Chapter 105
Mai Sui’s examination room was on the second floor.
Li Heng was in the very last room on the third floor.
Liu Li was also at this school, but on a different floor from the two of them.
As for the inner circle—Song Yu, Sun Manning, Chen Lijun, Zhang Zhiyong, and others—they were all assigned to the neighboring No. 2 High School.
When the two reached the second floor together, Mai Sui stopped and said to him, “Let’s have lunch together after the exam. Good luck!”
Li Heng said okay.
Watching the girl enter the exam room, he didn’t pause but followed the crowd up to the third floor.
Unexpectedly, while he’d just stepped out for a quick stroll, Liu Yejiang—the fool—had already arrived, sitting stiffly at his seat with sweat beading on his forehead, unsure whether from nerves or heat.
Or heat?
The classroom had no air conditioning, two of the four fans were broken, and not even a handkerchief was allowed—this sweltering summer was pure torture.
Seeing Li Heng enter, Liu Yejiang deliberately looked up and met his gaze, eyes blazing with defiance and determination:
“Li Heng, this time I’ll definitely score higher than you on the Gaokao.”
Li Heng’s expression remained calm; he whispered a warning, “One warning! Don’t force me to beat you senseless in such an important setting.”
At the word “beat,” Liu Yejiang instinctively flinched—but the next second he lifted his chin, thrusting his neck forward:
“I—I’m not afraid of you! This is the Gaokao exam hall. If you hit me, you’ll never get to take the test.
Come on! Try hitting me!”
Hearing this, Li Heng glanced at the two proctors up front and thought, Fuck, you’re asking for it—I’ll oblige—and kicked him straight in the gut. The fool collapsed instantly, face-first onto the floor.
Hearing the commotion, the two proctors chatting up front turned sharply and shouted:
“What are you two doing? The exam is about to start—don’t cause trouble.”
The bell hadn’t rung yet. Li Heng said, “Teacher, we’re classmates,” then sat down calmly and composedly.
Liu Yejiang wanted to complain, but the female proctor shot him a stern glare that silenced him. Fuming, he slapped the dust off his clothes and pants, adjusted his chair, and sat down with bitter resentment.
The phrase “we’re classmates” made the proctors closely monitor both of them for the rest of the exam.
Li Heng didn’t care.
He was a seasoned veteran who’d spent decades navigating the rough-and-tumble of society—what kind of scenes hadn’t he seen?
To be blunt, these petty glares were nothing but a drizzle—barely enough to tickle him.
But Liu Yejiang was different—he was obsessed with outdoing Li Heng, straining to crush him, nerves taut as bowstrings, and now under constant surveillance, he grew even more panicked. Sweat poured down his forehead and face like a faucet, as if it cost nothing.
“Ding-ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding-ding!”
The exam bell rang.
First subject: Chinese.
After receiving the paper, Li Heng skimmed through it quickly and found he could handle everything—from multiple-choice questions to literary analysis, to the classical Chinese reading passages.
The essay topic was to write a piece based on the provided material: “Yu Min Primary School Started a Swimming Training Program,” with a self-chosen title.
He’d taken the Gaokao before, and most of it was forgotten—but this essay topic felt familiar.
Instantly reassured, he felt calm and confident, breezing through the entire exam with ease.
After finishing the essay, Li Heng automatically glanced at the clock on the classroom wall—still thirty minutes left.
He rubbed his aching wrist, scanned the room—front, back, left, right—the girl in front had made good progress, halfway through her essay.
But Liu Yejiang, for some reason, hadn’t even started his essay—he was still chewing his pen, staring at the material, brows furrowed as if unable to find an entry point.
Seeing Li Heng look over, Liu Yejiang glared back defiantly—then froze when he saw Li Heng’s finished essay, the entire page filled with writing. Panic set in; he abandoned the material, frantically scribbling on the paper with his pen.
This idiot.
What the hell was he made of? How was he so damn indestructible? No—even cockroaches would bow to him—he was pure theater.
Li Heng silently cursed, flipped his paper over, checked his name and admission number—no errors—then meticulously reviewed the entire test from start to finish.
After one full check, he felt confident—his weakest subject, Chinese, was now secure.
