Chapter 79: Secret Technique—Self-Deception

Jiang Xiaoyan’s psychological resilience was indeed poor, or rather, the psychological resilience of students in this era was generally poor.

High school students forty years from now? Not just their psychology, even their skin had been thickened to near-perfection.

But high school students back then, when faced with even a slight “unexpected” twist in an exam, showed obvious emotional fluctuations.

Jiang Xiaoyan had encountered an unexpected twist.

From last autumn until now, their eight-person group had followed Li Ye’s review plan for over half a year.

From starting with two or three test papers per day, to later five or six, they had grown accustomed to swimming through seas of questions, and accustomed to a certain sense of “smoothness.”

That is, the “easy points” and “simple questions” at the front of each paper could be answered almost instinctively, with eyes closed; only by the second page did they need to focus intently.

But today, as soon as Jiang Xiaoyan received her paper, she found many “uncertain” questions in the first section.

Li Ye usually assigned fewer Chinese papers, and even fewer pinyin questions.

Because Jiang Xiaoyan and the others had such strong regional accents, improving them was too labor-intensive, so Li Ye simply avoided the topic entirely, to spare precious review energy.

Who knows how many pinyin points there’ll be on the Gaokao? After ten years of grinding, you can’t even pronounce “a,” “wo,” or “e” correctly—why waste time obsessing over this nonsense?

In the entire county No. 2 High, only two teachers spoke standard Mandarin in class—and even Teacher Ke tried to speak English whenever possible.

As for rural junior and senior high schools? Figure it out yourselves!

Even into the early 1990s, many junior high schools in Dongshan Province still lacked proper Mandarin teaching environments!

Students answered questions and read texts in class with thick local accents.

With this foundation, Li Ye was no fool—he wouldn’t waste time on pinyin.

But while Li Ye understood this logic, Jiang Xiaoyan could not.

This morning, they had been full of confidence, feeling armed to the teeth and ready to dominate; now, after just one blow, they were plunged into self-doubt.

This question doesn’t seem right.

This question might be wrong.

This question... maybe just guess?

After finishing the front section of the paper, Jiang Xiaoyan’s mind was in chaos.

For a 100-point Chinese paper, these repeaters usually scored only 70 to 80—even their highest-scoring subject.

So those missing 20 to 30 points? Clearly, they weren’t confident about them.

This made her doubt every subsequent answer, growing less and less confident as she progressed.

Fortunately, when the proctor announced “thirty minutes left,” Jiang Xiaoyan had already reached the conclusion of her essay—she’d filled in everything, right or wrong.

After the Chinese exam ended, the crushing sense of defeat—like a legendary swordsman falling into a ditch—left Jiang Xiaoyan feeling nearly drained.

“Come on. Let’s go get some air.”

Li Ye tapped Jiang Xiaoyan’s desk and called her out.

The eight-person group quickly gathered together.

At this time, examinees didn’t yet understand that comparing answers after the exam was taboo—they chattered loudly, debating every question.

Li Ye didn’t stop them; he let them experience it early, treating it as psychological training before the real Gaokao.

But this discussion only made several of them feel worse.

We’re not top students—how could we avoid losing points?

“Li Ye, your Mandarin’s the best—what were your answers for the pinyin questions?”

Li Ye smirked and decided to add fuel—he told them all the correct answers.

As a result, Hu Man and the others wore grim faces, as if the world had ended.

After tallying up, they were certain they’d lost at least ten points; the uncertain losses were still unknown.

Li Ye continued his quiet blows: “Did you all control your scores? Roughly how much?”

“.........”

Everyone fell silent, but their faces turned as dark as Judge Bao’s—utterly grim.

【Control scores? We’re barely passing—how are we supposed to control scores? Boss, are you messing with us?】

Li Dayong mumbled: “Bro, I’m not even sure I’ll hit sixty. Didn’t even try to control.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

During school tests and joint exams, Hu Man and the others could control scores without pressure—but at this critical moment, a pre-exam tied to their fates, they were deeply conflicted.

And under these circumstances, forget about controlling scores.

But after Li Dayong finished speaking, Wen Leyu said calmly: “I left about fifteen points blank.”

Fine.

Hit us harder, you two—just keep hitting us. We’re not from the same world as you.

Li Ye looked at the silent Li Dayong and smiled: “Dayong, feeling nervous? Short of breath?”

Li Dayong patted his chest, then nodded blankly.

“Bro, what do I do?”

“I’ll teach you a secret technique.”

Li Ye pointed to the street outside County No. 1 High: “Go out, hug that utility pole—”

“Don’t care what others think—just tell yourself: I’m right, I’m the best, I’m better than you all... repeat it twenty times.”

