I was a top student in America.

Li Ao grabbed a piece of scrap paper and opened the workbook to the first problem marked with an asterisk.

"Given that f(x) = ax² + bx + c passes through the points (1, 0) and (-3, 0), and has a maximum value of 8, find the analytical expression of f(x)."

He got stuck here two days ago and just jumped.

Now, as I refocus on the question, I naturally recall an example I've seen before.

Passing through two zeros, the parabola opens downwards. Three conditions and three unknowns are enough.

He directly wrote out the factor form: f(x) = a(x-1)(x+3).

"The axis of symmetry is at x=-1. Substituting the vertex coordinates, first calculate the value of a..."

He muttered to himself as he quickly wrote down the answer.

f(x) = -2x² - 4x + 6.

From understanding the question to putting pen to paper, I almost never stopped.

The question itself wasn't difficult; what he was really thinking about were the three variations that popped into his mind the instant he finished writing the answer:

What if we replace "maximum value is 8" with "passes through point (0, 6)"?

What if the direction of the opening is unknown?

What if we are given one zero and an axis of symmetry instead of two zeros?

The three methods of change are actually all the same thing: how to match known conditions with unknowns.

This is the ability brought by the term "learn by analogy".

He took a deep breath, suppressing his excitement, and flipped through more than a dozen comprehensive problems in one go. All of them involved functions, inequalities, and parameters, and he broke them down in the same way:

First find the structure, then apply variations, and finally finalize the design.

After finishing, he flipped to the answer sheet tucked at the end of the workbook and checked each question one by one.

All correct.

Fourteen questions marked with an asterisk, and I got every single one right.

Li Ao leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

The phrase "draw inferences from one instance" cannot be created out of thin air.

When faced with knowledge points beyond the syllabus, he would be completely helpless.

But what used to require solving dozens or even hundreds of problems to grasp the patterns, now only two or three are needed.

It's like cutting out the most time-consuming detour when practicing coding problems.

Moreover, as the number of problems solved increases, fragmented mathematical memories from previous lives are also being brought back at an accelerated pace.

Some of the things he had memorized by rote in his university calculus classes actually had their counterparts in high school problems.

At this rate, passing Algebra II in the midterm exam will be a piece of cake.

If we gradually build up our foundation in math competitions, then AMC12 and AIME are not out of the question.

Li Ao was already starting to look forward to AMC12 next year.

Just as he was dreaming of getting a high score in the math competition and getting into an Ivy League university, someone stabbed him hard in the arm.

DeMarcus was half-lying on the table, looking excited.

"Leo, there's a party in the basement on 69th Street tonight, wanna come? There's a speaker, and free pizza and drinks."

As he spoke, he haphazardly stuffed the crumpled textbooks into his schoolbag.

Li Ao looked up at the clock on the wall. There were only a few minutes left before get out of class ended. He had been so focused on doing the problems that he hadn't noticed.

"No, I have to go home." He shook his head.

"go home?"

DeMarcus stared wide-eyed, as if he'd heard a joke.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer: "There's been quite a commotion tonight. I heard Harper's gang went too. You used to run faster than a dog whenever there was free food and drinks."

"I won't go anymore. My grandma lives alone."

Li Ao closed the workbook.

He had absolutely no interest in such things.

He knew all too well what kind of parties were happening in the basement of the South District: cheap vodka diluted with water, plus a bunch of drunken thugs.

Aside from causing trouble, it has no value whatsoever.

"Dude, you seem like a completely different person these past few days."

DeMarcus looked completely bewildered.

Li Ao thought for a moment, then added:

"Go if you want, but be careful not to touch any drinks offered by others."

DeMarcus rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath:

"Why do you talk like my mom lately..."

As soon as the school bell rang, the corridors of Wyndham High School instantly transformed into a prison break scene.

The stairwell was a chaotic mess, filled with shouts and laughter, and the iron gate was being slammed shut with a loud bang.

Li Ao slung his backpack over his shoulder and joined the crowd, squeezing his way to the school bus stop.

DeMarcus was still agonizing over the party, muttering to himself the whole time.

The two squeezed onto the school bus. Li Ao leaned against the window and casually pulled out his English literature textbook from his bag, flipping through a few pages.

The street scene outside the window rushed past: peeling graffiti walls, rusty iron railings, and tattered sofa cushions discarded on the roadside...

This lousy place looks the same no matter how many times I look at it.

DeMarcus got off at the penultimate stop, and before leaving, he gave him the middle finger, meaning "You're incredibly boring."

Li Ao smiled and ignored him.

The school bus braked at the sixth intersection.

Li Ao jumped out of the car and skillfully slipped into the apartment building with its blackened exterior.

The smell of urine still lingered in the hallway, and the motion-activated lights still wouldn't turn on.

He climbed up to the third floor in the dark, and the smell of stir-fried onions wafted from the direction of 306.

He pushed open the door, changed into a pair of slippers, and went inside.

Grandma was standing in front of the stove, stirring a small amount of onion and scrambled eggs with a spatula.

Hearing the noise, she didn't even turn her head: "Are you hungry? Go wash your hands, the food will be ready soon."

Two sets of bowls and chopsticks were already neatly arranged next to the stove.

Li Ao rinsed the handle haphazardly by the sink, then went over and brought the leftover porridge from the aluminum pot to the table.

The bottom of the pot wasn't scraped clean, so Grandma probably didn't eat much for lunch again.

