The test paper was taken out of a canvas bag, stamped with the logo of Fuhai No. 9 High School.
Fortunately, Zhu Feifei hadn’t brought anything with her, so the paper was left on the desk. She sneakily tucked it into her arms and made a copy at the school print shop.
As a result, the sheet wasn’t the usual off-white but a stark, glossy white—the kind of white that mirrored her completely dejected face.
Even in her “dreams,” she had never overestimated herself enough to attempt competition problems.
She pushed the paper toward the boy, the title “Fuhai City Ten-School Joint Exam · Mathematics Competition” printed at the top, and nervously watched his expression.
The multiple-choice section bore signs of rough drafts, the handwriting uneven and shaky.
She had done it while squatting in Rongjin Alley, where there were no seats, so she had to write on her lap.
At the time, her thought had been: if things went wrong, she could always hand it over to her sister as an emergency. She hadn’t expected that…
The “substitute” would end up performing a public execution of the original instead.
“I… I’m usually not this bad…”
When she unfolded the paper, ten multiple-choice questions stared back—seven left blank.
She managed to answer one, only to cross out B, then A, then D, then C; the rough work ran to the top of the page, the effort painfully visible.
Zhu Shuiwen tried to save her sister’s reputation: “I just… my brain wasn’t working right today…”
If, by any chance, He Xueqi asked, “Why are you doing competition problems at this level?”—even a simple question could make her too ashamed to lift her head.
The one with confidence was her sister, not her, the impostor.
—Luckily, he didn’t ask.
He only said: “Do you want me to explain everything?”
A few seconds later, the girl spoke, shy but hopeful: “C-can you?”
His patience was incredible.
Zhu Shuiwen subconsciously thought this.
She now fully understood what Fang Murou had said about “genius students being in a completely different league.” After he tilted the paper, He Xueqi only glanced at it.
As he read through the problem, he circled two points with his pencil and said, “The key to this question is that M actually equals P. Does that make sense?”
When she nodded, he continued.
Within just two or three steps, he had finished the explanation, and Zhu Shuiwen realized: this problem… was essentially a “giveaway question.”
Indeed, it was.
Her inability to solve it was purely due to an insufficient foundation.
Fuhai No. 9’s curriculum moved too fast; teachers often taught ahead, covering material intended for the second year while still in the first.
Even after Zhu Shuiwen crammed over the summer, she was far from matching the school’s normal pace.
Already struggling, coupled with her slow reactions, hearing too often “You don’t even know this?” or “You really aren’t smart—XX is much smarter than you,” she had gotten used to softening others’ frustration with: “I’m sorry, I’m too dumb.”
She had planned the same this time.
—But he said nothing.
Even his “offsets” were stable, matching his calm exterior.
…He wasn’t irritated.
For Zhu Shuiwen, it was as if the sword of Damocles hanging above her head hadn’t fallen. When she finally mustered the courage to look, she saw only a halo of light floating in the air.
When the boy slightly rotated his chair to get closer to the desk, she immediately stood.
“Can I sit next to you?”
The face-to-face position was simply too inconvenient.
He Xueqi’s pencil paused slightly, dragging a serpentine line across the page.
…She really seemed to be studying seriously.
He Xueqi spent a full ten minutes evaluating before reluctantly arriving at a conclusion he could have made in the first minute.
Still, it wasn’t right.
Even at such close distance, he still couldn’t record any defining features of the girl, as if she were a tangible illusion layered between virtual and reality.
He shifted his gaze to the neighboring table.
Chestnut-brown hair, shoulder-length, poor texture from dyeing and perming, knots visible in the middle, multiple split ends at the tips, no sideburns, probably recently trimmed.
Satisfied, he looked back, staring at the crown of the girl’s hair.
Black.
…probably?
He started to suspect the girl might be a hallucination, a lingering effect from his fever.
How else could something like this exist?
Of course, that was definitely impossible—the waiter kept coming over, clearly very fond of her, checking in repeatedly to ask if they needed anything.
Despite the interruptions, the girl didn’t get annoyed. Instead, she sweetly praised the service, said the auntie was very thoughtful, and even complimented the staff member’s brooch.
After that, she returned to her work.
Her black hair shimmered like silk, obediently draping over her shoulders; her long lashes blinked slowly, occasionally revealing slightly reddened eyes.
A perfectly ordinary scene, yet it stirred in him a restless desire to look away.
“Really, this can simplify several steps.”
After finishing her calculations, she looked both happy and excited, turning to him with bright eyes: “You’re amazing!”
There it was again.
His fingers felt slightly numb, a stiff sensation as if he wanted to cover his ears and not listen, but couldn’t even lift his hand.
His voice remained calm and steady: “It’s nothing. This technique is pretty common; lots of people know it.”
“But I didn’t know it! Thank you for telling me!”
He hesitated for a moment, and the girl lowered her head again. As a result, that missed-opportunity “you’re welcome” hovered in his throat for a few beats before he ultimately swallowed it.
But for He Xueqi, the truly “agonizing” part was just beginning.
When it came to giving compliments, the girl seemed utterly unconcerned with any sense of “embarrassment”—it was easier for her than drinking cold water.
“Wow, you’re so smart!”
“This method is amazing! How did you think of it?”
Or, like now, she would look at him for no reason and then sincerely say, “You’re really such a good person.”
He Xueqi began to suspect that this might be a trap set by the girl.
Earlier, the waiter had fallen for it, and now it was his turn.
Because even though all the multiple-choice questions had been covered, her mouth seemed to have a will of its own, unable to restrain itself from saying something completely unnecessary—
“Are there any other questions you want to ask?”
Zhu Shuiwen shook her head. “Not for now.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t have any, but she was afraid of asking too much and leaving an impression that might make him avoid her sister in the future.
Still, she felt a twinge of regret. He Xueqi explained things so clearly, and she really wanted to ask about the recent difficulties she’d been having in her studies.
She’d wait until school to ask him, under her own name—Zhu Shuiwen—so it wouldn’t affect her sister’s “competition top student” status.
She thought to herself.
[Offset value: 52%]
Zhu Shuiwen: …
She began to suspect that the villain might have a bit of a teacherly streak in him.
—Who actually enjoys explaining things to idiots?!
What villain? This was basically a super kind-hearted person doing charity work.