Chapter 205 I want you to kill Jiang Wanqiu

Jiang Wanqiu smiled, took a sip of tea, and picked up the envelope, weighing it in her hand. It was thick and heavy. This dividend was equivalent to several years of Zhao Wenchang's allowance.

Life went smoothly, and before we knew it, the enrollment procedures for Ping An were completed.

Yu Ying School is the best primary school for children of government employees in Beijing; only the very wealthy and powerful can get in.

"Don't cause trouble at school, but don't be afraid of trouble either." Jiang Wanqiu patted his head and said softly, "If you are wronged, come back and tell your mother. Your father will take care of you no matter what."

Ping An nodded vigorously, a hint of warmth flashing in his eyes: "Mom, I know. I'm going to study, not to fight."

Ping An was a transfer student, dressed simply, and his accent from out of town hadn't completely changed. As soon as he entered the classroom, he heard several piercing sneers from the back row.

"Hey, where did this country bumpkin come from? He's dressed like a beggar."

The speaker was a chubby little man covered in fat; it was Wang Zhuang, the same guy who had fought for a seat on the train that day.

What a small world! He's in the same class, and he's also the "king of the kids" in this area.

During recess, Ping An was carrying her books and walking outside. As she crossed the aisle, a large, fleshy foot suddenly stretched out and blocked the way.

Several children around were covering their mouths and snickering, waiting to see the newcomer fall flat on his face.

Ping An kept his eyes straight ahead and lightly walked around it.

Immediately afterwards, whether intentionally or unintentionally, his heel hooked back and hit Wang Zhuang's shinbone.

"Ouch!"

Wang Zhuang let out a scream. He had been deliberately sitting with the chair legs crossed, and now he lost his balance and fell backward with the chair, crashing to the ground with a thud, his four legs in the air, like a giant turtle whose lid had been flipped over.

The room erupted in laughter.

"You hit me!" Wang Zhuang winced in pain, scrambled to his feet, pointed at Ping An, and cursed, "Teacher! This country bumpkin hit me!"

The homeroom teacher was a middle-aged woman with thick-rimmed glasses, and she was usually very snobbish. Upon hearing Wang Zhuang's complaint, and seeing Ping An's shabby clothes and the "border transfer" written on his file, her face immediately fell.

"You've already learned to fight on your first day here? You're really untamed!" The homeroom teacher slammed his lesson plan on the desk and pointed down the corridor. "Get out here and stand there! Call your parents over; I want to know how you raised your child!"

Ping An stood still, his cool gaze sweeping across the blackboard.

There's a math problem left on it that we just finished explaining.

“I’m not going out,” Ping An said. “Besides, I didn’t hit him. He fell down because he wasn’t sitting properly. And I don’t think you have the right to lecture me.”

"What did you say?!"

Ping An raised her hand, her slender fingers pointing to a line of equations on the blackboard: "The logic of this problem is flawed from the second step onwards. You've twisted the concept and misled the whole class. You didn't even understand it yourself, so what right do you have to punish me?"

Upon hearing this, all eyes in the class immediately turned to the teacher.

The homeroom teacher's face darkened. To save face, she grabbed a piece of chalk and scribbled a math Olympiad problem for eighth grade on the blackboard. She slammed the blackboard shut and yelled, "Fine! You say I'm wrong? Then solve this problem yourself! If you can't, get out of school!"

This question is designed to select top students; even eighth graders might not be able to answer it.

Ping An walked onto the podium with a blank expression.

He picked up half a piece of chalk, but he wasn't tall enough, so he had to stand on tiptoe.

The chalk made a crisp "thump-thump-thump" sound on the blackboard, the rhythm so fast it was dazzling.

One minute.

It only took one minute.

Ping An flicked his wrist, and the chalk tip landed precisely in the chalk box. On the blackboard, three solutions were neatly listed, the handwriting strong and powerful, not at all like that of a ten-year-old child.

"These kinds of questions are just playing word games; they're meaningless."

Ping An patted the powder dust off her hands and turned back to her seat.

This matter eventually alarmed the grade leader, and even the principal came.

To dampen the child's arrogance and to verify the truth, the school arranged a comprehensive diagnostic test specifically for Ping An.

The exam was conducted in a separate examination room, with the principal personally supervising the exam.

When the test papers were handed out, Ping An finished them incredibly quickly, her pen scratching across the paper without pausing.

Halfway through the exam, I handed in my paper.

In his English essay, he wrote "On Fairness" directly in English, with authentic grammar and an amazing vocabulary.

He got full marks in math, physics, and chemistry, leaving the second-place student in the grade by more than 50 points.

The principal held the physics exam paper, his hands trembling. He pushed up his reading glasses, his beard shaking with excitement: "This...this is a treasure! This isn't just a transfer student, this is a prodigy!"

The decision was made immediately: skip a grade!

Ping An skipped directly from fourth grade to sixth grade.

Even though he skipped a grade, Ping An still felt bored.

In physics class, the teacher was explaining circuit diagrams. Ping An sat in the corner, his brow furrowed. He couldn't hold back any longer and raised his hand to stand up: "Teacher, this parallel circuit diagram in the textbook is outdated. Modern industrial applications have long since abandoned this structure. It's inefficient and poses safety hazards."

As he spoke, he walked straight to the podium, picked up the chalk, and casually drew a more precise improved circuit diagram, even adding several complex physical formulas next to it.

That day, an elderly professor from the Chinese Academy of Sciences came to deliver food to his grandson. As he passed by the classroom door, he caught a glimpse of the diagram on the blackboard.

The old professor abruptly stopped in his tracks, as if struck by lightning, and rushed inside.

