The setting of this course itself is full of ritual. University administrators seem to believe that as long as they gather students who have made mistakes, give them a class, and read a few pages of PPT, they can make them repent and regain their respect for academics. The course is meticulously organized: two hours a week for eight weeks, covering "the definition of plagiarism," "the norms of citation," and "the long-term rewards of integrity." The teacher will speak impassionedly about the "bottom line" of academia, and occasionally throw out a few famous quotes, such as "Integrity is the foundation of one's life" or "Truth cannot tolerate any falsehood." Students are required to keep reflective journals, participate in group discussions, and even submit an essay at the end of the semester on "How to Be an Integrity Scholar." The whole process is orderly, as if just by completing these steps, academic integrity will be re-rooted in everyone's heart like magic.

However, the disconnect between this formal education and reality is obvious. The students sitting in the classroom are not making mistakes due to a lack of understanding of the definition of "plagiarism." On the contrary, many of them are well-versed in academic conventions and know how to insert references into papers and rephrase other people's ideas in their own words. Their problem is not ignorance, but choice - under the pressure of catching up to due dates late at night, in the competition for grade points and scholarships, and in the atmosphere of "everyone is doing it this way", they choose the more "efficient" shortcut. Plagiarism, ghostwriting, and tampering with data are not so much a betrayal of scholarship as a compromise of a survival strategy. But what this integrity class tries to solve with moral preaching is a far more complicated issue than "knowing and not knowing."

What’s even more ironic is that the course itself was like a miniature version of academic misconduct. Students behave well in class, taking notes, nodding, and speaking actively, but these behaviors are more to cope with attendance and grades than true introspection. Someone was criticizing the dangers of plagiarism in a group discussion, but then turned around and asked in the WeChat group, "Can anyone help me revise the paper?" Some people write eloquent letters of repentance in their reflective diaries, and the words are full of determination to "change their past mistakes." However, these words are often templates pieced together from the Internet. Even the teacher himself doesn't seem to have much hope for the effectiveness of this course. After one class, I overheard a teaching assistant complaining: "These students are treated as mixed credits when they come. Who will really change their appearance because of this class?" This phenomenon makes people reflect on the fact that the real audience of this class seems not to be students, but to the university's management - it is more like a performance set up to satisfy external review.

This separation between form and substance makes people wonder: What is the significance of academic integrity courses? It is more like an administrative solution. Universities need to use such courses to show that they "value academic ethics" in order to deal with external doubts and evaluations. Students are required to participate, teachers are required to teach, and procedures are strictly enforced, but the real question - why is cheating so common? How to change students' mentality? ——But it was covered up under the complicated sense of ritual. The designers of the course seem to have forgotten that integrity is not a quality that can be instilled through a few pages of PPT and a few assignments. It needs to take root in a deeper culture and environment. The students in the classroom are actually the epitome of this dilemma. Many of them are not inherently dishonest, but are caught up in a system rife with contradictions.

The university's evaluation system is based on grades, and grade points determine scholarships, internship opportunities and even future prospects. In such a high-pressure environment, academics become a game rather than a pure pursuit of knowledge. Students are required to juggle assignments, exams, and projects from multiple courses at the same time, as well as club activities and social life. Time is cut into pieces and energy is squeezed to the limit. As a result, plagiarizing a paper, hiring someone to write homework for you, or even taking a peek during an exam have become a "rational" choice. Behind this choice is a helpless compromise to systemic pressure and a subconscious recognition that "the rules can be bypassed." Sure, the university might argue that the class is designed to correct these behaviors, but how can the class truly touch the inner struggles of students when the class itself is reduced to a formalist tool?

