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

The last line of "On the Love of Lotus" is: "It can be admired from afar, but not touched or played with."

"He is talking about himself. You can watch him from afar, admire him, and respect him, but you can't bind him. He is a lotus flower, and he is the lotus flower he is talking about."

Wang Weian, a student in the Chinese Department of Peking University, also saw this trending topic.

Instead of forwarding it in the group, he sent Chen Mo a separate message.

He didn't have Chen Mo's WeChat account; it was forwarded to him by Teacher Zhang from the admissions office.

The message read: "Chen Mo, I have read your 'On the Love of Lotus' many times."

"I've studied classical Chinese my whole life and written countless papers, but there's one thing I've never been able to do—to express the deepest truths using the simplest words. You've done it."

When Chen Mo received this message, he was standing at the top of Leifeng Pagoda.

West Lake unfolds beneath his feet, like a giant mirror shattered into millions of golden scales.

Su Wanci stood beside him, leaning against the railing, the wind ruffling her hair.

He stared at the line of text on his phone screen, remained silent for a moment, and then typed two words.

"Thanks."

No, it wasn't sent.

He looked at it again and again, and added two words.

"Professor Wang, thank you."

Su Wanci leaned closer and saw the message.

Who is Professor Wang?

"From the Chinese Department of Peking University. Specializing in classical Chinese literature."

He said you are a page.

"Um."

"What did you reply?"

"Thanks."

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

"You're the kind of person who, no matter how much someone praises you, you only ever respond with two words."

"Five words," Chen Mo corrected her.

"Professor Wang, thank you."

Su Wanci rolled her eyes, then rested her head on his shoulder, watching the cruise ships slowly gliding across the lake in the distance.

"Chen Mo, do you think your name will appear in future history books?"

"have no idea."

"I think there will be. There's a piece called 'Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng' in the Chinese textbook, a Poincaré conjecture in the math textbook, and a line in the history textbook: 'Chen Mo, a native of a certain city in a certain province, was a famous writer and mathematician.'"

Su Wanci laughed as she finished speaking.

"Then a line of small print will be written next to your photo—'His wife, Ms. Su'."

Chen Mo glanced at her. "You're overthinking it. History textbooks don't mention spouses."

Su Wanci glared at him, and then the two of them laughed at the same time.

In the principal's office of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School.

Principal Wang was standing by the window, holding his phone, with the trending topic on the screen.

"Sun Heting personally invited Chen Mo to join the Writers Association."

He read the news article five times from beginning to end.

Then I put down my phone, picked up the thermos on the table, and took a sip of water.

The water had been soaked that morning and was completely cooled, but he thought it was just right.

He turned around and said something to Lao Zhang, the academic affairs director who was organizing documents in the office.

"Old Zhang, do you know what I just saw?"

Old Zhang looked up. "What?"

"Sun Heting, chairman of the Writers' Association, personally called Chen Mo to invite him to join the association. Chen Mo said he would consider it."

Old Zhang nearly dropped the folder in his hand. "Sun Heting? That Sun Heting?"

"There is only one Sun Heting in the China Writers Association."

Old Zhang opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and then opened them again.

It was as if he was confirming that he wasn't dreaming.

"Principal, shouldn't our school be renamed 'Chen Mo's Alma Mater' from now on?"

Principal Wang was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter.

He laughed so hard he bent over, and tears streamed down his face.

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"You know what, if it were renamed 'Chen Mo's Alma Mater,' the line of people coming to register would stretch from the school gate to the train station."

"It's not because our school teaches well, it's because Chen Mo sat here for three years."

He wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, his voice suddenly becoming soft, "But you're right, we benefited from his success. It wasn't him who benefited from ours."

Old Zhang put the folder on the table and pushed up his glasses.

"Principal, do you think Chen Mo will come back to visit sometime?"

"Yes."

Principal Wang said that his tone was as certain as if he were announcing a mathematical theorem.

"He may not say anything, but he remembers everything."

"When he came back to give a speech to the high school sophomores last time, did you think it was for the school's honor?"

"No, it's because of what Teacher Fang said—'You are the most worry-free student I have ever taught.'"

Principal Wang paused for a moment, "That wasn't what Teacher Fang said, but what she was thinking. But Chen Mo heard it. He came back because of that sentence. He remembers everyone who has been kind to him."

Old Zhang was silent for a long time, then said, "Principal, I want to send Chen Mo a message, just one sentence—'The school will always be your home.'"

Principal Wang looked at him and smiled.

"Send it. It doesn't matter if he replies or not, as long as he knows."

In Chen Mo's class group chat, messages have been pouring in since noon.

It all started when someone shared the link to that trending topic with a caption.

"Chen Mo is trending again. The chairman of the Writers Association personally invited him to join, but he declined."

A flood of replies immediately followed.

"It's not a rejection, it's just that I'll consider it."

"What's the difference between 'thinking about it' and 'refusing'? When others see the chairman of the Writers' Association's phone call, their first reaction is 'Okay, okay, no problem,' but his is 'I'll think about it.'"

Do you remember? Last semester, he estimated his score to be 700 in a group chat, and we all laughed at him. Now that I think about it, the person we were laughing at was the one the Writers' Association chairman personally called to invite to join.

Another message popped up.

Do you think Chen Mo will actually join the Writers' Association in the future?

Someone replied below.

Whether he joins or not, he remains himself; whether we join or not, we remain ourselves.

Another person replied.

"What I'm most grateful for now isn't that I was in the same class as him, but that I didn't insult him in the group chat back then. When Zhao Tianyu led the mockery of him, I hesitated for a moment and didn't follow suit. It was that 'hesitation' that saved my life."

This was followed by a long string of "+1"s.

"Me too"

"Me too".

Our homeroom teacher, Lao Fang, is also in the group chat.

He looked at the messages, reading them one by one, without saying a word, but he couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.

He thought to himself that he had taught for so many years and had taught countless students.

He has never mentored a student who was personally invited to join the Writers Association by the chairman.

Perhaps there never will be another one.

But he brought one out.

This is enough.

He sent a message in the group chat with just two words: "Pride".

The text below is followed by fifty-nine "+1"s.

Of the sixty students in the class, all except Chen Mo and Su Wanci ordered.

Mr. Zhang from Peking University's admissions office saw the message during his lunch break.

She was eating in the cafeteria at the time, and Professor Lin Zhiyuan from the Department of Mathematics was sitting opposite her.

She saw the trending topic and handed her her phone.

"Professor Lin, look. The chairman of the Writers' Association personally called to invite Chen Mo to join, and Chen Mo said he would consider it."

Lin Zhiyuan put down his chopsticks, took the phone, read the line of text, and then smiled.

"He even turned down the position of vice president of the Mathematical Sciences Association, so why would he care about a member of the Writers' Association?"

Teacher Zhang was taken aback. "You know about the vice president's affair too?"