I am not Ximen Qing.

The night Zhang Sheng learned he could get into the school, he had a dream. When he woke up, his crotch felt sticky. In the dream, there were both Xiao Feng and Dezi's younger sister, and they became the objects of his love. Zhang Sheng was confused and didn't understand why this was happening.

After having breakfast early, Zhang Sheng went to school with her mother. At the school gate, they ran into her mother's best friend, Aunt He. Aunt He chatted with her mother about everyday things, and seeing that Zhang Sheng was a little nervous, she comforted her, saying, "Just focus on answering the questions. Don't worry too much about whether you do well or not. Just do your best. If you don't do well in Chinese, try to do better in math. Do you understand, child?"

Thank you, Auntie.

"Call him Director He."

"Director He." Zhang Sheng's mother didn't enter the school. She followed Director He into the office on the second floor of the teaching building, her heart pounding with anxiety, fearing she'd failed the exam and wouldn't be able to continue her studies. Teacher Yin came in, carrying two sets of test papers. "Write your names on them. Start the timer now; I'll come back to collect the papers in two hours."

Director He and Teacher Yin left the office together. They talked about something outside.

Zhang Sheng opened the test paper with a bewildered look on his face. He remembered the story his father often told about handing in a blank test paper.

The Chinese exam still felt like "heavenly script." Zhang Sheng, like Cangjie creating characters, was stumped, barely daring to breathe. His word and sentence construction skills were in a state of chaos; his brain had completely lost its inspiration. And Zhang Sheng dreaded the pinyin questions that differentiated between retroflex and alveolar consonants. Why was it so difficult to distinguish between adding and omitting an "h"? The standard pronunciation of characters was too difficult. 'z, c, s, zh, ch, sh' were like a bewitching trick used by Zhang Sheng's enemies, a confusing and ambiguous mess. Crucially, Zhang Sheng didn't have the skill to "borrow arrows with straw boats" (a clever trick). Even if he were given a Kangxi dictionary to cheat on the spot, the problem was, he didn't know radicals, stroke order, or character structure. It was clear how badly he had learned Chinese. Unlike his father, who had always written beautiful characters, his handwriting was like a blank canvas in a vast snowfield, devoid of any literary talent. His writing was wild and chaotic, a jumble of characters. The Chinese exam stripped away all of Zhang Sheng's pretense of dignity, leaving him ashamed of his own wild cursive writing. It felt like stepping back into the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods described by Sima Qian, where a certain vassal state created its own writing system. Even archaeologists would sigh in admiration upon examining it, for a new era of writing creators had been born. The writing was so vigorous that the pencil lead broke easily. Knowing his son's limitations, his father had the foresight to prepare ten pencils and a pencil sharpener—the best hair-protecting tool, thankfully Zhang Sheng didn't need it. However, Wendy wasted her father's hard work, as all ten pencils were used. The essay topic, like a white tiger wagging its steel tail, appeared menacingly before the exam. A picture of "Wu Song Fighting the Tiger" flashed through his mind, the pencil becoming his weapon. The tiger attacked his ideas from across time and space, and Zhang Sheng could only haphazardly dodge and weave, writing aimlessly with wild thoughts. He was panting and sweating profusely in his struggle with the white tiger, only to be emboldened by a cool breeze from the window, like a bowl of liquor giving him a little strength. He forgot about the exam and couldn't hear anyone talking. He'd rather be like Ma Liang with his magic paintbrush, creating a vivid picture of Wu Song, the real Wu Song fighting the tiger. Let the white tiger and Wu Song fight! Teacher Yin stood behind him, her brows furrowed. Seeing Zhang Sheng's messy and illegible handwriting, her expression was strangely disappointed. "It's terrible, full of typos." Teacher Yin no longer gave Director He any face; the truth couldn't be hidden forever.

"Old Yin's math scores are pretty good," Teacher Chen Li encouraged Zhang Sheng.

"Chen Li, you'd better not regret it later."

"What's there to regret? You'll definitely change your mind within three months of putting him in the class. I like this student."

"Study hard, I have high hopes for you," Teacher Chen Li patted Zhang Sheng on the shoulder and smiled, giving him endless care and warmth.

Ms. Chen Li, who wears thick glasses, looks very strict, but she is actually very kind. Zhang Sheng thinks that Ms. Chen Li, the math teacher, is almost perfect except for being a little hunchbacked. He has finally found a patron and must study hard to learn math to repay his teacher's kindness.