On a deeper level, this phenomenon also reflects a certain hypocrisy in university culture. On the one hand, the school holds high the banner of "academic integrity", but on the other hand, it turns a blind eye to cheating. As long as you don't get caught, plagiarism, ghostwriting, and even buying and selling papers are like open secrets. Some professors are indifferent to the quality of students' papers and only look at whether the format is standardized; the grading standards for some courses are vague, making students feel that "it doesn't matter whether they work hard or not." When academic seriousness is diluted and when the enforcement of rules is flexible, students will naturally question: Is integrity really that important? If the university itself is "making forms", then how can the "formalism" of the students not be a kind of imitation? This kind of cultural double standard makes the teaching of academic integrity courses seem particularly weak.

In class, the teacher is playing a video in which a well-known scholar talks about how he sticks to the bottom line on his academic path. The scholar in the video has gray hair and speaks earnestly, but most of the students in front of the screen are distracted. Some people were doodling on their laptops, some were secretly checking Moments, and some were wearing headphones and pretending to listen to the lectures. After the video ended, the teacher asked a question: "What do you think this scholar's experience has inspired you?" There was a brief silence in the classroom. Finally, a student raised his hand and answered formulaically: "We must learn from his rigorous attitude and eliminate academic misconduct." The other students nodded, as if they had completed a collective performance. The teacher smiled with satisfaction and continued to the next page of PPT.

This scene itself is the best footnote to the absurdity of academic integrity classes. Students learned how to "perform" in such a class and how to use the correct language to package their perfunctory performance. But real change—a love of scholarship, a belief in integrity, a respect for rules—is nowhere in sight. The more ritualistic the course, the more glaring this disconnect becomes. Perhaps the question has never been whether students know that “plagiarism is wrong,” but whether they believe that integrity is still worth upholding in a world full of competition and compromise. Outside the classroom, campus life is still noisy. Students stay up late in the library to catch up on homework, and some people are still discussing how to find more reliable ghostwriting channels. The echo of this class seems to be only within the four walls of the classroom, and the torrent of reality has long since washed it away without a trace.

The sunlight outside the window poured into the classroom, and the beam of the projector swayed slightly on the wall. The teacher’s voice is still impassioned, and the words on the PPT are still inspiring. But the students in the seats are already silently calculating in their hearts: How long will it take for this class to end? How to deal with the next assignment? On this stage of "integrity education", everyone is playing their own role, but the true academic spirit is like a supporting role that no one cares about, quietly exiting the stage. Occasionally, someone would joke in a low voice after class: "This class is more hypocritical than the papers I copied." The laughter was mixed with helplessness, as if at this moment, they had reached some kind of tacit understanding of the absurdity of this education.

In the meantime, university administrators may continue to pat themselves on the back for the course's "success." They’ll tally attendance rates, completion rates, and maybe even cite a few positive comments from student feedback to prove the course’s value. However, these data and statements are just another form of performance, covering up the deeper reality: What students learn in the classroom is not how to become honest scholars, but how to navigate between rules and survival. Admittedly, the original intention of this class may be well-intentioned, but when it is packaged into a programmed ritual, it inevitably loses its power to touch people's hearts. Every nod and every record in the classroom may just add a false color to this illusory feast.

In such an environment, students' psychological changes also quietly occur. They have become accustomed to viewing integrity as a “nice-to-have” virtue rather than a principle that must be followed. Some people will joke about their "cheating history" in their circle of friends, and some will share ghostwriting tips in their dormitories. To some extent, these behaviors have become part of their adaptation to college life. It is true that the university attempts to correct these tendencies through this class, but when the class itself is reduced to a symbolic existence, it only reinforces students' sense of alienation from the rules. Perhaps one day, these students will become professors and will recall this class, but they may only remember the boring PPT, not the beliefs it was trying to convey.

The shadows of the trees outside the window swayed, but the atmosphere in the classroom became increasingly dull. The teacher continued to explain, the students continued to be distracted, and the absurdity of this class became more and more prominent as time passed. Perhaps, real education can never be accomplished by a course or a video. What it needs is a more real and humane environment, rather than just staying on the surface of the form. Every face in the classroom is silently telling this disconnect, but this feast of "integrity education" has come to its end without anyone noticing.