Chapter 17: The Monthly Exam Begins

The bell marking the end of evening self-study had just rung when the classroom filled with a rising chorus of voices.

Chalk dust drifted in the air as Mr. Zhang tapped the blackboard eraser against the lectern.

“Those whose names I just called—move your desks into the hallway. Everyone else, arrange your desks as instructed, leaving one meter of space between the front, back, left, and right.”

Lin Yumo was bent over, tidying the books in her desk drawer, a loose strand of hair falling over her workbook. Once she finished clearing her desk and was about to move it out, she suddenly felt the weight lighten.

“I’ve got it.”

The boy’s voice was like rice paper soaked in warm water—gentle, yet carrying an undeniable firmness.

Looking up, Lin Yumo caught sight of Wang Changyu’s profile as he bent to lift the desk.

The cuff of his uniform shirt just brushed his forearm, revealing a small, light brown mole near his wrist bone. The silver rims of his glasses flashed with specks of light under the hallway lamps.

The desk’s metal legs scraped against the floor with a harsh sound, yet his steps were steady, as if he were carrying not a heavy piece of furniture, but a bundle of fragile moonlight.

“Study rep, I can manage it myself!” Lin Yumo hurried after him with her schoolbag in hand.

“Careful.”

Wang Changyu suddenly turned, his shoulder blocking her from the protruding fire hydrant at the hallway corner.

The movement left a faint smudge of dust on his uniform collar, a pale mark against the blue-and-white fabric.

“Girls shouldn’t be moving heavy things,” he said as he continued carrying the desk forward.

The hallway was crowded with students hauling desks. Class 7’s uniforms intermingled with Class 8’s, flowing together like two converging streams.

Even in the crowd, Wang Changyu stood out—his pace perfectly even, his back straight, like a poplar that never sways in the wind.

The classroom light slanted through the windows, gilding the silver rims of his glasses and giving the eyes always hidden behind them a particularly gentle look.

He set the desk down lightly against the wall in the corridor, the metal legs making a soft clink against the floor.

“Thanks, study rep.” Lin Yumo steadied the desk for him, her fingertip brushing against the thin calluses on the back of his hand.

Wang Changyu took a half step back, fingers unconsciously pushing up his glasses. “It’s nothing—helping classmates is what I should do. See you tomorrow.”

Lin Yumo thought the study rep really did have the manners of a gentleman. Smiling, she waved. “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

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The next day, the monthly exams officially began. The first subject was Chinese.

The light thump of the test paper hitting her desk stirred the quiet morning. As she unscrewed her thermos lid, the fragrance of jasmine unfurled at her nose.

It was her first exam since coming back—she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous.

Sitting upright in her seat, Lin Yumo unfolded the freshly handed-out Chinese paper.

She skimmed through it quickly, and her heart steadied—the difficulty was about the same as the usual practice tests.

Her lips curved faintly. With her confidence set, she stopped overthinking, picked up her pen, and began to answer.

For Chinese, whether in the past or now, it had always been an easy subject for her.

As soon as she started writing, her thoughts flowed like a steady, murmuring stream.

Soon, she reached the composition section.

She carefully examined the prompt, her eyes moving slowly over the words, considering her angle of approach.

She began rapidly sifting through her memory, recalling outstanding essays she had read before, thinking about how to skillfully weave their strengths into this piece.

The bell for the second exam rang.

When the next paper landed on her desk, she gave it a quick glance—and her heart sank with a “thud.”

One word to describe it: hard.
Two words: very hard.
Three words: extremely difficult.

Lin Yumo took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

She had always prided herself on her strong mathematical thinking, but today’s test paper brought an unprecedented sense of pressure.

As soon as the exam started, she quickly threw herself into answering the questions.

The multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions at the start, while not easy, were handled smoothly thanks to her solid foundation and flexible thinking.

However, once she reached the problem-solving section, the difficulty spiked sharply.

Her brows knitted together—sometimes she bit the end of her pen in thought, other times she bent over her scratch paper, scribbling and recalculating over and over.

She kept adjusting her approach, trying to tackle the problems from different angles.

The high difficulty meant she had to spend more time on calculations.

And so, as time ticked away, she came to the final big problem—a question set to maximum difficulty.

After reading it carefully, she found that the third sub-question required her to discuss three possible outcomes. She focused all her attention on the calculations, proceeding with extreme caution.

The first two sub-questions went relatively smoothly, and she got the answers quickly.

But the third one involved a huge amount of work.

Her fingers moved quickly across the scratch paper, her mind working at full speed, but the result kept coming out just a little off.

Ding-ling-ling— The bell to collect papers rang mercilessly, cutting off her train of thought.

She stared at the unfinished third sub-question, where only the formula was written, feeling a wave of regret.

Just a little more and she would have had it.

Inwardly, she couldn’t help grumbling—these teachers were clearly set on giving the students a hard time, with each problem tougher than the last.

When the physics paper was handed out, she quickly scanned it, and her brows instantly scrunched into a knot.

Complex circuit diagrams, obscure mechanics principles.

She took another deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, and began working through the questions carefully.

But as she progressed, several problems left her stuck.

Biting her pen, frowning deeply, her eyes showed traces of both anxiety and helplessness.

She finally made it through to the end of the test, still muttering inwardly about the few questions she wasn’t sure of.

Next came chemistry.

She had naively thought chemistry would be easier—but the moment she saw the paper, she realized she’d been too optimistic.

Although there were a few small questions she wasn’t certain about, she took comfort in knowing that even if she got them wrong, the point loss wouldn’t be huge.

As the exam days moved on to the last few subjects—biology, geography, physics, and politics—her tightly wound nerves eased slightly, since her memory for these subjects was solid.

Even so, when she saw the papers, she was a little surprised. The tests leaned heavily toward less common material—most of the other students would probably be caught off guard.

The final subject was English.

She drew a deep breath.

The vocabulary was a little beyond the syllabus.

From the headphones came a British-accented voice laced with static. The moment she heard “neuroplasticity”—a low-frequency term from the second semester of Year Two—she knew this English exam was going to be tough.

The reading comprehension was full of long, complex sentences. In the fourth passage, a science article, the concept of “quantum entanglement” left many students scratching their heads.

The essay topic, “Artificial Intelligence and Humanity,” was like a mirror, reflecting each examinee’s vocabulary reserves in full.

She deliberately avoided common words, choosing instead to use “merits” and “drawbacks” to express her ideas.