"This...who drew this?" The old professor's voice trembled as he pointed to the drawing. "This is a new type of circuit concept that is currently being discussed internationally. Who taught you this?"

Ping An blinked, her expression calm: "No one taught me. I figured it out myself by reading books, and I think this makes more sense."

The old professor didn't believe it and immediately posed several profound physics problems to the audience.

Two people, one big and one small, were writing and drawing on the blackboard. The blackboard was full of formulas, which baffled even the physics teacher, who could only stare blankly at them.

Finally, the old professor, with tears in his eyes, tightly grasped the principal's hand, so excited he was incoherent: "This child... this child would be a crime to be in an ordinary school! A waste of life! We must report this! We must report this!"

A month later, on the weekend.

A light rain had just fallen in early summer.

A Hongqi sedan with a special license plate slowly pulled up in front of the Zhao family's villa. Its gleaming black body reflected a solemn sheen in the sunlight.

The car door opened, and two elderly men with gray hair, dressed in Zhongshan suits, stepped out, followed by the solemn-looking principal of Yuying School.

In the study, the two elderly men sat on the sofa, their eyes fixed intently on Ping An, who stood beside Jiang Wanqiu, as if he were a rare treasure.

"Comrade Zhao, Comrade Jiang."

One of the elders spoke up: "After rigorous investigation and testing, we have confirmed that Ping An has an extremely high IQ, especially in mathematics, physics and chemistry. He is a national strategic resource."

"The country is secretly setting up a special class for gifted children, providing them with intensive, closed-door training," the old man said. "This is not just for the children, but for the future of the country. In the future, he will contribute to national defense science and technology."

Jiang Wanqiu's heart skipped a beat, and she subconsciously tightened her grip on Ping An's hand.

Zhao Wenchang was a soldier, and deep down he was absolutely loyal to the country. He stood up and gave the two elderly men a standard military salute: "We have no objection to handing the child over to the country."

Although Jiang Wanqiu understood the greater good, she was still a human being with a heart. Her eyes reddened slightly: "You're leaving already? When will you be able to come back and visit?"

The elderly man in charge of picking them up paused, his tone serious yet gentle: "The special training period is completely closed off due to confidentiality regulations. The return date... is currently undetermined."

Ping An pursed his lips, a rare childlike affection showing on his adult-like face. He stretched out his slender arms and hugged Jiang Wanqiu tightly, whispering in her ear, "Mom, once I solve all those problems, I'll come back and make you a lot of money to buy you a big house."

The car started, kicking up a cloud of dust, and carried the genius boy away.

Days passed by like flowing water.

In the depths of summer, Beijing was as hot as a giant steamer. Cicadas chirped incessantly in the treetops, their noise irritating everyone.

Jiang Wanqiu's belly swelled up like a balloon, and her originally slender limbs were now only thin at the wrists and ankles, making it difficult for her to walk.

That evening, Zhao Wenchang had just returned from the army and hadn't even had time to change out of his training uniform when he was tripped up by Jiang Wanqiu's prominently protruding belly.

"Why are you sweating so much?" Zhao Wenchang frowned, strode over, and wiped the fine sweat from her forehead with his rough hands.

Jiang Wanqiu leaned back in the rattan chair, feeling lazy and unwilling to move. She gave him a coquettish glare and said, "It's all because of this awful weather, plus your son or daughter practicing boxing inside. It's driving me crazy."

Zhao Wenchang's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and his eyes instantly darkened.

He knelt on one knee beside the rattan chair, his hard muscles radiating intense heat even through the thin fabric.

"Where does it hurt? Your back?" His large, hot palms pressed against Jiang Wanqiu's lower back, massaging it with just the right amount of pressure.

In that instant, her aching back felt like it had been redeemed. Jiang Wanqiu let out a comfortable groan and leaned limply into his arms.

Zhao Wenchang took the opportunity to embrace her, lowered his head, and gently caressed her fair earlobe with his calloused fingertips. His breathing became heavier, spraying onto her neck, making her heart tremble.

“Late Autumn…” His voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of barely suppressed desire.

Jiang Wanqiu reached out and hugged his neck, her fingertips running through his stubble-like short hair, her breathing becoming erratic: "You smell so sweaty, it's awful..."

Despite his verbal complaints, he pressed himself even closer to her.

Zhao Wenchang chuckled, lowered his head and pecked her chattering little mouth hard, his teeth gently grinding against her lower lip, sending a tingling electric current through him.

"It's too late for you to look down on me."

His hand slid down her waistline to her high, protruding belly, his movements instantly becoming extremely careful, as if he were holding some fragile, rare treasure.

Through that thin layer of skin, a powerful kick suddenly came from under my palm.

Zhao Wenchang stiffened for a moment, then they exchanged a smile.

Inside the Yue family villa.

Yue Ke was about to go crazy with worry.

Watching Zhao Wenchang rise through the ranks, and seeing Jiang Wanqiu, that country woman, being fawned over by the wealthy ladies, she was consumed with jealousy.

"Mom, I'm not reconciled! Why does she have everything!" Yue Ke gritted her teeth, her face contorted.

“What’s the rush?” Elaine sneered. “Giving birth is like a woman stepping into the gates of hell. If that foot slips, or the hand holding the scalpel trembles even slightly…”

She paused, then looked at the middle-aged man standing in the corner, his forehead covered in cold sweat: "Even if a person doesn't die, he's ruined."

The man was Dr. Liu, the deputy director of the obstetrics and gynecology department at the military general hospital. He was heavily in debt from gambling, and if he didn't pay, the loan sharks threatened to chop off his hand.