After verifying his answers, only seven minutes remained until submission.
Most of the examinees had finished; like him, they’d put down their pens and sat quietly waiting for the end bell.
“Ding-ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding-ding!”
Seven minutes passed quickly. The end bell rang as scheduled, and the broadcast announced: “All candidates must stop writing immediately and leave the exam hall in orderly fashion.”
As he walked out, Liu Yejiang, for some reason, chased after him and sneered: “Li Heng, I did great on Chinese—definitely over 110!”
Before Li Heng could react, the idiot bolted away like a startled gazelle, sprinting from the third floor straight to the first, terrified of being hit again.
Bullshit. With an essay written in such a panic, 110? Pure self-delusion.
At that moment, Li Heng understood the bastard’s motive: if he bombed, he’d drag everyone else down with him.
At the second-floor corridor, Li Heng met Mai Sui, who was waiting for him. Her relaxed expression told him she’d done well.
They didn’t ask each other how they’d done, laughing and chatting as they walked toward the small rock garden to meet Liu Li.
Two minutes later, Liu Li arrived, face flushed as if he’d just lost a brutal fight.
Li Heng asked, concerned: “Liu Li, what happened?”
Liu Li fumed: “Don’t even bring it up—fuck! I’m so unlucky! Just now I ran into that bastard Liu Yejiang—he opened by saying Chinese was so hard, I must’ve bombed.
He claimed he’d score over 110, and that Chen Lijun was his once he got to university.”
Mai Sui gasped: “Is Liu Yejiang really this vile? He’s messing with classmates’ minds during the Gaokao?”
Li Heng sighed: “Except for mentioning Chen Lijun, he said exactly the same thing to me.”
Liu Li asked: “Did you hit him?”
Li Heng shook his head: “He came prepared—I realized too late, he was already gone. What about you?”
Liu Li was furious: “I wanted to slap him a few times, but this bastard ran faster than a rabbit—I couldn’t catch him.”
Li Heng comforted him: “Don’t worry. Focus on the exam. He’s not as strong as you. Chen Lijun’s not his yet.”
Liu Li was clearly furious—he, who rarely swore, cursed repeatedly: “Fuck! If I don’t do well this time, I’ll chop off one of his legs with a kitchen knife when I get home!”
After constant reassurance from Li Heng and Mai Sui, Liu Li—who’d never been top in Chinese—finally calmed down. After lunch, the three studied geography together for the afternoon exam.
Geography was scheduled for 3 p.m.
Guilty of his earlier mischief, Liu Yejiang arrived at the exam hall right at the last minute, giving Li Heng zero chance to retaliate.
Generally, geography was the hardest of the three liberal arts subjects. But for students in Class 204, who generally performed well, it was the most mechanical—and easiest to score high on compared to politics and history.
After the exam, everyone felt relaxed.
As soon as the bell rang, Liu Yejiang sprinted out—and didn’t even return to Dorm 215 that night.
Liu Li, Zou Ai, and Li Tuanming searched the entire school but couldn’t find him.
Everyone they asked was a victim.
All had been psychologically wrecked by Liu Yejiang’s taunts and were vowing to beat him up.
When homeroom teacher Wang Qi learned of Liu Yejiang’s actions, his face turned livid—he nearly exploded in rage. Later, worried the boy would keep causing trouble, he rode his bicycle all the way to Liu’s home and spoke with him for twenty minutes.
Day one: Chinese and Geography.
Day two morning: Mathematics.
The 1987 Hunan Gaokao math paper was extremely difficult.
How difficult?
It was widely regarded as one of the hardest in the entire 40-plus years since the Gaokao’s restoration.
It had left countless examinees in tears, heartbroken, and filled with regret—its difficulty was comparable only to the 2003 Gaokao math paper in the new century.
Sure enough, within five minutes of receiving the paper, Liu Yejiang’s palms were drenched in sweat.
Within fifteen minutes, he wasn’t just sweating—he was trembling uncontrollably, shivering, his grip on the pen slipping.
“How could this happen? How could it be this hard? Oh God!”
A wave of dread rose in Liu Yejiang’s chest. He instinctively glanced to his right—at Li Heng.