The two sat down at the folding table.

The scrambled eggs with onions were a bit too salty, and the porridge was still bland, but Li Ao ate with great relish.

"I went to the laundromat on 63rd Street again this afternoon."

Grandma said while shoveling porridge, "The boss has relented and will let me fold and sort clothes for four yuan an hour, in cash."

Li Ao paused for a moment while chewing.

Four dollars, which is less than half of the minimum hourly wage.

But Grandma doesn't have a Social Security number, so this is the price she pays here.

Grandma poked the bottom of the bowl with the tip of her chopsticks, as if she were discussing something or talking to herself:

"It's almost November, so I need to start saving money for winter, like heating fees and stuff."

Li Ao didn't respond, but silently placed a piece of egg on her plate.

"There's something else."

Grandma put down her chopsticks and stared at him: "I asked Lisa from church to find you a job. It's at the gym on 65th Street, moving equipment and mopping floors, doing odd jobs, six dollars an hour."

Her tone turned serious: "Last time at that fried chicken shop, you were kicked out after less than two weeks. This time, you'd better grit your teeth and stick it out."

Li Ao swallowed the porridge in his mouth.

He wanted to say that he needed to focus on his studies now and that he could postpone the part-time job.

But when his gaze swept over his grandmother's hand resting on the edge of the table,

Large knuckles and severely deformed joints are the result of decades of physical labor.

At seventy-two years old, he still had to humbly fold clothes for others.

"Okay, I'll go." He nodded.

Grandma hummed in agreement and changed the subject:

How was your day at school?

"It's going well. I've been reviewing math lately, the midterms are coming up soon."

"You didn't get into a fight, did you?"

"No, don't worry."

Halfway through the meal, the door was pushed open from the outside.

Jamal poked half his head in, his gray hoodie still pulled up.

"Grandma Liu..."

Grandma gestured with her lips toward the empty bottom of the pot.

The little guy deftly pulled out an empty bowl, scraped some leftover porridge from the bottom of the pot, and squeezed to the folding table to squat down.

"Grandma Liu, do you know what? Leo was really impressive in the cafeteria the other day."

Jamal slurped his porridge, his face beaming, as if he were the one in the limelight: "Thai Shawn brought his men to cause trouble, and Leo immediately shut them down without saying a word."

Grandma stopped using her chopsticks and looked up at Li Ao.

"I really didn't fight." Li Ao stuffed a piece of scrambled eggs with onions into his mouth and mumbled, "He was causing trouble for DeMarcus, so I just said a couple of words of advice, and it's nothing."

Grandma sighed heavily, glared at him, and then looked back at the bowl.

Jamal, completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere at the table, continued his rambling:

"The whole cafeteria was watching; when Tae-Sean left, his face was all downcast..."

"Alright," Li Ao interrupted him, tapping the table. "You seem to know everything about Tai Shonen."

Last time in the cafeteria, this kid talked about TySean's recent situation in great detail, saying things like "he just had a fight with the people on the playground yesterday" and "he still needs to rely on the school team." He's very well-informed.

"I wouldn't call myself a close friend," Jamal chewed on some pickled vegetables, "but I know a little about the school team. I'm thinking of trying out for the basketball team myself, and I'll sign up next week."

"Can you play ball?" Li Ao looked at Jamal, who was thin and small.

"I'm fast, and my dribbling and shooting are pretty good."

Jamal said it casually, then added, "Mainly because athletes are well-connected at school, and it's convenient for them to do things in the neighborhood."

His eyes flickered slightly when he said "it's convenient".

Li Ao understood.

In the South District, gangs rarely target members of the school team because the coaches and the school will intervene.

Jamal wants to play basketball, partly because he genuinely enjoys it, and partly probably to find himself a safe haven.

"And if I make a name for myself, I might even get a scholarship to go to university." Jamal's eyes were gleaming.

"Go to university? And with a scholarship?" Grandma poured cold water on the idea, her tone flat. "You're dreaming."

The old lady had seen too many things in her life that "might work," but none of them actually worked.

"That's true, good skills alone aren't enough," Jamal chimed in. "You know Daryl, right? The 12th-grade point guard on the school team. He's a really good player, but he didn't even make it past the first round of the athletic scholarship application."

"Why?" Li Ao asked casually.

"I think it's because the documents they wrote weren't good or something, but I don't know."

"Application documents and recommendation letters? Did the coach write them for you?" Li Ao pressed.

"Yeah, the coach got the recommendation letter, but the university thought it was too bad." Jamal shrugged, with an expression that said, "That's about it."

Li Ao didn't reply.

In essence, an application for a sports scholarship is about explaining in a thousand words "why I am worth your money."

He could write dozens of templates for this kind of thing even with his eyes closed in his previous life.

After seeing Jamal off, who had eaten and drunk his fill, Li Ao retreated back into his five-square-meter cubicle.

Push aside the clutter on the desk and spread out the algebra and English textbooks.

The streetlights outside the window came on, and a few barks could be faintly heard from the neighborhood.

He turned on the yellowish lamp above his head, flipped to the quadratic function problem he had done that day, and filled the blank space next to it with variations and extended solutions.

One question is broken down into five, and those five are then broken down into ten.

A message pops up on the panel.

[Focusing on studying... Intelligence +0.1]

He only closed his textbook when the lamp base started to get hot.

I have to go to the public library on 61st Street tomorrow.

The high school textbooks alone are no longer enough to satisfy him.

……