Song Qitao dashed downstairs and saw Jiang Le.

Jiang Le: “Math—”

Song Qitao: “Broke up! Don’t mention it!”

After the exam, classmates gathered in small groups discussing math, chatting away. Song Qitao dragged Jiang Le and squatted under a tree, avoiding all the noise: “Why does everyone love to review?”

Jiang Le looked at the withered peach and comforted him: “Even if a hundred people choose differently from you, they could all be wrong, unless Meng Sicheng says it himself.”

Song Qitao: “Phew, I almost heard his answer. I’m keeping my distance from him.”

On the evening of June 9th, the college entrance exam ended.

In the graduating class of No. 7 Middle School in S City, two classes chose to hold a teacher appreciation banquet at Yuanming Hotel.

One was the top student class, and the other was the underachieving class, with an average score difference of 200, but their taste was the same.

Director Zhang of the grade was invited, naturally by the top class, but since the other class was also there, he had to say a few words to both sides.

“Why choose Yuanming? It seems like 10 classes chose Yuanfu Restaurant tonight.”

Yuanming is high-end, but a bit far, while Yuanfu Restaurant, closest to the school, is the top choice for graduating classes.

The class monitor of Class 1 replied: “Meng Sicheng suggested it, and Yao Zhao has a discount card.”

“I see.” Director Zhang casually asked. Since Meng Sicheng suggested it, the hotel must have its unique charm.

After the banquet, Director Zhang used his last bit of authority in front of the graduates to instruct: “Report your itinerary when you get home, at least two people per room if staying overnight, separate by gender, look out for each other, class monitor, make sure to keep track.”

Song Qitao came out of the restroom, and the class monitor handed him a room card: “You and Jiang Le share a room.”

Finally liberated today, Jiang Le, who always had foggy glasses, wiped them clear: “Peach, hurry, let’s go next door to watch the fun. Surely many people will confess to Meng Sicheng.”

Once the teachers left, it was confession peak time. Those with secret crushes were eager to make their feelings known.

Song Qitao said indifferently: “Oh.”

Jiang Le nudged him with his elbow, gossiping: “What were you doing in the restroom for so long? Several girls asked me where you went.”

Song Qitao had been messaging a top student in the restroom, someone in the top 50 of the grade, likely from Class 1. He wanted to thank him in person. He waited for about ten minutes but got no reply.

Oh well, maybe the other person really didn’t want to reveal their identity.

Song Qitao could only suppress his curiosity and gratitude.

Jiang Le: “Li Jing was looking for you just now.”

Song Qitao looked puzzled: “Who’s Li Jing?”

Jiang Le: “You don’t know?! According to my intel, she wrote you a love letter, tucked inside your frequently used math review book!”

Song Qitao: “Nope, I didn’t receive it.”

Why put a love letter in a math book? People studying math are already dying, who has the mood for romance?

His math review book was passed around a lot; maybe it got lost on the way to the break room one day.

It’s just as well he didn’t see it; otherwise, he wouldn’t know how to handle it.

Jiang Le dragged Song Qitao to Class 1’s banquet hall. He stood at the door and saw Meng Sicheng sitting back in his chair with a blank expression, across several tables.

Yao Zhao, like a little brother blocking drinks, said to everyone: “He’s drunk, in shutdown mode, come confess tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? There’s no tomorrow; everyone will go their separate ways. Unless you get into the same top school as Meng Sicheng, there’ll be no interaction in the future.

Drunk Meng Sicheng was no different from usual, but he had turned on do-not-disturb mode, no longer receiving outside messages.

Song Qitao watched Yao Zhao’s skilled cooperation and had a premonition that Meng Sicheng got drunk on purpose because he didn’t want to deal with the upcoming social interactions but wanted to maintain the appearance of classmate camaraderie.

The surrounding noise seemed to push Meng Sicheng to his limit. He stood up with a frown, took his room card, and returned to his room.

He didn’t look drunk at all, no wonder Yao Zhao had to explain.

Song Qitao watched Meng Sicheng leave: “Is that what being drunk looks like?”

Yao Zhao glanced at Song Qitao, the two were somewhat acquainted, and he spoke frankly: “He’s like this when he can’t be bothered with people, it’s like a kind of escape.”

Who knows, when the banquet started, during the toast to the teachers, everyone was drinking obedient fruit juice, but Meng Sicheng switched to a glass of wine, toasted, then claimed he was drunk, and didn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

A blatant escape.