“.........”

Li Dayong’s round face instantly turned into a bitter gourd.

But Li Ye ignored him and continued: “Remember, when people stare at you weirdly, treat them as fools, treat them as idiots...”

Li Dayong frowned: “Bro, is this... really... effective?”

Li Ye replied firmly: “It works.”

Li Ye wasn’t just joking—decades later, many businesses ran similar “self-motivation” (self-deception) campaigns.

Let’s not even ask whether pretending long enough could actually fool yourself.

At least it gives a scattered, overthinking mind a temporary dominant thought, weakening and masking inner anxiety.

Whether it worked for Li Dayong and the others now, Li Ye couldn’t be sure—but how much worse could it get?

What was the lowest passing score for a Gaokao where 300 points got you on the list?

Just over 200.

Someone with just over 200 passed the pre-exam—Li Dayong’s normal score was over 400; how could he fail to hit 200?

Li Dayong hesitated, feet rooted to the spot—but behind him, Yan Jinbu walked silently out the school gate.

Then Fu Yingjie followed, and the two hugged the same utility pole together.

Li Ye felt a pang of nostalgia—children of the 1980s were so easily fooled.

Li Dayong finally lowered his head and walked out; moments later, Li Ye faintly heard the murmur: “I’m right, I’m the best...”

Wen Leyu stared at Li Ye strangely and whispered: “I don’t need to practice this secret technique, do I?”

Li Ye was about to say “no,” but saw Hu Man, Han Xia, and Jiang Xiaoyan all whispering under their breath.

Li Ye told Wen Leyu: “Mentally reciting it works too.”

“Oh~”

The second exam was mathematics.

After the paper was handed out, Li Dayong, having practiced the technique, instantly lit up like a tiny bulb.

【Xiao Ye’s method actually worked?】

What worked?

Mathematics was the subject the eight-person group had practiced the most—the easy points had been drilled countless times; they recognized them at a glance.

Li Dayong finished the first page quickly, flipped to the second.

I know this one.

I know this one too.

I just did this exact problem a few days ago!

Smoothness—sudden, explosive smoothness—affected nearly everyone in the group.

And this confidence, born of smoothness, carried through all subsequent exams.

By the time they took physics and chemistry the next day, Hu Man and the others had regained confidence—they were already planning how much to control their scores.

After the three-day pre-exam ended, the gloom over Jiang Xiaoyan and the others had vanished completely.

Because the later exams felt... easy.

Of course, not easy enough to score full marks—they still weren’t that capable.

But easier than last year’s pre-exam and Gaokao.

Especially after the English exam, Jiang Xiaoyan and Hu Man joked that if they weren’t in the science class, they might even try applying to Beijing Foreign Languages College.

The 1980s’ “mute English” environment indirectly limited English exam questions—if you made them too tricky, everyone would hand in blank papers.

Thanks to Li Ye’s targeted review and Wen Leyu’s inherited English excellence, the group’s English test-taking ability had reached “monkey pretending to be king” levels.

And Lu Jingyao’s success had made them all obsessed with “shortcuts,” giving rise to this bizarre idea.

The third day’s exam ended early; the school gave the examinees a holiday, rare permission to relax.

Li Ye first dropped Wen Leyu off at school, then retrieved a package from the kang stove at the Second Grain Store, and rode his bicycle home.

Hao Jian’s sideline business had gone smoothly—though they’d been cautious at first, carefully expanding channels, their profits were no longer on the same scale as selling rock candy wholesale.

Now Li Ye brings money home every few days, telling Li Zhongfa and Li Kaibian to hide it well.

Li Zhongfa, who had played guerrilla warfare with the Japanese soldiers, was still very skilled at hiding things.

When Li Ye arrived home, he found guests there—his aunt Li Mingyue and her family.

Seeing Li Ye enter, Auntie smiled warmly: “Li Ye, you’re back? How did the exam go? Did you do well?”

Don’t you already know exactly how well or poorly I did?

Li Ye stared at his aunt’s smile, finding it hard to read.

Because the smile was fake—but not mocking.

During these three days of exams, Li Ye had deliberately controlled his score, leaving large blank spaces on the paper, all clearly seen by his neighbor Cui Aiguo.

Given how often that little bastard sneered—at least three times an hour—he must have looked down on Li Ye with utter contempt.

Besides, Cui Aiguo and he had been enemies before; Cui Aiguo would never fail to tell his parents.

But soon Li Ye understood why Aunt Li Mingyue was smiling at him—not out of concern or kinship, nor mockery.

It was because of the plum-pattern watch on his wrist.