Chapter 89: I

“What’s going on? What’s going on?”

The accompanying teachers from No. 2 Middle School quickly arrived; the one at the front was the thin, small math teacher, Hu Teacher.

Xia Yue’s mind was still in turmoil; she blurted out to Hu Teacher: “Teacher Hu, Yan Jinbu solved all nine major math problems.”

Hu Teacher looked at Yan Jinbu in confusion, unable to comprehend.

There were proctors at No. 2 Middle School; by now she knew just how absurd this year’s math paper was.

But Hu Teacher said nothing more; after glancing at Yan Jinbu, he began dispersing the crowd.

“Enough! Exams are like this—others solving problems is their own ability; don’t be jealous, don’t be discouraged. If you didn’t do well on this one, there’s still the next one! Everyone, disperse!”

But many had gathered, chattering and unwilling to leave.

“Solved them all? Impossible! Did he cheat?”

“........”

“I didn’t! I didn’t do anything...”

Yan Jinbu’s face turned red with panic; he turned all his pockets inside out to prove he hadn’t brought any cheat sheets.

At that moment, a boy suddenly blurted out: “Then did you buy the exam questions? I heard people in the provincial capital sell them—thirty or forty yuan a set...”

“.........”

Everyone fell silent, staring at Yan Jinbu in shock.

Compared to cheating, “buying exam questions” seemed more plausible—how else could you solve such hard problems?

Children in the 1980s had simple minds and were easily swayed; the mentality of “you were worse than me last year, why are you better now?” was also widespread.

So when the student said this, he genuinely didn’t think it was wrong.

But the next moment, he saw Hu Teacher’s face darken, his eyes blazing like fire, as if he were the Ox-Demon King ready to devour someone.

Hu Teacher choked out his words, like a bull’s low roar: “Do you want to kill us? Do you want to kill everyone?”

Hu Teacher pointed at the surrounding students: “Do you want all the examinees’ scores invalidated? Not just this test center—every student’s score in the entire county, the whole city, even...”

Hu Teacher dared not continue; he feared rumors would spiral out of control.

Everyone froze, including Xia Yue and Yan Jinbu; even after other teachers arrived and dispersed them, they remained stunned.

They never imagined that if exam questions were leaked, it would be a disaster for every examinee—a catastrophe that would drown them all.

In the forty years since the college entrance exam was restored, only one case had occurred—in Sichuan Province in 2003—changing the fates of six million students nationwide.

After rejoining Li Ye and the others, Yan Jinbu confessed the incident with shame, and was scolded harshly by the fiery Han Xia.

“You idiot, why tell the truth? Can’t you make up a lie?”

“A lie... how do I make one up?”

Yan Jinbu was an honest man; his skill at lying was underdeveloped—he might manage if given time to think, but improvising? He still needed practice.

Li Ye sighed and said: “Next time someone asks you, say Old Locust Tree Grandpa appeared to you in a dream! Remember—say it with a grin, so everyone knows you’re lying.”

“.........”

Everyone was stunned, as if a hidden doubt had been resolved.

In the years that followed, the incense offerings to Old Locust Tree Grandpa in Qingshui County grew steadily; even students from neighboring counties and the provincial capital came to kneel and pray for dreams.

On the afternoon of July 8, Li Ye took the Politics exam with extreme “tension.”

Mainly because of the era’s different environment—many post-era ideas were considered “rebellious” back then; if the graders labeled your answers as “rebellious,” the consequences would be catastrophic.

This could be worse than cheating.

So Li Ye had read many recent newspapers in advance, storing them all in his brain’s “biological hard drive.”

Only after reviewing the exam questions repeatedly did he dare to begin writing, cautious, cautious, and even more cautious.

If he encountered a question he didn’t know, he’d search through all recent editorials, then “copy” relevant passages combined with textbook content.

I wrote everything I could—teacher, you decide what to do with it!

In his past life, a teacher once told Li Ye that when grading, they didn’t calculate how many points to deduct, but how many points to award.

It was a profoundly “kind” grading principle—no one wanted their harshness to ruin a student’s life.

Li Ye wasn’t the only one under intense pressure.

In a small place like Qingshui County, Chinese and Politics were the major score-differentiating subjects in the seven-exam college entrance test.

Only these two subjects gave most students a realistic chance to score around 80%.

For the rest—Physics, Math, Chemistry, English—scoring 40% on the exam was already quite good.

Li Ye got 21 points in Math last year—that was considered decent!

To average 70 across Math, Physics, and Chemistry, you’d need to be in the top class of the city’s No. 1 High School; to hit 80+? Go check the best high schools in the provincial capital—there, maybe you’ll find the monsters you’re looking for.

An average of 80+? That’d put you over 500 total—what are you dreaming about? Thinking of Qinghua or Peking?

Since 1977, Qinghua and Peking admitted only a thousand or so students each year—how many high-scoring candidates could there really be?

So for Xia Yue, who had staked everything on this exam, Politics had to be a top score.

The results proved her years of hard study weren’t wasted—she answered the Politics questions nearly perfectly, likely scoring over 90.

After the Politics exam, students had a half-hour break before continuing with the Biology exam.

This was the only time during the three-day exam that two subjects were back-to-back.

During the thirty-minute break, all students were forced outside while proctors rechecked desks and walls to ensure no paper or cheating aids remained.

