Chapter 15
Xie Qingyan took a deep breath, suppressing his turbulent emotions. He calmly finished the rest of his breakfast, picked up the breakfast he had bought for his parents, stood up with a composed expression, and left the breakfast shop.
The sunlight shone on him, almost blindingly so. Yet his gaze was deeper and more resolute than when he arrived.
He didn't believe a single word of those rumors—at least not the slanderous remarks about Jiang Ci's character. He only heard about the past of a gifted young man who had been hurt and isolated.
Now, the boy is trapped in another cage.
He needed to get a phone to contact Jiang Ci as soon as possible. At the same time, he had to do better in the upcoming exams, well enough to put his parents at ease, well enough... perhaps one day, he could become one of the ray of light illuminating Jiang Ci's dark situation.
——
Back home, Mr. and Mrs. Xie were busy cleaning the tools used for harvesting vegetables.
Xie Qingyan handed breakfast to her parents and then went into her room.
"Why isn't this child going out to play with his classmates during the holidays?"
Xie's mother glanced at Xie's father: "When have you ever seen your son play with his classmates?"
Mr. Xie blurted out, "Xiao Ci... right, Xiao Ci must have something going on at home. She should go out for some fresh air. Staying at home reading all day isn't a good solution."
Xie's mother picked up a broom and started hitting him: "You had a problem when our son wasn't studying, and now that he's studying hard, you still have a problem? Go do your chores!"
Xie Qingyan closed the door, and the world suddenly became quiet.
On the desk, a thick stack of notebooks lay scattered about, their pages a mix of red and blue ink.
This is a set of notes that Jiang Ci organized for Xie Qingyan before the mock exam, covering knowledge points from the first year of high school to the third year.
Xie Qingyan pulled out a chair and sat down. Instead of immediately starting to write, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Just like in his previous life, after each imperial examination, he would go through the entire exam in his mind in his inn room.
But this time was different. This time, he was not only facing "classical interpretations and policy discussions," but also a completely unfamiliar language system called "science."
He opened his eyes and began to retrieve his memories of the science exam.
He recalled encountering a question about electromagnetic induction during a physics exam. The question included a drawing of a coil, a magnet, and an ammeter, and asked for the direction of the current when the magnet was removed.
In the examination room, he stared at the small ammeter symbol, his mind filled with the record in the Huainanzi of magnets attracting iron, and the mystery of the compass handle always pointing south. But the exam question asked about Lenz's law, the right-hand rule—to use that invisible hand to grasp the unseen magnetic field lines and determine that the induced current always opposes the change that caused it.
Obstacles?
Xie Qingyan picked up his pen, started a new page in his special question book, and wrote:
[Physics and Electromagnetism]
Question 1: Magnets possess air and can attract iron objects; this has been known since ancient times. However, the current question states: Moving magnetism generates electricity, and electricity generates magnetism, in a continuous cycle like the interaction of yin and yang. These magnetic field lines are formless and intangible; how can they be drawn? How can one describe the number of coils passing through them?
He stopped writing and tapped his fingertips lightly on the table.
Jiang Ci had talked about electromagnetic induction. That afternoon, the boy drew crooked magnetic field lines on a piece of scrap paper with a pencil and said, "Imagine this is water flow, and the coil is a net. When the magnet moves, the amount of water flowing through the net changes, and eddies are stirred up in the net—that is electric current."
He understood it then. But when he faced that question alone in a mock exam, that intuitive understanding became blurred again. Because deeper questions surfaced, he jotted down his doubts:
Second question: The right-hand rule, why is it the right hand? If the left hand is the dominant force, isn't that a bias in the way of Heaven? Is this rule not a natural principle, but rather a law imposed on humanity? Yet this law applies to all things, which is the most astonishing aspect.
His pen paused slightly as he wrote those words.
This was what truly shocked him—these rules, established by humankind, could accurately predict changes in nature. In ancient times, this was called "revealing the secrets of heaven," and was punishable by divine retribution. But here, it was basic knowledge that every high school student was required to master.
After recording all the physics questions from the mock exam, Xie Qingyan composed herself and continued to recall the questions she encountered while answering chemistry questions.
He was particularly unable to answer the organic reasoning questions.
The question gives a molecular formula CHO, stating that it can undergo hydrolysis, and one of the products can undergo a silver mirror reaction. The question asks for the deduction of its structure.
