When you arrive in Qufu, the hometown of Confucius, the first thing I notice is not the ancient architecture or the grand temples, but the way other people talk to me. On my first day in Qufu, I was a little confused by how people talked to us. Whether it was the staff at the scenic site, the volunteers inside the auditorium, or even the food delivery guy, who said: “Laoshi (Teacher), your delivery is here, please sign.” Me and my friends looked at each other and laughed: “Since when did we become teachers?” At first, it felt a little weird, almost funny. We were young adults from different countries, not actual teachers, but why were we being called that everywhere we went? After a few days, I began to understand. It wasn’t a mistake or just a polite term. It was something habitual here, but also rooted in culture and history. In Confucius’ hometown, “Laoshi” is not simply a job title. It is a way of showing respect, a recognition that every person has something to teach. Confucius once said: “三人行 必有我师焉 When three walk together, there must be one who can be my teacher.” In Qufu, I could truly feel the meaning of this. Here, everyone could teach, and everyone could learn.
DAY1
The first day focused on welcome and community, reminding us that learning often begins with play and shared experience. The opening ceremony opens on our very first day. Students from over 40 countries gathered together, talking, laughing, taking photos, and trying to get to know one another. As Peking University representatives, we were placed in the “大学” group. There's several other group like “尚书””论语” etc.. From the start, the organizers encouraged participation, the activity and lecture felt like being in a classroom that was communicative and moving. After the opening ceremony, the following sports games felt more like an after-class activity rather than a competition. We played cuju, which is an ancient form of football. It looks a lot like soccer, but the rules are simpler, and there’s a strong element of fun rather than winning. I tried it for the first time and almost tripped over my own feet, but the team laughed with me, not at me. After ten minutes of practice, I surprisingly got the 4, 5 and 8 points in the actual cuju competition. Besides cuju, we also tried pitching arrows into a pot to test our accuracy and luck, while jumping rope and running dragon-boat-style races tested coordination and teamwork. Even though we spoke different languages, a simple “one, two, one, two” was enough to synchronize our steps and bring us together. We all helped each other, guided each other, and learned from each other’s mistakes. In that moment, it felt like the real essence of teaching and learning was alive, not about hierarchy, but about shared growth.
If the first day taught us how to learn together, the afternoon lecture taught us how to reflect on why we learn at all. In the Chinese tradition lecture, a professor talked to us about the definition of 大学 College—learning, growing, and becoming a person. He explained that it was not the modern college, but the cultivation of oneself to stand tall and live responsibly. He drew the word 大 on the powerpoint and explained: The character ‘大’ was shaped from the human form. From ‘大’ came the character “天heaven”, and together with “地 earth” they remind us of where human beings should be. In ancient times, children at seven years old entered primary school, learning household responsibility and basic morality; by fifteen, they entered Collede大学, beginning the journey of “学做大人”—learning how to become an adult. They practiced skills with calligraphy, painting, embroidery etc., not just as hobbies but as ways to train patience, character, and responsibility. Hearing this in Qufu made Confucian thought feel alive. It wasn’t just abstract ideas it also makes me thought about how we all could embody this “大学” spirit, not just in schoolwork, but in daily life, by being responsible, thoughtful, and supportive of one another.
DAY2
The theme of the second day was about “Respecting the Teacher.” We entered the Confucius Temple, surrounded by tall cypress trees and solemn walls. The moment felt heavy with history and tradition. We performed the ceremony of bowing to the teacher. We lifted our hands like holding incense to our foreheads, then bent deeply. The gesture itself was simple, but doing it with hundreds of other participants in the ancient temple carried a weight that I had never experienced before. At that moment, differences like nationality, language, background seemed to melt away. All that remained was a shared sense of respect. The sentences from the textbook seemed to leap out from the stone inscriptions: “学而时习之、不亦说乎。有朋自远方来來、不亦乐乎。人不知而不愠、不亦君子乎。Isn't it a pleasure to study and practice what you have learned? Isn't it also great when friends visit from distant places? If people do not recognize me and it doesn't bother me, am I not a noble man?” In the Confucius Mansion, these words felt alive. I began to understand more about the idea of family learning passed down from generation to generation. Confucius opened the door to education beyond the nobility, allowing ordinary people to learn. The courtyards and old rooms, though centuries old, didn’t feel outdated, but carried the living heritage of thousands of years of learning. I imagined the generations of students, scholars, and family members who had walked these paths before us, carrying the teachings forward. The atmosphere was both solemn and inspiring.
In the afternoon, we climbed up to the Nishan Sacred Land. I finally saw the 72-meter Confucius statue standing tall under the sun, calm and kind, as if watching us from every angle. At the base, I wished for “better luck on my next exam”. Walking down, I passed by the love tree beside the statue. Our guide explained that it represents Confucius’ love for his students and the students’ love for their teacher. It made me smile, thinking of the bond between Laoshi and learners that has lasted through centuries. Inside the academy, I noticed the words on the wall: 大学之道在明明德，在亲民在止于至善. The guide explained that the source of this passage is “大学”, ranked as the foremost of the Four Books. Its means: the purpose of the great learning lies in manifesting the radiance of virtue; in reflecting upon and elevating one's own moral character while extending this self-improvement to others, enabling everyone to reform their ways, abandon evil, and embrace goodness; and in enabling the entire society to attain a state of perfect morality and sustain it for all time. Standing there, surrounded by centuries of reverence for learning and virtue, I realized that learning is not only about reading—it is also about self-cultivation and living ethically with others.
DAY3
The third day was my favorite: experiencing intangible cultural heritage. I put on a Hanfu, with my hair tied up in a traditional style, and almost didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. I truly felt as if I had stepped back in time. I tried several traditional handcrafts. The most fun was making a silver bracelet. I chose the characters 喜樂 on my bracelet (ill also add a photo of me making the silver bracelet here). The master placed the silver on a mold and handed me a small hammer. I was nervous at first, afraid I would hit it wrong. But after a few careful taps, the characters came out neatly engraved. Besides, I painted flowers on the transitional fan. My drawing skills are not great, but spreading the white fan open and adding a few strokes made me feel as if I was attending an ancient literati gathering. Each craft there felt like a tiny classroom. The masters teaching us were experts in the fields, but at the same time, I was learning to teach myself patience, focus, and appreciation for tradition. Intangible heritage, in this way, became a living lesson in culture, art, and human connection. The whole 1 hour intangible tryout was so fun that I cannot feel how fast the time passed, and hope I can try much more intangible things in the future.
These three days in Qufu were full of laughter and reflection. On the sports field, we learned teamwork and mutual care. In the temples and academies, we experienced history and Confucian thought. Through Hanfu, silver bracelets, and folding fans, we connected with centuries of Chinese culture. Most importantly, I realized that learning is everywhere, and teaching is not just a role—it is a shared process. Here, everyone can be a teacher, and everyone can be a student. In the end, learning is not confined to textbooks. It is about observing, interacting, practicing, and growing with others.. Qufu may be small to walk around, but its culture and wisdom are vast, stretching across centuries. After these three days, I finally understood what it meant when they called everyone here as a teacher.