Chapter 62: Strategies Beyond the Written Page

“So, in that case, does everyone who signs up for the math olympiad have to rely a bit on luck?”

She was still guiding the conversation in that direction. Xiaocheng smiled slightly, answering calmly, “Any exam where everything depends on a single test actually involves a great deal of luck—college entrance exams, high school entrance exams, all the same. For example, if the questions on this test happened to be ones I’ve practiced, of course I’d get a high score. Isn’t that just good luck? On the other hand, if every question is a novel problem I’ve never seen, then I just have to count myself unlucky. If you think about it, isn’t every exam a matter of luck?”

Shen Jia was almost ready to curse out loud. She felt as if she wasn’t interviewing a student, but a presidential candidate. Kid, you’re wasted here; you should be on TV debating Hillary!

“You might be the first person to turn in your exam today, and it’s only been twenty minutes since the test began. Why did you finish so quickly? Was the test too difficult?”

Shen Jia hoped Xiaocheng would answer as she expected: that the test was too hard, there was no point staying, so he just left early. But of course, Xiaocheng didn’t grant her wish.

“I only stayed as long as I did because exam regulations require that you wait at least fifteen minutes before handing in your paper. Otherwise, I’d have left even sooner. The questions weren’t particularly hard. I handed in early because the maximum score is a hundred points, and even if I sat there until the end, they wouldn’t give me a hundred and ten. So I just left.”

Shen Jia couldn’t go on questioning him. She signaled to the cameraman to wrap it up, then looked helpless.

Come on, man, can you at least put a cap on your bragging?

“Is the interview over?”

Shen Jia nodded woodenly.

“Sis, could you give me your business card? I actually know some inside information about this exam and would like to share it with you.”

At the mention of inside information, every journalist is instantly alert. Shen Jia’s eyes brightened. “What kind of inside information?”

“Someone had access to the questions beforehand,” Xiaocheng said mysteriously.

“Oh? Tell me more.”

Xiaocheng shook his head. “I don’t have proof yet. Could I have your card? I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”

Shen Jia thought it over. For an event of such high caliber to have leaked questions seemed a little far-fetched, but she still pulled out a business card and handed it to Xiaocheng. “Alright, I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Xiaocheng took the card, nodded, and took his leave.

Someone did know the questions—I wasn’t lying; now tens of thousands of students know them. Turns out getting a pretty girl’s number isn’t that difficult after all.

In front of Xiangyang University, under the shade of the trees, journalists resting spotted a student emerging from the exam hall. Cameras and recorders were raised at once. The door opened a crack, letting Xiaocheng out, and the sound of shutters clicking filled the air as seven or eight microphones were thrust toward him. The only regret was that broad daylight meant the flash wasn’t needed.

“Was the competition difficult this time?”

“How do you think you did?”

“You’re the first to finish—did you give up?”

“What do you think of the competition?”

Though the questions were flying from all sides and most people wouldn’t have known where to start, Xiaocheng understood perfectly and answered in an orderly fashion: “I didn’t find the questions difficult, I think I did quite well. Of course I didn’t give up. As for my thoughts—if the prize money were a bit higher, it’d be even better. I gave it everything I had…”

I’ve heard saying that line is popular this year.

The next day, the city’s largest newspaper, the Xiangyang Evening News, published a prominent report on the math olympiad on its second page, titled “Math Olympiad Turns into a Lottery, Student Hands in Paper After Fifteen Minutes.” The report quoted at length from Xiaocheng’s online posts, questioning the seriousness of the competition. The paper also published a photo of Wen Xiaocheng, though for privacy reasons his eyes were obscured with a narrow black bar that didn’t even cover his eyelashes. The article’s online version was picked up by several major web portals and featured on their homepages. Academics and education experts who had previously criticized the event now cited this as proof for their arguments, while Xiaocheng hid in the shadows, quietly amused.

From his initial collaboration with Starry Sky, to posting from Professor Dai’s house, to being the first to hand in his paper on exam day—it had all been calculated by Xiaocheng. Not every prediction plays out, but he continually adjusted his actions to maximize the likelihood of his desired outcome. No one would have guessed that behind the uproar of the math olympiad—an event with more participants than any previous college entrance exam—stood a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old quietly stirring the waters.

When the results are released, the media’s reactions should be quite something.

As for the attitudes of provincial and municipal education officials, now under a glaring spotlight, toward him—well, that could be easily imagined.

But today’s game was not yet over.

Leaving Xiangyang University, Xiaocheng hailed a cab for the first time in his life, with less than fifty yuan in his pocket. He checked the time—nine thirty-five; there was still an hour and twenty-five minutes left before the exam ended.

“Starry Sky Education!”

“Where to?”

“Opposite Experimental Middle School!”

Everyone knew where that was. The cab sped through the streets and stopped in front of Starry Sky at nine forty-three.

Today, Starry Sky was different from his last visit. Two giant hydrogen balloons were floating at the entrance, each bearing a banner wishing the math olympiad contestants good luck. On Starry Sky’s floor, a massive billboard proclaimed, “Our school offers a 100,000-yuan scholarship to the champion of this year’s math olympiad!” Glancing at Sunflower across the way, Xiaocheng noticed they too were offering 100,000, with a few extra courses thrown in.

This time, he was something of a familiar face. The receptionist was the same young lady as before; after a brief greeting, she led him to Principal Ding’s office. The training center was much as it had been—most teachers were away supervising the exam, so only Principal Ding and a few staff were holding down the fort.

The moment Principal Ding saw Wen Xiaocheng, his eyes lit up. He stood eagerly, asking, “Well? How did you do?”

Xiaocheng smiled. “You’ll know soon enough. Actually, I came today to propose another business deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“There’s still an hour and fifteen minutes before the exam ends. I have the complete test and answer key. How much would you be willing to pay?”

The exam was still underway, and the test paper was confidential. Usually, questions and official answers would only be released by the competition committee after the exam. For a training institution, having access to the questions in advance was a show of strength! These days, connections are part of one’s credentials; driving schools boast of their ties to the licensing bureau, and even lawyers hint at knowing judges. In a world where everyone else is clueless, if Starry Sky could publish the answers first, it would be a perfect display of its power—instantly outclassing Sunflower!

“I’ll pay a thousand!”

“I’ll check what Sunflower is offering.”

“Ten thousand!”

“Deal!”

——————

Remember the earlier chapter about thinking beyond the chessboard? Don’t limit your vision to the board or the exam paper. The greater your heart, the bigger your stage. Xiaocheng, just how bold can you be?

One more thing: Old Dao’s solo updates aren’t meant to blackmail readers into voting or donating, but to build up a backlog before the book enters the competition. I could easily write ten thousand meaningless words a day, and I know that, in online fiction, more words mean more income. But as a writer, my professional ethics won’t allow that. I can’t claim perfection, but I’m still obsessed with the quality of my work. My novel is my child, not just pork that can be watered down.

I’m almost moved by my own words. Today is Monday—please support, donate, vote, and bookmark! Monday’s support counts for the most!