Chapter 20

Xie Qingyan was an ancient person who was once exceptionally talented, but also fell from grace because of it.

The shock of this realization even temporarily overshadowed the thrill of being understood. Jiang Ci felt a slight dizziness, as if the ground beneath his feet was trembling slightly. He looked at his familiar yet unfamiliar classmate, the moonlight casting a hazy, almost sacred glow upon him.

Jiang Ci opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A thousand words were stuck in his chest, finally turning into a violent tremor and a hint of realization in his eyes.

I see.

It turns out that their resonance stemmed not only from similar wounds, but also from a kind of mutual appreciation that transcended time and space.

Xie Qingyan clearly saw the fleeting realization, shock, and eventual understanding that crossed Jiang Ci's eyes. He knew Jiang Ci had guessed. This overly intelligent young man had ultimately managed to glean the outline of the truth from his deliberately ambiguous words.

Xie Qingyan neither admitted nor denied it. He simply met Jiang Ci's shocked gaze with a slight smile, a smile that conveyed unspoken understanding and openness.

It's as if it's saying: Yes, just as you think. But so what?

At this moment, he is Xie Qingyan, his deskmate, and his ally who will soon fight alongside him. That's enough.

This silent exchange was more powerful than any words. Jiang Ci took a deep breath and slowly, with utmost solemnity, nodded to Xie Qingyan.

It's not about questioning or fear, but about complete acceptance after accepting the whole truth.

As the mists of time and space dissipate, the figure of the boy before me becomes clearer, more real, and more... worthy of entrusting everything to.

Xie Qingyan leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His voice was even lower, yet every word struck Jiang Ci's heart like metal and stone:

“Jiang Ci, the current predicament is only temporary. Your father can control your actions, but he cannot control your mind, much less determine your future. The only way we can control and completely change the current situation is the college entrance examination.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a resolute force:

"Take the exam, go far away, and get the best acceptance letter. Only then will the choice be back in our own hands. So, no matter what, don't give up. Let's work hard together."

The word "together" is no longer an empty encouragement.

Jiang Ci looked into those eyes so close to his own, and within them burned a flame he had never seen before—a flame that blended ancient wisdom with youthful passion. This flame was so intense it almost scorched his long-frozen heart.

He lowered his head, his stray hairs obscuring his eyebrows and eyes, and also the sudden welling of tears in his eyes. He clutched the slightly deformed mooncake tightly, and with all his might, he forced out a heavy, yet resolute, syllable from deep within his throat:

"Um."

This is a promise, to him, and to Xie Qingyan.

Xie Qingyan smiled, a smile as clear and bright as moonlight. He picked up his mooncake and gently touched the one in Jiang Ci's hand.

Finally, as the two rose to leave this temporary haven sheltered by moonlight, Jiang Ci paused. He didn't turn around, his voice as soft as a feather yet clearly reaching Xie Qingyan's ears: "Mooncakes, very sweet."

And an even softer voice, fading into the evening breeze: "Thank you."

Xie Qingyan looked at his somewhat thin yet upright back in the moonlight and carefully put away the "thank you".

He looked up at the full moon.

This Mid-Autumn Festival, though not perfect, brought an unprecedented sense of peace.

The moonlight is silent, quietly illuminating the path ahead.

——

On the first morning after the National Day holiday, the office of the senior high school teachers at No. 9 Middle School was already filled with an atmosphere of coffee, ink, and a faint weariness. The long holiday, though long, was just another place for them to work overtime—mountains of mock exam papers were enough to ruin any leisure plans.

The corner where the Chinese language group was located was a little different. When Mr. Long, the Chinese language teacher of Class 12 of the third year of high school, walked in carrying a thermos, he couldn't suppress his smile. Even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out, as if he had become ten years younger overnight.

"Hey, Mr. Long, is there some good news at home? You seem so happy!" the English teacher at the next table joked.

"I think your son passed the postgraduate entrance exam, right?" the history teacher chimed in.

Teacher Long smiled but said nothing, slowly blowing the steam from the rim of his cup. His smug expression, as if saying "I have a secret but I won't tell," was incredibly intriguing.

Just then, Ms. Tan, the Chinese teacher of Class 2, Grade 12, carrying a stack of test papers, glanced at Mr. Long and finally couldn't help but "expose" him, her voice filled with amazement and a hint of barely perceptible envy: "Don't guess anymore. Mr. Long is happy because his class got a perfect score in Chinese in this mock exam."

"What?!"

"Perfect score?!"

"You can get a perfect score in Chinese? What about the composition? Is the composition also a perfect score?!"

"Class 12?! Our class?!" Ms. Mo, the homeroom teacher and English teacher of Class 12, realized belatedly.

One stone stirs up a thousand ripples. The previously drowsy office instantly erupted in chaos. The math and physics teachers both looked up in astonishment. A perfect score in Chinese—this is extremely rare in the history of No. 9 Middle School, let alone in Class 12, which has always been known as a "concentration camp of poor students"!

