Chapter Thirty-One
The good times didn't last long. The second semester of senior year started, and everyone was full of resentment, cursing the school, teachers, and classmates. They wanted to yell at everyone they saw.
On the first day of senior year, the head of the grade personally turned the magnetic countdown clock above the classroom door red—122. The number felt like a red-hot branding iron, making everyone's heart pound with anxiety at the slightest touch.
They were very unhappy; they hadn't had enough fun during the holiday, and now school was starting again—what an absurd reason.
Senior year of high school is a time of intense pressure. Time seems to pass slowly, but actually, looking at the countdown days makes it feel like it's going by pretty fast.
February 6th, the first day of the second semester for senior high school students, was still chilly before the Spring Equinox. Before the morning reading bell rang, the magnetic wooden sign at the classroom door read "Final Battle for the College Entrance Examination - Countdown" - 122 days.
Xu Li put his backpack on his seat and casually draped his coat over the back of the chair. There was a small piece of fabric sewn inside the coat – “TYZ”, which Tan Yuze had sewn for him last winter, saying it was to prevent the coats from getting mixed up in the gymnasium.
Those three letters pressed against his back, like a quiet pulse. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Zhao, came in carrying a stack of winter break homework, and his first words were:
"Listen up, everyone! Time waits for no one. 122 days, in the blink of an eye, there will be 100, 50, 10..."
A low hiss rippled through the classroom, followed by the rustling sounds of papers being turned, pens being capped, and scratch paper being pulled out.
Xu Li finished the last line of the Chinese dictation she hadn't completed last night, and looked up at the window.
The sunlight reflected off the glass of the laboratory building across the street, looking like a thin slice of ice.
The exams will be held for two consecutive days, February 27th and 28th.
The exam schedule was posted on the blackboard: Chinese, Mathematics, English, and Science, simulating the entire college entrance examination.
Xu Li's exam room was in his own class—the last row by the window. On the first morning, during Chinese class, he finished his essay with 18 minutes left. He looked up at the clock, the second hand ticking away like a drumbeat on his heart.
In the afternoon math class, he used three methods to verify the second-to-last derivative problem, and the final answer fell within the interval (2,3). After writing the last "∴", he wrote a line of small words in the corner of his scratch paper:
"Tan Yuze, today is day 122-1=121." When she got home that evening, her roommate was chatting in the group, reciting the periodic table. She listened to a voice message from Tan Yuze while wearing headphones.
"Don't stay up too late. I want to hear you play 'Dreamy Melody' as my wake-up call tomorrow morning." Xu Li turned the voice message into an alarm clock and didn't go to sleep until 00:48.
The last period in the morning is a class meeting.
Old Cao walked in carrying a stack of report cards, his face redder than usual—it was said that the grade group had been compiling the scores overnight, and he didn't get to sleep until four in the morning.
"Sit down, everyone! Let's announce the top ten in the class first."
He placed the A4 paper under the projector, a flash of red light appeared, revealing black text on a white background.
Xu Li, first in her class and first in her grade, with a total score of 728.
Tan Yuze, second in class and seventh in grade, with a total score of 703.
Lin Yue, third in her class and thirteenth in her grade, scored 697 points.
The moment the number 728 appeared, the class was silent for half a second, then erupted in a restrained gasp: "728?!"
"Perfect score in math, 296 in combined science? Is this even human?"
Xu Li gripped the pen, his knuckles turning white. It wasn't an accident; he was simply confirming once again that in 121 days, he could raise 728 even higher.
Old Cao cleared his throat and changed the subject: "Xu Li got 150 in math, the only perfect score in the grade, and her paper was scanned into the question bank as a benchmark; she got 296 in science, all the multiple-choice questions in chemistry were correct, and the steps for the last big question in physics were printed out as a template by the teaching and research group."
But—"The whole class fell silent instantly.
"58 on the essay, 2 points short of a perfect score. The head of the grading team said your ending was too ambiguous, so 2 points were deducted." The class burst into laughter.
Xu Li smiled too, a small curve forming at the corner of her eyes. She crossed out the line "121" on the draft paper, changing it to "120," and added beside it, "Two points short, then climb two more points."
Xu Li was queuing for hot water when someone poked him from behind. Cheng Yu, clutching his thermos, laughed until his teeth ached: "728, give me a break?"
Xu Li stepped aside to let him answer first: "703 isn't bad either." Cheng Yu lowered his voice: "I heard that the highest score at the neighboring No. 1 High School is 722, you surpassed him by 6 points."
Xu Li hummed in agreement, but in her mind she was calculating 722-728=-6. She still needed to smooth out the negative sign and widen the gap.
