Chapter 100: The Provincial Number One, So Arbitrary

Li Kaibian drove away with Li Mingyue, satisfied, and Cui Aiguo, triumphant.

Li Ye also calmly began writing his own work—he needed to finish The Fugitive of War in a few days before heading south to Yangcheng with Jin Peng.

Whether he’d later help Xiao Zhi Xian Xian continue the story depended on what the big shots in Jingcheng decided.

His grandmother Wu Juying slipped in quietly, placed a sliced watermelon before her eldest grandson, glanced at him cautiously, confirmed Li Ye wasn’t angry, then slipped out again.

Back in her room, Wu Juying told her husband, “I really feel Xiao Ye has grown—he can quiet his aunt with just a few words, so generous, so sensible.”

Li Zhong let out a “hmph.” “This kid’s gotten clever—he’s hiding malicious intentions!”

“Get out, get out—do you talk about your own grandson like that? You brag about him everywhere outside, then complain at home.”

Wu Juying retorted sharply, then remembered something: “Why hasn’t Kaibian come back yet? It’s not far to Binhe Township.”

“Don’t you know what your daughter’s like?” Li Zhong snapped. “Won’t she show off until she’s worn it out?”

When Li Kaibian returned, it was nearly midnight; everyone in the house was asleep.

He quietly pushed his motorcycle into the shed, tiptoed inside, and woke Han Chunmei.

“Kaibian, what happened to you?”

“Shh, keep it down—don’t let Xiao Ye hear.”

Li Ye in the next room perked up, crept closer, and pressed his ear to the wall to eavesdrop on his father and mother’s whispers.

“You’re covered in mud—how’d you get like this?”

“I rode my bike into a river.”

“Ah? You—how could you be so careless!”

Han Chunmei grew frantic, on the verge of tears.

If Kaibian suffered even a minor injury, how would she and her two daughters get by? Their good life had just begun!

“Why are you so worked up? I did it on purpose.”

Li Ye, listening at the wall, froze—he couldn’t fathom what Kaibian was up to.

Kaibian whispered, “I thought I was just dropping off my eldest sister, but she went to her mother-in-law’s, then to her younger brother’s—and finally, guess what? She told me to take her to the provincial capital the day after tomorrow.”

“I was sick of her yammering, and right ahead was a ditch—I had an idea and drove straight into the water.”

Han Chunmei stared blankly for a long time, then said in relief, “How could you be so reckless! What if you drowned your sister?”

“She can swim,” Kaibian said proudly. “After gulping down two mouthfuls of water, she swore she’d never ride with me again—said I was trying to kill her.”

Brilliant. Truly brilliant.

Li Ye couldn’t help but mutter, “So brilliant.”

Ex-soldiers were different—ruthless, decisive.

He’d only been bickering with Aunt Li Mingyue, but Kaibian, her own brother, gave her a full-blown shock—once and for all.

In a classroom building at a university in the provincial capital, Yao Renhua from Qingshui County High School was sweating profusely while grading college entrance exam papers.

Here, he was no longer Director Yao—he was just an ordinary grader.

Everyone around him doing the same work were carefully selected middle and university teachers from across cities and counties, all highly skilled and experienced.

Simply being seated here, sweating over papers, was a recognition of one’s teaching ability.

So although everyone knew grading the college entrance exam was exhausting, no one ever refused or lagged behind—as long as they could still breathe, they wouldn’t give up this privilege.

Yao Renhua was nearly fifty, had graded for three consecutive years, and was the only teacher from Qingshui County selected—he couldn’t afford to slack off.

Qingshui County lacked talent.

Several teachers from the city’s high schools knew Yao Renhua; they got along well, but behind their smiles, they all thought Qingshui County’s students were pitiful.

The county produced fewer than ten college admissions annually—fewer than a single key high school in the city—how could anyone take them seriously?

“Ah, ice cream’s here, ice cream’s here—take a break, everyone!”

The call from the hallway brought relief to Yao Renhua and the others—they finished their current tasks and stepped out to grab a few popsicles and breathe.

All were in their forties or fifties, sitting for hours like students in classrooms, yet forced to concentrate intensely—physical and mental exhaustion was immense; a pause was welcome.

Yao Renhua sucked on his popsicle while chatting with several city teachers.

“Old Yao, your teeth not good? You’re not even fifty yet, right?”

“Ah, you don’t understand—ice cream must be sucked slowly. Crunching it down fast won’t cool you off!”

“Hahaha, Old Yao’s right—these young people are always in a hurry.”

