Chapter 8
At 5:30 in the morning, before the sky was fully light, Li Ming was already sitting at his desk, using the last light of the dim desk lamp to write down the ancient poems he already knew by heart. The pen moved swiftly across the rough draft paper, the handwriting neat and steady, unlike the desperate anxiety he had shown a month ago. The milk his father, Li Jianhua, had brought that night, the scallion pancakes his mother had quietly placed on the table that morning, and the "tips" marked in red pen in Teacher Chen's notes—like fine threads, they had quietly stitched together his nerves, which had once been on the verge of collapse, and infused them with a more resilient and serene strength.
Today is the first day of the high school entrance exam.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was quieter than ever before. His mother, Wang Xiuqin, kept adding freshly fried eggs to his bowl, her lips moving slightly before finally uttering only, "Mingming, don't be nervous, do your best on the exam." Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. His father, Li Jianhua, continued to silently drink his porridge, but as Li Ming put down his bowl and prepared to get up, he suddenly spoke, his voice low and short: "Keep an eye on the time." His gaze met Li Ming's for a moment, then quickly looked away, his expression complex and difficult to decipher—concern, expectation, and perhaps, a faint glimmer of hope, ignited by his son's transformation over the past month, a glimmer he himself hadn't even noticed.
Li Ming slung his faded schoolbag over his shoulder, replied, "Okay, Dad," and pushed open the familiar, creaking green wooden door, stepping outside. It was a June morning in 2006; a gentle breeze, carrying the warmth of early summer, brushed against his cheek. He took a deep breath, strode into the growing crowd on the street, and headed towards the first crossroads that would determine the fate of countless people—the high school entrance exam hall.
Outside the county's No. 1 High School examination center, a sea of people had already gathered. Anxious parents offered words of advice, students huddled together, encouraging each other or cramming at the last minute, teachers maintained order… an invisible, heart-pounding tension permeated the air. Li Ming weaved through the crowd, his expression calm. He found his examination room and seat by the window, where the sunlight was mostly blocked by the tall sycamore trees, leaving dappled, swaying shadows.
The bell rang, sharp and piercing, instantly capturing the attention of everyone in the examination room. The invigilator solemnly read out the examination rules, and then, like a verdict of fate, the exam papers were passed down one by one.
Li Ming's heart skipped a beat as his fingers touched the cold exam paper. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his eyes were calm. The composure he had honed at the negotiating table in his past life, combined with the confidence he had accumulated through months of arduous training in this life, blended together at that moment.
Chinese language was his first hurdle.
He answered the basic questions steadily and quickly. Those words and phrases he had repeatedly memorized and recited countless times, including pronunciation, spelling, idioms, and sentence errors, now flowed like well-trained soldiers, obeying his commands. The classical Chinese reading passages were unfamiliar, but relying on the "contextual inference" and "grammatical analysis" emphasized by Teacher Chen, he peeled back the layers and understood the meaning without much difficulty. He even had time to appreciate the subtle use of certain function words in the text—a feeling of peace and composure he had never experienced in his past life when he struggled to even pass.
However, the real test comes in the final essay.
The title immediately catches the eye—"The Future".
It's very broad, and it's easy for it to become vague. A slight commotion immediately arose in the examination room; some were delighted, while others frowned.
Li Ming gripped the pen, his fingertips tightening slightly. In an instant, countless images and fragments of information surged through his mind—not the regret of his past life of destitution on the streets, but those scenes he had witnessed and experienced firsthand, yet which belonged to the "future": high-speed trains shortening the distance between cities, smartphones on a small screen bringing together the entire world, a tap of the finger delivering goods to one's doorstep, information flooding every corner of life like a torrent… These might have seemed like fantasy to a junior high student in 2006, but to him, they were real, existing memories of the past.
Can he write it? Does he dare to write it?
If I write it down, will it be seen as a genius's foresight, or as the ravings of a madman?
The pen hovered above the writing grid, hesitant to fall. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He knew the safest approach was to write a standard argumentative essay, discussing ideals, struggles, and technological progress, citing examples of Edison and Marie Curie to secure a safe, not too low, grade.
But... the vow to "live a different life" echoed in my ears. Is safety alone enough?
He recalled what Teacher Chen had once said: "The value of an article lies in its authenticity and originality. Genuine feelings, even if immature, are moving; a novel perspective, even if risky, is unforgettable."
An impulse, mixed with the unique "cheating" confidence of a reborn person, surged in his chest. He no longer hesitated.
The pen falls, and the title is neatly written: "The Future is Within Reach".