The tap clicked shut off, and hot steam hit her glasses, blurring her vision. Xu Li suddenly remembered Tan Yuze's words from last night—"I don't want you to be number one, I just want you to be number one with peace of mind."
At the time, she replied, "There is no such thing as peace of mind; all I can do is make others feel at ease." Now, "728" is posted at the very top of the bulletin board, like a lamp hanging high in the sky.
She carried her water bottle back to the classroom, her steps steady and light. Old Cao called the top ten students, including Xu Li, Zhou Yu, and Lin Yue, to the small conference room and brought out a stack of new test papers.
"This is the provincial experimental school's March joint exam, the difficulty level is comparable to last year's college entrance exam. You do it tonight, we'll go over it tomorrow morning." Xu Li flipped to the last question in the science section, a three-part question combining electric field, momentum, and electromagnetic induction, filling an entire page. He
She looked up at the clock: 9:30 PM. The meeting room window faced the playground, where high school seniors jogged lap after lap, their headlamps like moving fireflies. Tan Yuze was among them—he ran with them every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and would bring Xu Li's dinner and fruit along.
Tan Yuze should have just finished his third lap and be waiting for him under the flagpole. Xu Li wrote on the draft paper: "[22:40 See you at the flagpole]" and then handed the note to Cheng Yu: "Help me ask for leave for the next class and go to the infirmary."
Zhou Yu raised an eyebrow: "The infirmary?"
"Um, my stomach hurts."
Actually, the light in his heart was too bright, and he needed to cool off in the night breeze. Tan Yuze was wearing a school uniform jacket, zipped up all the way, his nose slightly red from the cold.
He handed over the thermos: "Yam and pork rib soup, my mom made it, she said it's good for your brain."
Xu Li took it, but didn't rush to drink it. First, she asked, "How many laps did you run?"
"Five laps, 2 kilometers."
"Pace?"
"4 minutes and 30 seconds."
Xu Li laughed: "Next time I'll take you to break 4 points." Tan Yuze didn't refute, but just reached out and brushed his wind-blown bangs behind his ear, his fingertips lingering on the ends of his hair for a second.
The playground lights went out with a "snap," plunging the surroundings into darkness, with only a row of windows on the distant teaching building still lit.
The nights lasted 120 days; they were deep and long.
Xu Li finished her soup, tightened the lid, and whispered:
"Today is July 28th."
"I know."
"Two points short of a perfect score on the essay."
"Then 2 points."
"I want to go higher."
Tan Yuze nodded: "Okay, I'll go with you." The wind swept across the flagpole, the rope rustling softly, like a silent echo. Xu Li swiped her access card and went upstairs, the corridor lights crackling softly.
She pushed open the door and saw her mother holding an eggplant. Without even looking up when she heard the noise, she said, "Xu Li, Lao Zhao said we need to recite and write down 'Chen Qing Biao' tomorrow morning. You can borrow it to copy after you finish writing it."
"OK."
She sat down at the table, took out her composition paper, and rewrote the composition that had scored 58 points during the day.
The ending should be changed to:
"...May we meet again at a higher place, with the spring breeze as our letter and the stars as our witness." As she wrote the last word, she looked out the window—the night sky of 120 days had no stars, but there was a very distant light, like 728, or like someone's eyes.
The alarm clock rang, playing Tan Yuze's whistled version of "Dreamy Melody," off-key but punctual. Xu Li turned off the alarm and noticed an unread message pinned to the top of her WeChat chat: [TYZ: Today is 119, I'll be waiting for you at the finish line. — 4:30]
He smiled, zipped his jacket all the way up, and the fabric tag clung to his collarbone like a small medal. One by one, the dormitory lights came on, and the sound of running water from the washroom echoed down the corridor.
He shouldered his schoolbag and walked into the still-dormant campus.
The countdown timer has been updated: 117 days.
When the morning reading bell rang, the cheerful music of the first-year high school students doing their morning exercises across the playground could still be heard, but the music was shattered by the "buzzing" sound of reciting their lessons as it passed through the third-floor corridor.
Li Zeyu, the most mischievous student in the class, was also obediently holding "64 Ancient Poems and Prose" today, reciting "Free and Easy Wandering" while secretly kicking the chair in front of him.
He kicked it twice, but the student in front of him ignored him. He deflated first, pressing his forehead against the cold metal bookshelf and muttering, "117, why isn't it 711..."
The first period was a double period of Chinese language lessons. Old Zhao carried a stack of freshly printed test papers into the room. The smell of ink mixed with the damp, cold odor of the air conditioner hit him on the back of the head like a blunt object.