Everyone knew the truth: a man nearing fifty couldn’t crunch ice cream anymore—teeth and digestion wouldn’t allow it; they just refused to admit it.

After two popsicles, the summer heat lessened, and their talk grew more relaxed.

“I think this year’s cutoff scores will be much higher than last year’s. The physics papers I graded show a clear average improvement—today’s students have stronger foundations.”

“Same with chemistry—I’ve graded papers where even the weakest students got several fill-in-the-blank questions right; over fifty points isn’t rare anymore. Two years ago, forty was rare.”

“But this year’s math was brutal. I’ve graded for two days and can count on two hands the papers over seventy. How many students got wrecked by math?”

“Exactly—this year’s math paper was too hard, abnormal. Even at Provincial Capital No. 1 High, barely a few students per class might pass.”

Provincial Capital No. 1 High was Dongshan Province’s flagship key high school, with annual college admission rates over 60%—if even their students struggled, this paper deserved the word “insane.”

All the graders agreed—they knew their students’ baseline levels, and this exam had stunned countless children.

But a quiet teacher nearby suddenly spoke: “Not necessarily. Yesterday morning, I graded seven or eight math papers—all over eighty.”

“Seven or eight math papers over eighty?”

Everyone was stunned.

The papers they graded were shipped in sealed batches from surrounding counties, ordered by distance—so the sequence mattered.

If seven or eight high-scoring papers appeared in one morning, those students likely came from the same district or even the same exam center.

“Provincial Capital No. 1 High’s elite class?”

“No, I know their math teacher—he complained to me yesterday about failing his students.”

“Then who the hell taught these geniuses?”

Everyone speculated—Daocheng No. 1, Provincial Capital No. 2—but no one imagined Qingshui County No. 2 High, an obscure school.

After days of continuous grading, Yao Renhua, his lower back aching and numb, held on for his final shift.

He’d soon go home—earn extra grading pay, and gain insight into the overall level of Dongshan Province’s high schoolers. This grading session was worth it.

But as Yao Renhua pondered what dress to buy his wife with his pay, the grading team leader arrived with two sets of papers and called out fourteen teachers’ names.

“Everyone, stay late—compare one set of papers.”

The teachers exchanged glances, confused.

But when the two sets were distributed, they instantly understood.

One was the just-graded college entrance exam paper; the other was a pre-exam test from over a month ago.

Their scores were wildly different: one exceeded six hundred points; the other barely scraped past three hundred.

After a long silence, a loud voice broke it:

“Why are we comparing these? These are clearly the same handwriting!”

The fourteen teachers were split into seven pairs, each pair assigned to compare one subject’s papers—even a single punctuation mark couldn’t escape their scrutiny.

A single glance confirmed: these were written by the same person.

The team leader asked: “You think there’s no issue?”

The grader replied calmly: “I think there’s no issue. Suspicion alone can’t invalidate a student’s score.”

Another teacher, assigned to chemistry, added: “I agree too. Look here.”

He held up the pre-exam chemistry paper: “This student only answered forty points’ worth of questions on the pre-exam—but those forty points were the hardest section of the entire paper.”

“Mine too,” said the physics grader. “He scored thirty-six points, but only answered the thirty-six points’ worth of hardest problems.”

“Look at this!”

The English teacher tossed down the English paper, pointing to the essay: “This level rivals university English majors.”

“I agree too—look at how he writes his equals sign: the top and bottom lines have a unique length difference. I can’t replicate it.”

Finally, after careful calculation, the fourteen teachers made a shocking discovery: the pre-exam paper scored only 305 because the student answered only 305 points’ worth of questions.

[Who the hell is this guy? If he were my student, I’d beat him senseless!]

“I believe this student broke no rules or regulations regarding the college entrance exam—why compare his pre-exam paper?”

“Agreed!”

“I agree too!”

The team leader looked around, expressionless: “Since everyone agrees there’s no issue, sign the form.”

Staff handed out a comparison record sheet; all fourteen teachers signed without hesitation.

Come on—this level of scrutiny clearly meant only one thing: this student was the provincial number one.

Every year, the provincial number one’s papers were rechecked—but this year’s recheck was bizarrely unusual.

Still, upright teachers would never destroy a student’s dream over baseless suspicion.

Seek truth, serve the public—the nation needs talent, and this one must not be buried.

But it remains unknown whether this year’s provincial top scorer is from the provincial capital or Island City.

Today I posted fifteen thousand words; I’ll continue tomorrow. If you have any votes, please support me—Old Feng thanks you!

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(End of chapter)