Instead of abstract concepts, he chose an extremely subtle entry point—the evolution of communication methods. He depicted a scenario where relatives separated by vast distances could not only instantly hear each other's voices but also clearly see each other's smiling faces through a small screen; people no longer needed to carry heavy books, as all knowledge and entertainment could be stored in a palm-sized device and accessed anytime, anywhere; even purchasing desired items no longer required navigating crowded shopping malls, but could be completed with a simple click…
He carefully controlled his writing, avoiding overly futuristic technical terms (such as "smartphones," "4G networks," and "e-commerce platforms"), instead using vivid, everyday language to depict those scenes. He wrote: "Perhaps one day, the boundaries of communication will be completely broken down, and the idea that the ends of the earth are like next door will no longer be a poet's romantic imagination; the ocean of knowledge will converge within a small space, allowing us to roam freely; the convenience of life will reach unprecedented heights, and the limitations of time and space will be greatly weakened..."
He tried his best to keep his writing within the realm of "bold imagination," but the certainty about details and the grasp of trends revealed between the lines far exceeded the vision of an ordinary junior high school student. His writing style may still carry the immaturity of a teenager, but the breadth of his vision and his sense of certainty subtly revealed a startling maturity.
After writing the last word, he gently put down his pen and stretched his slightly sore wrist. Outside the window, the sycamore leaves rustled, and sunlight streamed through the gaps, dancing on his open exam paper. He didn't know what kind of judgment his "advanced" essay would receive, but he didn't regret it. This was not just an exam essay, but a silent declaration of his rebirth and his determination to embrace and change that "future."
In the following subjects—mathematics, English, and science—Li Ming navigated the jungle of knowledge like a seasoned veteran. He no longer relied solely on vague "predictions" in his mind (in fact, apart from a very few memorable outlines of major questions, most details had long been lost to time). Instead, he drew upon the knowledge system and problem-solving skills he had rebuilt and solidified over the past few months through almost brutal self-discipline and Mr. Chen's meticulous guidance.
When faced with familiar question types, he felt confident and his writing flowed smoothly; when encountering completely unfamiliar "roadblocks," he remained calm and composed, carefully examining the question and trying to break it down and explore it using different theorems and formulas. The feeling of using his own strength to analyze the difficult problem step by step, and finally finding the key and suddenly understanding, brought a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment that far surpassed simply "knowing the answer."
The final, most challenging problem in the math exam had a complex diagram and hidden conditions. Anxious sighs filled the exam hall. Li Ming stared at the diagram, his mind racing through several "atypical" approaches to adding auxiliary lines from Teacher Chen's notes. He tried connecting two seemingly unrelated points; drawing an auxiliary line instantly clarified the entire diagram! The subsequent proof steps flowed naturally. When he wrote "Proof complete," a sense of peace and clarity settled within him.
In the science comprehensive exam, a physics problem combining buoyancy and pressure stumped many students. Li Ming remembered the "modeling" concept emphasized by his teacher, Mr. Chen. He abstracted the complex device into a simple physical model, then substituted it into the formula to calculate, and the problem was solved easily.
As each exam ended, he calmly handed in his paper, walked out of the exam hall, and passed through crowds of people, some excitedly discussing, others groaning in frustration. Zhang Hao tried several times to pull him aside to compare answers, but he smiled and shook his head, refusing each time. He didn't want his post-exam emotions to affect his performance in the following exams.
Li Jianhua, Li's father, remained silent, but Li Ming noticed that these past few evenings, there was always an extra dish of his favorite stir-fried shredded pork on the table, or a bowl of mung bean soup with lily bulbs that his mother had specially prepared. His father also seemed to be drinking less frequently. These silent changes, like a gentle stream, warmed his slightly weary heart after returning from his campaign.
The final bell rang, its sound unusually long, as if announcing the end of an era.
Li Ming put down his pen, watching his densely filled exam paper being taken away. He felt neither the expected elation nor emptiness, only a calm and relief after the tide had receded. He had done everything he could. Sweat, tears, the solitary lamplight of the night, his parents' expectations, his teachers' support, and even the doubts and ridicule… all were condensed onto those few thin answer sheets.
He stood up and followed the crowd out of the examination hall. The June sun poured down relentlessly, so bright it was almost blinding. The tall poplar leaves on campus were glossy and rustled in the wind, as if applauding these young people who had just finished the first major battle of their lives.
He took a deep breath of the air, thick with the scent of grass and sunshine, and walked lightly towards the school gate. He knew that one phase had ended. But the final judgment on his life's story was far from being made. The exam results were about to be revealed. What kind of number would it be? Would it be enough to justify all his efforts over the past few months, and would it fulfill the promises he had made to his parents, to Teacher Chen, and most importantly, to himself?
Standing at the bustling school gate, Li Ming squinted, gazing at the city skyline bathed in golden sunlight. A new, larger world awaited him, faintly visible behind that radiance. Whether he could successfully open the first door to that world lay sealed within the file folder soon to be opened.
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