The very person he’d always seen as his greatest rival.
He shouldn’t have looked. One glance nearly made him faint. A chill shot up his spine, and his legs began shaking uncontrollably on the floor.
Li Heng—how the hell had he already finished the fill-in-the-blank questions?
Did he skip the multiple-choice?
Yes, that must be it! The multiple-choice must’ve been too hard—he didn’t finish them.
Just as Liu Yejiang was desperately psyching himself up, Li Heng suddenly turned his head and shot him a wary glance, then covered his completed fill-in-the-blank answers with scratch paper.
Liu Yejiang nearly spat blood! Don’t you know I’m nearsighted? Even if you let me look, I can’t see from this distance!
In that short moment, Li Heng finished the fill-in-the-blank section.
Li Heng moved on to the long-answer questions.
Unbelievable—he’d already finished the first long-answer question and was flipping the page to start the second.
At that moment, the proctor up front shouted at Liu Yejiang: “Student! Focus on your own paper. If you keep craning your neck to peek at others’, I’ll confiscate your test.”
Only then did Liu Yejiang snap back—he’d been so fixated on Li Heng’s progress he hadn’t even finished his own multiple-choice questions.
But the next second, his panic deepened—he couldn’t solve any of the remaining four multiple-choice questions! None of them!
None of them!
What should he do?
Li Heng had already moved on to the second long-answer question—and Liu Yejiang hadn’t even finished his multiple-choice.
The more he thought about it, the more frantic he became.
At this moment, Liu Yejiang had completely forgotten the saying once circulated among the top students at No. 1 High School: Don’t sit near Li Heng during exams, or his terrifying problem-solving speed will shatter your nerves.
Previously, Xiao Feng had sat next to Li Heng and complained after the exam: “Sitting beside you is too stressful. Watching you solve problems so fast completely ruins my rhythm.”
Unsurprisingly, Xiao Feng’s overall score wasn’t as high as expected—she only ranked fourth in the entire school.
Xiao Feng’s mental resilience was already good, since she was a genuine academic powerhouse with solid confidence.
But Liu Yejiang was completely different—he’d always been inferior to Li Heng, desperately wanting to surpass him while secretly fearing him.
He’d never sat beside Li Heng before, so he’d never experienced Li Heng’s problem-solving speed.
Even during last semester’s scholarship exam, he’d denied it in his heart, convinced Li Heng had just stepped in dog shit and happened to get only competition-style questions—after prolonged self-suggestion, his mindset had nearly recovered.
But today wasn’t an ordinary exam—it was the Gaokao, the exam that decided his fate. Seeing Li Heng swiftly finish another problem and move on to the third major question!
Liu Yejiang glanced at Li Heng, then at his own paper—still stuck on the multiple-choice section. Sudden despair overwhelmed him; he wanted to scream and cry, tears welling in his eyes without him noticing.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I’ve failed. I’m going to fail the exam.”
An invisible, terrifying thought erupted from his heart, instantly spreading through his body, seizing his entire mind.
“Student, I’m warning you one last time—if you keep glancing sideways, I’ll collect your paper and give you a zero.”
Other students had mostly finished their fill-in-the-blank questions and were tackling the major problems, yet Liu Yejiang was still stuck on multiple-choice. The proctor, transferred from another school, naturally assumed he was a weak student.
A cheating weakling trying to peek!
Naturally, her tone was anything but kind.
Hearing this, Liu Yejiang, panicked beyond words, gritted his teeth and forced himself to look down at his own paper, forcing himself not to look at Li Heng again.
But…
But as the saying went: what you fear most is exactly what comes true. Your wife may betray you, your brother may deceive you—but math won’t lie.
Because if you don’t know math, you simply don’t know it!
Especially for Liu Yejiang, under such extreme tension, his mind on the verge of collapse, he couldn’t solve a single problem.
He couldn’t even perform at half his usual level!
He strained to be strong, yet his greatest rival, Li Heng, sat calmly through the math exam, solving problem after problem as if it were effortless.
Who could endure this?
Liu Yejiang couldn’t!
When Li Heng began the final major question, Liu Yejiang finally broke. A loud “clang” echoed as his entire body went limp, unable to sit upright—he collapsed straight onto the floor.
