The principal, wearing his reading glasses, studied the drawing before looking up at Chen Zhuo, a sharp glint in his eyes.
"Yes, he’s Chen Jianguo’s son."
Director Zhang chimed in from the side.
"Chen Jianguo was one of my students back in the day. The kid was good at physics, but he was never this... uncanny."
Director Zhang used one word: uncanny.
It really was uncanny.
Earlier, they had called in the math teacher to take a look.
The math teacher had studied it for a long time. He said the geometric relationships between the circles and tangent lines on the drawing were incredibly precise. It was clearly not a casual sketch; the artist definitely had a solid foundation in spatial geometry.
Moreover, while no protractor was used for the gear’s meshing angle, the margin of error, by visual estimation, was minuscule.
Was this really drawn from memory by a seven-year-old?
"Chen Zhuo."
The principal spoke, a gentle smile on his face.
"Tell me, why did you draw this?"
This was a trick question.
If he said it was "for fun," that would imply simple imitation.
If he said it was because he "understood the principles," that would be freakishly intelligent.
Chen Zhuo looked at the principal. He could see kindness and curiosity in the old man’s eyes.
So he decided to tell a half-truth.
"Because I was bored."
Chen Zhuo said honestly.
"Bored?"
Teacher Wang, who was standing to the side, couldn’t help but interject.
"Teacher is teaching you Pinyin, and you find it boring?"
"Mhm."
Chen Zhuo nodded, his tone as calm as if he were stating an objective fact.
"I already learned ’a, o, e’ in kindergarten. Writing them fifty times just makes my hand sore. It’s pointless. I already know how to read and write them."
"What about math, then? Is one plus one boring too?" Director Zhang teased.
Chen Zhuo didn’t answer. He just glanced at Director Zhang, and in his eyes, there was a hint of... pity?
The look sent a shiver down Director Zhang’s spine.
"Sir."
Chen Zhuo sighed, his young voice tinged with a weariness far beyond his years.
"Addition and subtraction are fundamental, I know. But I’ve already mastered them. Repeating things I can already do is a waste of time."
"Well now, you’ve got a lot to say for yourself," Director Zhang chuckled. "So what do you consider not a waste of time? Drawing this gear?"
"This gear is complicated."
Chen Zhuo pointed to the drawing.
"For it to turn smoothly without jamming, the size of each tooth has to be calculated precisely. I was thinking about how it works, and as I thought about it, I drew it."
The three adults looked at one another, at a loss for words.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
A knock came at the office door.
The door was pushed open, and a man in dark blue overalls, drenched in sweat, rushed inside.
It was Chen Zhuo’s father, Chen Jianguo.
He had clearly just run over from the workshop. His hands were still stained with black machine oil, and two pens and a pair of vernier calipers were tucked into the breast pocket of his overalls.
"Teacher Wang, Principal!"
Chen Jianguo put on an apologetic smile the moment he entered, still catching his breath.
"I’m so sorry, so sorry. Things are hectic at the factory. Did my Chen Zhuo get into trouble? Did he get in a fight? Break a window?"
He had prepared himself for the worst on the way over. His son was usually so withdrawn; if he finally acted out, it was bound to be something big.
"He didn’t get into a fight." The principal waved his hand dismissively and pointed to Chen Zhuo on the sofa. "Your son... finds his classes too easy and doesn’t want to attend them."
"Huh?"
Chen Jianguo was stunned. He glanced at his son, who was perfectly fine, then at the paper on the desk.
"Isn’t... isn’t this the reduction gearbox from that German machine I was repairing the other day?"
Chen Jianguo recognized it instantly.
It was his pride and his nightmare.
He had brought his son with him while working overtime that day, spending the entire night taking that machine apart.
"Your son drew it," Director Zhang said.
Chen Jianguo picked up the paper, his hand trembling slightly.
He knew his stuff.
It was just a hand-drawn sketch, with no rulers for scale and lines that weren’t professionally drafted, but the structure was correct!
He’d even drawn the planetary gear carrier—which was notoriously easy to install backward—in the correct position.
"Son... h-how did you draw this?" Chen Jianguo’s eyes widened in disbelief.
"I watched you take it apart," Chen Zhuo said. "The big gear with the little gears inside it. It was pretty."
Chen Jianguo slapped his thigh. "A genius! I always said my son is a genius! He gets it from me! You know what that is? That’s engineering intuition!"
"Ahem."
The principal coughed twice, cutting short the father’s moment of self-congratulation.
"Jianguo, the issue here isn’t whether he has intuition or not. The issue is that he’s not paying attention in class and is doing this instead. It’s disruptive to the classroom environment."
Chen Jianguo’s face fell instantly.
He was an honest technician, and the last thing he ever wanted was to cause trouble for the administration.
"Yes, of course. I’ll be sure to have a word with him when we get home." Chen Jianguo shot a glare at Chen Zhuo. "You little rascal, getting a big head just because you’re a little clever, are you? When we get home, you’re going to copy your new vocabulary words one hundred times!"
Chen Zhuo didn’t argue or cry.
He just looked at his father quietly and said something no one expected.
"Dad, I can copy them a hundred times. But will that make me forget about this drawing?"
Chen Jianguo was stunned into silence.
Chen Zhuo continued, his voice soft but every word crystal clear:
"I want to learn. School is too slow."
The principal fell silent. He took off his glasses, polished them, and put them back on.
He had been a teacher his entire life. He’d seen mischievous students, slow students, and bright students.
But he had never seen a seven-year-old speak with such a rational, almost adult-like tone, and declare that things were "too slow."
The yearning in the boy’s eyes wasn’t an act.
"Jianguo," the principal began slowly, "do you really think it’s appropriate for him to proceed through first grade step-by-step with everyone else?"
Chen Jianguo scratched his head, looking troubled. "Then... what should we do? He can’t just not go to school, can he?"
"Let’s test him."
The principal opened his desk drawer, rummaged around for a moment, and pulled out a set of test papers.

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