Of course, she could also go ask Andrew Lane. It's just that, after that day, Andrew Lane never went to the school's shabby math olympiad class again. Maybe it was because the school's math olympiad class really wasn't up to standard.

Maybe it was for some other reason. She used to always run into Andrew Lane, but later on, she never saw Andrew Lane again.

From that moment, Zoe Young began to vaguely suspect that maybe there were no coincidences or fate in this world, that everything was man-made.

At 7:40, when Zoe Young had been standing outside the gate for fifteen minutes and her fingers were starting to feel cold, the big iron gate opened and the crowd surged in. Inside, on the playground near the teaching building, there was a row of teachers standing, each holding a big sign with the exam room number written on it. Everyone searched for their exam room according to the number on their admission ticket and lined up.

Zoe Young stood at the end of the line for exam room 14. She looked up and noticed that the hat of the girl in front of her looked a bit familiar. When everyone lined up to enter the exam room and looked for their seat according to the exam number on the white slip of paper stuck to the upper left corner of the desk, Zoe Young realized that the girl was indeed someone she knew. Charlotte Lee, sitting at the desk to her left.

Zoe Young tried hard to keep her expression normal, but every little sound from the left could tug at her nerves. Charlotte Lee let out a soft hum, Charlotte Lee yawned with her head on the desk, Charlotte Lee tossed her admission ticket in the air, Charlotte Lee rested her chin in her hand and glanced sideways at her, Charlotte Lee was laughing at her, Charlotte Lee...

Zoe Young had thought she could be like in the cartoons, turn her head with confidence and passion and say, "What are you looking at? I will definitely defeat you, just you wait!"

But this wasn't a basketball court, nor was it Demon World Mountain. Ten minutes later, what was handed out was a math olympiad test. Math olympiad, it was math olympiad.

She didn't have the confidence, so she could only pretend not to see. For the first time, Zoe Young realized that the protagonist isn't just acting. The bystanders know they will eventually break out, eventually win, they won't die, they won't lose. But in real life, no one pats her head and tells her: Little girl, don't worry, you're the protagonist, go ahead and talk big, you'll win in the end anyway.

There is another kind of character in the world called cannon fodder. They are mediocre, they work extremely hard, they are always used to inspire and motivate the protagonist, to create and resolve misunderstandings, and in the end, to take a bullet for the protagonist—only the lucky ones get to die in the protagonist's arms and receive two tears.

At that time, she still couldn't figure out these confusing things, but on that lead-gray morning, in the stuffy, gloomy classroom, all the rustling sounds from the left were etched into her memory like needles, and every time she recalled it, she felt unbearably heavy.

The proctor held up a kraft paper bag to show the seal was intact, then opened it and handed out the test papers. Zoe Young took the test paper passed from the student in front, took out a Winnie the Pooh ballpoint pen from her pencil case, carefully wrote her exam number, name, and school on the left, then began to face the test. Twenty fill-in-the-blank questions, six big problems. The first question was a difference of multiples problem, she solved it in two minutes. Then she checked it carefully, no problem. The second question was a tree-planting problem, went smoothly.

Zoe Young started to get a little excited. She solved the first six fill-in-the-blank questions with hope, the seventh was a bit difficult, so she circled the number and left it for now. Then she looked at the eighth question, hmm, barely guessed an answer, substituted it back into the original question, seemed reliable, not bad, moved on to the ninth.

Twenty minutes later, Zoe Young felt awkward. At first, she circled the numbers of the questions she couldn't solve—later, she gave up circling—because on the whole test, there were only seven questions left uncircled. Zoe Young tried for a long time, but in the end, she just lay on the desk, quietly listening to the ticking of her wristwatch. She really tried, practiced piano and took exams, never missed a math olympiad class. Although she was timid and not thorough when doing problems, always feeling like she was gambling, in half a year, starting from scratch in a fog, competing with a group of kids who had been training for math olympiad since childhood and were smart, she really found it hard. Actually, she knew, it was because she wanted it too much, but was too timid, hoped too much, but cared too much. Yet Zoe Young still sat up—not to keep working hard and look for solutions. She just stubbornly held her pen, pointlessly writing half-finished equations on the scratch paper. Because the girl on the left was solving problems smoothly, her scratch paper flipping crisply, the sound like a cruel and joyful song. Charlotte Lee finished the test, stretched, then turned to look at Zoe Young, the corner of her mouth showing a smile with an unclear meaning.

