Chapter One: Psychological Test (Part Two)

The second question required the description of a hypothetical scenario.

There were two magnetic levitation railways: one abandoned, the other in active use. Ten children were playing on the tracks; one insisted on playing on the abandoned railway, while the other nine, finding the old track too dim, ran over to the track in use.

“When you see the maglev train appear two hundred meters away, you notice the children playing just a hundred meters from you. At your location, there’s a switch that can divert the train onto the abandoned track. What would you do?” The captain repeated the question and looked intently at Zhao Li.

Zhao Li realized this was a psychological test, meant to determine which unit he would serve in. The question, however, was not straightforward.

After thinking carefully, Zhao Li replied earnestly, “Sir, I think I can only call the emergency hotline, then run to the children and see if there’s any chance to save them.”

The captain frowned, as if he didn’t understand Zhao Li at all. “Why? Do you know what we expect you to answer?”

“Sir!” Zhao Li maintained the standard protocol of addressing the officer first—always a safe choice. “I do know, but I stand by my answer.”

“Go ahead,” said the captain, sitting straighter, clearly eager to hear what Zhao Li might say. After the previous question, he even hoped Zhao Li would offer something truly different.

“Sir, modern maglev trains reach speeds of at least 1,800 kilometers per hour, which means 500 meters per second. In the scenario, I’m two hundred meters from the train, and the children are a hundred meters away. At most, the distance is three hundred meters. Given the speed, the collision would occur in just 0.6 seconds.” Zhao Li sat upright, speaking like a well-trained soldier.

“With only 0.6 seconds, Sir, I have to turn, see the children, and make a judgment.” Zhao Li’s gaze was steady. “Sir, I consider myself capable, but not to that extent.”

The captain’s expression relaxed, and a smile appeared as he looked at Zhao Li. “Very good, soldier. Few people grasp the key point of this problem, but you did. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Zhao Li didn’t dare show much excitement. He knew the assessment had begun the moment he entered, and would continue until the end. His answers accounted for only half the evaluation; the rest came from the entire process. He couldn’t afford to relax.

“If you had enough time to make a judgment and take action, what would you do?” the captain pressed further. The two lieutenants beside him remained silent, their stern eyes fixed on Zhao Li, making him feel uneasy.

“Sir, there are no switches on high-speed maglev tracks,” Zhao Li replied, raising a common-sense objection. “The premise of the scenario doesn’t exist.”

“Very well.” The captain wasn’t angered by Zhao Li’s repeated refusal to answer directly. “Then suppose it’s a regular train. What would you choose?”

Zhao Li thought for a moment before answering, “Sir, I would let the train continue on its normal path.” His tone was calm, and the three officers detected no sign of inner conflict.

“You would sacrifice nine children to save one?” One of the lieutenants finally spoke. “What kind of logic is that?”

“Sir, playing on active tracks is not allowed.” Zhao Li replied naturally, “That one child did nothing wrong. He shouldn’t have to bear responsibility for the mistakes of the other nine.”

“But children are still children; they have no capacity for judgment. Would you rather let them perish because of a moment's curiosity, instead of sacrificing one child to save the majority?”

“Sir, everyone must be accountable for their actions,” Zhao Li repeated firmly. “Even children. Otherwise, there’s no point in teaching them to follow rules and make the right choices. If the innocent are sacrificed whenever too many break the law, then laws lose all meaning.”

The three officers looked at Zhao Li in a peculiar way, their silence exerting a heavy pressure on him.

“Also, Sir,” Zhao Li added, trying to relieve the tension he felt. His words drew their attention back to him.

“People focus on the nine children versus one, but no one considers the passengers on the train.” Zhao Li felt confident in his choice. “The entire train shouldn’t be sacrificed for a handful of children’s recklessness. Sir, on an abandoned track, who knows what disaster could occur?”

This time, the three officers truly had nothing to say. After a moment of silence, the captain asked, “If you were ordered to switch the tracks, what would you do?”

“I would follow the order,” Zhao Li replied without hesitation. “But I reserve the right to appeal to the military arbitration committee afterward.”

“Excellent!” The captain praised him again, nodding. “You may leave.”

Zhao Li stood, saluted the three officers with a somewhat imperfect gesture, then turned and walked out. Although his salute and gait were less than standard, the officers showed no dissatisfaction.

The captain wrote another note on Zhao Li’s evaluation: “Meticulous thinker, calm in emergencies, clear sense of responsibility, strong sense of justice.” He then conferred with the other two lieutenants, and, finding no objections, had the lieutenant by the terminal enter the results.

“Next…” As the input was completed, the next assessment began.

When another recruit entered the evaluation room, Zhao Li’s results appeared on the terminal screen:

“Recommended for officer training.”

“Not suited for: staff positions, special operations, large-scale team command.”

“Suited for: logistics management, frontline combat, welfare support.”

“Suited for all branches.”

“Recommended focus: high-security prison management.”