Su Minzhi had always been efficient in handling affairs. Within just a few days, Su Niannian successfully transferred to Jianxiang Primary School in Xuhui District.
The September morning light streamed through the classroom windows, scattering across the neatly arranged wooden desks, leaving dappled shadows behind.
Tiny specks of chalk dust floated in the sunbeams. Children’s tender voices echoed one after another—
“a, o, e…”
—a lively, innocent chorus marking the beginning of a new school year.
But Su Niannian couldn’t blend into this atmosphere at all.
With her chin propped in her hands, her bright black eyes stared at the pinyin chart and simple arithmetic on the blackboard… yet her gaze gradually drifted away.
First-grade knowledge was, to her, beyond elementary.
She yawned silently in her mind.
It wasn’t childish arrogance—it was pure, profound boredom.
More accurately, a sense of urgency about wasting precious time.
Having lived a life already, she had no intention of spending this one repeating basic knowledge that offered zero challenge.
Her mind emptied completely; instead of “1 + 1 = 2,” she was thinking about something far more pressing—
“How should I plan my future this time around?”
“If I keep learning at this pace, I’ll be stuck doing addition and subtraction for three whole years. That’s such a waste,” she inwardly grumbled.
But then she hesitated.
If she acted too smart and showed too much brilliance, wouldn’t Su Minzhi become suspicious?
She bit her lip lightly, her big round eyes turning with thought.
The real question was: How to display intelligence subtly—enough to be noticed but not enough to be alarming?
Her goal was clear: she wanted to skip grades.
It didn’t take long before her “unusualness” caught the math teacher’s attention.
The little girl always rested her chin in her hands, gazing out the window, eyes sparkling—as if the clouds outside were far more interesting than the equations on the board.
Yet every time she was called on, she answered flawlessly.
“Fang Niannian,” the math teacher said at last, summoning her after class, “why aren’t you paying attention during lessons?”
Niannian blinked her big eyes innocently.
“Because… because Niannian already knows all of it.”
She even nodded earnestly, her little pigtails bobbing like a cute rabbit’s ears.
The teacher half-laughed in exasperation and tested her with several problems.
Niannian answered instantly—no hesitation, no mistakes.
A spark lit in the teacher’s mind. He decided to try harder questions, giving her a few problems meant for second graders.
Niannian didn’t even take out scratch paper; she smiled sweetly and reported the answers in seconds.
This time, the teacher was genuinely startled. Raising a brow, he moved on to third-grade application problems.
Niannian tilted her head, thought for a moment, then wrote down the full solution—neatly and beautifully.
But when he reached the fourth-grade level, Niannian’s heart skipped. She immediately shifted tactics and began acting.
She couldn’t risk looking like a monster.
She furrowed her tiny brows, pressed her lips together, poked the table with a chubby finger, and put on her best “deep thinking” act. Only after a long struggle did she slowly write down the answer, deliberately adding a “this is so hard” expression.
The math teacher felt he had grasped her level—and passed her on to the Chinese teacher.
The result was even more astonishing.
Characters not yet taught in first grade?
She recognized them—and could write them, beautifully.
Texts from second and third grade?
She read them fluently, then explained their meaning in a surprisingly articulate, serious way—soft childish voice and all.
The Chinese teacher couldn’t help smiling in delight, though her eyes widened further with every sentence.
The two teachers exchanged a look—excited, stunned, and full of shared realization.
Jianxiang Primary School was about to produce another prodigy.
And not just any prodigy—but one who looked soft, white, adorable, like a little glutinous rice dumpling!
When the school called, Su Minzhi’s heart clenched. She rushed over, worried that something had happened.
The math teacher spoke first, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
“Ms. Su, after several observations and assessments, we believe your daughter, Fang Niannian, can directly advance to fourth grade.”
“Skip… grades?”
Su Minzhi froze, her elegant brows tightening.
Her first reaction wasn’t joy—it was worry.
“Teachers, she’s still so young. Even if she can keep up academically, I’m afraid she won’t be able to integrate with much older classmates. If she gets bullied or feels left out…”
The teacher had clearly anticipated this. He smiled reassuringly.
“We completely understand. But Niannian wouldn’t be our first case. Last year, a boy with a very similar situation skipped several grades as well. He’s now in fourth grade—doing wonderfully, gets along well with his peers, and his grades are outstanding.”
Knowing there was a successful precedent—and hearing the teachers’ confidence—eased some of Su Minzhi’s tension.
She crouched down, meeting her daughter’s eyes.
“Niannian, did you hear what the teachers said? Would you like to attend classes with the fourth graders?”
Niannian raised her clear, shining eyes.
She looked at her mother.
Then at the encouraging teachers.
And nodded seriously.
Her little hand tightened around her mother’s clothing.
“Mommy, I want to try.”
Seeing her daughter take the initiative, Su Minzhi made her decision. She stood and nodded to the teachers.
“Then I’ll trouble you to take care of her.”
On the way home, the setting sun stretched their shadows long across the ground. Su Minzhi held her daughter’s small, soft hand, but her heart was anything but calm.
“Niannian…” Her voice was hoarse with guilt.
“It’s Mommy’s fault… I’ve cared too little. I didn’t even know you had learned so much already. I nearly delayed you.”
Niannian’s heart squeezed tight. Warmth and sourness welled up all at once, filling her small chest until her nose stung.
She had prepared explanations—stories, excuses, all kinds of plans in case her mother became suspicious.
But she never expected this.
Instead of doubting her—
Her mother blamed herself.
As if any oversight was her own failure.
Her mother’s hand was so gentle. Her voice was filled with love, regret, and tenderness.
Niannian wrapped her little arms around her mother’s waist and pressed her cheek against her stomach.
In a muffled, slightly nasal voice, she said,
“It’s not Mommy’s fault… Mommy is the best.”
In that moment, skipping grades, being a genius—
None of it mattered.
What mattered was that she had the best mother in the world.