My IQ has been increasing year by year.

1:50 PM.

The air in the south is still being scorched by the lingering summer heat, which not only shows no signs of abating but has intensified, like a volatile shrew in menopause, making the air thick and scalding.

Resilient and still hot-tempered

In the classroom of Class 1, Grade 7 at the No. 1 Middle School of the city.

Even though we replaced the curtains with two extra-thick blackout curtains specially approved by Lao Zhao, it still couldn't block out the pervasive heat.

Four old-fashioned ceiling fans spun frantically overhead, their whooshing sounds mixed with the grinding noise of bearings lacking lubrication.

The wind blowing down was also hot, carrying a suffocating heat.

It tried to blow away the smell of sweat, chalk dust, and some indescribable, uniquely adolescent hormones.

However, aside from bringing gusts of hot wind, the effect was minimal.

The bell signaling the end of lunch break hadn't rung yet.

The classroom was quiet, with most students still slumped over their desks, catching up on sleep in various positions.

Chen Zhuo woke up.

To be precise, I was woken up by the sensation of being in a sauna.

Chen Zhuo slowly straightened up, feeling that his school uniform on the back was quite wet.

It's stuck to my spine, and it's very uncomfortable.

He took off his glasses and pulled a handkerchief from his desk.

A cotton, sweat-absorbent handkerchief printed with Donald Duck, which Ms. Liu Xiuying insisted on giving him.

He wiped the fog off his glasses and then casually touched the sweat on his forehead.

With my glasses back on, the world became clear again.

Then, his gaze fell on the corner of his table.

On top of his neatly stacked textbooks was a slip of paper.

A shabby-looking piece of paper.

It wasn't some scented stationery, nor was it the kind of whispered secrets folded into a heart shape that ladies passed around.

It was just a strip of paper torn from the cheapest notebook, with jagged edges, looking like it had been chewed by a dog, and even had the original red thread from the notebook still attached.

There was no signature, no salutation, and not even punctuation.

The four characters were written on it in extremely scribbled handwriting with a thick black pen.

[Afternoon, Physics.]

Chen Zhuo stared at the four words for two seconds, and the corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily.

The handwriting is wild and cursive, exuding a lazy "take it or leave it" attitude.

The only person in the entire school capable of doing something like this is probably Old Zhou, who's lounging in a wicker chair drinking strong tea and fanning himself with a palm leaf fan.

As for the location, where else could it be besides the physics lab I mentioned a few days ago?

Chen Zhuo folded the note in half and then casually stuffed it into his school uniform pocket.

He glanced at the clock.

1:55.

We'll be getting ready for the first class in a few minutes.

The afternoon consists of two consecutive Chinese language classes, and according to the schedule, it should be time to teach Zhu Ziqing's "Spring".

"Hoping, hoping, the east wind is here, spring is just around the corner..."

Chen Zhuo does not dislike "Spring" nor does he dislike literature.

He always treated texts that required emotional engagement to understand as dessert after a meal.

Of course, now it's time to check out the main course.

Chen Zhuo began packing his things.

The movements were very light and slow, without even disturbing the classmate next to her, whose lips were glistening with tears.

I grabbed a few pens and a notebook, then picked up the water bottle on the corner of the table and filled it with warm water from the water dispenser at the front of the classroom.

Chen Zhuo stood up and slipped out silently through the back door.

The corridor was quiet, with only the sound of cicadas chirping from the playground, surging in waves like ocean currents.

He pushed up his glasses and walked towards the laboratory building across the playground.

The sunlight instantly enveloped Chen Zhuo's entire body.

The heatwave brought a sense of dryness, which slowly, little by little, awakened his brain, which was still a bit sluggish after his afternoon nap.

Like a precision instrument that is being preheated.

......

Experimental building, physics laboratory.

One of the few places in the school with cabinet-style air conditioners installed.

Even before you enter the door, you can hear the roar of the old air conditioner unit outside the window, like a tireless old ox.

Chen Zhuo pushed open the door.

Call ~

A blast of cool air, carrying a faint smell of ozone, hit me, instantly dispelling the sticky, hot feeling on my body.

The classroom was large, with more than twenty black laboratory tables.

It's empty.

There were only two people sitting in the seat closest to the podium.

One is a boy, and the other is also a boy.

Upon hearing the door open, the two people simultaneously raised their heads, their movements perfectly synchronized, like two groundhogs wary of their surroundings.

On the left and right sides, there's Li Hao, a third-year junior high student, and Zhang Wei, a second-year junior high student.

Chen Zhuo stood at the door, two pens sticking out of his school uniform pocket, one hand in his shirt pocket and the other holding his water bottle.

Six eyes met.

The air seemed to develop a strange, viscous feel for a moment.

Chen Zhuo did not know them.

But they knew Chen Zhuo.

Or perhaps, in this not-so-large school, almost everyone knows Chen Zhuo, who skipped a grade at the age of nine and ranked first in the exam.

It didn't generate the kind of intense rivalry that often ensnares strong characters in action manga, nor did it trigger the polite formalities of a school drama.

It's simply the awkward silence and arrogance unique to good students, tinged with a bit of pride and a touch of social anxiety.

Li Hao didn't know what to say, so he just nodded slightly, so slightly that it was almost imperceptible.

Then he quickly lowered his head and refocused his attention on the difficult problem about convex lens imaging on his desk.

Zhang Wei glanced at him a couple more times, paused his pen, and seemed about to say hello, but seeing that Li Hao didn't speak, he swallowed his words.

He just grinned at Chen Zhuo, revealing an expression that was hard to tell whether it was a smile or a toothache.

Chen Zhuo didn't say anything, but simply nodded and naturally looked away.

He was very satisfied with the atmosphere.

Quiet, study, and don't disturb each other.

He gently closed the door, keeping the heat out.

He didn't move to the front row; he didn't care about the front row.

Moreover, that position already belongs to someone else.

He walked straight to the last row of the laboratory and found a corner by the window.

It's positioned at a comfortable distance from the air vent, so the cold air doesn't reach your head, but the temperature is just right.

The curtains were drawn, and the light was dim and soft.

Chen Zhuo placed the items on the table and then plopped down on the slightly hard experimental stool.

The laboratory returned to its original quiet.

The only sounds were the low-frequency hum of the air conditioner and the rustling of Li Hao turning pages in the front row.