He seemed very respectful to the teachers, but in reality, he was indeed very respectful.

If he hadn’t gotten drunk, you could foresee how lively it would be around him tonight, with Director Zhang alone wanting to ask about his scores 180 times.

Yao Zhao didn’t understand whether Meng Sicheng was truly drunk, but the persona he established was very stable and never collapsed.

After some thought, Yao Zhao explained for Meng Sicheng: “He’s not targeting classmates, he just hates socializing because of his family situation since he was young.”

“Let’s game, let’s game! Come to my room!”

A bespectacled classmate shouted, probably very good at games, and a group of male classmates crowded into the elevator, shouting “Me!” “Count me in!”

Jiang Le, who was bad at games but loved playing, squeezed in too.

Song Qitao was swept into the elevator, and unexpectedly dropped the room card in his hand. When everyone got out, he was the last one, bent down to pick up the room card, and glanced at the room number, 788.

He swiped open room 788, only to find the lights on inside.

Wasn’t Jiang Le going next door to game? Who’s in his room?

Suddenly, he caught a faint whiff of alcohol, already diluted by the hot water from the bathroom, overpowered by the fruity scent of shower gel.

Turning around, he saw Meng Sicheng coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel around his lower body.

His shoulders, back, and abdomen were covered with a thin layer of youthful muscle, his aura somewhere between a teenager and a young man, with a calm sense of self-control.

Song Qitao, an art student who had drawn male nudes, found that none of his drawings compared to the real thing in front of him.

He glanced at the room card in his hand, 788, and pulled out the one inserted in the card slot, also 788. No one went to the wrong room, but someone had the wrong room card.

When the card was pulled out, the room went dark after a few seconds.

Song Qitao quickly reinserted the card, and the lights came back on.

“Sorry.” He apologized a bit, realizing he was disturbing Meng Sicheng, who had set his do-not-disturb mode.

“You’re here.” Meng Sicheng showed no displeasure, quietly staring at Song Qitao for a moment, “Where’s the soy milk?”

Song Qitao: “What?”

Meng Sicheng: “Weren’t you going to ask me a math question?”

Song Qitao understood then, Meng Sicheng was really drunk, not pretending. Who asks questions after the college entrance exam!

“Not asking anymore.”

The moment Meng Sicheng spoke, Song Qitao felt like mathematical symbols were floating in the air, making him dizzy. He turned to leave.

“No.” Meng Sicheng closed the door, his cold, handsome face brooking no argument.

Song Qitao tried to reason: “The exam’s over.”

Meng Sicheng’s gaze wandered around, picking up the “Anti-Fraud Handbook” on the table, “Come here.”

Song Qitao was curious to see what Meng Sicheng could say about a police-issued anti-fraud booklet, but soon regretted it.

Meng Sicheng didn’t need to look at the questions; they were engraved in his mind.

Song Qitao was reminded of his middle school teacher, who had twenty years of teaching experience and would always say, “I know where this question is on the page with my eyes closed; I wrote it on the blackboard last week, and half of you still got it wrong!”

Unfortunately, Song Qitao was always in that “half.”

In the blink of an eye, Meng Sicheng had already finished explaining a question.

Meng Sicheng’s tone was flat, “You couldn’t do the second vector question? You’ve practiced it many times…”

This question seemed vaguely familiar, and Song Qitao’s not-so-smart brain took a moment to react.

Meng Sicheng must be crazy! He memorized the math paper from two days ago! Is that how you use a good memory?

And how did he know I couldn’t do the second question? Does he have such good eyesight that he saw my answer sheet?

“I don’t check answers, I’m leaving.” Just as Song Qitao was about to run, his wrist was grabbed, and he was pressed into a chair.

Unable to escape, Song Qitao sat in the chair, his eyes wandering. He wanted to look up to see if Meng Sicheng was really drunk, but any small movement was stopped by a hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Look at the question, what’s the answer to the second one?”

Song Qitao looked at the anti-fraud handbook’s “Promises of high interest are scams,” and was on the verge of tears, “I-I forgot.”

He never thought he’d be forced to check answers. At least give him some options to recall the answer; how can he conjure it out of thin air?

The hand on the back of his neck tightened, and Song Qitao instantly blurted: “A!”

Meng Sicheng: “Wrong.”

Song Qitao didn’t doubt the drunk’s memory or dare to suspect Meng Sicheng made a mistake. Instead, he covered his ears: “Spare me, I don’t want to hear anymore!”