Xie Qingyan stared at the string of subscript numbers. CHO—six carbons, twelve hydrogens, and two oxygens. In his eyes, it didn't look like a molecular formula, but rather like some kind of encrypted runes.
In his previous life, he had read the "Baopuzi" and seen alchemists use cryptic language to record the formulas for elixirs and golden liquids: "Take one pound of mercury, three ounces of sulfur..." Those were empirical and vague proportions. But here, every atom must be counted; one more hydrogen or one less oxygen makes a completely different substance.
He started a new page in his chemistry problem book, his handwriting heavy:
【Chemicals & Organic】
Question 1: How can the four bonds of carbon atoms, like mortise and tenon joints in construction, connect to form chains, rings, and branches? The structural diagram is as precise as a building blueprint. Yet, are all things in the world truly built from these simple carbon and water atoms?
He recalled those intricate buildings and bridges. Humans build cities with wood, stone, bricks, and tiles, yet nature uses carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen to build life—the idea itself seemed like a myth.
Second question: The question states that the silver mirror reaction is characteristic of aldehyde groups. However, what is the basis for the names aldehyde, ketone, alcohol, and ether? It seems similar to the explanations of plants, birds, and animals in the *Erya*, but these explanations do not focus on form or nature, but rather on the differences in functional groups. Is this concept of function similar to the principle of the principal, assistant, adjuvant, and guide properties of medicines?
He paused here.
Wait a minute—functional groups determine properties, just like how Bupleurum in traditional Chinese medicine disperses and rhubarb purges, a certain group of structures determines the overall medicinal properties. This line of thinking seems to have a slight connection?
He quickly added a note: It seems comparable, but the properties of Chinese medicine are mostly based on experience, while the theory of functional groups has a basis at the atomic level, which is even more fundamental.
This discovery gave him a jolt of confidence. It turned out that the gap between old and new knowledge wasn't always a precipice; sometimes there were pontoon bridges to cross.
...
After sorting out the chemistry questions, Xie Qingyan couldn't help but rub his temples. He thought to himself that even he, the top scholar of the Great Jing Dynasty, could be stumped by the science exam. The sea of knowledge is boundless; the ancients were right.
What challenged his understanding the most was biology.
The biology question in the mock exam left a deep impression on him: it asked how the energy generated by the electron transport chain on the inner mitochondrial membrane drives ATP synthase to produce ATP.
When Xie Qingyan looked at this question in the examination room, it was as if he were reading a book written in a foreign language. It wasn't that he didn't recognize the words, but rather that each word pointed to a miniature universe that he couldn't even imagine.
He opened his biology notebook; this page was the most densely filled with writing:
[Life & Cells]
Question 1: Is the cell the dwelling place of life? Yet, the illustration shows that within this dwelling, mitochondria serve as the hearth, ribosomes as the workshop, and the Golgi apparatus as the relay station… the division of labor is so detailed it rivals the Three Departments and Six Ministries. How can this tiny cell possess such a complete system?
He recalled the government-run handicrafts recorded in the "Kaogongji" (Record of Trades): "Seven craftsmen work on wood, six on metal, five on leather..." That was a division of labor at the national level. Yet nature, in every cell invisible to the naked eye, had etched such a precise assembly line.
Second question: The most perplexing one is that ATP is the currency of energy. Energy can have currency? And this currency circulates within the cell, driving all kinds of reactions, much like money circulating in the market. But who is the master of this market? Who sets the price of this exchange rate?
This is the most fundamental puzzle: behind all life activities, there seems to be a spontaneous and sophisticated economic system. There is no emperor, no Ministry of Revenue, yet it operates more efficiently and stably than any dynasty.
He stared at the question he had written down and suddenly remembered a sentence Jiang Ci had said: "A living organism is a complex, self-organizing system that can resist the forces of nature."
He hadn't fully understood it at the time. Now, looking at the questions on the exam paper about active transport and negative feedback regulation, he suddenly grasped the edge of that concept—
Life is about establishing and maintaining order amidst chaos.
Just like him, a wandering soul that should have been lost to history, who rebuilt the order of life in this world.
...
As the sun rises higher outside the window, its rays slant into the room, casting interplay of light and shadow on the open notebook.
Hsieh Ching-yen's questions already filled seven pages: two pages for physics, two pages for chemistry, and three pages for biology. Behind each question lay a cognitive gap that needed to be bridged.
