Chapter 23: Magnanimity

Math doesn’t lie, but it insults you.

Teacher Bai had been rambling on, and to Zheng Fa, every word felt like a hammer striking his skull.

“Do you understand now?”

He heard Teacher Bai ask him, looked up, and gave him a blank, confused expression.

“What about you?”

The old man asked Tang Lingwumin beside him.

"Pretty much," Tang Lingwumin whispered. "It's not that hard, is it?"

Teacher Bai nodded at Tang Lingwumin, then glanced at Zheng Fa and let out a long, deep sigh.

Zheng Fa: … You two aren’t even targeting me, but I feel like you’re both throwing dirt at me.

“I’ll explain it again. Zheng, listen carefully this time.”

Teacher Bai didn’t give up; he picked up his pen again, as if determined to crush each concept into pieces and spoon-feed it to Zheng Fa.

Then he made Zheng Fa realize that some things, you won’t know you’re truly incapable of until you fight for them.

Tang Lingwumin beside him had already begun yawning out of boredom; Zheng Fa’s face remained utterly bewildered, barely grasping half of it.

“I’ve never taught a student this stupid!”

Teacher Bai flung his pen down, angry.

Zheng Fa was also feeling discouraged when he heard Tang Lingwumin whisper beside him:

“Teacher Bai used to be a professor at Beijing University. It’s normal you can’t keep up.”

Zheng Fa was genuinely comforted—Beijing University was the top university in the country, far above Jiangnan University, his dream school.

Zheng Fa had self-awareness: he was at most hardworking, never talented.

But the old man grew increasingly impatient, his mouth full of contempt.

“Stupid!”

“Your brain won’t open!”

“Is Qing Shui Middle School filled with students like you? I bet your teacher’s salary is just compensation for emotional damage!”

Zheng Fa’s composure remained steady, but the old man had clearly exhausted his patience.

He kept cursing Zheng Fa.

Even mid-lesson, he stormed off in a rage, leaving Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin behind to smoke on the balcony.

Zheng Fa didn’t break; he broke the old man.

“Are you okay?” Tang Lingwumin, having heard the old man’s harsh remarks, now looked at Zheng Fa with pity: “What Teacher Bai said earlier was a bit too much.”

“He’s used to teaching geniuses. Teaching me is a trial for him.” Zheng Fa said his mindset was calm.

These insults were positively refined compared to the lowbrow jokes back in the village.

“That’s true…” Tang Lingwumin nodded: “I heard him say before that he couldn’t understand how anyone who scored full marks on the Gaokao math exam would dare apply to Beijing University’s math department.”

“?”

“Because real geniuses mostly get in through competitions.”

Tang Lingwumin explained, and Zheng Fa finally understood deeply: in Teacher Bai’s eyes, someone who occasionally scraped past 130 on math was nothing but rotten wood unfit for carving.

“Still, he went too far.”

“It’s fine. Strictness is good for me!” Zheng Fa turned around to comfort Tang Lingwumin.

The girl looked at him deeply, impressed: “I just realized—you’re surprisingly magnanimous. I couldn’t take it.”

…

“Alright, you won’t learn anything else right now. Let me explain these diagrams clearly!” The old man finally gave up: “These diagrams are actually just two patterns.”

“Some parts are probably incomplete.” He added a few strokes to the diagram, then drew two simpler shapes on paper: “These diagrams are all variations of these two basic patterns.”

Zheng Fa studied the two shapes and memorized them.

“I taught you for thirty minutes—I’ve lost three years of my life!” The old man still complained, clearly regretting this and wanting to quit.

“How about I teach you?”

“Huh?”

“Secret technique. Clan’s ultimate skill.” Zheng Fa smiled with pure innocence.

“Come on, come on!” The old man instantly perked up, dragging Zheng Fa into an empty room.

“Follow me!”

Zheng Fa taught seriously—he demonstrated the Songhe Stance, and Tang Lingwumin watched curiously nearby; he paid her no mind.

The old man twisted his body into a pretzel shape.

“Smack!” Zheng Fa slapped the old man’s occiput.

“What are you doing?!”

“Your head is in the wrong position!” Zheng Fa’s face was stern.

“Oh.”

Teacher Bai obediently corrected his head.

“Smack!” “Pull your arms in!”

“Smack!” “Don’t stick out your belly!”

“Smack!” “Stand firm on your legs!”

The repeated smacks made Tang Lingwumin wince in sympathy; she and Teacher Bai both grimaced.

“Step your leg forward!”

“No no! My legs are breaking!”

Teacher Bai cried out in pain.

Zheng Fa spoke with the tone of someone exasperated by failure:

“Stupid!”

“Didn’t you oil your body?”

“Your previous master probably got so fed up he turned himself in to the police!”

Tang Lingwumin gave Zheng Fa a long, deep look.

She silently bowed her heart in apology to the word “magnanimity.”

When Teacher Bai had stood the stance for ten minutes and could no longer endure it, Zheng Fa finally let him go.

According to Xu Jiaotou, the old man’s talent was truly poor—at best, low-average.

Add his age, his bones were stiff.

His speed in practicing Songhe Stance was lucky if it reached one-tenth of Zheng Fa’s.

Teacher Bai rubbed his aching arms and bounced in place: “You know what? I feel lighter all over.”

Zheng Fa was certain that with this man’s talent, no real progress could have been made in this time—it was almost certainly psychological.

“Then we’ll take our leave.”

Zheng Fa wanted to escape.

“Wait!” Teacher Bai blocked the door: “Had your fill of yelling? Trying to run?”

“...”

“Another half-hour with me!”

The old man dragged Zheng Fa back, pulled out a reference book from his study used during lessons, and began tormenting Zheng Fa again.

When Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin left, it was already around ten at night.

“Were you doing that on purpose?” Tang Lingwumin blinked at Zheng Fa in the hallway: “Deliberately provoking Teacher Bai so he’d teach you more?”

“No, he was doing it on purpose.” Zheng Fa slung his bag over his shoulder and glanced back at her: “This old man desperately wants someone to teach.”

He hadn’t missed the fleeting loneliness on Teacher Bai’s face when they said goodbye.

…

When he woke again, he was back at Zhao Fu.

On another bed, Gao Yuan slept sprawled messily, papers scattered beside his pillow.

The patterns on them were so familiar to Zheng Fa he could vomit them out.

After a weekend of cramming at Teacher Bai’s house, though math was still hard, Zheng Fa had finally figured out those diagrams.

At least he remembered how to understand their patterns mathematically.

“Awake?” Gao Yuan mumbled, rolled over, squinted at Zheng Fa rising, and rubbed his eyes.

“Get up. Xu Jiaotou’s waiting for us.”

Zheng Fa urged him. After teaching them the Songhe Stance, Xu Jiaotou had become a hands-off master; yesterday—or rather, the day before Zheng Fa crossed into this modern world—he suddenly said he wanted to check how they’d practiced.

He suddenly said he wanted to see how the two had progressed over these past few days.