「2:30 PM.」
The physics exam hall.
If the math exam hall that morning had been an icebox, then the physics hall this afternoon was a steamer.
Although the classroom had air conditioning, the drowsy, lethargic feeling unique to the afternoon was nearly impossible to fight off.
The proctor sitting at the front of the room had even started to yawn.
Chen Zhuo walked into the exam hall.
This was a different room from the morning.
He was in the fourth row, by the window.
He glanced to his front right.
In the second row, in an aisle seat, sat the short-haired girl—the captain from Provincial Experimental School.
She was also competing in physics.
She was doing both subjects, too.
This time, she wasn’t sleeping.
She was resting her chin on one hand, spinning a pen with the other.
The pen twirled rapidly between her fingertips.
The bell rang.
The exam papers were handed out.
Physics competition exams had one defining characteristic.
Lots of words.
Dense blocks of text were paired with complex circuit diagrams and mechanical schematics.
If you didn’t look at the title, you might even mistake it for a few reading comprehension passages from a language arts test.
Chen Zhuo took the paper and gave it a glance.
The first major question.
An analysis of the principles behind an old-fashioned, rural hand-pump for drawing water.
Pistons, valves, atmospheric pressure.
It was a very practical, real-world problem.
But if you’d never seen one in person, it would be easy to mix up the valve sequence just by using your imagination.
He didn’t rush to start writing.
He flipped to the back.
The final question.
The problem took up an entire half-page.
The title was:
"The Principles and Repair of a Certain Automatic Temperature-Controlled Rice Cooker"
The page showed a complex circuit diagram and an enlarged view of a core component.
A magnetic steel temperature limiter.
The question required an analysis of how, when the temperature reached the Curie point (103°C), the magnetic steel’s properties changed and how it cut off the power supply.
It also asked for the calculation of the spring’s stiffness coefficient.
When Chen Zhuo saw this question, he couldn’t help but let the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk.
’This isn’t a competition question.’
’This is clearly a repair manual.’
In his past life, before he’d transmigrated, his family’s old rice cooker had broken, and he was the one who had tinkered with it and fixed it.
He could draw its internal structure with his eyes closed.
Which part was the soft magnet, which was the permanent magnet, which was the push rod, and which was the spring.
For him, this wasn’t a physics model; it was common sense from everyday life.
A chorus of heads being scratched filled the exam hall.
It was as if everyone was wearing a mask of torment.
’Who in their right mind at this age would spend their free time taking apart a rice cooker?’
’Are they trying to make up for an incomplete childhood or something?’
Chen Zhuo picked up his pen.
There was no need for any force analysis.
’This is just a temperature control switch.’
Temperature rises → ferrite magnetism weakens → Curie point is reached → magnetism disappears → spring releases → power is cut.
The logical chain was as clear and simple as 1+1=2.
He began to write.
The tip of his pen flew across the paper.
No need for scratch paper, no need for complex calculations.
He wrote down the principles, the process, and the conclusion directly.
The smooth flow was completely different from the feeling of brute-forcing the geometry problem that morning.
It was a thrill, like having an almost unfair advantage.
Halfway through writing, he subconsciously glanced up.
The short-haired girl was writing too.
Her posture was crooked, with half her body slumped over the desk.
But her pen didn’t stop moving.
She would write a few lines, pause, spin her pen a couple of times, and then continue.
It didn’t look like she was solving a difficult problem; it was more like she was writing in a diary or playing a word puzzle.
Throughout the exam hall, most students were scratching their heads in frustration. Some were even using rulers to measure distances on the diagrams.
Only the two of them—one in front, one behind—their pens rustled across the paper, performing a duet that only they could understand.
Of course, for the other students in the same exam hall, it probably wasn’t a very pleasant tune.
「5:00 PM.」
The final bell rang.
It was like a surgeon announcing the end of an operation.
Whether the surgery was successful or not, the scalpel had been set down.
Chen Zhuo put down his pen.
He glanced at his exam paper.
It was completely filled out.
The handwriting was neat, the logic clear.
The papers were collected.
The short-haired girl stood up.
She gave a big stretch, her arms reaching out straight, and let out a long yawn.
Then she grabbed her pencil case and sauntered out, not even waiting for the proctor to dismiss them.
The proctor shot her a glare, but after glancing at her paper, said nothing more.
Chen Zhuo packed his things and walked out of the exam hall.
The setting sun painted the plaza in front of the school building a bleak shade of gold.
There were no cheers.
A hundred or so examinees poured out from the various classrooms, converging into a silent torrent.
Most of them had their heads down, like captured soldiers who had just been disarmed after a crushing defeat.
Occasionally, two people would make eye contact, only to share a bitter smile or quickly turn away, not wanting others to see their reddened eyes.
Downstairs, Chen Zhuo spotted Old Zhao and Old Zhou from a distance.
Old Zhao was carrying a large plastic bag filled with unopened bottles of mineral water.
He was constantly standing on his tiptoes to peer inside, his forehead covered in sweat and his shirt collar soaked through.
Old Zhou, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth with his hands clased behind his back.
He had an unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers, already crumpled and wrinkled.
The first ones out were Li Hao and Zhang Wei.
The two partners in suffering from the physics team walked incredibly slowly.
Li Hao, wearing his backpack, seemed to have shrunk, his steps unsteady. Zhang Wei was even worse off, his eyes red as he sniffled continuously.
Seeing this, Old Zhou’s heart sank.
’It’s hopeless.’
Old Zhou took two steps forward to meet them. His lips moved, but he swallowed the words "How did the exam go?" just as they were about to escape.
Asking that now would just be rubbing salt in the wound.
"It’s good that you’re out, it’s good that you’re out."
Old Zhou patted Li Hao’s shoulder, his voice soft, as if afraid that speaking any louder would make the boy burst into tears.
"Have some water."
He twisted open a bottle and handed it over.
Li Hao took the water, his hand trembling slightly and spilling a little.
"Teacher Zhou..."
Li Hao’s voice was choked with tears; the grievance he’d been holding in all afternoon finally broke through.
"That rice cooker... that magnetic steel..."
"Don’t talk about it."
Old Zhou quickly cut him off, even helping him straighten his crooked school uniform collar.
"The exam’s over, so let’s not talk about it. I saw that problem too. It was beyond the scope of the competition. It was meant for gods, not for us."
"It’s okay, alright? It’s okay."
At this point, the survivors of the morning’s math exam also gathered around.
They had been waiting anxiously outside all afternoon. Seeing the miserable state of the physics team, the last shred of hope in their hearts was extinguished.
They had been hoping the physics team could stage a comeback, but now it looked like a total wipeout.
Chen Zhuo was the last one to saunter out.
He looked at his teammates, who seemed to be attending a funeral, then at Old Zhao’s cautious expression.
Old Zhao stared at Chen Zhuo’s calm face, wanting to read something from his expression but not daring to ask.
His gaze was so humbly pleading it was heartbreaking.
Chen Zhuo sighed.
He walked over and took a bottle of water from Old Zhao’s hand.
"Let’s go."
Chen Zhuo twisted off the cap and took a drink.
"I’m hungry."
Old Zhao froze for a second, then nodded quickly, like an obedient old friend.
"Let’s go, let’s go, time to eat. Let’s go eat."
"There’s a dumpling place up ahead. Let’s go get something hot to eat."

Comments

Loading...