At 1:30 PM, the Chinese language exam officially began.
Following the same approach he used in the Math Comprehensive exam, Qi Lei first tackled the questions he knew and the easy ones for quick points. Then he craned his neck to call for an Airdrop, stopping just before the proctor lost patience.
After painstakingly filling in the blanks, multiple-choice, and true/false questions, he temporarily skipped the reading comprehension and recitation sections and flipped directly to the final page with the essay prompt.
As expected.
“Using ‘My ______’ as the title, write an essay of over 600 words.”
Looking at the essay topic, Qi Lei felt both relieved and anxious.
In his previous life, due to his grandfather’s illness, he had scored very high on the essay. But in this life, could he still write with that same genuine emotion?
Maybe he could—after all, his middle school writing skills were no match for the copywriting proficiency he’d developed later in life.
But was it possible to surpass his previous performance and score even higher?
He had to admit it was unlikely.
Because as he looked at the essay topic, Qi Lei realized something different from his past life: This prompt wasn’t simple—it was a trap!
At first glance, “My ______” would make most people immediately think of: My Father, My Teacher, My Classmate, My Kitten, My Childhood, and so on.
These were topics they had written about numerous times during their studies, clearly the most common narrative essays.
However, Qi Lei noticed a intriguing detail: The essay prompt didn’t specify the writing style.
“Using ‘My ______’ as the title, write an essay of over 600 words.”
My what!? But it didn’t specify that it had to be a narrative essay!
You could write an argumentative essay, a prose piece, or even a poem without going off-topic.
This was interesting—and a major trap.
After all, essay grading inevitably involves the subjective feelings of the evaluator. Whether in middle school entrance exams or college entrance exams, it’s nearly impossible to get full marks on an essay, but equally difficult to get zero.
The final score entirely depends on the grader’s momentary judgment.
Without even thinking, it was clear that the vast majority of candidates would write narrative essays, almost certainly about topics like My Grandfather or My Mother.
Unconsciously, they would have chosen the most ordinary subject among narrative essays, argumentative essays, prose, and poetry.
No matter how well written, in the eyes of the graders, these would all look the same.
In his previous life, Qi Lei’s essay about his grandfather was excellent and flawless, yet it only scored 40 points.
To get a higher score, you either needed extraordinary talent that would astonish everyone, or you had to innovate in your subject matter to catch the reader’s eye.
Thinking this, Qi Lei conceived a bold idea.
Should he take a chance? Instead of writing about his grandfather, choose a topic that might score higher?
Honestly, it was risky—very risky. If he messed up, he could lose many points! That wouldn’t fit the mature and steady demeanor of his middle-aged soul!
But he wasn’t willing to settle for being mediocre. What kind of youth doesn’t have some ambition?
After pondering for a long time and making an outline, Qi Lei finally put pen to paper:
“My Motherland”
The requirement was 600 words, with no upper limit.
But Qi Lei knew that for middle school essays, around 800 words was ideal.
It wouldn’t be too short to fully develop the ideas, nor too long to annoy graders who had to read at least hundreds of essays daily.
Therefore, this essay-style composition was just over 800 words—no more, no less.
It began with a piece of Viral Text that would later gain widespread public recognition, set against the backdrop of the 1998 flood relief efforts where people united as one.
Qi Lei felt it should stand out and win the favor of the grading teacher.
He finished the composition in about thirty minutes.
Checking the time, he saw that only a little over an hour had passed in the two-and-a-half-hour exam. This time, Qi Lei didn’t choose to hand in his paper immediately. Instead, he went back to the reading comprehension and recitation sections.
He filled out the reading comprehension section to the best of his ability and didn’t leave a single blank in the recitation part, even if he had to make things up.
As the saying goes, Chinese is the most subjective subject, especially in an era without computerized grading, relying solely on the teacher’s judgment.
You never know which word or sentence might earn you a few extra points.
After filling everything out, Qi Lei reviewed the entire exam paper again, making sure there wasn’t a single punctuation mark missing or incorrect before he felt at ease.
Punctuation marks count for points too!
By the time he finished all this, there was still over half an hour left. Out of habit, he glanced at the desk next to him.
He saw that Xu Qian had already completed all the questions, including the composition, and was now checking her work.
Qi Lei caught a glimpse of her composition title—”My Secret.”
His eyes lit up. It was quite innovative!
Without further hesitation, he stood up and handed in his paper.
Both the proctor and Xu Qian were already used to this.
Xu Qian even wondered if this guy had fallen asleep, since he’d taken nearly two hours.
She shot him a fierce glare, looking utterly exasperated.
As for the proctor, she held no hope for this particularly underperforming student.
Taking the exam paper, she glanced at it and couldn’t help but shake her head with a bitter smile, thinking to herself once again, “What a pity for this kid!”
The proctor, Li Yanhong, was a high school Chinese teacher from No. 2 Middle School. With just a quick scan, she could gauge Qi Lei’s level.
Aside from the composition, she skimmed through the earlier sections and estimated that, out of 100 points, Qi Lei would probably score around 50.
His performance was simply appalling.
She casually flipped to the composition section. The title was “My Motherland.”
The topic was as unremarkable as ever, even somewhat clichéd.
It was almost predictable that Qi Lei would lose half the impression points right from the start.
In fact, this was to be expected. As soon as the exam papers were handed out, she knew many good students would stumble over this year’s composition prompt.
It was an obvious trap—”My Motherland” wasn’t a fresh topic, and countless examinees would gravitate toward it.
This year’s composition topic was bound to trip up many good students, let alone a struggling one like Qi Lei.
But as her eyes scanned downward, she noticed a subtitle: “If miracles had a color, it would undoubtedly be China red!”
“Huh?”
Li Yanhong’s soft exclamation drew the attention of the examinees below, who wondered what had happened to the proctor.
Meanwhile, Li Yanhong’s face lit up with pleasant surprise. This subtitle was rather intriguing.
“If miracles had a color, it would undoubtedly be China red.” From a professional perspective, this was a mimetic sentence.
Do miracles have a color? Of course not.
“Miracles” is an abstract concept, not a tangible object—how could it have a color?
Yet, this examinee claimed miracles do have a color and provided the answer—”China red.”
In terms of sentence structure, it meant the color of miracles is China red.
However, this sentence must be interpreted in reverse: China’s color is a miracle! China is a miracle!
This sentence is uplifting, even carrying a hint of breathtaking brilliance.
Li Yanhong silently praised it. Just a subtitle had already captured the essence, elevating the slightly clichéd title “My Motherland” from ordinary to sublime in an instant.
“Not bad!”
Li Yanhong thought to herself that this title alone was worth at least 10 points.
Reading further, she paused again.
“Prose?”
She had found a second surprise, and her entire spirit lifted considerably. She had originally assumed it would be a narrative essay.
Shifting her posture, she leaned against the lectern with a trace of anticipation to read what followed.
And then, Li Yanhong was completely stunned.
…