The autumn tiger of 2001 was a fierce one.
According to the calendar, the "Start of Autumn" had passed some time ago, but in mid-September, the small southern city was still trapped in a giant steamer.
4:30 in the afternoon.
The steamer was on high heat. It was deathly hot.
Class 1 of the seventh grade at City No.1 Middle School very unfortunately faced west.
In architecture, this is called "west-facing sun exposure."
In thermodynamics, it’s known as "continuous thermal radiation input."
But to the fifty-odd students of Class 1, it was called "a damn cruel joke."
To make matters worse, the two heavy curtains meant to block out that damn cruel sunlight had, unfortunately, met a heroic demise during the roughhousing of a few boys last Friday.
A few hooks had flown off to god-knows-where, and the track was bent completely out of shape.
Now, the two pieces of fabric dangled on either side of the window like two dead fish, leaving a no-man’s-land over two meters wide in the middle.
The scorching sunlight drove straight in, passed through the glass, shone on the green walls, reflected onto the blackboard, and finally turned the seat in the very middle of the front row into a glittering microwave oven.
And Chen Zhuo was sitting right in the center of this microwave.
His special, black, soft-leather adjustable chair had now become the perfect heat sink.
Chen Zhuo felt a bit like he was being cooked on a teppanyaki grill.
Pen in hand, Chen Zhuo was studying a book on his desk as thick as a brick: *Jimmy Dovich’s Mathematical Analysis Exercise Collection*.
He was wrestling with a proof problem on the limits of multivariable functions.
Sweat trickled down from his freshly trimmed sideburns, traced the frame of his gold-rimmed glasses, and finally dripped softly onto his scratch paper, blurring a dot of blue ink.
"Oh my, look how hot the little guy is."
An exclamation, brimming with motherly affection, came from behind him.
Immediately after, a cool pack of wet wipes was placed on the corner of his desk.
A fair hand reached over and propped up the book in front of him, which was reflecting the sunlight, creating a pitifully small patch of shade.
"Quick, wipe yourself down. You’re covered in sweat."
The speaker was Li Xiaoya, the class’s Arts Committee member.
The girl was twelve years old and had developed early. She was already 1.6 meters tall, wore thick, straight-cut bangs, and was at that age of surging hormones where she’d want to take home and raise any stray cat she saw.
And in her eyes, nine-year-old Chen Zhuo was clearly more in need of care than any stray cat.
"Thanks."
Chen Zhuo didn’t stand on ceremony, pulling out a wet wipe and swiping it across his forehead and neck.
The cool sensation of mint instantly seeped into his brain, slightly clearing his mind, which had grown sluggish from the heat.
"Here, this too."
His deskmate to the right—the same girl who had tugged on his sleeve during Old Zhao’s class to get his attention—spoke up.
A quiet girl with metal braces and a slight lisp, she magically produced a bottle of AD Calcium Milk with a straw already in it from her desk and held it to his lips.
"Your lips look a little pale. Is your low blood sugar acting up again? Quick, take a few sips. It’s still cold."
Chen Zhuo obediently opened his mouth and took the straw.
The AD Calcium Milk flowed down Chen Zhuo’s esophagus into his stomach, was rapidly converted into precious glucose, then transported into his bloodstream, and finally delivered to his high-speed brain.
This was Chen Zhuo’s ecological niche in Class 1.
The entire class’s official pet.
Or, to be more precise, the "shared little brother" of all the girls in the class.
It was a very peculiar sociopsychological phenomenon.
If Chen Zhuo were an ordinary nine-year-old, he might have been ostracized. If he were a twelve-year-old academic god of the same age, he might have been envied.
But as it happened, he was a nine-year-old super-prodigy who was fair-skinned, wore glasses, had to be specially provided with a soft chair by the school, and was only tall enough to reach his classmates’ chests.
This combination completely shattered the psychological defenses of this group of twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls.
They saw him as neither a competitor nor a member of the opposite sex.
They treated Chen Zhuo as a sort of rare creature that needed meticulous care—a being with a super-high IQ but unable to manage his daily life.
They fed him snacks, wiped his sweat, fetched water for him, and even shooed away flies for him when he was thinking.
To all this, Chen Zhuo gladly accepted.
This was nothing to be ashamed of.
According to the first law of thermodynamics, energy is conserved.
His brain was a terrifying black hole of energy consumption.
An ordinary person’s brain consumes 20% of the body’s total energy, but for Chen Zhuo in a state of high-intensity thought, this proportion would skyrocket.
Three meals a day were nowhere near enough to sustain this consumption. The scattered milk candies, cookies, and milk were the crucial fuel needed to keep this computer running.
Of course, whenever they had any academic questions, Chen Zhuo would always do his best to explain until they fully understood.
"Chen Zhuo, are you still hot?"
A girl in the front row turned around, holding a large plastic fan with a design from *My Fair Princess* on it. She fanned him with vigorous WHOOSHES, nearly blowing his glasses right off his face.
"How about I switch seats with you? It’s a little better over here, not so much sun."
"No need."
Chen Zhuo refused.
