To My Four Children Taking the National College Entrance Examination

Today, four high school seniors close to me are taking the national college entrance examination (gaokao) in three different cities across the country. One is my son, one is my nephew, and the other two are students who have studied medicine with me since childhood. Happily, all four have good records in normal times; by their usual rankings, each could get into a 985 or 211 university. As their elder, I am genuinely proud of them. Such results show that none of them has wasted the past twelve years.

But the gaokao is unpredictable. Most people score about as they usually do, but some over-perform and some under-perform, so everything is still uncertain. When I took the gaokao in 1998, I was a classic under-performer--my teachers had high hopes and thought I could get into Peking or Tsinghua. We have to admit that in this single most important exam of life, luck favors some and fails others. Because my family was poor, I could not afford to repeat the year; at that age I missed my life's ideal, and it depressed me for a while. I hope you can take it more calmly than I did.

Today, when I went to the exam site to see my son off, I saw many parents carrying sunflowers--a symbol of coming in first--to meet their children. I joked with my son that his chances of taking Beijing's top spot were essentially nil, so we would not waste the money on that bouquet. Many parents hope their child will come out on top, but I know that of these four children close to me, perhaps none will.

In fact, coming top in the gaokao is not that important, and even getting into one's dream school is not that important. I hope my four younger relatives take a calm view of the gaokao, especially of coming in first. I am entitled to say this: in my family, in my parents' generation, in mine, and in the next, there have been gaokao top scorers, provincial or municipal champions. Even I myself was once unstoppable in the exam hall. Yet up to now, none of us has achieved anything extraordinary. Among the old classmates around me who have had modest success, many were not the top performers in their day.

This is not to say that doing well in the gaokao does not matter, but that the score does not decide everything. A good gaokao score does not guarantee later achievement, and a poor score does not rule it out. In a long life there are infinite possibilities. As long as you are determined and persevering, whether you do well or not, you have the chance to fulfill yourselves.

So I hope, my children, that even if you under-perform, you will not be disheartened; you still have the chance to achieve great things in a career you love. I do not feel entitled to lecture you, but I hope to offer a little comfort when you meet setbacks. If you are in high spirits and score wonderfully, I will be truly happy for you and send you my sincerest wishes that you go even further. But if, like me, you under-perform, I hope you will not be too downcast; life still has many chances. As long as a person is willing to strive, he can keep transcending and improving himself.

You will eventually understand that the gaokao is only a ticket into a certain field; it is not as momentous as the atmosphere around you makes it seem just now. Especially for you children whose usual grades are already good, the outcome of this exam is far from decisive. You can take it lightly and naturally. Ten or twenty years from now, looking back on your life, you will realize that what brought you satisfying achievement was your persistent effort, not this one exam.

As for your future plans, I do not want to interfere with any of you. I respect each of your choices and will do my best to help you realize your wishes; I hope each of you can live a life you love. Especially my son and my two students: originally I hoped you would study medicine and help me carry forward the research I may not finish in my lifetime. But I no longer think that way. You are adults now; you should not remain good children who simply obey parents and teachers. You have every right to choose the life you want. If you do not genuinely love medicine, there is no need to submit to the wishes of your elders.

But I hope that, whatever you do and whatever life ideal you hold, you will, while taking good care of yourselves, also help others solve problems they cannot solve themselves. If you study medicine, save the dying and heal the wounded, help others relieve suffering, and spare them the premature pain of parting from loved ones. If you choose another profession, still do your best to help other people. We human beings are social animals; we have survived on this planet by relying on group strength to overcome disasters. If we lack the ability and the will to help others, it is hard to survive within the group.

So you should take pleasure in helping others from the bottom of your hearts, and train that ability in daily life; that matters more than the gaokao. Sympathy for others' misfortune and joy at others' happiness do not interfere with our own happy lives; on the contrary, they make our lives more meaningful. If you can internalize this understanding, then no matter which school you graduate from or which profession you choose, you will be welcomed by others and more likely to build a successful career.

At the same time, I hope you will persevere. The gaokao is neither the beginning nor the end of life; it is only one stop on our life's journey, and there are countless stops ahead. Most people of great achievement did not get there by one or two flashes of inspiration, but through countless days and nights of persistence.

One day I read the biography of the Japanese kampo doctor Asada Sohaku. I saw that from his youth he wrote a study note every single day, and kept it up for fifty or sixty years until he died. I was deeply moved: to sustain such a tiny habit for decades is enough to accomplish a remarkable career. From then on I set myself the same rule: unless seriously ill, no matter how busy, I write every day. Because to write, one must first learn. It is a fine way to discipline oneself to keep striving, and I have borrowed it.

Asada Sohaku was regarded as a giant of Japanese kampo medicine. Not only were his clinical results outstanding, but he wrote volumes. He was also the highest-paid doctor in Japan, yet gave most of his wealth to relieve the poor. When he died, countless people from all over Japan came to see him off. His story moved me deeply: he was a model of helping others and of perseverance. Many people lament that they lack opportunities, but never reflect on how they conduct themselves; in fact, the principles by which a person lives determine how much he can achieve in a lifetime.

So, children, I hope you will downplay the gaokao's effect on you. Be long-term thinkers; be people who benefit others and society; be people with ideals, aspirations and self-discipline. In a lifetime, such spiritual power can do enormous work. After all, in the long river of time, a single success or failure is trivial; only deep accumulation and slow blooming produce greatness.

This world has abundant opportunities waiting for you. There are still many impoverished people who need help out of their plight, and many sick people waiting for rescue. If your life's pursuit is to help these people, you have no reason not to become a useful member of society. If I were not on the medical path, I think I might do scientific research for the good of the world, or be an entrepreneur creating jobs for others. I have never felt that degrees or diplomas would block me from doing these things; what truly holds us back is our own perseverance, not anything else. You are adults now; take the initiative to shoulder more responsibility. Only then will you be truly respected.