ITIEQ C42

Chapter 42 – Dimensionality Reduction Strike

Yuan Ru’s old friend nudged him with an elbow.

“What in the world is going on here?”

“Perhaps you’ll know soon enough.” Yuan Ru smiled faintly, without elaborating. “Tell me, do you still believe the Four Academies sit unrivaled beneath Heaven? I once thought so too. But now I’ve learned: there’s always someone beyond the man, always Heaven beyond heaven.”

“This… shabby little academy?!” His friend could not believe it. “Brother Lin, don’t tell me you’ve been beguiled and now wish to pledge yourself to this so-called Qingbei Village School! Don’t forget—you too are of the Four Academies! How can you betray your teachers and ancestors?”

“Of course not. My teacher enlightened me and opened my wisdom—I will never forget that.” Yuan Ru shook his head. “But Lord Shen said: ‘When three walk together, there must be something in one of them I can learn’. To gather the strengths of every school, that is what’s called ‘studying abroad’ⁱ.”

Completely enchanted by nonsense!

Tan Ping followed closely behind Gao Rong, halting when they came to a pavilion crowded with students in blue-and-white uniforms. The young people parted to form a path. At the center sat a youth alone under the pavilion, face hidden half behind a fan. One leg bent, the other dangling loosely, his head tilted as he appraised these unfamiliar faces, half a countenance revealed.

The sunlight flashed over Shen Qinghe’s face, making him squint.

“New friends, are they?”

Gao Rong leaned close to report the circumstances. Shen Qinghe straightened up, intrigued. “A debate, is it?”

The eyes of the blue-and-white-clad students gleamed. “Let me do it! Teacher Shen, can this earn us extra credits?”

Extra credits?!

The words lit them up like firecrackers. Hungry wolves encircled prey—their looks toward the Baizhang visitors burned with excitement.

The Academy’s “talent attraction policy” had begun to bear fruit. Anyone who could pass the examinations was granted generous treatment—including free housing. Thus, talent from all around Qiúquán flocked here. At the same time, all newly assigned officials were sent into the Academy to share in its unified thinking … This was the only way to even half keep pace with the rising material demands and shortage of talent in Qiúquán.

But Tan Ping and his group felt utterly ill at ease beneath those sharp eyes.

The Qingbei students could not be restrained any longer; they surged forward, circling them eagerly.

“Perhaps we can discuss mining methods in coal extraction projects?”

“Interested in the feed structure of the hook mechanism in textile machinery?”

“How about analyzing the effectiveness of Qingli-Dispersed Liquor Formula in treating anaphylactic shock caused by poisoning?”

“Guess you’d like a breath-through tubular silkworm-raising apparatus!”

What… what on earth was this nonsense?!

Catching a few scattered terms they could understand, Tan Ping flung his sleeve disdainfully: “These are nothing but the lowly crafts of vulgar artisans. They cannot be considered the Way, nor ascend the refined halls of elegant learning!”

Shen Qinghe chuckled. “Don’t speak so carelessly. These are precious technical talents—engineers in the yellow-collar ranks².” With a flick of his fan, he lifted the gauzy curtain draping the pavilion’s side—

“Wake up, we’ve work.”

From the pale-blue veil appeared a small child—golden-haired, golden-eyed—his features glittering under the sun like a halo. It was the System.

“Someone wants to debate you.”

A chorus of sharp hisses rippled through the crowd outside the pavilion. All eyes carried a mix of sympathy and avid glee.

At this point, the Baizhang party had been shocked too many times already. Even faced with a strange child of unnatural golden features, numbness settled in. A three-headed monster would hardly have surprised them more.

“You against me would be hardly fair. Liu Lin—you go,” Tan Ping ordered his youngest student.

Both sides agreed—no fear.

Liu Lin entered the pavilion. Not even a half stick of incense later, he emerged—his face vacant.

“… Teacher, I lost.”

The Baizhang students gasped.

Shen Qinghe asked lazily, “Who’s next, then?”

Liu Lin’s talents were known. To lose against a mere child made no sense—surely there was trickery involved.

Tan Ping considered briefly, then sent in his most eloquent and erudite pupil.