Meng Sicheng pulled his hand down: “Given the function f(x)’s domain is R…”

Torture, modern torture.

He looked at Meng Sicheng’s lips, comparable to a comic book protagonist’s, and it felt like there was a vacuum shield around his ears, blocking out sound, and he couldn’t escape.

Subconsciously, Song Qitao didn’t dare to say he didn’t understand, like a restless child. Meng Sicheng wouldn’t let him leave the chair’s range, so he stood on the chair to get a little further from Meng Sicheng’s voice.

Meng Sicheng reached out to steady his thigh, as if Song Qitao really was a child, needing support to stand firm.

Song Qitao’s head nearly touched the ceiling, and when Meng Sicheng held his leg, it trembled. Meng Sicheng’s voice + math = Song Qitao’s allergen; this formula was proven again, and Song Qitao felt an allergic reaction spreading from his thigh, making it hard to breathe.

His toes gripped the rattan chair tightly, still trembling, so he swung his long legs and ran to the bed, burying himself under the covers like an ostrich, trying to block the endless stream of exam answers with the thick blanket.

Why was Meng Sicheng so determined to teach him!

Suddenly, Song Qitao thought of how after each exam, many people surrounded Meng Sicheng to check answers, and he patiently answered them.

Was he suffering from PTSD? Even drunk, he’s stuck in the same scenario?

Even top students have their troubles.

Song Qitao was a bit moved; Meng Sicheng was truly a good person who loved helping classmates, even when drunk. Director Zhang said to look out for each other, and although Song Qitao wanted to escape, everyone else was gathered playing games, leaving drunk Meng Sicheng alone in the room wasn’t right.

The news often reports people choking on their vomit when drunk.

Meng Sicheng’s smart brain must always have oxygen.

The hotel’s bedding was clean and soft, and as Song Qitao listened, he started to feel sleepy. As he thought it would be nice to fall asleep like this, Meng Sicheng suddenly switched from one-sided teaching.

“This question requires the function symmetry formula, write it down.”

Song Qitao pretended to sleep.

Meng Sicheng pulled him out of the covers, facing him, “You must be able to do this paper.”

Song Qitao thought, it’s after the college entrance exam, even if I can do it, it’s useless. If you’d recited the answers to me two days ago, I’d have learned it even if my head fell off.

“Brother, it’s too late.”

Meng Sicheng knelt on the bed, quietly looking at him, eyes like deep pools: “Formula.”

Song Qitao immediately caved, trying to recover the cleared memory from the recycle bin, stammering through the formula.

Meng Sicheng: “You remembered it wrong.”

Song Qitao whispered: “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Meng Sicheng was momentarily stunned, seemingly easy to talk to, quickly moving to the next question.

Song Qitao softly pleaded: “This question is disgusting, I don’t want to do it.”

Meng Sicheng was stunned again, skipping the question.

Song Qitao cleverly said: “Meng Sicheng, I won’t do the next question either.”

Meng Sicheng: “No, it’s a giveaway question.”

The chance to skip was only twice, and Song Qitao used it up, trapped on the bed checking answers, unable to sit still as if there were nails in his seat, always wanting to make small moves, “I want to drink water.”

Meng Sicheng got off the bed and brought him a glass of water.

Song Qitao: “…” There’s even this kind of service?

He sipped the water slowly, then said: “I need to pee.”

He seemed to hear Meng Sicheng sigh: “Go ahead.”

Originally planning to stay in the bathroom longer, but thinking Meng Sicheng was waiting for him, he didn’t dare to delay.

After coming out, he stared at Meng Sicheng’s shoulders, treating him like a male model, listening to math with his ears, analyzing art lines in his mind.

After analyzing the muscle direction of the shoulders, he looked at the shadow of the abs.

He couldn’t understand how Meng Sicheng recited the problem-solving steps from memory, did he have two blackboards in his head?

The lecture paused for two seconds, and Meng Sicheng lifted his head, “Are you listening?”

Song Qitao: “Yes!”

Meng Sicheng: “Which question was I on?”

Song Qitao: “…”

Meng Sicheng: “The first big question.”

Then, Song Qitao heard that he made a mistake in the first step of the first big question.

Ahhhhh, will this night ever end!

Still talking! Still talking!

Song Qitao covered his mouth: “Please don’t say anymore, if you do, I won’t even get into a joint venture program.”

