Chapter 57.4: The Two Kinds of Smart

When they heard this, the weight they’d buried in their hearts pressed down even harder.

The day after the test was the midterm exam.

Wu Xinhang had expected that, just like after the monthly exams, Little Yuan would come to his office to rest after the first session. He’d even brought a thermos of chicken soup his wife had made.

But he waited and waited, and the boy never showed.

He grew uneasy—not because the soup might go to waste, but because he feared the boy might’ve gone elsewhere to rest and caught a chill.

He first went to Sun Qing’s office.

Sun Qing had just finished proctoring an exam and was sharing persimmon cakes with the other teachers.

By now, Sun Qing was far more confident and composed than when she’d first become a homeroom teacher. After all, only those without achievements got caught in the exhausting struggle of jockeying for seniority.

If accolades fell from the sky, they still counted as accolades.

Later, when people spoke of their past teaching glory, they’d only mention “so-and-so” had once been their student. No one would really dig into what you’d actually taught them.

You could even cover your mouth and say, “He was really smart. We homeroom teachers barely had to lift a finger. He just flourished on his own.”

It’d be the truth, but people would only think you were modest.

Just like how everyone enjoyed sniping at Principal Wu in meetings, everyone had their own spiritual needs. Sun Qing’s favorite thing now was to lie in bed before sleep, eyes closed, imagining a future where that kind of recognition came to pass.

“Ms. Sun, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes, Principal,” Sun Qing stepped out and offered Wu Xinhang a persimmon cake.

He took a bite and asked, “Where’s Little Yuan?”

“He’s taking the exam.”

“Huh? Still not done? Didn’t the papers get printed ages ago? No one handed them to him?”

“No, Little Yuan said he wanted to go through the standard process this time. He wants to get used to the real gaokao routine.”

Unlike the monthly exams, midterms weren’t crammed into one day—they were spread over two, mimicking the gaokao schedule as closely as possible.

“He’s such a good kid.”

“Ms. Su’s pretty pleased.”

“Hah.”

Ms. Su taught English. Language and math could be swapped as first subjects, but no school ever started with English. She didn’t want her résumé to be marred by that one lingering “flaw”—that she hadn’t managed to teach a prodigy well. It would make her look incompetent.

After each session, Tan Wenbin didn’t join others in comparing answers. He just returned to his seat to review or prepare for the next subject.

Lately, there’d been snacks showing up in the bottom drawer of his desk.

They were from Zhou Yunyun, the class monitor.

Even someone as dense as Tan Wenbin understood what that meant. He reciprocated by buying small snacks for her in return.

But aside from discussing questions between classes, they didn’t interact much. As soon as the bell rang, he’d hop on his bike and follow Runsheng’s tricycle home.

Zhou Yunyun didn’t push further either. They just kept trading little gifts now and then, with neither of them crossing the line.

Maybe that was youth’s sweetest flutter—the kind that still curls the corners of your mouth when you look back years later.

During harvest, he told Runsheng about it.

Runsheng turned around and asked, “So when you having kids?”

If he hadn’t seen the sickle in Runsheng’s hand, Tan Wenbin would’ve challenged him to a duel.

Alongside the midterm grades, the results for the Olympiad Math Contest were released. Though ranks were used to assign tiers, universities had their own ways to find out the real scores.

Wu Xinhang’s favorite thing lately was sitting in his office answering phone calls.

“Hello, this is Principal Wu Xinhang of Shigang Middle School.”

Then he’d wait for the person on the other end to introduce themselves.

What could be more satisfying than a military parade?

Unfortunately, Little Yuan had long ago told him his target university, which left less room for strategic hemming and hawing and robbed Wu Xinhang of the joy of playing coy.

The night the midterm rankings came out, Tan Wenbin went home.

After handing the report card to his mother, she was so happy she cried.

When Tan Yunlong got home, his wife excitedly shared the joy, and it made him feel oddly dreamlike, as if it weren’t real.

He walked to his son’s room, intending to just push the door open, but ended up knocking.

His son didn’t shout, “Come in,” but walked over and opened the door himself.

“Let’s talk on the balcony.”

“Okay.”

Father and son stepped out onto the balcony.

Tan Yunlong said, “You did well this time.”

“Still room for improvement. I need to keep working.”

Tan Yunlong raised a hand, intending to ruffle his son’s hair—but ended up just patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I know.”

Tan Yunlong took out a cigarette, pulled one out and stuck it between his lips. Then, hesitating, he pulled out another and handed it to his son.

Tan Wenbin suddenly felt his eyes sting. He instinctively lowered his head to avoid his father’s gaze.

The funny thing was, he’d dreamed of this moment. And now that it was finally happening, all he wanted was to rewind time and run away from it.

He reached out to push his father’s hand away and said,

“Dad, I’ve quit.”

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