“This is simply nonsense,” Mr. Wayne took two deep breaths and continued, “Mr. Warren, the students at your school are really something. Grading themselves a perfect score?”

William Warren: “No—” He wanted to say, hell, this isn’t even a student from our school, right?

How could our school possibly have a student like this?

Besides, the handwriting doesn’t look familiar at all.

Before William Warren could finish, Mr. Wayne interrupted, “Fine, I want to see if they can really get a perfect score.”

This unknown candidate not only reserved a perfect score for themselves right from the start, but also filled the entire test paper to the brim, as if showing off. For one big question alone, they wrote three or four different solutions.

Occasionally, they’d even leave a comment next to a question, just for fun: This question isn’t good, what was the test maker thinking?

The actual test maker for the Four-School Joint Exam, Mr. Wayne: “”

Ethan Young still had no idea how much of a stir his and Henry Howard’s math exams had caused among the grading teachers, nor did he know that these teachers almost called an ambulance at the grading site in No. 14 High School.

That morning, he took some time to go to Heishui Street.

As soon as he got off the bus, he remembered that Aunt May had mentioned in the group chat that she’d been coughing lately, so he stopped by the pharmacy to buy her some medicine.

The Class 3 group chat was still tallying scores, and the messages had been buzzing nonstop since last night.

[Wanda]: I’m doomed, no matter how I calculate it, I only got about ninety points in math.

[Luke Carter]: Logan Wright, Strong Bro, what are you posting on your feed? You’re spamming everyone.

[Logan Wright]: I heard that forwarding these will bring miracles.

Ethan Young took advantage of the cashier’s distraction at the pharmacy to check out Logan Wright’s feed.

It was full of all sorts of weird forwards: “Forward this stone” c “Forward this magical napkin” c “Forward this lucky charm”.

“”

[Luke Carter]: Does this stuff really work?

[Logan Wright]: Desperate times call for desperate measures, man. Look at the comments, someone said they ‘suddenly got rich and came back to give thanks’. Seems pretty effective.

[Wanda]: Forwarded.

[Quinn Shaw]: Forwarded.

Ethan Young paid for the medicine and walked toward Guangmao, feeling complicated—Class 3 really was going all out.

Yvonne Shaw was in a meeting room, even though it was just a clothing wholesale market, every meeting felt like a mafia gathering.

The meeting room was filled with smoke.

“What the hell, what the fuck are we selling, is it that I’m not being clear enough, or is he just stupid?”

Yvonne Shaw stubbed out a cigarette as she spoke, then pulled out another from the pack. She bit it skillfully, lit it with one hand, and slapped the lighter on the table with a “pop”: “Who’s willing to do this job with me!”

As she shouted, she didn’t even notice someone had appeared at the meeting room door.

“What are you doing.”

Ethan Young stood at the door holding a few boxes of medicine, looking at her with a not-so-great expression: “You sure are enjoying that cigarette.”

Everyone knew that the Queen of Guangmao was fearless, except when it came to her godson. The others quickly made themselves scarce: “We’re off, May, we’re in for this job, just call if you need us.”

Yvonne Shaw had nowhere to hide her cigarette: “Well, actually, I can explain—”

Ethan Young frowned, not interested: “Hand over the cigarettes.”

Yvonne Shaw shut her mouth.

Ethan Young directly put out the cigarette.

It had been a while since they’d seen each other, and the kid seemed to have grown even taller.

Yvonne Shaw was already at a disadvantage, and with Ethan Young immediately taking the moral high ground, it took her a while to remember the matter of his grades: “Wait a minute, you little brat, I haven’t settled the score with you yet. If Ray hadn’t told me—”

Yvonne Shaw grabbed a plastic clothes hanger and swung it at him, giving Ethan Young a few light hits.

Ethan Young said, “What do you mean I haven’t settled it? You’ve already gone over this with me several times.”

During winter break, Yvonne Shaw blew up in the WeChat group, then called and video-chatted. If he hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve taken a cab from B City in the middle of the night.

