Chapter 65: Checkup

Modern day, classroom.

“Zheng Fa, you’re about to lose me!”

Zheng Fa looked up from his desk, stunned for a moment, until his mind finally detached from the indescribable mathematical symbols and recognized the person speaking to him as Wang Chen.

The other’s expression looked deeply pained.

“I tolerated you memorizing textbooks!”

“I tolerated you ranking second in class and top ten in grade!”

“Even when you were sneaking around with Tang Lingwumin, I still tolerated it!”

“… ”

Wang Chen’s tone turned agonized: “But look at what you’re doing now!”

Zheng Fa glanced at the “Perfect Score Secret Papers” in his hand: “What’s wrong?”

“You’re memorizing exam papers! And you pick the hardest problems to memorize!” Wang Chen sighed. “We’ve known each other for years—I thought I understood you. But now, you’ve become so twisted I feel like I don’t know you at all…”

Zheng Fa fell silent, then spoke: “I don’t blame you—even I think I’m a little twisted.”

“?”

“You don’t understand what it’s like to be forced by life to cram these disgusting things into your head… I’m starting to feel sick. I’m leaving.”

Saying that, Zheng Fa glanced at the sky, shook his head, and headed downstairs—today was the day he and Tang Lingwumin went for tutoring with Old White.

Watching Zheng Fa leave, Wang Chen stared blankly back and asked his desk mate: “Did Zheng Fa just insult himself? Has he studied himself stupid?”

“Looks like it!” the desk mate nodded, watching Wang Chen pull out a textbook from his desk and begin muttering to himself with eyes closed. He asked curiously: “What are you doing?”

“Memorizing!” Wang Chen opened his eyes, impatiently: “Don’t interrupt my studying.”

“... Are you copying Zheng Fa?”

“Why not?”

“Then why did you just insult him?”

Wang Chen turned to his desk mate, voice astonished:

“Don’t you want to insult him?”

“... I do!”

“Don’t you want to become him?”

“... I do!”

“Then what’s your problem?”

…

Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin walked side by side toward the staff housing complex.

“Tang Lingwumin, you’ve been preparing for the math competition all this time?”

“Mm.”

Tang Lingwumin glanced at him, as if puzzled why he’d ask such an obvious question.

“Have you ever encountered problems that are insanely hard to calculate, utterly disgusting, and torturous?”

“Your question makes me completely unable to understand.”

“Uh, if you’ve come across such problems, could you send me some?”

Zheng Fa requested of Tang Lingwumin.

“What do you want them for?”

“I need to memorize them.”

No choice—selecting problems for Zhang Shijie wasn’t easy.

Too simple wouldn’t do; it wouldn’t give Zhang Shijie enough pleasure, and she might abandon this lifeline.

Too hard—like century-old unsolved problems—wouldn’t work either; Zheng Fa believed Zhang Shijie enjoyed the thrill of conquering difficult problems, not being crushed by them.

A person shouldn’t… shouldn’t be this twisted.

Proof problems were out of the question—not only because she might not know them, but because too many would eventually make Zhang Shijie notice the differences between his math and the Xuanwei Realm’s.

He never underestimated a genius, especially a Jin Dan–level genius’s intellect.

Under these conditions, the only problems left were those with absurdly complex calculations—even nauseatingly so.

Zheng Fa felt he needed to accumulate more such problems regularly to satisfy Zhang Shijie.

Tang Lingwumin fell into long silence, neither accepting nor refusing.

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

Tang Lingwumin pressed her lips, then finally said: “If you’re under too much pressure, I know a hospital that’s good for this.”

…

“Has Old White gone to the hospital?”

When they arrived at Old White’s home, they discovered he wasn’t there—the door was opened by an unfamiliar middle-aged woman.

“Nothing serious. The old man’s old—he gets a checkup every year.”

“Who are you?”

“You must be Tang Lingwumin and Zheng Fa—come in,” the woman invited them, introducing herself: “I’m his daughter.”

Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin exchanged glances.

They both knew Old White’s daughter worked at Qing Shui Middle School, apparently in logistics—but they’d never met her before.

The three sat on the living room sofa. Old White’s daughter studied them, as if preparing to say something.

After a moment, she gathered her words: “I’ve heard both your names from my father—he says you’re both hardworking and intelligent.”

“… ”

Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin exchanged another glance, saying nothing, simply listening carefully to what came next.

Such an opening was never meant to praise them.

“I also want to thank you both,” Old White’s daughter continued. “I have work, children at home, and countless responsibilities. With you two keeping him company, he’s less lonely—and I feel better.”

Zheng Fa glanced at Tang Lingwumin, who seemed uncomfortable speaking with adults, and spoke up: “We should be thanking Professor Bai for teaching us.”

Old White’s daughter smiled and said: “He’s always been like this—loves being around young people, refuses to admit he’s old, retired with a body full of ailments, yet still can’t let go of his math, still wants to stay in Jingcheng to write a book.”

Zheng Fa began to understand why she’d invited them in.

“I brought him back hoping to care for him nearby,” she sighed. “But he refuses to live with us—he says he’s afraid of the noise, and only wants to stay in this old house.”

“He’s afraid of being a burden to you,” Zheng Fa nodded.

Old White’s daughter nodded, then said: “You’re not much older than my children—I treat you as younger generations. I’ll speak plainly: I brought him back so he can rest, take care of his health, and enjoy some family peace in his later years.”

“I don’t oppose him taking two students—but these past few days, I heard he stayed up all night drawing diagrams. That I won’t allow.”

Zheng Fa thought of the notebook at his own home.

“Do you understand what I mean?”

Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin nodded—it meant they should trouble Old White less, especially not let him stay up late.

Zheng Fa felt this message was aimed squarely at him.

“I could only say this while he’s not here. Otherwise…”

The door opened. Old White walked in carrying a white plastic bag, labeled “Second Hospital.”

“Huh? You’re here so early?” he said, seeing Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin, then noticed his daughter and frowned: “What did you tell them?”

“Dad, how was the checkup? What did the doctor say?” His daughter ignored his question.

“Results won’t be out until later—they said I can check them on my phone. They sent me home first. The doctor prescribed some medicine—those same old pills. I’ve been taking them for ten years; I could write my own prescription.”

Old White answered his daughter’s question, but didn’t drop the previous one: “You couldn’t convince me, so you came to convince them?”

“Dad…”

“I told you, I’m in perfect health!” Old White’s face flushed with irritation.

“Do you think I don’t know you? You forget to eat or drink while writing your book, then pass out in the library and scare the director half to death!” His daughter didn’t coddle him: “Why else would I have brought you back?”

“It was just low blood sugar—a chronic issue. And nothing serious!” Old White’s voice lowered.

“You’re old! Do you even know what ‘old’ means?” His daughter’s voice rose louder: “Just wait—you’ll see the checkup report. Every single ailment you’ve got won’t be missing.”

“It won’t kill me…” Old White muttered, clearly lacking conviction, yet kept talking: “When I was young, your mother controlled me. Now you’re controlling me…”

His phone in his pocket buzzed—a notification.

He picked it up, glanced at the screen, his expression shifted slightly. He quickly put the phone down, looking guilty.

“The results are out? Dad, check them!” His daughter shot him a cold glare.

“Fine, I’ll check. Am I scared of it?” He opened his phone, stared at the screen for a moment, then frowned, tapping rapidly.

“What’s wrong? Is there a serious problem?” Seeing his reaction, his daughter stopped scolding and asked anxiously: “Should we go to Jingcheng for another checkup?”

“They must’ve mixed up someone else’s report with mine,” Old White looked up, almost proudly certain: “This person has no illness at all—definitely not me.”

“So you’re proud you’re sick?!” His daughter laughed in exasperation.