He put down his pen, stretched his aching wrists, and then slowly leaned back, his gaze sweeping over the mess on the table.
In his previous life, he might have disdained to delve into these strange and ingenious skills. But this world is different. This is the content tested in the college entrance examination, a knowledge system that determines the fate of countless people—more importantly, this is a world where Jiang Ci thrives.
He recalled the words he had overheard at the breakfast shop. Jiang Ci had once stood at the top of this knowledge system, and then been dragged down and trampled into the mud.
Such a brilliant person should not be overlooked.
The thought resurfaced, stronger than ever before.
Xie Qingyan sat up straight, closed the notebook, and smoothed out the cover. Then, he did something very ritualistic. He took out a red plastic clip that his mother had brought back from grocery shopping, carefully clipped the notebook together, and placed it in the upper right corner of his desk.
That's a spot you can see as soon as you look up.
After finishing all this, he unfolded his notebook of incorrect science questions again, flipping to the first one he got wrong. Instead of looking at the answer, he picked up a blank sheet of scratch paper and began to re-deduce the problem according to his own understanding:
Magnetic field change... induces electromotive force... according to Faraday's law ε=-ΔΦ/Δt...
He wrote slowly, transforming each step into an image he could understand in his mind: magnetic field lines like flowing water, coils like fishing nets, and electromotive force like ripples stirred up on the nets...
Then, when he reached a certain node, he got stuck.
I remember the formulas and know the steps, but I just can't seem to connect the logic to a certain transformation. It feels like knowing the opening moves in Go, but not understanding why you should play them that way.
Xie Qingyan wasn't annoyed. He simply drew a circle around the stuck spot and labeled it:
[It needs clarification: Why is the rate of change of magnetic flux considered a derivative? Is this change in flux consistent with the concept of decay in the *Nine Chapters on the Magnetic Flux*?]
This is his unique learning method. He breaks down new knowledge and looks for connections with the existing knowledge system, even if those connections are as weak as a thread.
Time slipped away with the scratching of his pen. When Xie's mother knocked on the door to call him for lunch, Xie Qingyan had already finished working through the three physics problems he had gotten wrong, written eleven annotations, and marked three questions about Jiang Ci.
At the dinner table, Xie's mother made a simple tomato and egg noodle dish.
Mr. Xie asked, "How did your studies go this morning?"
Xie Qingyan picked up a mouthful of noodles, thought for a moment, and answered very seriously: "There are many things I don't understand. But... knowing where you don't understand is the first step to understanding."
Mr. Xie seemed to understand, but seeing the clear and determined light in his son's eyes, he simply nodded: "Take it slow, don't ruin your health."
After dinner, Xie Qingyan insisted on washing the dishes and then returned to his desk. He didn't continue studying his science subjects but instead picked up the Oxford English Dictionary.
This is also a strategic adjustment after reviewing the overall situation. Science requires systematic understanding and cannot be rushed. English, especially vocabulary and reading comprehension, can be improved quickly through rote memorization and extensive reading. His memory is his greatest strength and must be maximized.
All afternoon, the room echoed with hushed recitations. From abandon to zoology, from relative clauses to the subjunctive mood. He read it strangely, sometimes with the intonation of modern Chinese pinyin, sometimes unconsciously incorporating the rhythm and intonation of classical Chinese.
Occasionally he would stop and frown at a particular word.
"puter...computer? Does it actually refer to a machine? This word is cleverly coined, but why is a mouse called a mouse? And why is a hard disk called a hard disk?"
He jotted down these questions in the corner of his English notebook. Gradually, the notebook became a bilingual spectacle: English words were accompanied by classical Chinese explanations, and grammar examples were marked with notes that the sentence structure resembled an inversion in a certain passage of the Zuo Zhuan…
As the sun set, Xie Qingyan finally closed his vocabulary book. He walked to the window, opened it, and let the cool evening breeze in.
In the distance, the sunset was ablaze, its colors shifting from golden to crimson, layer upon layer. Gazing at the scene, he suddenly recalled a certain evening in his previous life at the Hanlin Academy, when he and his classmates stood on the steps, looking at the sky beyond the palace walls, dreaming of a future where the emperor would be as wise and benevolent as Yao and Shun.
At that time, he thought that if he understood the classics, he would understand the world.
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