“Still talking back?”

“Fine, my fault,” Ethan Young opened the window for ventilation, put the medicine on the table, and added, “I’ll bring you back a first place in the midterms this time.”

The top scorers in every grade were always the same group. Everyone else wished the results would never come out, but this group couldn’t wait to see who’d be number one this time.

Only, this time, besides the usual top students, dozens of people from Class 3 were also eagerly awaiting the results.

Monday.

The students of Class 3 arrived early. As soon as they entered the classroom, they gathered to discuss the grades, not even bothering to put down their bags.

Occasionally, students from Class 4 would pass by in the hallway.

The two classes would stare each other down for a moment. Even though Class 3 students weren’t confident, they refused to lose in spirit, straightening their backs in secret.

“Do you think the grades will be ready today?”

“They should be. Didn’t they finish grading over the weekend? If nothing else, our school is super fast at releasing grades. Last time, I wasn’t even ready to face my doom and the results were already out.”

“Didn’t Old Tang say it’d be a few more days?”

“How about this, Wanda, go check things out by the office?”

Wanda took on the mission, crouching by the office door for a few minutes.

He vaguely sensed something was off in the office, but couldn’t say what—maybe it was just too quiet. Before he could find out anything, still hesitating whether to keep eavesdropping, Old Thompson happened to open the door.

Wanda quickly tried to slip into the restroom.

Old Thompson said in a deep voice, “Stop hiding, come here.”

It was rush hour at the school gate, the street packed with people, and cars driven by parents blocked the whole road.

Ethan Young leaned against the car window, earphone wire trailing from his school uniform pocket. The English listening passage on his phone was just ending, moving into the questions, but the blaring horns at the intersection drowned it out.

He lowered his head to adjust the volume and saw several messages from Henry Howard.

One: Kid.

One: Where are you?

One: I’m waiting for you at the bus stop.

After sending the messages, Henry Howard waited a while, then was startled by someone tapping his shoulder from behind.

Ethan Young had one hand in his pocket, earphones still in, people bustling all around, the street full of school uniforms. Even though he was dressed like everyone else, he still stood out: “Let’s go, what are you spacing out for.”

Henry Howard didn’t see any buses coming and asked casually, “You walked over?”

Ethan Young said, “The intersection up ahead is too jammed.”

“Too jammed, or you just wanted to see me?”

“Have some shame.”

“I’ve decided to give my boyfriend one last chance.”

“Too jammed.”

Ethan Young walked ahead, then slowed down and answered again, “To see you, okay, bro?”

The two of them reached the bottom of the teaching building, and as they turned up the stairs, they ran right into Wanda.

Who knows what kind of fit he was having so early in the morning, just squatting at the stairwell. Henry Howard was startled: “Shit, what are you doing?”

Wanda had been squatting there for almost ten minutes, just to catch them first thing.

“Old Thompson told me to wait here and block you guys.”

Wanda’s legs were a bit numb from squatting. He stood up, holding the railing: “He said as soon as you get here, go straight to the office. Did you two do something wrong?”

Not exactly.

At most, they just made every subject teacher pop a few heart pills.

William Warren stood by the water dispenser, filling his cup, still feeling like he couldn’t breathe: “Mr. Thompson, is there any more? Give me two more pills…”

In front of Thomas Thompson, besides the heart pills, there were several test papers—each one either a perfect score or close to it.

He opened one up and looked at it again, especially the name column on the right.

Candidate name: Ethan Young.

Candidate name: Henry Howard.

When they finished grading, he and William Warren stayed in the classroom at No. 14 High School, sitting in silence across from each other for over half an hour.

In all the years since No. 2 High School was founded—no one had ever seen results like this.

Not only did they crush the other three schools, but even in the top schools Thomas Thompson had taught at before, results like this were rare.

One

Ethan Young and Henry Howard had been gone for half the day and still hadn’t come back.

Wanda was dying of curiosity, practically scratching his heart: “Does this count as blatantly skipping class? Where did they go? What are they doing?”