Chapter 69: Is Arithmetic Really That Difficult?! (Part 2)

Shi Tiexin thought to himself that he had misunderstood; he believed that the exams at Fengming No. 1 High School had always been this way, with any random test being a collection of rare and secret techniques. In truth, this wasn’t the norm at all; it was the first time the students of No. 1 High had encountered such an exam.

Although they were veterans of countless tests, never had they faced anything quite like this. Three straight hours of testing, from eight to eleven? Hm, this was a true test of bladder endurance.

Three hours—far too long. So—

A ripping sound swept through the school as every student tore open their test papers. The scratch of pens was like rain as everyone threw themselves into writing. Once the exam was over, you could leave—who would want to waste a moment? The sooner you finished, the sooner you could get out!

The exam booklets were printed to a high standard; opening to the first page, the heading declared: “This test is worth a total of 400 points.” Below, without preamble, the questions began: page after page packed tightly with arithmetic problems. The questions piled up like stacks of wheat after a summer harvest, overwhelming the eye.

Yet when the students of Class 28—the so-called “trash class”—focused their gaze, they found the questions surprisingly easy. Even a slacker like me can do these, they thought. Solving these problems would be as easy as playing a game, so they dove in eagerly. If you had to cheat on questions this simple, you’d be a disgrace.

Soon enough, though, some in the “trash class” started chewing on their pens.

The difficulty level suddenly spiked.

Passing notes began, sneaking glances at seatmates, exchanging meaningful looks, and signaling with fingers—all these behaviors appeared. The invigilator, Teacher Chu, paid them no mind as long as they didn’t openly talk. As a math teacher himself, Chu opened a test booklet, curious to see what Principal Liu’s mysterious exam was all about.

So far, all was as expected: the questions were hard, but not impossible. Moreover, the progression of difficulty seemed almost addictive, inexplicably compelling him to continue.

Suddenly, a student raised a hand. “Teacher, can I go to the restroom?”

Chu waved him off, urging him to hurry and not disturb his own problem-solving.

A few students stood and slipped out; gradually, the restroom near the “trash class” became lively, with several students meeting secretly. They had plotted beforehand—some would work from the front, others from the back, and they’d trade answers at scheduled intervals. Time was of the essence: finish, exchange answers, and leave. After all, the exam didn’t prohibit bathroom breaks.

One student had nearly finished the front page and was preparing to meet as planned to swap answers for the latter questions. After a wait, his contact finally arrived—but with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Why are you carrying your backpack? Your class lets you go out with it?”

The other’s face was sour. “You’re out of the loop—I’ve already handed in my paper.”

“You finished already?” The first student was stunned. “You copied all those answers?”

“Copied?” The other gave a strange smile. “Take my advice: hand it in and go. Swapping answers is pointless. Just get out of here while you can. No one could finish this test—I doubt anyone will. This exam is insane!”

The Class 28 student wanted to ask more, but the other was already muttering to himself and walking away, shaking his head. He returned to his classroom with a head full of questions, convinced the other had found some way to cheat but was refusing to share. What a jerk!

But soon, he began to understand.

Turning another page, the difficulty jumped again. Looking at the problems, he immediately lost any desire to seek answers. Among all the slackers in Class 28, no one could possibly help him now. And this was still near the front of the test booklet.

“Damn, can arithmetic really get this hard? Forget it—just guess and hand it in. It’s just a quiz, after all.” He flipped further; the sheer volume of questions meant even guessing would take a while. He scribbled randomly over a couple of pages, his wrist aching.

Enough—guessing won’t help. With so many problems, who could finish them all? Better just hand it in as is.

Forty-five minutes into the exam, he brought his paper to the front. Teacher Chu, absorbed in his own solving, waved him away, and he slung on his backpack and dashed out.

He was not the first to leave. The very first was the big guy from Class 31, who had been floored by Shi Tiexin in one blow—he didn’t care about exams, so he handed in his paper and left after just half an hour. Other ambitious would-be “Four Heavenly Kings” also handed in their papers and left in quick succession.

Zhou Tianwang of Grade 3 couldn’t delay his selection process indefinitely; perhaps the result would come in the next few days, so action was needed today. Exams? Who has time for that? There’s real business to attend to!

One by one, students began to leave. The trend spread from the “trash classes” outward; after an hour, it reached the regular classes, rippling forward by class number. After ninety minutes, even the elite classes began to stir.

An hour and forty minutes in, Gu Shaohuai of Class 7 was fidgeting restlessly on his bench. Staring at the problems before him, he could hardly believe his eyes. What on earth were these? How could something as basic as arithmetic become so twisted?

He glanced around the room—many students wore expressions of anxiety, frustration, and deep concentration. But the elite class was still the elite class; no one was yet whispering or cheating. They simply suffered in silence, wrestling with the questions.

Gu Shaohuai relaxed a little—so it wasn’t just him. If even he was struggling, most others would be too. Such high-level problems were clearly beyond the curriculum; no way would they show up on the college entrance exam. This was a pointless, failed exam!

He stole another look at his deskmate and was shocked to find the other making steady progress, cracking problem after problem.

A jolt of unease shot through Gu Shaohuai, but he quickly shook it off. Impossible, impossible—if he was barely scraping by, there was no way this classmate, someone he’d never paid attention to, could be doing better. He must be pretending, putting on a show to make Gu Shaohuai feel inferior and disturb his confidence.

Yes, that had to be it.

Well played, Wang Zetao—you, with your honest face, hiding such devious intentions. I never would have guessed!

But no matter how much you pretend, it’s useless. I see it now: no one could finish this failed exam, no one could master such outlandish problems!

Gu Shaohuai was certain, but in a daze, a word seemed to flutter through his mind. It flashed by, making him uneasy as it passed, but vanished before he could grasp it, like a fleeting delusion he couldn’t recall.

That word, it seemed, was “little genius.”