In a quiet little town, there lived a humble night-school teacher. He was a man of exceptional dedication, possessing a rare talent for nurturing the minds of children. Within a mere year under his tutelage, his students—who had once struggled—found themselves reading and writing with newfound fluency. Naturally, he was adored not only by the children but by their parents as well. His name was Soren, but because of his meticulous precision in teaching the nuances of language, he was known affectionately throughout the town as "Grammar Soren."
Every year, upon the arrival of the a festival, the students would organize a grand a ceremony to honor their mentor. They would pool their resources to provide him with everything he might need—sarongs, bolts of fabric, fountain pens, cakes, towels, toothpaste, brushes, and hair oil. In return, Grammar Soren redoubled his efforts, pouring his heart and soul into their education.
In the evening, the gifts for the ceremony sat in an impressive heap upon the teacher's desk. The students, dressed in their finest attire, waited with bated breath for their mentor. Grammar Soren soon arrived, fresh from his bath and clad in new clothes, radiating a sense of quiet dignity.
The ceremony began with a prayer to God, followed by the students formal obeisance to their teacher. After accepting their homage and offering prayers for their health and success, Grammar Soren rose from his seat to deliver his final words of counsel.
"My pupils," he began, his voice warm with reflection, "a teacher is like a whetstone. Knives come to the stone to be sharpened. Once they are keen and bright, they move on to serve their purpose in the world. But the whetstone... the whetstone remains in its place, waiting for the next blade. In time, you will become township officers, commissioners, and men of high standing. Your teacher will still be here. When the older students grow their wings and fly away, I must wait for the new fledglings to arrive and begin the cycle anew."
He paused, gesturing behind him. "Consider this blackboard. Upon this surface, I wrote with chalk to teach those who came before you. When they departed, you took their place. And this board..."
As Grammar Soren turned to point at the blackboard, he froze. The color drained from his face as his eyes locked onto a verse scrawled in white chalk.
"The great path has no gate,
Thousands of roads enter it.
When one passes through this gateless gate,
He walks freely between right and wrong."
The teacher turned back to the class, his expression unreadable. "Who wrote this poem? And who drew this... this symbol here?"
"Do you mean the drawing of the two fans, Teacher?" a student named Mcisi asked curiously.
"Two fans is not a bad guess," Grammar Soren replied grimly. "But those are not fans. It is a Chinese character meaning 'Portal' or 'Gate.' Regardless... tell me, who wrote this verse and drew the gate?"
"We don't know, Teacher," the class replied in unison.
Grammar Soren stared at them for a long moment. "Very well. If you do not know, then so be it. You may all return home now."
The following evening, the students arrived for their lessons only to find the classroom empty. They gathered around the blackboard, whispering in confusion as they read the message left in their teacher's familiar handwriting:
"My Pupils,
Until yesterday—until the moment I turned to look at this board—I lived a life of peace among you. But seeing what was written here has changed everything. I have already explained the meaning of the 'two fans'—the Portal. The poem accompanying it is simple enough; its meaning is clear:
The Great Way has no gates,
A thousand paths lead into the light.
One who walks through the gateless gate,
Steps beyond the bounds of wrong and right.
This verse concerns me more deeply than you can imagine. It is too early to explain how or why, but because of it, I must cease my work as your teacher. I ask for your forgiveness.
Every human being carries a backstory, a narrative painted by the brush of destiny... and mine has finally caught up with me."
A ripple of shock went through the room. Soon, the parents arrived, staring in sorrow at the final message of the brilliant young man who had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. They mourned the loss of Grammar Soren, a man whose past remained as mysterious as the 'Gateless Gate' he had been forced to enter.