bet
On the eve of the physics competition, a solitary light shone in the seminar room of the library at Linjiang No.1 Middle School.
The whiteboard was covered with dense formulas, and a few Feynman diagrams were scribbled in the corners. Fang Chi stood in front of the whiteboard, chalk dust falling from his fingertips and accumulating a thin layer of white at his feet.
“No.” Xing Jiayan’s voice came from behind, deep and firm.
Fang Chi's pen paused, leaving a jarring ink dot on the whiteboard. This was the seventh rejection of the night. He took a deep breath, forcing down the surging frustration in his heart: "What's wrong?"
Xing Jiayan approached, leaning on his crutches. His foot injury hadn't fully healed, but he could already walk short distances without the cane. He stopped beside Fang Chi, his gaze sharp as he dissected every step of the derivation on the whiteboard.
“You’ve been wrong since the third step.” He reached out and took the pen from Fang Chi’s hand, and drew a circle on a certain integral symbol. “You’re assuming that the field is continuous at the boundary, but the topological properties of this system don’t allow that.”
Fang Chi stared at the circled integral, his pupils contracting slightly. He had indeed overlooked the topological constraints of the boundary conditions—an extremely subtle yet fatal problem.
“Moreover,” Xing Jiayan continued, his pen hovering over the last line of formula, “the transformation you’re using will violate gauge invariance.”
The pen tip tapped lightly on the whiteboard, producing a crisp sound, like a final verdict.
Fang Chi watched as his two-hour deduction was completely negated, and a surge of anger welled up inside him. He snatched the pen back, his voice as cold as ice: "If you know so much, why don't you do it yourself?"
The moment those words left his mouth, he regretted them.
The seminar room fell into dead silence. The cicadas outside had stopped chirping sometime earlier, leaving only the low hum of the air conditioner vibrating in the air.
Xing Jiayan remained silent. He stared at Fang Chi, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice eerily calm:
"Fang Chi, do you know what the biggest difference is between us?"
He took a step forward, his cane making a soft sound as it hit the ground.
“You’re always thinking about finding a completely new path, proving that your method is better than everyone else’s.” His gaze swept over the wildly imaginative derivations on the whiteboard. “But I only care about which path gets me to the destination the fastest.”
Fang Chi's knuckles turned white from clenching his fists.
“In tomorrow’s competition, no one cares how unique your thinking is.” Xing Jiayan’s voice remained calm, but every word was piercing. “They only care whether the answer is correct and whether the steps are concise.”
"So what?" Fang Chi suddenly looked up, his eyes burning with defiance. "So I should be like you, always choosing the safest and most boring path?"
“It’s not boring, it’s efficient,” Xing Jiayan corrected him. “In a limited amount of time, efficiency is everything.”
"Including negating all the efforts of others?" Fang Chi almost shouted.
These words struck like a hammer blow, shattering the last vestiges of calm in the air.
Xing Jiayan's expression finally changed. His hand, gripping his cane, tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white. For the first time, his voice carried suppressed anger:
“If I really wanted to deny you, I wouldn’t have sat here in the first place.”
Fang Chi was stunned.
Xing Jiayan shifted his gaze from his face to the circled errors on the whiteboard, his tone becoming low:
“Fang Chi, you don’t understand at all.” He paused, as if searching for the right words, “Some roads are winding not because they cannot lead to the destination, but because they are too dangerous and too easy to lose one’s way.”
His gaze returned to Fang Chi's face, and in those always sharp eyes, there was now an emotion that Fang Chi had never seen before—it seemed like worry, or something deeper.
“I don’t want you to lose your way,” he said.
These words, though spoken softly, struck Fang Chi's heart with tremendous force.
The seminar room fell silent again. But this time, the tension in the air gradually dissipated, replaced by a subtle stillness.
Looking at the errors circled by Xing Jiayan on the whiteboard, Fang Chi suddenly realized: each circled spot represented a question he had asked "Yan" on the forum. Those late-night discussions, those sparks of inspiration, that unspoken understanding only they shared—
They're all hidden inside these red circles.
He slowly put down his pen and walked to the window. The night was deep, and the lights of the teaching buildings in the distance were scattered like stars.
"Xing Jiayan," he suddenly spoke, his voice much calmer, "Do you remember the first time we argued in this seminar room?"
Xing Jiayan was slightly taken aback: "I remember."
