高临下 proclaiming truth, but crouching down, looking at the world together with students, then transforming what we see and think into "dramas" worth following.
IX
Lesson preparation is "accumulating repertoire" (攒节目).
Like a crosstalk performer learning singing, reciting, acting, and martial arts piece by piece—推敲 and琢磨 the singing, reciting, acting, and martial arts of a crucial lesson: where to埋 the punchline? What道具 to use? How to gauge the小剧场 atmosphere? How to build悬念? How to deliver the punchline?
Fortunately, knowledge points are固定, and adolescents' basic psychological characteristics are, like audience aesthetic preferences, relatively固定. A well-developed, well-verified经典 repertoire can大概率 remain有效 long-term. The performing art of knowledge can几乎 be understood as "accumulating dozens of key signature acts, then through continual practice and打磨, transforming them into time-tested classics."
The classroom is a "small theater" (小剧场).
Teaching knowledge means rendering it vivid, three-dimensional, imagery-rich, aligned with adolescents'认知 patterns. More experiments, more analogies, even punctuated with rapid-fire jokes, transforming the枯燥 process of "writing on blackboard, explaining problems, announcing answers" into something with剧情. This way, students' minds will simultaneously remember the knowledge point itself along with the emotion and imagery of the moment. Emotion and imagery will become their青春回忆, and knowledge directly connected to these vivid emotions and imagery will embed more牢固 in students' minds.
The most successful knowledge drama is not a独角戏 but one that integrates students into the剧情, making them ensemble players of various sizes. Let them participate in experiments, let them come onstage to solve problems, let them扮演 historical figures, let them experience the power of knowledge through角色.
Students who love following your drama—when you speak of如何处事 and moral ideals, they will be乐于 to understand positively and embrace deeply. Students who love following your drama, who love playing roles in your ongoing series—when you assign homework, they'll love doing it, do it better, and when种种 problems arise, they'll firmly choose to keep "following the drama" rather than departing at the slightest不满.
This is what this era要求 of "maintaining learning enthusiasm." This is itself the implementation logic of "transmitting knowledge"—there is no矛盾.
X
I chose to teach mathematics.
Not because math makes for easy job hunting, but because I love mathematics. I love its clarity, its rigor, its不容置疑. In this era of clamorous voices, mathematics is one of the few things that can make a person quiet down.
But mathematics education, for a long time, left me feeling困惑.
Why do so many students fear mathematics? Why do so many feel math is just刷题, just memorizing formulas, just "solve for x"? Why does mathematics—the discipline most讲究 logic—in teaching often make students lose logic?
Later I realized the problem lay with "proof" (证明).
Mathematical proof should be the core of mathematics. It is the purest expression of human rationality. Yet in secondary mathematics teaching, proof is often简化为 "steps" and "套路" (templates). Students think proof means默写 what the teacher previously explained, not deriving unknown conclusions step by step from known premises.
Thus, students learned to跳步 (skip steps). Not because of carelessness, but because they never truly understood what "proof" means.
At this moment, I encountered Lean.
Lean is a theorem prover, a functional programming language, a tool that makes mathematical proof as precise as writing code. It wasn't designed for secondary school students—its primary users are mathematicians and computer scientists. But I saw its tremendous potential in secondary mathematics education.
Lean强制 requires every step to be clear. You cannot skip steps, cannot take things for granted, cannot say "obviously" (显然). You must tell the computer: this step is based on what theorem, applying what推理规则. If a student cannot complete a proof in Lean, it means they haven't truly understood that proof.
This is exactly the tool I needed. It lets me transform the abstract concept of "logical rigor" into an operable, verifiable, gamifiable process.
I designed the integration of Lean and secondary mathematics as a series of "knowledge dramas":
Proof by contradiction and the irrationality of √2—not a枯燥 proof, but a detective story. Students扮演 detectives, assuming √2 is rational, deriving step by step, ultimately discovering a矛盾. Lean helps them check whether each step is合法. When they complete this proof in Lean, they've not only learned a mathematical theorem—more importantly, they've experienced the power of "proof by contradiction."
Mathematical induction and sequence summation—not formula memorization, but a domino performance. I set up a row of dominoes, push the first one, then ask students: if each falling domino topples the next, what happens? This is mathematical induction.
Function monotonicity and derivatives—not解题套路, but a "speed and passion" story. I tell students: imagine you're driving—the speedometer shows your speed, which is the derivative. If speed is always positive, your position keeps increasing—this is the intuitive understanding of "derivative greater than zero means function increasing."
Every class is a knowledge drama. Every knowledge point has a story. Every student is a character in the drama.
XI
When I chose to become a "knowledge performance artist," my relationship with students also underwent a fundamental change.
The traditional relationship is "authority-obedience"—teachers obtain students'服从 through power granted by the institutional system. This服从 is passive, reluctant,随时可能反叛.
The new relationship is "star-fan"—teachers earn students'追随 through their performance魅力. This追随 is active,愉悦,发自内心.
The fundamental区别 between the two relationships: the former relies on fear and利益; the latter relies on attraction and认同.
A teacher's authority actually首要 and核心 derives from the "knowledge star's" influence over "fans," not from所谓 institutional authorization granted by the education system or guardians. The former authority arises from natural law—students认同 spontaneously without抗拒; the latter ultimately relies on暴力 and coercive superiority formed by combined forces from various parties, depending on the failure of students'反抗 and rebellion to function, and is实际上有毒性 in operation.
Becoming a "knowledge star" to students, maintaining their enthusiasm and服从 through star status, is the正道 of being a teacher.