"Teacher Tan, did you grade these papers? Really? You're keeping it so tight-lipped! I remember the Chinese language group finished grading all the papers yesterday, and you're only saying it now!" one teacher complained.

Teacher Tan put down the test paper, adjusted her glasses, and said with a look of amazement, as if she had witnessed a miracle: "It wasn't just me who graded it. The essay was reviewed by me, Teacher Long, and Teacher Zhang, the head of the teaching and research group. Three people, three pairs of eyes, and we couldn't find a single flaw. That essay... tsk, we all felt that giving it full marks wasn't a reward, and we even thought that giving it full marks was too little!"

Those words carry a lot of weight. Teacher Zhang, the head of the teaching and research group, is a renowned special-grade teacher in the province and the only one at No. 9 Middle School. He's known for his strict requirements and sharp eye; how could even he find fault with him?

This piqued the curiosity of all the teachers to its peak.

"Teacher Long, quick! Where are the test papers? Let us see them!"

"That's right, Lao Long, stop hiding it, this is your class's honor!"

"A perfect score on the test! Let's learn from it!"

Surrounded by a cacophony of questions and curious stares from her colleagues, Teacher Long finally "reluctantly" pulled a transparent file folder from the innermost part of her briefcase. Her movements were so careful, as if it contained a priceless treasure.

Inside the bag was that legendary exam paper.

When the exam papers were laid out flat in the center of the desk, the teachers who had gathered around were silent for a moment.

The roll is too clean.

It wasn't just simple neatness, but an almost obsessive level of precision. Not a single correction, not a single stain. Even more captivating was the handwriting—not the cursive or semi-cursive script commonly seen among students, but the distinct, well-defined strokes of the official script. With its silkworm-head and swallow-tail strokes, and clearly defined lines, it possessed an ancient and dignified air, covering the entire page as if it weren't an exam paper, but a meticulously crafted work of calligraphy.

"These characters... you've practiced them, haven't you? It doesn't look like you've just crammed for it," a teacher murmured.

Next, everyone's attention turned to the essays, which made up half of the page. The topic was a common assigned essay, about "tools and principles." However, Xie Qingyan's essay on this topic was anything but "common."

He begins by offering a philosophical allegory from Zhuangzi, then cites the Book of Changes ("That which is above form is called the Way; that which is below form is called the instrument") to clarify the concepts. He then uses historical examples from the Zizhi Tongjian (Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government) to illustrate the successes and failures of technological innovation and social governance throughout history, progressing step by step to discuss where the "Way" that humanity needs to uphold and innovate in the face of AI, this ultimate "instrument".

The final paragraph concludes with a powerful and coherent statement: "Therefore it is said: those who understand the constant and are clear about change can be teachers; those who are knowledgeable about the past and present can enlighten the world." The conclusion is resounding and leaves a lasting impression.

The office was completely silent, save for the teachers' slightly rapid breathing and the occasional soft rustling of turning pages.

After a long pause, Mr. Wang, who had taught Chinese for thirty years and was about to retire, let out a long sigh, took off his reading glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and exclaimed, "This article... has a certain 'old-fashioned' quality. Not that it's clichéd, but rather that it reflects a seasoned foundation and a keen insight. This student... is no ordinary person."

"It's more than just simple!" Professor Tan pointed to a classical allusion in the article, "The debate on 'roots and branches' in the 'Discourses on Salt and Iron' quoted here is something that many Chinese literature students might not be able to accurately cite and elaborate on. His use of it here is simply the finishing touch."

"Multiple choice questions, classical Chinese reading, translation... all correct. The basic knowledge is frighteningly solid." Another teacher quickly scanned the first part and concluded, "This paper, full marks, well deserved."

Hearing her colleagues' praise, Teacher Long's smile grew even brighter. She carefully put the exam paper back into the file folder, as if guarding a priceless secret manual. "Alright, alright, class is about to start. I need to go to the class to announce this good news and, while I'm at it, give these students a good talking-to. I'm going to use this essay as a model piece and discuss it thoroughly in class!"

He carried the Chinese language exam paper and left the office with a brisk pace, leaving behind a chorus of astonishment and still-unresolved discussions.

"That's strange, when did Class 12 discover such a prodigy?"

"Xie Qingyan? That name sounds familiar... Isn't he the one who always failed Chinese class back in the day?"

"Yes, that's him! I remember he got in the seventies on his junior year final exam, right? This time... a perfect score? Even a rocket couldn't have gotten him that fast!"

"Could it be an exceptional performance? Or... did they obtain some exclusive secret technique?"

"No matter how extraordinary, this level of skill and depth of thought cannot be developed overnight. It's like they're completely different people..."

"Just wait and see, the grade rankings are likely to see big changes this time. Have the other subject scores come out yet?"

"They're all compiling the statistics now; the final rankings should be out tomorrow. This is going to be interesting..."

The teachers exchanged meaningful glances.