The top of the test paper read "2025 Senior Three · School Opening Positioning · Chinese (I)", and the bottom left corner indicated "Total 16 pages". A collective gasp swept through the class, and the sound of the pages turning was like an avalanche.
"Don't glare at me, I know you want to curse." Old Zhao slammed the test paper onto the podium. "But after you've cursed, you still have to do the questions. 117 days is enough for you to read 'Dream of the Red Chamber' twice more, and enough for you to get the number of multiple-choice questions on the national exam down from five wrong to one."
Tan Yuze stared at the sycamore tree outside the window, calculating in his mind: 117 days, is that enough time for me to improve my math score from 116 to 150? Is that enough time for me to raise my English essay score from 43 to a perfect score? Is that enough time for me to catch up with the girl sitting in front of me?
The bell rang, but the test paper wasn't finished. Teacher Zhao waved his hand: "The break will be extended by ten minutes. You can leave after you finish." The whole class groaned.
Despite the wailing and lamenting, no one actually left.
In the hallway, students from other classes had already rushed to fetch water, their footsteps clattering like a herd of deer fleeing famine. Our class, however, seemed welded to our chairs, with only the scratching of pens and the hum of the air conditioner audible.
During the break between the second and third periods, Xu Li went to the back row to get water. As she passed the countdown clock, she couldn't help but reach out and touch it—the plastic casing was warm, like the heartbeat of some living thing.
At that moment, she suddenly understood: 117 wasn't a prison sentence, but a boat ticket. The boat was about to depart, and those who were afraid of water, seasick, or couldn't swim all had to grit their teeth and board.
The printing room was on the first floor of the administration building, and the smell of toner wafted out every day at noon. That smell became their "olfactory landmark" for the year—when they smelled it, they knew that the college entrance examination was one day closer.
During the first week of school, the teachers seemed to have agreed to unanimously switch to "hell mode." Physics teacher He distributed three sets of tests a day, while chemistry teacher Xu simply disassembled the entire "Tianli 38 Sets" workbook into individual pages, seamlessly integrating in-class quizzes, evening self-study tests, and weekly tests.
The worst was English. Miss Lin cut out the blanks from the cloze tests in the national exams from the last ten years and printed them out, making them fill in 20 of them every day. After that, they also had to memorize high-frequency words.
The ocean of exam papers has no tide table, only undercurrents. Some are stunned by the waves, while others learn to surf.
Sitting diagonally opposite Xu Li was Lin Yuheng, a provincial second-place contestant in the mathematics competition. He was usually quiet, but when solving problems, he was like a human scanner.
He finished a challenging calculus exam with 12 questions in 25 minutes, and spent the rest of the class resting his chin on his hand, gazing out the window at the clouds.
“I secretly counted, he could finish two ‘53’ textbooks a week, and after finishing them he would throw them into a cardboard box next to the podium, and the box would be emptied twice a week,” Lu Yi said.
"As for me, it takes me 90 minutes to write a derivative paper, and I always leave the second question blank. One evening during self-study, I struggled until 11:30, but I still couldn't figure out the third sub-question."
Looking up at the classroom: the fluorescent lights were buzzing, the blackboard tray was piled with chalk stubs, and a few boys in the back row were folding their test papers into paper airplanes, which flew to Lao He's feet and were then kicked back.
At that moment, Tan Yuze suddenly felt a lump in his throat—not because he couldn't solve the problem, but because of the absurd feeling of desperately clinging on.
The next morning during reading time, I tucked the test paper with the blank questions into my error notebook and wrote in red pen at the bottom of the page: "Fourth defeat, but I'm not dead yet."
After I finished writing, I felt strangely relieved. Later I realized that it was called "the ritual of reporting to the abyss".
The countdown reached 100 on a Wednesday. As soon as it was light, the playground was filled with red banners and balloons. The backdrop for the podium read "2025 College Entrance Examination 100-Day Countdown Rally," red background with white lettering, resembling a giant electrocardiogram.
The chairs for the entire grade were arranged in a square formation, one row for each class, stretching from the stands to the running track. The principal's speech was as long and drawn out as usual, but none of us had brought our vocabulary notebooks—it was too windy that day, and turning a page of a test paper would leave us covered in dust.
The one who truly ignited the atmosphere was the oath-taker from Class 11 of Senior Three. She was a tall, slender girl with a low ponytail, her school uniform trousers a bit too short, revealing her ankles. She raised her right fist, her voice cleaving through the morning mist:
"In the name of youth, I swear—I will live up to my parents' expectations, live up to my teachers' hopes, and never retreat in cowardice or wander aimlessly!"