Zoe Young tried to cover her test with scratch paper—the blank spaces on the six big problems were just too glaring.

3×7=21

When the bell rang to end the exam, Zoe Young realized that her scratch paper was filled with countless two-digit equations like this.

3×7=21

Things in the world where you can just go all out regardless and succeed probably only exist in cartoons. She handed her test to the teacher, lowered her head, pretended not to see Charlotte Lee's grinning gaze, carefully put her ballpoint pen into her pencil case, cautious and solemn, as if she were holding the imperial jade seal. The little vanity at this age often wears a face of pride.

After leaving the classroom, Zoe Young ran to the girls' bathroom. She didn't really need to go, she just wanted to use the time difference to erase the sight of Charlotte Lee's back.

But as she walked out the main gate with the trickle of people, she immediately saw three cars parked to the left of the gate, a few adults gathered around four kids, chatting and saying who knows what.

Zoe Young lowered her head, ran across the not-so-wide street at the green light, then stood under the overpass on the other side, next to an old blind man in sunglasses playing the erhu, pretending to listen intently, but her eyes couldn't help glancing at the families not far across the street. Andrew Lane's mom was patting his head, smiling as she chatted with two other parents. Charles Johnson was kicking Andrew Lane's butt, Andrew Lane turned around and kicked Charles Johnson back, Charlotte Lee stood to the side laughing, and Ryan Johnson was making an impatient face at his mom, who was squatting down to tell him something.

Against the bleak background, this group and the three black sedans behind them formed a powerful barrier, full of pressure.

Zoe Young stared for a long time, unable to say what she was feeling inside. "Girl, you weren't really listening to my music, were you?" Zoe Young jumped, the old man lowered his head, rolled his eyes at her over the top of his sunglasses, his hoarse voice echoing under the empty bridge. Zoe Young blurted out, "You're not blind at all." The old man rolled his eyes several more times in anger: "Did I ever say I was blind?" Zoe Young thought of A Bing, and was about to say, "Only blind people play the erhu," but suddenly felt silly, so she scratched her head and grinned, then took a fifty-cent coin from her pocket and gently put it into the old man's dirty teacup.

She turned to look at the group at the school gate again, and found they were all looking in her direction—probably drawn by the old man's loud shout just now.

She froze, like a little fox whose tail had been stepped on, stiff and not knowing whose eyes to meet. Those seven or eight people formed a group, but only made Zoe Young's gaze scatter.

At that moment, the erhu music behind her suddenly grew loud, as if providing a ridiculous soundtrack to this awkward scene. Zoe Young snapped out of it, turned around, and the old man abruptly stopped, the last note cutting off, leaving a stifling silence.

"Grandpa, you..." "That's what fifty cents gets you. If you give me more, I'll keep playing."

Zoe Young knew the old street performer was joking, maybe even trying to help her out, but she still solemnly took out five yuan, bent down and put it in the teacup again. "Is five yuan enough?"

The old man grinned, and without another word, started playing again. The off-key performance echoed through the empty underpass, drifting away with the cold wind. Zoe Young stood there, staring at the white rosin dust falling from the erhu strings, her mood gradually calming, even feeling a melody more absurd than the music echoing in her heart.

When the song ended, the old man looked up, took off his sunglasses, revealing his big eye bags. "I composed this piece myself, does it sound good?" Zoe Young replied expressionlessly, "Do you want the truth?"

The old man rolled his eyes again, Zoe Young turned around, and the school gate was already empty. She just caught sight of the last car turning the corner, leaving half its rear and a trail of black smoke.

She smiled at the old street performer and said, "Thank you, grandpa." Then she put on her hat and walked back into the lead-gray, gloomy sky.