A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

Someone was holding flowers.

Someone was holding up a banner.

Some people cried while holding their children.

He spotted several of his classmates in the crowd.

They gathered in twos and threes, each with a different expression.

Some people are laughing, some are spacing out, and some are frantically sending messages on their phones.

He saw Zhao Tianyu.

Zhao Tianyu was standing next to a black Mercedes-Benz, leaning against the car door, talking to several boys.

He was wearing a trendy T-shirt and had a confident smile on his face that said, "I've got this all figured out."

"I didn't solve the third part of the last math problem, but I think I got all the previous parts right." Zhao Tianyu's voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for everyone around him to hear.

"Tianyu is awesome! I couldn't even solve the second part of that problem."

"I'd be grateful if I could get over 120 in math."

Zhao Tianyu smiled, his gaze casually sweeping across the crowd, and he spotted Chen Mo.

The smile froze for a moment, then returned.

He didn't speak, but just glanced at Chen Mo, then turned back and continued chatting with the people around him.

The look in that glance was complex—it contained contempt and hostility.

Chen Mo didn't look at him.

His gaze searched through the crowd before settling in another direction.

Su Wanci was standing under a sycamore tree, talking to two girls.

She was wearing a white dress, her long hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was holding a transparent file bag in her hand.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on her.

She seemed to sense something, turned her head, and met Chen Mo's gaze.

She smiled.

That smile was very light and faint, like the first ripples on a lake when the wind blows across it.

Chen Mo smiled, nodded at her, and then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Su Wanci looked at his back, opened her mouth as if she wanted to call out to him, but ultimately did not make a sound.

She looked down at her phone.

The class group chat was still buzzing with messages, mostly discussions about the answers and dreams for summer vacation. She scrolled to a chat history from two days ago and saw the message Chen Mo had posted—

"It's okay, I'm confident. Just do your best on the next exam."

She looked at it again, then put the phone back in her pocket.

"Are you really confident?" she wondered to herself. "Or... are you just trying to keep me from worrying?"

She didn't know the answer.

But she knew that no matter what the results were, what she said was true.

I'm willing to repeat a year with you.

This isn't just politeness or consolation; it's serious.

A week later.

The lively atmosphere in the class group has mostly dissipated.

Instead, there is a kind of anxiety hanging in mid-air—like waiting for a verdict that may or may not fall.

Then the homeroom teacher, Mr. Zhou, appeared.

Zhou Guoping.

Early forty.

Teaching mathematics.

Bald and short-tempered.

But he's a good person.

In the original owner's memories.

Old Zhou had cursed him countless times, saying, "Did a donkey kick your brain?"

But after each scolding, he would be kept after school.

I explained each problem to him one by one.

Old Zhou posted a group announcement:

"Dear students, the school needs to collect estimated scores to prepare for the mock college application process."

Please join the discussion below this message, using the format: Name + Estimated Total Score. Please fill in the information truthfully; do not exaggerate or underestimate your score. The deadline is 8 PM tonight.

The relay race started quickly.

The first to join the conversation was the class monitor, a round-faced girl wearing glasses: "Chen Simin +580".

Then it's the class monitor's turn: "Lin Jiawen +580"

Then one name after another popped up, falling like dominoes.

"Liu Yang +540"

"Wang Hao +511"

"Zhao Mengqi +573"

"Zhang Zixuan +547"

Most people's scores are between 500 and 570, with a few scoring over 580, followed by a bunch of "Awesome, you're awesome" emojis.

When Zhao Tianyu's message appeared in the message chain, there was a slight commotion in the group: "Zhao Tianyu +600".

"Tianyu, 600??? That's awesome!"

"Tianyu is usually at this level, this is just his normal performance."

Zhao Tianyu replied with a humble emoji.

But everyone could see that the period at the end of his word chain carried a hint of smugness.

Then Su Wanci's reply appeared: "Su Wanci + 660".

The group chat was quiet for a moment.

"The school beauty is still the school beauty, 660..."

"Wan Ci is amazing."

Su Wanci did not respond to any comments.

The chain continues.

One name after another, one number after another, lined up neatly like products on an assembly line.

Then Chen Mo's turn to continue the chain appeared.

"Chen Mo +700"

The relay has stopped.

For a full thirty seconds, there wasn't a single new message in the group chat.

The number "700" lay all alone at the bottom of the screen.

Like someone who wandered onto the wrong set.

Thirty seconds later, the messages poured out like a burst dam.

"???"

"700???"

"Am I seeing things? Chen Mo? 700?"

"He estimated a total score of 750 as 700???"

"No, is he serious?"

"Wait a minute, he never finishes his Chinese composition before, is this time it estimated to be 700?"

"Are you kidding me...?"

Questions came flooding in like a tidal wave.

Wave after wave, each wave louder than the last.

Zhao Tianyu's information was mixed in.

But this time he didn't need to emphasize his presence—everyone's reactions had already said what he wanted to say.

"Seven hundred points."

Zhao Tianyu sent three words, followed by a smiling emoji.

That smiling expression was more piercing than any mockery.

His meaning is clear to everyone—you, Chen Mo, dare to say you got 700 points?

Where do you get the courage from, you academic failure who can't even finish your essay?

Then he posted another message: "Out of a total of 750 points, he said he could get 700. That means he only lost an average of 12.5 points per subject. Brother Shu, you've never finished your Chinese composition before, did you get some kind of blessing this time?"

Under this message, someone posted a "hahaha" emoji, but quickly deleted it.

The atmosphere became awkward—some found it funny, some found it embarrassing, and some thought Chen Mo had probably gone mad.

Just then, the homeroom teacher, Mr. Zhou, appeared.

"@ChenMo, don't fill in the blanks randomly. Schools need to collect accurate data, which is crucial for guiding students in filling out college applications. If you're unsure of your score, you can leave it blank until the results are released."

Old Zhou's wording was very polite.

But the meaning is clear—your score can't be real, so don't cause trouble.

Chen Mo watched the messages popping up on the screen.

His expression remained unchanged.

He leaned against the headboard.

Holding the phone in my hand, my thumb hovered over the screen for a moment.

He estimated the total score to be 750.

In fact, he made a conservative estimate.

He felt that a score of at least 145 in Chinese was not an exaggeration, especially for the essay "Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng".

He didn't do perfectly in math; I'd estimate around 140.

English is his strong suit. With a score of 82 in the postgraduate entrance exam in his previous life, he can easily handle the college entrance exam in English, and I estimate he will score 145.

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