The eight-member group, relying on Li Dayong’s bulky frame, claimed a shady spot and huddled under it, fanning themselves.

July weather was truly unbearable.

“Brother... I’m looking for my brother, Exam Room 1-06...”

A thin, delicate voice came from the school gate; Li Juan struggled carrying a bundle of soda, hurrying toward Li Ye, but was stopped by a teacher.

But Li Juan was a student at Yuhong Middle School—the teacher recognized her and quickly let her through.

Li Dayong rushed over to take the soda, grinning and praising the girl for being thoughtful.

“My brother told me to come—the teachers let me in.”

Li Juan wiped sweat from her forehead and pulled a handful of change from her pant pocket, handing it to Li Ye.

Li Ye waved it off, bit open a soda, and handed it to little Li Juan.

“Drink! Tastes just like Dayao!”

“.........”

Since yesterday, Li Juan had been “ordered” to camp outside Yuhong Middle School to “accompany” Li Ye—no one knew if Grandma Wu Juying was worried Li Ye would act foolish again, or what.

On such a scorching day, Li Ye couldn’t let the little girl wait outside.

He tossed her a five-yuan note: “Go find your own shade—candy, sunflower seeds, soda—help yourself.”

But Li Juan was a disciplined, clever child—she didn’t spend a single cent, and even traveled far to buy a bundle of soda and bring it in.

The eight-member group had just downed cold water and were bored; one sip of soda felt like a post-era kid drinking a soda after their throat had turned to dust.

“Li Ye, your sister’s great.”

“Yeah, pretty and sharp.”

Li Juan giggled, sipping happily—not only did she get soda, but her pocket was stuffed with cash she couldn’t spend in two days; if her brother still refused it, she’d just save it.

Mom was stingy—only five fen a week, not enough for three ice pops; how generous her brother was.

Of course, her sister Li Ying was even stingier—she’d squeeze five fen until it dripped, never spending a cent, guarding it like a fortress, hiding it somewhere no one could find.

While Li Ye’s group drank soda, other students drank cold water—but the soda vendor was too far away, and with only half an hour, no one dared go out.

Everyone turned to Xia Yue—but the usual “cannon” who always cheered them on today sat silent and dazed.

She was calculating her scores.

“I’ll get over 80 in Chinese, over 90 in Politics, 45 in Chemistry, Math... let’s say 20, Biology must be at least 40.”

She calculated several times and felt she still had a chance to meet her goal.

After today’s Biology exam, five of the seven subjects were done; if she got over 280, and scored 125 in Physics and English tomorrow, she’d reach 410—

That should meet the minimum standard for out-of-province schools... right?

Her Math score was bad, but everyone else’s was bad too!

The college entrance exam ranked you, not scored you—Qingshui County’s overall level was low; aside from Li Ye’s “rebellious” group, she, Xia Yue, was still among the best.

But if Li Ye knew what Xia Yue was thinking right now, he’d already be silently mourning for her.

This method of calculating your score before even seeing the exam questions was a fallacy.

For example, in a future soccer match:

“China is losing 0-4, with 40 minutes left—we still have a chance.”

I’ve got NIMAS a chance!

You think you can score and the other team won’t stop you?

Only if the opponent were Andorra could you have a shot—even Syria wouldn’t let you win.

Applied to Xia Yue now: for the remaining questions, the ones I want to score on, you must give me exactly those—while the ones I don’t care about, you can make them whatever you want...

Do you think the college entrance exam question-setters are idiots?

If they designed questions to match your wishes, why even take the exam? Just calculate your scores yourselves, pack your bags, and report to school—I’d save the trouble of writing questions.

The goal of 1980s college entrance exams was to ruthlessly filter people; to achieve such low admission rates, they pulled out all the stops—wild, unpredictable, mind-bending.

Five minutes before the exam, students were allowed to enter the exam hall.

Before entering, Jin Shengli walked over, wanting to encourage Xia Yue.

But Xia Yue turned her head away, ignoring him.

In Xia Yue’s eyes, Jin Shengli was nothing but a “coward.”

Because Lu Jingyao’s self-study series had not been delivered on time, Jin Shengli, who had already retaken the exam for three years, backed out at the last moment, abandoning his application for undergraduate studies and opting for junior college instead.

This left Xia Yue without a companion, all alone.

The most steadfast partner abandoning him at the final moment gave Xia Yue the feeling of a solitary traveler—lonely, yet stronger than ever.

Let me walk alone, still without regret or resentment.

Entering the examination hall, the test papers were distributed.

The biology paper totaled only fifty points, split across two test sheets—this was still the result of a twenty-point increase this year.

In 1981, biology was first included as an exam subject; many candidates didn’t even know where to find textbooks.

Moreover, the biology paper had only thirty points back then, and most candidates didn’t bother struggling with it—the scattered, fragmented knowledge felt as bland as chicken bones.

But today, this chicken bone, falling into Li Ye’s mouth, felt like he’d caught a piece of fatty meat.

Metabolism... the spatial structure of nda... the main functions of the human liver... the two main divisions of human skeletal muscle... an essay on the entire process of human respiration...

【Aren’t these points just free gifts?】

Li Ye felt he could score a perfect mark; losing even one point would be irresponsible to his former PE teacher.

Because his PE teacher always explained these human-body topics with perfect clarity.

But he didn’t know that countless candidates were cursing inwardly.

“I’m a student, not a doctor—what the hell kind of question is this?”