Mianmian rushed into the classroom just as the bell rang. Her deskmate, Jin Man, was touching up her makeup in a small mirror.
“Rare sight! Even the top student Ji Mianmian is late!”
Jin Man leaned over, her eyes sparkling.
Mianmian sat down breathlessly, dropping her backpack onto the desk, her palms still sweaty.
“Hey, do you know what’s happening at school today?”
Mianmian shook her head.
“Teacher Zhao’s son is coming to give a motivational talk to the twelfth graders! He was the city’s top scorer in the college entrance exam three years ago!”
Jin Man lowered her voice, her round face brimming with excitement.
Mianmian continued organizing her notes. “Oh, really? That’s impressive.”
“You’re so dismissive!” Jin Man glared at her. “Do you know how many people want to attend? The high school students are going crazy over it. I traded a cup of Boya Juexian tea for a senior to save us seats!”
“But the lecture is for twelfth graders. We’re still in middle school—we can’t get in, right?”
“We’re not little kids anymore! We’re ninth graders, practically high school students already!” Jin Man grabbed her arm. “Besides, no one’s checking!”
Ji Mianmian didn’t like crowds, but Jin Man was her best friend. They had been deskmates since elementary school, all the way through middle school.
So when Jin Man pulled her, she followed.
Just to keep her company.
The high school auditorium stood by the sports field, an old building with red brick walls and wooden window frames. A row of sycamore trees lined the entrance. By May, their leaves had fully grown, dense and lush, casting a cool shade.
A crowd of girls gathered at the auditorium entrance. Some peered through the door cracks, others stood on tiptoes to reach the windows, and some huddled together, chattering noisily.
Inside the lecture hall, it was packed—every seat in the front rows was taken, and the back rows were filled with people standing.
“Over here!” A senior grabbed Jin Man. “I saved two seats for you. Hurry!”
Mianmian was pulled by Jin Man to a corner near the wall.
On the stage stood a microphone, and the projector displayed a few large characters on the screen:
[Waiting for You at F University—Jiang Yu’an’s Study Experience Sharing Session]
A person stood on the stage.
Tall.
That was Mianmian’s first impression.
At least over six feet tall, with broad shoulders that stretched his white shirt into a pleasing silhouette.
His hair was a bit long, with bangs casually falling over his forehead. It wasn’t meticulously styled, yet it carried a carefree, handsome charm.
His eyes were deep-set, his nose bridge high, and his lips were pressed together with a faint smile.
The kind of smile that looked like it was asking for trouble—as if he were ready to argue with someone at any moment or mock someone.
One hand was tucked into his pants pocket, the other holding the microphone. He stood loosely, like a tree that had grown too tall.
His fingers were slender and well-defined, his posture relaxed.
“Hello, twelfth-grade juniors.”
His voice was clear and bright, with a hint of laziness.
“I’m Jiang Yu’an. I’m in the eight-year clinical medicine program at F University, currently a junior. Today, my mom—oh, I mean, our beloved dean of students—dragged me here to give you a motivational talk for the college entrance exam.”
The auditorium erupted in laughter.
Mianmian thought to herself, Teacher Zhao was famously strict throughout the school—walking with purpose, her gaze sharp as a knife, and students avoided her whenever possible. How could she have a son like this?
He continued, “I’m not really good at giving pep talks. I’m usually better at pouring cold water.”
The audience laughed again.
“There’s not much to share about college entrance exam experience because everyone is different. Blindly copying someone else’s methods will only make you a poor imitation.”
The hall fell silent.
Mianmian thought, now that was interesting.
“I know you’re all grinding through practice problems, memorizing textbooks, working late into the night every day right now. I was the same back then,” he said. “But I later realized that doing a hundred problems isn’t as good as doing one problem a hundred times.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and leaned them on the podium. “Do you know what the college entrance exam really tests?”
He turned around and wrote a large character on the blackboard behind him:
【Mastery】
“Knowledge is interconnected,” he tapped the blackboard. “If you truly master one concept, every problem becomes that same one. If you don’t master it, doing ten thousand problems is useless.”
Mianmian felt a slight stir in her heart.
“If you only know one way to solve a problem, that’s a dead end. If you know three methods, that’s a way out. If you can look at a problem and understand what concept the examiner is testing, that’s all roads leading to Rome.”
“So don’t just study mechanically—use your brain to find patterns.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a piece of paper from somewhere and unfolded it.
It was huge, about the size of an A0 sheet, densely covered with diagrams and notes.
“One month before the college entrance exam, your Teacher Zhao—that is, my mom—assigned me a pile of homework and told me I had to finish it.”
The audience laughed again.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. “I spent an entire day drawing this mind map.”
He held the paper up for everyone to see.
“All the knowledge points in high school mathematics, connected on one diagram. Functions, geometry, probability, sequences… how each concept links to others, how they might be tested together in the exam—it’s all here.”
The laughter from the audience turned into gasps of amazement.
“After finishing this map, I barely did any more practice problems.”
He folded the paper back up and chuckled. “Because I realized the college entrance exam questions just keep recycling the same few patterns, all of which are in this map. When I looked at math problems after that, I wasn’t just seeing the problem—I was seeing which concept it was testing.”
“I scored 148 in math on the college entrance exam. The two points I lost were because I carelessly miscalculated a multiple-choice question.”
Applause broke out in the audience.
Then he shifted his tone. “I’m showing you this not so you’ll copy me. I want to tell you that finding your own method is a hundred times more important than blindly following someone else’s.”
Mianmian thought to herself, this guy really has something to offer.
No pretense, no airs.
He says “don’t copy me,” but he’s already laid out the most essential insights right in front of you.
“Ahem, ahem, ahem—”
Suddenly, a series of loud, forceful coughs came from the first row.
Mianmian saw the expression on the speaker’s face change. The corner of his mouth twitched, his gaze drifted, and his previously relaxed posture stiffened slightly.
Then she heard a familiar voice from the front row:
“Jiang Yu’an, get to the point.”
A middle-aged woman in a navy blue suit, arms crossed, was glaring at him.
It was Teacher Zhao.
Mianmian almost laughed out loud.
The person on stage rubbed his nose. “Well… the point is, study hard, make progress every day, strive to get into your ideal university, bring honor to the school, and contribute to the nation!”
The audience erupted in laughter again.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop fooling around,” he raised the microphone, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Let me say something you actually want to hear.”