Meng Sicheng looked serious: “Score in the three digits, apply to a Beijing school.”

As the capital, Beijing boasts the top 2 schools, and Meng Sicheng is definitely going there. But schools of the same level have higher admission scores in Beijing than other provinces, not friendly to underachievers.

Song Qitao pursed his lips; if he can’t do math, he just can’t. What can he do, conjure it out of thin air?

An idea flashed in Song Qitao’s mind, “You start with the last big question.”

The steps are super long, and this kind of question that he would never get right has nothing to do with him, so listening doesn’t hurt.

Meng Sicheng: “Okay.”

Apparently, explaining the final question was more exciting for Meng Sicheng than the basics, and he wouldn’t stop halfway to make Song Qitao interact.

It was quite hypnotic.

Song Qitao’s morals gradually slipped, his head nodded, tentatively resting on Meng Sicheng’s shoulder.

Because Meng Sicheng wouldn’t let him lean against the headboard to listen to the lecture, fearing he’d fall asleep, but leaning on him seemed to be okay?

Meng Sicheng had only worn a bathrobe after showering, and during the process of controlling Song Qitao, the collar had long been open.

Song Qitao’s forehead pressed directly against his neck, breathing on his collarbone. The hotel’s shower gel smelled quite nice, white peach scent.

But suddenly, Meng Sicheng said: “I feel a bit uncomfortable.”

Song Qitao’s eyes widened in surprise; he stayed with Meng Sicheng because he was drunk. People who can’t handle alcohol are often allergic to it, and he was worried Meng Sicheng might have other adverse symptoms.

“Where does it hurt?”

Meng Sicheng lowered his gaze, his eyes fixed.

Having often drawn human figures, Song Qitao recognized the abrupt lines.

“…”

Hopefully, next time he instantly understands math.

Meng Sicheng, you win.

You’re indeed the super invincible No.1, getting excited over explaining a final question.

Song Qitao admitted, sometimes solving a difficult problem is quite satisfying, but not to this extent.

There’s only one explanation—Meng Sicheng truly loves math, he’s the kind of noble person who dedicates his life to it!

Song Qitao was filled with respect.

He quickly grabbed Meng Sicheng’s hand, guiding it to the appropriate spot: “Pause solving, handle the sudden situation first.”

Meng Sicheng said nothing; he was indeed drunk, his brain could only process matters related to Song Qitao, everything else was interference to be excluded.

Song Qitao felt like he was granted amnesty: “Then I’ll step aside for a bit!”

The next moment, Meng Sicheng pressed Song Qitao’s hand onto the interference: “You handle it.”

Song Qitao: “…” He couldn’t even accuse Meng Sicheng of being a rogue, because Meng Sicheng was sincerely and urgently wanting to explain the question to him, hence asking him to remove the interference.

How could someone be so determined to explain a question even in such a state!

Putting everything aside, Song Qitao was even a little touched.

No, he couldn’t put it aside.

After some maneuvering, Song Qitao found himself in double torment.

Originally, hearing Meng Sicheng explain the question made his mind go blank, and now with Meng Sicheng using that kind of forbidden voice to explain… Song Qitao’s mind wasn’t just blank, everything past and present was blank.

Only his cheeks were flushed, like a juicy peach squeezed for its juice.

Finally, when Meng Sicheng fell asleep, Song Qitao tiredly crawled off the bed, limping a bit because his legs were numb from maintaining one position too long.

He never wanted to see Meng Sicheng again!

Opening the door, he happened to see Jiang Le looking for him everywhere.

“Peach, why weren’t you in the room? I was scared to death when I came back from gaming and didn’t see you!”

Seeing his familiar desk mate, Song Qitao felt like the sky had fallen: “Lele, I’m afraid I can only get into a second-tier university.”

Jiang Le: “You’re good at guessing answers, maybe you’ll get into a first-tier! Be confident! You didn’t even check answers!”

Song Qitao looked world-weary: “I did.”

Jiang Le: “Huh?”

Song Qitao: “Meng Sicheng forced me to check answers!”

Jiang Le: “Huh?!” Is there really such a cruel thing in this world?

Song Qitao was indignant: “Damn it, I never want to see him again.”

“What time is it?”

“One in the morning.”

Song Qitao was even angrier, four hours! That’s equivalent to two exams; he had never been tortured by math for four hours straight.

Is Meng Sicheng a saint? Teaching for so long without charging a fee?!