Confucius was大概 the earliest "knowledge star." He needed no institutional背书; his disciples came from all directions—not because of Confucius's official position, but because of his wisdom, his魅力, the stories he told that made people不想离开 once they started listening. Yan Hui said: "The more I look up, the higher it appears; the more I drill, the firmer it becomes" (仰之弥高，钻之弥坚). This is a fan's崇拜 for an idol, not a student's屈服 to authority.
Sukhomlinsky likewise. He needed no principal's title to earn students'尊重. He stood at the school gate every morning welcoming students—not because school规章要求 it, but because the children期待 seeing him. Through his actions, his love, his attention to every child, he won their hearts.
Of course, this "knowledge star/audience" relationship is并非 without challenges. It容易 leads to idol崇拜,容易 makes students like a subject because they like the teacher, and dislike it because they dislike the teacher. But this is the era's历史性要求 on teacher identity. I can only, under the前提 of obeying the era's command, address the problems arising thereby—not refuse the era's command in order to回避 these problems.
XII
Someone asked me: aren't you afraid of failure? What if you can't招募 students? What if parents don't understand? What if students can't learn?
I was silent for a long time, then said: I'm afraid. I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid no one will come, I'm afraid those who come will be失望, I'm afraid I'll辜负 those who trust me.
But if I don't act because of fear, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
When Sukhomlinsky first started at Pavlysh Secondary School, conditions were极其艰苦. No textbooks, no teaching aids, even not enough chalk. He took children to the fields for lessons, writing with branches on the ground, arranging stones into geometric shapes. He failed无数次, but never放弃. Because he believed education was值得.
Confucius, stranded between Chen and Cai with no food, his followers too ill to rise. Zilu angrily asked: "Does the gentleman also遭遇 such extremity?" Confucius said: "The gentleman remains steadfast in extremity; the petty person, in extremity, loses all restraint" (君子固穷，小人穷斯滥矣). In the most艰难 moment, Confucius never doubted his path. He knew education is not an easy road, but it is a road值得行走.
I chose to enter the education and training industry not because it's easy, but because it's值得. I chose to teach math with Lean not because this path has already been walked, but because no one has walked it—and I'm愿意 to be the first.
I won't抱怨 because "no one learns"—I'll go find those "already ready" people. I won't妥协 because "learning is hard"—I'll transform those hard nuts into knowledge dramas. I won't焦虑 because "no institutional position"—I know education's sacredness doesn't come from institutional授权.
I am a knowledge文工团 (arts troupe), a宣传队 (propaganda team). Writing scripts, performing, integrating students into my剧情 as ensemble players of various sizes—this is my most关键 skill.
I want students to fall in love with their own drama. This is what this era要求 of "maintaining learning enthusiasm." This is itself the implementation logic of "transmitting knowledge"—there is no矛盾.
XIII
Writing here, it's already深夜 outside the window.
I recall Xiaowen's daughter's question, recall her eyes. I think: if one day she grows up and becomes someone else's teacher, will she also encounter a child asking her: "Why are you so gentle with others, but so strict with me?"
I hope she would answer: "Because of love."
Gentleness is one form of love; strictness is another form of love. They are not对立. At different times, in different contexts, they serve the same purpose: to let you become you—a free person, capable of being responsible for yourself.
And letting you become you is precisely what I obey. I obey the召唤 of "who you will become" in the future, so I am strict with you today. This is not暴力屈从—it is the discipline of love.
Jaspers said: "The boundaries of education are not the boundaries of knowledge, but the boundaries of love. Where there is love, there is education."
Confucius said: "Learn without satiety, teach without weariness" (学而不厌，诲人不倦). Learning without厌倦, teaching without疲倦. Behind this is love.
Sukhomlinsky said: "The highest wisdom of the educator is to believe in the power of the human person." To believe in the child standing before you, to believe the seed inside them will eventually发芽, to believe they will eventually become themselves. Behind this, too, is love.
Epilogue
Jaspers's statement—I read it over and over, many times.
"Education is one tree shaking another tree, one cloud pushing another cloud, one soul awakening another soul."
It does not要求 one tree to shake an entire forest. It requires only "another." It does not要求 one cloud to push an entire sky. It requires only "another." It does not要求 one soul to awaken the entire world. It requires only "another."
This is the most温柔的 comfort for educators, and also the most沉重 entrustment.
The gentleness lies in: you need not become the sun. You only need to become a lamp, illuminating a small patch of darkness beside you, then letting the illuminated also become a lamp.
The heaviness lies in: you must truly be lit. Not by灯油 given by the system, not by灯罩 given by professional titles, but by your own热爱 for knowledge itself, your渴望 to awaken souls, your信念 in "passing the torch from hand to hand."
In this era of knowledge泛滥, attention scarcity, and权威瓦解, teachers are no longer垄断者 of knowledge, no longer道德审判官, no longer institutional代言人.
Teachers are "knowledge performance artists"—transforming knowledge into engaging dramas, making students follow classes like they follow dramas.
Teachers are "torch传递者"—not pursuing how many they've taught, but pursuing how long and how far the transmission continues.
Teachers are "awakeners of souls"—using one tree to shake another tree, using one lamp to ignite another lamp.
It is people who make the land sacred, not the land that makes people sacred. Education's sacredness does not come from its规模, its authority, its普及. Education's sacredness comes from the moment when it occurs—the moment when one person is awakened by another, when one soul is illuminated by another.
This is the purest form of education. This is why education deserves our lifelong敬畏.
May every educator keep watch over this lamp. May every learner become that lamp.
And I, starting today, will light my first lamp.
Copyright Notice: This is a preview translation — Chinese original is the authoritative version. Copyright belongs to Guangzhou Phaenarete AI Technology Co., Ltd. Unauthorized reproduction, citation, or distribution is prohibited.