Anxious not to draw the proctor’s attention again, Gu Congjue snapped out of his daydream and picked up his pen.
Spacing out right before a Chinese exam was his personal ritual. If he didn’t do it, his brain felt clogged, and a deep, restless irritation would claw at him.
It wasn’t because the exam was too hard. It was because controlling his score was too damn difficult.
For starters, his parents the Gu-Xiang couple refused to let him skip grades, so getting a freakishly high score was entirely pointless. Secondly, he didn’t have to worry about food, clothes, or getting into a good school, meaning there was zero need to bust his hump fighting for the top spot in the province.
But the biggest reason was the psychological shadow left over from his previous life. Back then, the media had hyped him up as a “reincarnated prodigy,” using him as a gimmick to rake in cash. The experience had deeply scarred him, leaving him with a profound aversion to anything similar.
He wanted to play the part of the top-tier student and good son to an award-winning actor, but he had absolutely no desire to be put on a pedestal, worshiped, or turned into a myth.
His self-imposed goal was simply to hold first place in his grade mostly to prove his worth to his unreliable parents, and partly to keep his own conscience clear so he wouldn’t completely lose his edge.
The secret to holding the crown without sticking out like a sore thumb was simple: maintain a gap of exactly 8 to 20 points over the person in second place.
It was a brilliant strategy, but a total nightmare to execute.
Gu Congjue’s real strengths lay in STEM subjects and English; his weak spots were the humanities, including Chinese. If the exams only covered math, science, and English, he could easily dial the score gap down to a neat 6 to 10 points maybe even less. Unfortunately, Chinese was a mandatory core subject.
And since Chinese was always the very first exam, it put him in an incredibly tight spot because he had no way of knowing how difficult the remaining subjects would be. He was essentially flying blind, guessing what score he should aim for.
Each of the three core subjects Chinese, Math, and English was worth a maximum of 150 points. Gu Congjue usually averaged between 127 and 135 in Chinese. Glancing over this specific paper, he noticed the essay prompt was a bit of a minefield the kind of trap question where a single misstep would derail the whole thing.
Since he wasn’t particularly sensitive to literature and had average writing skills, he decided to just step right into the trap. He would purposely write a slightly off-topic essay, settling for a consolation score of 36 out of 60.
Coupled with a few random, intentional misses in the reading section, his projected score landed right around 124 a historical low for his Chinese grades.
Oh well, he thought. This third mock exam is supposed to be brutal anyway. A low score makes me look normal.
With the trickiest subject out of the way, the remaining exams would be much easier to manipulate. The student who consistently ranked second was his exact polar opposite: brilliant in humanities but weak in STEM. That kid would likely score much higher than him in Chinese.
No big deal. Gu Congjue could easily claw those points back in the science sections.
Normally, he would skip the final, most difficult questions on the math multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank sections. This time, he decided to actually write down the correct answers. He would even do the graders a favor and flesh out his proofs for the calculus questions. If he scored around 138 in Math, it should perfectly offset his dismal Chinese score.
English was even easier to fudge. He’d throw a few listening comprehension points out the window, ace the straightforward multiple-choice and fill in the blank sections, purposely miss the last two cloze test questions, and drop two points on the final reading passage. As for the essay, he’d just pretend he ran out of time and leave the conclusion blank.
Looking over his meticulously engineered mistakes, Gu Congjue smiled with satisfaction. This major exam was in the bag.
A few days later, the results for the third mock exam were posted. Gu Congjue had beaten the second-place student by a staggering forty-two points.
The resident second place bookworm burst into tears, slumping over his desk in total existential despair. “I don’t want to study anymore! I quit! No matter how hard I try, I can never beat Gu Congjue!”
Clutching his tiny backpack, which held nothing but a pencil case, Gu Congjue slinked past the crying boy with his shoulders hunched.
I didn’t mean to, he thought guiltily. I just didn’t realize the exam would be this brutal for everyone else.
It was an accident. A total fluke.
Despite clinching the number-one spot in the entire grade, Gu Congjue snuck down the stairs like a thief, moving as quietly as possible until he was intercepted at the bottom of the academic building by Yang Cuirong.
“Young Master, why are you acting so suspicious?”
Gu Congjue jumped, letting out a sigh of relief when he recognized his nanny. “Nanny Rong, please don’t sneak up behind me like that.”
“I’ve been standing here the whole time; you just didn’t notice me.” Yang Cuirong took his school communication log and guided the young teenager toward the parking lot. “I bought some McDonald’s fried chicken and fries, figured you’d be starving after school.”
At the mention of fried chicken and fries, Gu Congjue’s eyes instantly lit up. “Where?”
“In the car. There’s orange juice and cola too, take your pick.” As Yang Cuirong opened the communication log to sign the school release form, her eyes caught his report card. She beamed with delight. “Oh, first place in the grade again? How many points did you beat second place by this time?”
Faced with his spectacular failure to control his score, Gu Congjue dodged the question. “Next time, let’s not get takeout. I prefer eating them fresh at the restaurant.”
That was his cover story. The real, deeper reason was that Gu Congjue wanted to use fast-food runs as an excuse to scout out various chain locations, hoping to cross paths with Shen Yanxing.
After all, in his past life, he and Shen Yanxing had met while working part-time at a McDonald’s.
Back then, the socially awkward Gu Congjue had been stuck in the back frying chicken and fries, while the charismatic Shen Yanxing handled the front counter, chatting up customers and occasionally swirling soft-serve ice cream cones.
“Ai, I know you like it fresh out of the fryer, but today is a bit special,” Yang Cuirong said, quickening her pace toward the parking lot. “I was just worried you’d be hungry.”