That was two months ago, not long after they became competition partners. They argued fiercely over the solution to a problem, and Fang Chi stormed out, while Xing Jiayan sat in the discussion room all night.
“Back then, I thought you were arrogant and mean.” Fang Chi turned around, leaning against the window frame, his gaze falling on Xing Jiayan’s injured ankle. “But now I understand.”
"Understand what?"
“You’re not denying me,” Fang Chi said. “You’re using your own methods to ensure we can both make it to the end.”
Xing Jiayan remained silent, neither admitting nor denying.
Fang Chi walked back to the whiteboard, picked up the eraser, and without hesitation wiped away the results of his two hours of work. Chalk dust flew everywhere, like a miniature snowstorm under the light.
“Again,” he said firmly. “This time, I’ll listen to you.”
Xing Jiayan looked at him, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, which quickly turned into a faint smile. He stepped forward, leaning on his cane, and took the pen that Fang Chi handed him.
“Let’s start here.” He wrote the first formula on the blank space of the whiteboard. “By using conformal transformations, we can bypass topological constraints.”
This time, they didn't argue. Fang Chi was responsible for building the main framework, while Xing Jiayan provided corrections at key points; Xing Jiayan proposed the core ideas, and Fang Chi expanded upon them with his unique imagination. Their thoughts, like two originally separate streams, finally merged into the same river, surging forward.
As the clock struck one in the morning, the last problem was solved.
The whiteboard was covered with brand-new derivations, concise, elegant, and flawless.
Fang Chi put down his pen and let out a long sigh. He turned to look at Xing Jiayan and found that the other was also looking at him. Under the lamplight, Xing Jiayan's face was a little pale, and there were fine beads of sweat on his forehead—his foot injury hadn't fully healed, and he had been standing for too long.
“Your foot…” Fang Chi subconsciously reached out, then stopped in mid-air.
"It's nothing." Xing Jiayan shook his head, but his gaze remained fixed on Fang Chi's face. "Are you ready for tomorrow's competition?"
Fang Chi didn't answer, but instead asked, "Xing Jiayan, if we use this method, what place can we get?"
"First," Xing Jiayan answered without hesitation, "as long as we cooperate well."
"Like tonight?"
"Just like tonight."
Fang Chi smiled. He picked up the thermos cup that was placed in the corner—the light blue cup that they had once used as a boundary marker—twisted the lid, and handed it to Xing Jiayan.
"Drink some water," he said. "You look like you need to rehydrate."
Xing Jiayan paused for a moment, then took the cup. The water temperature was just right, the temperature Fang Chi was used to.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Fang Chi watched him finish his water and suddenly said, "Xing Jiayan, let's make a bet."
"What are we betting on?"
"Tomorrow's competition will be about who finishes the last question first," Fang Chi said, a challenging glint in his eyes. "The stakes are—"
He paused, then said, word by word:
The loser must grant the winner one request. Any request.
Xing Jiayan put down his water glass and looked at him with deep eyes. The lights in the seminar room seemed to shimmer in his eyes, as if they contained a myriad of stars.
“Any conditions?” he repeated.
“Any conditions,” Fang Chi said firmly.
Xing Jiayan fell silent. His gaze slowly moved from Fang Chi's eyes to his slightly reddened earlobes, and then back to his eyes. His gaze was so focused that it almost overwhelmed Fang Chi.
"Okay." He finally spoke, his voice low and firm, "I bet."
He took a step forward, the sound of his cane hitting the ground particularly clear in the quiet night.
“But Fang Chi,” his voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable seriousness, “no matter who wins or loses tomorrow, one thing will never change.”
"What?"
“Your name,” Xing Jiayan’s gaze was fixed on him, “will always be written on the list of award winners along with mine.”
Fang Chi felt his heart skip a beat.
The cicadas outside the window started chirping again, accompanied by the summer night breeze, passing through the open window and gently brushing against their hair.
"Then it's settled." Fang Chi extended his hand. "We'll see who wins on the field tomorrow."
Xing Jiayan looked at his hand and slowly but firmly grasped it.
See you on the field.
Their hands were clasped tightly together, like a vow, or a new beginning.
Tomorrow's competition will be a true contest. But regardless of the outcome, they have found something more important than victory or defeat—the paths that lead to the same goal have finally converged at this moment.
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