…

This time it was even quicker. One glance at his expression was enough: things had gone badly.

Impossible!

“Why not send them all in together? It will save time.” Shen Qinghe propped his chin with a smiling hand.

Convinced of foul play, Tan Ping’s chest rose and fell sharply. Finally, he himself stepped into the pavilion.

Outside, whispers buzzed constantly. The remaining Baizhang pupils, desperate, begged their senior peers to explain what had happened inside. But the only reply was silence.

Shen Qinghe shook his head. There was no trick—only a dimensionality reduction strike³.

With the System’s bug-like database at hand, it was as if mortals faced the wisdom radiance of saintly sages through the ages. What chance did youths of twenty have? Naturally, they lost without even comprehending how.

Yet Tan Ping held out the longest within the curtained pavilion.

His students craned their necks in anticipation. When finally the veil was lifted, the System peeked out timidly: “Uh… I think he’s, um, emotionally broken down⁴ …”

Shen Qinghe flicked his finger lightly against the boy’s forehead.

“No moderation in your strikes.”

Tan Ping stumbled out after, his spirit shattered, eyes fixed horridly on the golden-haired child before slowly shifting to Shen Qinghe reclining there.

His voice, nearly an accusation: “Absurd! Utter fantasy! If such designs and schemes were truly possible—why would you hide away in such a rustic little place?!”

A golden goblet to buy laughter, one drunken month lighter than the prince’s wealth⁵—this was the prevailing attitude across highborn clans and reclusive literati alike. Better to drift amidst clouds than beg at court for favor.

“Because—our aim is the rejuvenation of the nation and the happiness of the people.”

“…”

Tan Ping sneered: “Hypocrisy.”

“Me, hypocritical?” Shen Qinghe’s eyes glittered as he lazily pointed. “You are the hypocrite.”

Tan Ping barked a laugh. “I’ve ever loved mountains and rivers, spend a hundred days a year in nature. My paintings are countless, sought by thousands, yet I never once sought office or favors. You call me false?”

Ah—so he was an arts major. No wonder so sentimental.

“Humans are bound within given social conditions. They cannot help but be constrained by them. These limiting historical conditions shape the limits of man—while in turn human action reshapes society. This is called the limitations of the era.”

“In other words: Do you really think your choices are truly chosen?”

Tan Ping coldly laughed. “Absurd. If not my own choice, did someone hold a blade to my throat and force me?”

“Exactly.” Shen Qinghe clapped his hands.

The derision on Tan Ping’s face deepened.

“Why were you able to study at Baizhang—because of family wealth. Why could you study painting—because your parents were neither narrow-minded nor impoverished peasants. Why landscape painting—because Qing scholarship⁶ reveres ‘surpassing convention and returning to nature.’ Why spend a hundred days in the wilderness—because you need not worry about livelihood. Why can you stand here before me—because the Emperor quelled rebellion and restored peace. And you—proclaiming yourself a master artist—perhaps you never loved your art as much as you imagine. Instead, it is but a symbol most suited to highlight your achievement.”

Tan Ping’s pupils trembled violently.

“Every step you’ve taken was bound by circumstance. Every footprint had a cause. You cannot change, cannot alter. You only deceive yourself—pretending: ‘These are my own choices.’”

“To think yourself aloof from the world—perhaps all the while standing on the cliff’s edge.”

“…”

The breath of all onlookers grew shallow.

The System murmured timidly: “But—what if he really does love painting?”

“I don’t know. I only measure others by myself,” Shen Qinghe admitted sheepishly. “Anyway, I studied at a top university, slaved in the lab to publish in top journals—all just to show off.”

“…”

Tan Ping’s face flushed crimson, posture of an academy teacher completely gone.

“And what of your Academy? Is it so noble? All those divinations and altar tablets enshrined at home—yet in the end everyone still just wants to be an official, do they not?!”

Shen Qinghe sighed. “You’re right—it isn’t noble. They worship deities, honor officials. Now they merely believe in me. No different than you placing glory in your lineage. After all, ‘Who am I? From where do I come? To where do I go?’ is every human’s eternal question.