The sound was deafening!
How loud?
Let’s put it this way: even a 300-pound pig, slaughtered and thrown to the ground, wouldn’t make that much noise.
The guy didn’t just fall!
His desk and chair went down with him!
Instantly, every eye in the exam hall snapped toward him.
The female proctor, furious, shouted: “If you can’t solve it, you can hand in early! You can lie down and sleep on your desk! Don’t disrupt others’ exams, and don’t think you can cheat by peeking! This is the solemn, sacred Gaokao—not your circus! Get it straight!”
Liu Yejiang, pale and trembling, wanted to protest: I wasn’t peeking! I wasn’t performing! I just couldn’t sit up—come help me!
Unlike the female proctor’s harshness, the male proctor, though he’d already been quietly wary of Liu Yejiang, walked over to help him up, righted the desk and chair, and kindly said:
“You’ve got 38 minutes left. If you really can’t solve the rest, go back and recalculate the multiple-choice answers you already finished. Every extra point is a chance.”
Thirty-eight minutes remain; if you can’t solve the rest, go back and recalculate the multiple-choice questions you already finished—every extra point is another chance.
What chance?
At this point, Liu Yejiang was mentally broken. He paid no attention to the surrounding chaos.
He didn’t notice how many students ahead and behind him had left entire sections blank—his eyes saw only Li Heng!
His eyes saw only Li Heng!!
Li Heng had finished the final major question!
Li Heng had put down his pen and stretched!
Li Heng hadn’t even glanced at him once!
In that moment, Liu Yejiang felt his three years had been a joke—he’d treated Li Heng as his greatest rival, while Li Heng treated him like air.
Li Heng truly did treat this fool like air—they weren’t even in the same world. From the moment Liu Yejiang fell, his fate was sealed.
Even if Liu Yejiang repeated the year, unless he shed today’s psychological burden, he’d fall again exactly where he fell.
Many students repeated the year in this era, but few ever rose to prominence—indeed, very few succeeded.
The reason? The pressure was too great. The mental burden they carried was incomparable to those of later generations’ repeaters. After all, the value of a university degree before expansion was not on the same level as after—it was worlds apart.
The root cause is still too much pressure; the mental burden they carry cannot be compared to that of repeaters in later generations. After all, the value of a university degree before the expansion was not on the same level as after—it’s incomparable.
Time slipped away. As Li Heng finished reviewing his paper from start to finish, a sharp whistle pierced the air outside the exam hall.
The female proctor up front then loudly announced: “Fifteen minutes remain! You have fifteen minutes left. Check your name, school, and admission number—make sure they’re filled in, no omissions, no errors.”
Hearing the reminder, Li Heng, for peace of mind, reviewed his paper once more.
After finishing, he prepared to recheck his final multiple-choice answer when his peripheral vision caught Liu Yejiang suddenly springing to his feet, snatching his paper, and sprinting toward the door.
“Student, you cannot take the exam paper out of the hall!” The male proctor at the door reacted first, blocking him. “Return it!”
“I don’t want it! I don’t want this score! I’m not taking the exam anymore!” Liu Yejiang screamed, eyes red.
The female proctor now added: “Others are still working. Lower your voice. Put the paper back on your desk. Take your pen and tools with you.”
Completely shattered, Liu Yejiang whirled on her and roared: “Are you deaf?! Are you a deaf idiot?! I said I don’t want it! I don’t want ANY of it! I’m not taking the exam!”
Seeing the student’s aggressive, insolent attitude, the female proctor—who already had no good impression of him—snarled coldly:
“Don’t say that. Even if you don’t get into university, you can take the pen home for your little brother to use. They cost money. Maybe you’ll repeat the year.”
“Repeat your mother!” Liu Yejiang shrieked hysterically. His outburst drew no sympathy—only attracted the attention of the patrol supervisors.
Result: the paper wasn’t returned to the desk as required. Liu Yejiang tore it up himself—and was dragged away by a group of teachers.
He didn’t leave quietly. He made a huge commotion.
His roars echoed throughout the entire building, the whole area: “Let me go! Let me go! I’m chasing freedom! I’m chasing freedom!”
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