"One hundred days, we will seize every second!"
"One hundred days, and we are full of fighting spirit!"
When the final shout of "Victory in the College Entrance Examination!" was uttered, the balloon arch next to the podium rattled loudly in the wind. More than a thousand people stomped their feet at the same time, kicking up dust on the track like a mini sandstorm.
Next, each homeroom teacher took an oath on stage.
Teacher representatives, grade representatives, and senior high school student representatives all gave speeches, wishing their seniors success in their exams.
The sand and dust stung her eyes, but through the gaps she caught a glimpse of Chen Jianan from the next class—he stood ramrod straight, his lips pressed into a thin line, his right fist clenched against his chest, as if he were tapping out a rhythm for his heartbeat.
After the oath-taking ceremony, each class returned to their classroom. Passing through the school building lobby, the electronic screen displayed each class's "100-Day Goals":
"Class 3 of Senior Three: The entire class passed the cutoff score for top-tier universities!"
"Senior 3 (6): Average Math Score Exceeds 120!"
"Senior Three (10): Zero lateness, zero drowsiness, zero giving up!"
Next, each class launched paper airplanes, bravely forging ahead.
Their class's goal, set by Teacher Zhao, was simple and brutal: "Crush the top class next door!"
The head teacher of the honors class saw this as he passed by, gave Lao Zhao the middle finger, and the two of them burst into laughter. After laughing, they went back to their respective classes to continue distributing the test papers.
That evening during self-study, Miss Lin made an exception and didn't give a lecture, instead playing "Chasing Dreams with a Pure Heart." The moment the lights were turned off, dust filled the projector beam, like a snowfall falling in reverse.
As the chorus began, some people sang along softly, while others buried their faces in their arms. He heard a sob coming from his right rear, very faint, like a needle dropping on a carpet.
Later they learned that the boy who cried that day had dropped 200 places in his mock exam scores. But after the 100-day countdown rally, he arrived at the classroom at 5:40 every day and was the last to leave at night.
On the day the college entrance exam results were released, he scored 78 points above the cutoff for top-tier universities.
As March arrived, the numbers on the countdown clock began to dwindle at a visible pace. The classroom air, besides the smell of charcoal powder, now carried the bitter scents of mentholatum and coffee.
The "Daily Quote" column on the right side of the blackboard has changed from inspirational quotes to "XX days until the college entrance exam." When the students on duty are lazy, the numbers will be incomplete, for example, "72" will be written as "了2", and they will be punished by Teacher Zhao to copy "Ode to the Red Cliff" ten times.
Anxiety is like mold, growing wildly in unseen corners.
Some people started having trouble sleeping. After the dormitory lights were turned off, the emergency lights in the toilet stalls were still on, and a girl squatting there memorizing political questions was so numb that she couldn't stand up.
Someone binge-ate. Sales of spicy snacks and instant milk tea skyrocketed at the convenience store, and the trash cans were overflowing with red packaging bags.
Someone broke up. The classmates who had originally agreed to take the college entrance exam in the same city had a big fight after failing a weekly test, and tore their photo in half.
One evening during self-study in March, Xu Li had her first thought of "not wanting to study anymore." That afternoon, the weekly math test papers were handed out, and she scored 134 points, 2 points lower than the last time.
The paper had a red pen annotation: "Too many calculation errors, a problem with attitude!"
"Are you in a bad mood because you didn't do well on the exam?" Tan Yuze asked cautiously.
"Yeah, it's much lower."
She crumpled the test paper into a ball, stuffed it into the side pocket of her schoolbag, and ran ten laps around the playground.
After finishing the run, I sat in the last row of the stands, the wind chilling the sweat on my forehead. Looking up at the teaching building, the entire building was brightly lit, like a giant ship sailing at night.
She suddenly remembered Jack standing at the bow of the Titanic shouting "I'm the king of the world!"—how absurd, they even drew their own tickets.
On her way back to the classroom, Xu Li passed by Lao Zhao's office. The door wasn't closed properly, leaving a crack. Xu Li glimpsed Tan Yuze grading papers with a red pen, shaking his head as he did so, a thermos steaming on his desk.
At that moment, she suddenly forgave all his "harshness"—it turned out he had also been staying up all night with us.
The next morning during reading time, she took the time to flatten the crumpled test paper, taped it back together, corrected the wrong answers in red pen, and wrote reflections in blue pen.
She paused after writing the last sentence, then added a small note: "It's okay to break down, but remember to pick up the pieces after you break down~"
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