Because switching seats wouldn’t solve the fundamental problem.
The entire classroom was like a steam basket. The air was stagnant, and although the four old-fashioned ceiling fans spun furiously overhead, all they blew down was hot air.
The air was filled with the smell of sweat, chalk dust, and a strange odor from the plastic book covers baking in the heat.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
At least, Chen Zhuo was reaching his limit.
Chen Zhuo took the last sip of milk and placed the AD Calcium Milk bottle on the corner of his desk.
It joined a pack of Oreos, two White Rabbit candies, and a bag of Xiao Dang Jia snacks.
He looked at the blackboard.
The glare of the sun made the words on it completely illegible, leaving only a vast expanse of white.
He looked at the scratch paper in his hand.
The white paper reflected a white light, making his eyes ache.
Chen Zhuo silently made a calculation in his head.
’If I don’t change the environment, solving this problem will take thirty minutes and come with the risk of a headache, dehydration, and vision decline.’
’If I change the environment, although it will require some physical exertion, I can reduce the solution time to ten minutes and gain a significant sense of satisfaction.’
’According to the principle of least action, the choice of path is obvious.’
Chen Zhuo pushed up his glasses, closed the heavy exercise book, and stood up.
As Chen Zhuo stood, the few girls around him who had been fussing over him were taken aback.
"What’s wrong, little guy? Going to the restroom?" Li Xiaoya asked with concern.
"No."
Chen Zhuo shook his head.
"It’s too bright."
With that, he walked straight away from the front row where he was the center of attention, heading toward the back of the classroom.
「In the back.」
At that very moment, a group of "bad boys" from the back rows were attempting a desperate rescue mission.
"The tape! Where’s the tape! Quick, give it to me!"
"Hey, don’t stick it there! It’s crooked, it’s crooked! Why is this newspaper so flimsy? It rips as soon as you touch it!"
"Liu Fei, you bastard, you’re stepping on my desk!"
Several boys were standing on a makeshift scaffold of desks, holding old newspapers and clear tape, trying to paste over the windows that were letting in light.
Their leader was Liu Fei.
The kid was quite tall, about 1.7 meters, with dark skin. He was the chief troublemaker of the class.
He was currently shirtless, his school uniform rolled up to his armpits, sweat pouring down his face as he tried to slap a copy of *Titan Sports Weekly* onto the glass.
But their handiwork was, to put it mildly, quite the eyesore.
The newspapers were stuck on crookedly, with three layers in some places and gaps in others. When the warm wind blew from outside, the papers would RUSTLE and FLAP wildly, like a dilapidated shack.
Sunlight still drilled through the gaps, forming even more blinding beams of light that sliced the classroom into shattered pieces.
"This damn school. The curtains are broken and they don’t even fix them. Are they trying to bake me to death?"
Liu Fei had just stuck up a sheet of newspaper when, due to the poor quality of the tape, it fluttered down and plastered itself right onto his sweaty face.
The group of boys below roared with laughter.
"What the hell are you laughing at! If you’re so good, you come up here and do it!"
Furious, Liu Fei ripped the newspaper off his face, crumpled it into a ball, and slammed it onto the ground.
Just then, someone tugged on his pants.
Liu Fei was fuming. He looked down.
Chen Zhuo was standing below the chair, looking up at him.
Backlit by the glare, Chen Zhuo’s glasses flashed white, obscuring his expression.
"Brother Zhuo?"
Liu Fei was stunned for a moment.
Although Chen Zhuo didn’t usually hang out with this gang of rascals—after all, one was doing calculus while the others were reading wuxia novels; it was like they were different species.
But at City No.1 Middle School, grades were hard currency.
The intimidating power of being number one was more effective than the Dean of Students.
Besides, the boys all secretly thought Chen Zhuo was pretty cool.
Last math class, Old Zhao had given Chen Zhuo special permission to read his own books. This incident had become a legendary tale among the boys, who were dying of envy.
So, even though Chen Zhuo was young, the boys had decided to address him respectfully as Brother Zhuo.
"What’s up, Brother Zhuo? You here to help?"
Liu Fei wiped the sweat from his chin, his tone becoming a bit more polite.
"Your taping job is too ugly."
Chen Zhuo gave his calm assessment.
No embellishment, a direct hit to the soul.
"And it’s useless. It’s still letting light through."
"Look over there. It’s as leaky as a sieve."
Chen Zhuo pointed to the adjacent window.
Liu Fei’s face flushed, and he craned his neck defiantly.
"So what do we do? We’re out of paper, and the tape won’t stick. We’re just making do. It’s better than baking to death."
"Tear it all down."
Chen Zhuo said.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the noisy classroom.
"Huh?"
Liu Fei thought he had misheard and bent down to get closer.
"What’d you say, Brother Zhuo?"
"Tear down all this messy newspaper."
Chen Zhuo pointed at the windows, which were covered in what looked like a beggar’s patches.
"All the windows. Seal them completely. Two layers. Don’t let a single speck of light through."
He paused, then looked up at Liu Fei through his lenses, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slight smirk.
"Let’s go big."

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