Mathematics is the field where it is easiest to tell right from wrong. This remark was uttered by Hua Luogeng (1910-1985), the most distinguished mathematician China has ever produced.

Yet in June the truthfulness of this argument was called into question when, in Jiangsu Province, an item in the all-important entrance exam for college applicants got a dubious answer.

It was a multiple-choice question with four answers. The test paper claimed that only one of the answers was correct. However, math-savvy students felt none of them were precise.

The question itself was worth only five points, out of 150 points, but as it was the first question and was supposed to take 2-3 minutes to solve, it stumped some of the best students who sensed something unusual. As a result, they spent much longer time trying to decipher it. And some straight-A math students suffered a precipitous drop in this test.

Unfortunately this test may determine what colleges they can get into and even what course they will take in life. It is by no means an exaggeration that this slip has dealt a heavy blow to some of the students.

To add injury to insult, the early detection did not prevent scorers from discounting at least this element. Zhu Ruzeng, a researcher at the Chinese Academy of Sciences, the nation's top science institute, made a call to the minister of education and asked him to rectify it. The minister arranged a panel of scientists for a second opinion.

The result: This question is not adequate or phrased lucidly enough for testing high-school students, but technically it is not an error.

Zhu was puzzled. Earlier Jiangsu authorities had done an evaluation and yielded a similar conclusion. But the panelists included people who designed the test. By coincidence, he found out that the higher-level reassessment panel was made up of mostly colleagues of those who prepared the test.

"It is not about math any more. It is about politics," said Professor Zhu. "Do we want our students to keep a straight face even when they have done something wrong?"

But there is another perspective. "Whenever human judgment is required, the one calling the shots has the final say. Even if it's wrong, it is final, just like in soccer," said the deputy director of the test center.

While it may be a good analogy to attribute it to the spillover effect of soccer culture, it covers the real culprit, which is traditional Chinese culture.

When authorities slip up, the best remedy they will take is usually to sweep the problem under the carpet. Admission and retraction amount to a loss of face rather than a display of integrity.

"Basically it is a choice of face saving for the test preparers or fair treatment of 300,000 test-takers. Sadly the face seems to weigh more heavily," sighed Zhu.

To dispel any doubt about ambiguities in the solution, Zhu gave this high-school math question to 12 of the country's yuanshi, or academicians, the very topmost echelon in science. Every single one of them responded unequivocally that it was "a clear mistake".

To err is human, to admit it divine.

(China Daily HK Edition November 14, 2003)