“I never approved of god-making. Qingbei does not need disciples. If everyone could revere only their own selves—it would be better. What we can do is purify people’s desires, make them simpler. Nothing more. Be honest—no one will despise you for it.”

Tan Ping stood there a long while—then suddenly broke into wrenching sobs, covering his face crying before all.

Even Shen Qinghe was startled. He leaped down, patting the man’s shoulder. “It’s nothing. Beyond basic needs, we all long for respect and self-actualization. Don’t fret.”

“Speaking of which—we’re in the process of building an Arts Academy. And we do lack talent in painting.” Flipping his hand, Shen Qinghe produced a card. “So, formally inviting you—excellent treatment guaranteed.”

Tan Ping did not even look. He flung his sleeve and fled, nearly stumbling.

The System muttered: “If I’m not mistaken… you’ve just made yourself an enemy.”

Shen Qinghe exhaled. “I suppose I should’ve softened my tone. Couldn’t control myself … Still, art talent is precious. Must try to win him over. Hm—though he’s from a rival Academy… Perhaps I can think of a way to poach him… His paintings worth a thousand gold! If truly famous, we could even put him in our brochures…”

The System: “…Overly greedy, aren’t you.”

But Shen Qinghe was already lost in thought, while Tan Ping had vanished down the road.

Never mind. He won’t run far, not here in Qiúquán. After he cools for a few days, they’ll talk again. Shen Qinghe was tolerant—especially with talent.

That night, Chile emerged barefoot from the mine. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he smeared coal-black dust across his face, obscuring all but the sharp glint of his eyes. His thick beard had been cut short, but those hawk-streaked eyes still burned bright.

A sudden chirp of a lark whistled in the darkness. Chile’s ears twitched. He ducked behind a boulder.

From the shadows came a youth of foreign race, hair thick and black, tightly curled. But most unforgettable were his iron-rust eyes, wolfish and dangerous.

“Young Master,” Chile lowered his head, fist pressed to chest in the salute of the Hu nomads.

“Chile, when I went to the Yongmen prison to find you, you weren’t there. Only your signs.” Ulan’s brows furrowed as he eyed his soot-covered subordinate. “What were you doing here?”

Chile guiltily tried to hide the pickaxe behind his back. “They had me digging ore here.”

“To set our hardened warriors to such humiliation? An outrage!” Alebo blazed with fury, eyes like fire. “Come, leave with me now! The day will come when these Yongans shall be crushed beneath our iron hooves!”

Ulan turned back—only to find his man not following. He stopped, glaring. “You won’t come?”

“I will… I will come. Young Master, it’s just—by working like this, I get meat at night. I’ve not yet eaten.”

Ulan stared in disbelief. “You’d betray us for a single meal of meat?! Chile—do you seek defection?!” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“No! Never—I will always be yours!” Chile ducked his head like an aggrieved bear. “But the meat has no stink of rot… and there’s even a small cup of wine. I’ve saved up two days of wages…”

He was born on pastureland. Livestock were wealth, not daily food. Only when a cow or horse died of illness or old age could his people gorge. Otherwise, stale mare’s milk was staple, and in famine, even horse placentas.

Here, his strength earned meat daily. Not like a prisoner—almost comfortable.

“Fine! Fine!” Ulan laughed ragefully, thumping a fist against his chest. Chile staggered back a half step.

The youth’s smile glinted with blood.

“They say the local lord is the one who captured you. Then tonight, I shall take that head! And you—don’t eat too quickly. Wait for me to bring wine for the feast!”

Footnotes:

1. “Studying abroad” (留學) – Used anachronistically by Shen, meaning “to absorb from all traditions,” rather than literal overseas study of premodern China. 
2. Yellow-collar (黃領) – A playful counterpoint to “white-collar / blue-collar,” implying skilled technical/manufacturing workers of high value. 
3. “Dimensionality reduction strike” (降維打擊) – A modern internet term: crushing an opponent with superior tools/resources to the point where competition becomes meaningless. 
4. “破防” – Internet slang: literally “defenses broken,” meaning emotionally overwhelmed, psychologically collapsing under verbal strike. 
5. “Golden goblet … one drunken month …” – Adapted from classical poetry. Suggests aristocrats would rather drunkenly wander free than serve in office.