Chapter 53: You Must Be Careful

For someone with an IQ of over 300, making a bit of pocket money is as effortless as reaching into a bag. However, if the earnings are to gain his grandmother’s approval, perhaps only a scholarship would suffice. So when Teacher Dong announced the Mathematical Olympiad competition—especially that this year’s national finals of the International Olympiad in Mathematics for the Huaxia region would be hosted in Xiangyang City—Xiao Cheng immediately sensed a business opportunity.

If he merely brought back a championship, there would certainly be honor, and from the school to the county, the city, and perhaps even the province, there would likely be generous rewards. Yet, judging from previous years, these so-called generous rewards amounted to just five or ten thousand each, adding up to only twenty or thirty thousand at best. With the family’s six-figure debt, it would hardly make a dent. Therefore, Xiao Cheng chose to maximize the benefits.

Those interested in Mathematical Olympiad results, besides the students’ parents, were precisely the educational training institutions. Since parents are willing to pay for their children’s achievements, these commercial institutions are willing to pay for an Olympiad champion—after all, it becomes their own achievement to display. It’s much like Olympic champions: those who win gold medals at the Olympics see vastly different returns depending on media attention. For instance, after Xiangxiang won China’s first gold in track and field, endorsement deals poured in, and he instantly became the nation’s focus, his value soaring accordingly. Yet, winners in sports like weightlifting and shooting quickly faded into obscurity after the Games, and most people can't even recall their names. Fame and fortune are often twin brothers; to increase the rewards, further hype is required.

As the host city, the provincial and municipal education bureaus would naturally devote great publicity, with policies such as bonus points for entering the semifinals, prompting even second-rate middle schools in remote towns to take a chance and sign up en masse. This year’s competition was bound to attract more attention than ever before, but official promotion alone wasn’t enough—a spark was still needed. As a junior high student, Xiao Cheng obviously lacked the means to generate that kind of hype himself, which is why he sought out Starlight.

The businesses would rack their brains to promote him.

With two contracts tucked in his backpack, Xiao Cheng made a quick calculation: if the plan went smoothly, Starlight would offer a 100,000 yuan scholarship, and Sunflower would not want to be outdone either. Adding the rewards from school, county, and city, the total would be no less than 200,000. As for the other contract, with a 35% commission per student—at least 1,000 yuan each—this level of publicity would attract at least a thousand students during the summer. That meant this contract alone was worth at least a million!

Enough to pay off the debts.

……

Counting Monday afternoon, this was already the third time Xiao Cheng had skipped school. Without its protagonist, the school was hardly at peace. Lunchtime was a rare period of leisure, so news spread rapidly. Too many things had happened that Monday: first, Xiao Cheng arrived carrying fifteen or sixteen backpacks, and then, in a high-profile manner, summoned the third-year seniors to his class to collect them, as if he were the true boss of the school. Just after classes ended at noon, Lü Qi blocked him at the door, and the two went up to the rooftop. After a short while, Xiao Cheng returned without a scratch, but it was much later before anyone saw Lü Qi descend, eyes red.

Rumors abounded: What exactly happened on the rooftop? Had Xiao Cheng actually made Lü Qi cry?

There was no way to verify, for Xiao Cheng never returned after leaving at noon, and no one dared approach Lü Qi to ask. Yet what happened next was even more astonishing—Qiu Hui and Lü Qi fell out!

According to the parlance of Hong Kong triads, in any group, besides the leader, there is often a strategist and an enforcer—the former called the “White Paper Fan,” responsible for plotting and planning, the latter the “Red Pole,” the gang’s chief fighter. In Second Middle School, under the leadership of Qiu Hui, Zhang Peiyue was the strategist; though not particularly intelligent, his family background lent weight to his words. Lü Qi, the enforcer, was the source of half the group’s intimidation, his reputation as the invincible “Lü Overlord” well established.

But now, Qiu Hui and Lü Qi had split?

The drama continued. In the first class that afternoon, with the strict Physics teacher Yan filling in for the “suddenly absent” music teacher, the door was kicked open. Led by Qiu Hui, four or five boys stood menacingly at Class Eight’s doorway, calling Xiao Cheng out by name. Teacher Yan trembled with rage and shouted, “Which class are you from? Get out at once!” Normally, even the most unruly students would never act so blatantly in front of a teacher, but Qiu Hui, furious, jabbed a finger at Yan’s nose and cursed, “This has nothing to do with you—shut the hell up!”

Xiao Cheng was absent, so the matter didn’t escalate further, but this incident sent a clear message: Qiu Hui had lost it and would not rest until one of them was finished.

The next morning, when Wen Xiaocheng appeared in the classroom, every classmate regarded him with worried eyes. Yang Liushan, who had arrived early, frowned, wanting to warn him but fearful of attracting gossip. However, the class monitor, the long-legged beauty Zhang Junya, had no such qualms. She went straight to his desk, sat down, and said sternly, “Qiu Hui wants to beat you up—did you know?”

“He’s wanted to do that since I started junior high and has been at it for almost two years.”

“This time is different! Yesterday, when you weren’t here, he kicked open our classroom door during class, said he was looking for you, and even yelled at the teacher!”

Xiao Cheng nodded. “Hmm, they really are ill-mannered.”

“Did you even understand what I just said?” Zhang Junya said impatiently.

“I understood. Isn’t Qiu Hui looking for me? I’ll go see him in a bit and find out what he wants.”

“He’s going to beat you!”

“Not necessarily. I found his backpack for him yesterday—maybe he wants to thank me.”

“He cursed at Teacher Yan!”

“Didn’t Teacher Yan call me a piece of dog—crap? Maybe Qiu Hui was indignant on my behalf.”

“Ugh! I can’t be bothered with you.”

Just then, Yang Liushan, who had been conflicted, walked over, glanced at Zhang Junya, nodded, and said to Xiao Cheng, “Come with me for a moment.”

There was no refusing. The two of them stepped out to the stairwell at the end of the corridor. Yang Liushan seemed nervous, wanting to speak but not knowing how.

“Are you worried about me?” Xiao Cheng broke the silence.

The girl’s face flushed instantly, but she nodded and mustered her courage. “Did Junya tell you about yesterday?”

Xiao Cheng nodded, admiring the pink that crept from her cheeks down her neck—a lovely sight.

“You’ve skipped school three times already. The first two times, when the homeroom teacher asked, I said you’d gone to the hospital after being beaten up, and the second time that you’d gone to get your wounds dressed. Yesterday, when the teacher asked where you’d gone, all I could say was I didn’t know. Also, Junya told you about Qiu Hui, right? He’s acting crazy—you need to be careful. As a classmate, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Fearing ambiguity, she deliberately added, “As a classmate.”

Naturally, such subtle shifts in feeling did not escape Xiao Cheng, but he didn’t dwell on them. Instead, he wondered aloud, “Who stepped on his tail? Why is he acting up with even the teachers?”

“I heard he and Lü Qi fell out. I think he’s taking it out on you because of that.”

Xiao Cheng smiled. He hadn’t expected the seeds he’d sown to bear fruit so quickly.

——————

Thanks to the support of Alliance Leader Yun Shisan and all new and old readers, this book has finally reached the top of the New Book Rankings as the new book period draws to a close. Old Dao’s writing block has vanished, and I’ve found my motivation once more.