Chen Zhuo sat at a table on the far side.
In front of him were half a hamburger and a cup of Coke.
He ate slowly, half-listening to Liu Kai and the others brag.
The KFC was noisy.
Besides their group of slightly conspicuous out-of-town students in matching school uniforms, there were also quite a few students from the Provincial City.
Most were in groups of two or three, wearing Nikes or Adidas and chatting about new sneakers or online games.
Chen Zhuo chewed on his straw, his gaze drifting aimlessly around the restaurant.
Then, it stopped.
His eyes landed on the corner-most table, right next to the floor-to-ceiling window.
A girl was sitting there.
She looked about their age and was wearing a baggy, light-blue, short-sleeved shirt with a few small words embroidered on the collar.
Provincial Experimental Middle School.
She was sleeping with her head down on the table.
Her table was spotless—no Family Bucket, no fries.
There was only a cup of Coke that had long since gone warm. Condensation trickled down the side, forming a small puddle on the tabletop that was about to soak her sleeve.
Her backpack was tossed carelessly by her feet, the unzipped opening gaping wide.
The corner of a book poked out from inside.
Along with that blue-covered book that was the envy of Wang Yang and the others.
But right now, she was using it as a non-slip mat under her elbow.
Chen Zhuo raised an eyebrow.
The provincial competition was tomorrow.
Over here, on the team from City No.1 Middle School, even while eating fried chicken, Wang Yang was still clutching a formula sheet he’d pulled from his pocket, sneaking glances at it.
And over there, the other teams from the Provincial Experimental School, though they looked relaxed, were also gathered together discussing problems, some even drawing diagrams on napkins with pens.
And then there was this one.
Catching up on sleep here.
And from the looks of it, she’d been sleeping for a while. Her hair was a mess.
"Captain, what are you looking at?"
Zhao Chen followed Chen Zhuo’s gaze, a french fry dangling from his mouth.
"Whoa, someone from Provincial Experimental."
Zhao Chen lowered his voice, a hint of surprise in his tone, but not the same reverence as before.
"This girl’s got some nerve, falling asleep like that. You think she’s exhausted from studying?"
"Maybe."
Chen Zhuo looked away and took a sip of his Coke.
Just then, the girl in the corner stirred.
It seemed she’d had enough sleep.
Or maybe she was startled awake by a nearby kid’s shriek.
She slowly straightened up.
Chen Zhuo saw her face in profile. There was a red mark on her cheek from her sleeve, and a tuft of her hair was sticking straight up, like a rebellious cowlick.
She looked a little dazed, a little out of it.
Her eyes were unfocused and groggy.
She raised a hand to wipe the corner of her mouth, as if checking to see if she had drooled.
Then, she glanced at the digital watch on her wrist.
Her movements froze.
It was as if she’d misread the time, or was about to be late.
She shot up, snatched her backpack from the table, and slung it haphazardly over her shoulder.
The blue-covered book flew out, and she fumbled to stuff it back in, even creasing the cover in her haste.
She grabbed her backpack and ran.
As she ran, her backpack strap caught on the chair, making a loud CLANG.
She didn’t even look back, just stumbled her way out the door.
Like a dazed scatterbrain who had just woken up, she pushed through the noisy crowd, shoved open the glass door, and disappeared into the Provincial City night.
From start to finish, she was just a passerby.
A passerby who was dead tired, a little sloppy, and even a bit clumsy.
"Weirdo."
Zhao Chen muttered, then turned back to snatch the last chicken wing.
"Whatever, time for more chicken!"
Chen Zhuo watched the shifting reflection in the glass door and finished the last of his Coke.
He didn’t say anything.
’That’s a pretty good mindset to have.’
’To be able to sleep so soundly on the tense eve of the competition is a talent in itself.’
’The book’s a wreck, so she’s obviously not one to treasure her books.’
’I like that.’
「Eight-thirty at night.」
At the end of the third-floor corridor of the Provincial Education Commission Guesthouse.
Room 306.
It was a standard double room.
Two single wooden beds coated in clear varnish were separated by a veneer-covered nightstand.
The dark red carpet was a bit old and muffled any footsteps. The air held the distinct smell of a guesthouse.
The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the bright neon lights and traffic noise of the Provincial City.
Only a single desk lamp was on in the room.
Beneath its dim yellow halo of light, Wang Yang was sitting cross-legged on his bed.
He hadn’t taken off his shoes; the sneakers were still on his feet. He looked like an old monk in deep meditation, but his body was twitching uncontrollably.
RUSTLE... RUSTLE...
The sound of pages turning.
TAP TAP TAP...
The sound of his heel knocking against the edge of the bed.
Wang Yang clutched the copy of *Classic Exam Questions* in his hands, his eyes glued to the page. He was muttering under his breath, the words coming so fast it sounded like he was chanting a spell.
"The converse of Ptolemy’s theorem... cyclic quadrilateral... No, wait, if the points are concyclic..."
He’d been like this for half an hour.
The more he read, the more he panicked; the more he tried to memorize, the more he felt his mind going blank.
Whatever happiness he’d felt earlier at KFC had now curdled into a stomach acid called pre-exam anxiety, making him feel sick.
Chen Zhuo was lying on the bed by the window, one arm tucked behind his head.
He was holding a copy of *Science Fiction World* that he’d bought from the newsstand downstairs, but he hadn’t read a single word.
The commotion from the other bed was just too much.
It wasn’t just noise; it was a contagious anxiety.
Right now, Wang Yang was like a computer with a CPU about to fry—the fan was spinning like crazy, but the screen was just a blue screen of garbled code.
Chen Zhuo sighed.
He sat up and tossed the rolled-up magazine aside.
As someone who’d been through this before, he knew this state all too well.
Telling him to relax and not be nervous right now was a classic case of "easier said than done."
For these teenagers who treated the competition as if it were more important than life itself, telling him to sleep now would just result in him staring at the ceiling until dawn.
’I have to find something for him to do. Something that doesn’t require deep thought but demands complete concentration, just to loosen that string that’s about to snap.’
Chen Zhuo got out of bed, his bare feet silent on the carpet.
He walked over to his backpack, unzipped the outermost pocket, and felt around for a rectangular cardboard box.
A deck of playing cards.
He’d picked them up that afternoon at a corner store while buying water. The back of the cards featured the Ten Scenes of West Lake. Two yuan a deck.
"Brother Yang."
Chen Zhuo called out.
No response. Wang Yang was still stuck on his cyclic quadrilaterals.
"Wang Yang!"
Chen Zhuo raised his voice and slapped the deck of cards down on the nightstand with a sharp CRACK.
Wang Yang jolted as if he’d been electrocuted and looked up, dazed.
His eyes were vacant, and it took him several seconds to focus on Chen Zhuo’s face.
"Huh? Wh-what’s wrong? Is Old Zhao here?"
He instinctively started to shove the book under his pillow.
"Old Zhao’s not here."
Chen Zhuo said, tearing the wrapper off the deck of cards.
"Stop memorizing. Your brain is already overloaded. Cramming more in now is like pouring water into a full glass—it’ll just spill everywhere."
"But I can’t..."
Wang Yang said with a pained expression, running a hand through his already messy hair.
"I feel like I’ve forgotten Menelaus’s theorem. I can’t picture the diagram in my head anymore..."
"If you forgot it, you forgot it. It’s not guaranteed to be on the test tomorrow anyway."
Chen Zhuo shuffled the cards skillfully, the crisp WHIR sounding extra loud in the quiet room.
"Get down here."
"For what?"
"Important business."

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