Gu Congjue frowned in confusion. But as he followed Nanny Rong and got a clear view of the vehicle, he realized the situation was indeed “special.”
The car waiting for him wasn’t the modest BMW X3 Nanny Rong usually drove for grocery runs and school pick-ups. Instead, it was a massive, aggressive-looking imported Ford luxury van.
Gu Congjue swallowed hard, suddenly tempted to turn around and run.
“Young Mistress,” Yang Cuirong said, knocking on the van door and greeting the heavily disguised figure inside. “I’ve brought the young master.”
Gu Congjue actually took a step back. “Ah…”
Xiang Yuyan pushed down his oversized sunglasses, pulling off a black mask that covered most of his face to glare at his son. “Little brat, you see your mother and you don’t even say hello?”
“Mom.” Gu Congjue reluctantly climbed into the back row. “What are you doing here?”
“Why can’t I be here? Do I need an engraved invitation and a signed permit just to pick my own son up from school?”
With a parent’s innate radar, Xiang Yuyan immediately spotted the scabbed wound on Gu Congjue’s hand.
“What happened to your hand? Why is it so red?”
The “massive wound” was actually just a scrape the size of a coin. But because it was covered in red antiseptic, it looked far bloodier than it actually was.
“Scraped it playing basketball.” Gu Congjue dismissed it entirely, far more concerned about his mother’s sudden appearance. “Are you… taking me to some formal gala?”
“Yep,” Xiang Yuyan lied smoothly, leaning into his son’s fears. “Taking you to a fashion gala to fix your abysmal taste in clothes. Change out of that uniform; I brought a little tuxedo for you.” He actually made a move to reach for a hanger in the back of the van.
Gu Congjue clutched his backpack tightly, shielding his school uniform in a silent show of defiance. “I’m not going. I’m a student; the only thing I need to improve right now is my math skills!”
“He’s right, Young Mistress,” Yang Cuirong interjected from the passenger seat, turning around to hand over the school log. “Look, the young master ranked first in his grade again on the third mock exam. I took a peek he scored 145 in Math!”
“What?” Xiang Yuyan gaped in horror, ripping off his sunglasses to inspect the report card. “Isn’t the maximum score 150?”
“Son, was the exam just incredibly easy, or did you have a freak accident and overperform? What was the gap between you and second place?”
“…”
Gu Congjue went quiet for a few seconds before muttering under his breath.
“Forty-two.”
“How much?”
“Forty-two.”
“…”
This time, it was Xiang Yuyan’s turn to be struck dumb.
“Are you sure you’re talking about a score gap, and not the amount of money you owe the second-place kid?”
Gu Congjue shut his mouth. In moments like this, silence was the safest armor.
“Oh, heavens…”
Instead of bursting into tears of joy or smothering his straight-A son with hugs and kisses like a normal parent, Xiang Yuyan threw his head back and let out a dramatic, sorrowful wail.
“I knew it! I knew you didn’t inherit an ounce of our artistic talent! Your father refused to believe me! They say when God closes a door, he opens a window. Well, this is just great. The wider your academic window flies open, the tighter that door to the arts gets bolted shut! It’s over, it’s over. You’re doomed to be a total square for the rest of your life!”
Gu Congjue remained entirely unfazed, quietly watching his drama-queen mother put on a masterclass in theatrics.
He had to admit, Xiang Yuyan and Gu Pingyue were a match made in heaven. A pop idol and a critically acclaimed actor one an arrogant drama queen, the other a spacey, scatterbrained romantic. They were practically made for each other.
“So, Mom, where are we actually going?” Gu Congjue asked, cutting through the performance once his mother had exhausted his dramatic energy. “It’s obviously not a fashion gala. If it were, you would have started getting ready hours ago.”
“Hmph, you’re entirely too sharp for your own good,” Xiang Yuyan sniffed. “Your dad’s new movie starts filming today. I’m taking you to the opening ceremony.”
At 4:00 PM, the final bell echoed through the halls of Yucai Middle School.
The quiet campus instantly erupted into a chaotic symphony of chatter. It was Friday, and students flooded out of the school gates with light steps, laughing and talking loudly with their friends.
“Hey, did you hear? Someone’s actually filming a movie over at the Fuhua residential compound!”
“Wait, really? Why there? Fuhua is so old and run-down. Why wouldn’t they film somewhere nicer?”
“Probably for the aesthetic! Don’t some movies need that vintage, nostalgic vibe?”
“When I was coming to school this morning, I saw a ton of those luxury vans and trailers heading toward Fuhua. I don’t have anything to do at home anyway, want to go check it out?”
A group of girls linked arms, unconsciously quickening their pace.
Yucai Middle School was a private institution located right in the heart of the Huaiyun District, housing both an elementary and a middle school division. Huaiyun was a distant suburb far removed from the glitz of downtown Beidou, serving as a hub for migrant workers who couldn’t afford city rents. Due to registration restrictions and tight budgets, these parents couldn’t send their kids to local public schools, nor could they afford the astronomical tuition of elite international schools.
As a result, the more affordable Yucai Middle School became the default choice for these working-class families.
Because of the mixed student body, mediocre academic standards, and lax disciplinary enforcement, Yucai didn’t have the best reputation. The students who went there gradually developed a very distinct “private school” look.
Their hairstyles were a wild assortment of perms, bleaches, and dyes. Even the standard-issue track school uniforms were altered in bizarre ways either cropped ridiculously short or tailored into aggressively tight skinny pants.
Amidst this sea of rebellion, a boy walking with perfectly neat, untouched hair and wearing his uniform exactly the way it was designed looked completely out of place.
Shen Yanxing perked up his ears, quietly listening to the girls’ conversation as he silently quickened his steps.