Chapter 5: Wen Xiaodao

What does it feel like to become smarter? In this world, only Wen Xiaocheng could answer that question. Fools cannot comprehend why the clever grasp everything at a glance, and the clever cannot understand the world of fools. Only someone like Wen Xiaocheng, who has personally undergone such a transformation, can truly empathize—and even then, it is difficult to put this feeling into words.

The first immediate sensation was heightened powers of observation. With a single glance, he could imprint an image in his mind—something most people can do, though the ordinary person’s recollection is riddled with missing details. The sharper the observer, the more complete the image reconstructed. Wen Xiaocheng tested himself: not only could he perfectly recreate any scene he had witnessed, but he would also unconsciously collect a wealth of seemingly “useless” derivative information.

For example, sitting in the pavilion on the hillside, gazing at the teaching building—one glance, then closing his eyes—he could recall exactly how many windows, how many panes of glass, which class occupied each room. A three-dimensional image of the building emerged in his mind. Some classrooms had their windows open, revealing the blackboard; some, from his angle, only showed the students in the back rows. From that single look, his mind generated a torrent of information: which classes were having which subjects, which arranged seats by height, which by academic performance. By combining knowledge of old acquaintances and bits of information gathered over time, he could even infer things like the temperament of each homeroom teacher, or the atmosphere within each class.

Hand in hand with observation came memory. Not only were the events of past years vivid in his mind, but everything he had ever learned or known was recalled with absolute clarity. The pile of discarded textbooks and practice booklets was simply because he no longer needed them—one reading was enough for perfect recall. His mind felt like an upgraded computer: the hard drive, once only 20 gigabytes, had been replaced with storage measured in terabytes. He didn’t even know the full capacity. Though he constantly absorbed immense amounts of information, there was still no sign of reaching the limit.

Other abilities remained to be discovered, which was why he needed some quiet time. Logically, he should also possess extraordinary computational skills, but this had yet to be verified. Even if he set himself some math problems, the answers emerged instantly—not calculated, but recalled, like multiplication tables. Every problem he had ever solved was stored in his mind, so when presented, the answer surfaced immediately.

As for what had just happened in the classroom—hitting Zhang Peiyue in front of the teacher—that, too, was the result of a deliberate mental simulation. It seemed that a superior intellect came with a peculiar power: the ability to deduce every possible outcome based on known factors, combined with one’s choices. The more information he gathered, the fewer uncertainties remained, and the simulations became ever more accurate. According to his deductions, had he meekly returned to class, the result would have been the same as always—mockery from the boys, pity from the girls, and the teacher’s contempt. The bullying would have continued as before.

Among all foreseeable outcomes, the best was, surprisingly, this one—being regarded by the teacher as hopeless. It was like playing cards: no matter how clever or skilled, one cannot triumph with a bad hand. Even knowing everyone’s cards and moves, his own hand was so poor that his choices were severely limited. Wen Xiaocheng’s hand could not have been worse, so he could only choose to act as the “scoundrel.” It seemed to be the only way for someone without power or influence to avoid being trampled underfoot.

Of course, the class beauty chasing after him was an unexpected development. His mind was so vast that he set aside a special place just for Yang Liushan.

The simulation was far from over; nothing ever happened in isolation—there was always a mix of chance and inevitability. Facing an opponent like Zhang Peiyue, violence was not beyond him; the only reason he had endured so long was fear of the consequences. But now, he had to face whatever came.

Wen Xiaocheng closed his eyes, but the world’s reflection was imprinted in his mind: the teaching building, the hillside, the pavilion. The world in his mind was indistinguishable from reality, except that, beside the solitary figure of Wen Xiaocheng, there appeared a faint shadow—vague, yet bearing a resemblance to himself, but older and more mature. Perhaps he was twenty, perhaps thirty; his precise age was uncertain, but one thing was clear: this was a near-perfect image.

This shadow was his own ideal self, conjured from imagination—like those American children who invent imaginary friends, give them names, and talk to them. Wen Xiaocheng glanced at his imagined companion. “You’ll be called Wen Xiaodao.”

He himself was too gentle; he needed a blade’s sharpness.

This imaginary friend was different from a mere game of fantasy. He needed to verify his simulations from every angle. The hypothetical Wen Xiaodao embodied his rational and mature side, eliminating subjective bias and rendering judgments more objective. In constructing the persona of Wen Xiaodao, he also compensated for his own personality’s shortcomings, creating a complementary balance.

The rational, wise, mature aspect of Wen Xiaocheng—now called Wen Xiaodao.

“I never would have thought that violence was actually the best solution,” Wen Xiaocheng remarked, surprised by the outcome of his mental simulation, and so found himself discussing the matter with his more composed and seasoned self.

The shadow smiled. “Didn’t it feel good to punch him?”

Xiaocheng was a little exasperated. “You’re supposed to be a rational, wise, and mature persona, with an IQ of over 300, and yet… yet… the question you’re asking has nothing to do with rationality, wisdom, or maturity, does it?”

Xiaodao shrugged it off. “Never mind all that. I’m asking you—did it feel good? Would you really rather hang your head and slink away every time you get beaten up? Isn’t it better to take revenge on the spot? How did that feel? Answer me! How did it feel?” Xiaodao seemed almost excited, bouncing back and forth, looking eager to try again.

Wen Xiaocheng was embarrassed, but still nodded. “It felt good. Damn good, in fact!”

“Did you know you were really cool just now? You took control, didn’t you? You turned the tables, didn’t you? You beat Zhang Peiyue in front of the teacher, and he couldn’t fight back! You were awesome! Even the school beauty, Yang Liushan, chased after you! The school beauty! The most stunning girl in the whole school!”

Wen Xiaocheng was speechless. “Honestly, you’re supposed to be rational and wise, with an IQ of over 300, but you come off as a complete clown.”

Wen Xiaodao shrugged. “Life’s for entertainment—entertain yourself. Every clown is a genius! Why live in constant frustration? People always think they should endure for the sake of tomorrow, but when tomorrow comes, endurance has become a habit! Guys like Zhang Peiyue—would you reason with them, instead of hitting them? For people like him, fists are the only logic! That’s the rational conclusion: don’t wrong yourself, don’t talk about righteousness and virtue when it’s time for fists; violence is the truest language! Even if I am a clown, I’m a rational, genius clown!”

Wen Xiaocheng felt awkward; it seemed he’d gotten something wrong in splitting off this persona.

“Maybe I should remake you from scratch…”

“As a beautiful woman? Yang Liushan’s face, Tina’s figure, a 36E bust, legs as long as a volleyball player’s, with a youthful smile? In a second, she could change outfits—flight attendant, nurse, queen, or schoolgirl, all yours for the asking! You could even make two—twin sisters!”

“Shut up.”

This conversation was embarrassing; it was pointless to hide anything from this guy. Excluding the few saints in the world, everyone harbors a shadow in their heart: desires for beautiful wives and concubines, for something for nothing, for indulgence regardless of morals or shame, pursuing only pleasure. But these shadows are buried deep, suppressed by moral judgment to maintain a façade of propriety.

“Boring!” Wen Xiaocheng said irritably.

Wen Xiaodao was unfazed, arching his eyebrows. “Boring? I happen to find it quite amusing!”

Chatting with this guy was exhausting—much easier, really, to talk with Yang Liushan earlier. But as soon as he thought of Yang Liushan, Wen Xiaodao in his mind began to transform, even his chest starting to swell. Startled, Wen Xiaocheng snapped his eyes open, shutting off his internal world.

The thought of Wen Xiaodao turning into Yang Liushan was simply nauseating.

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The author makes a cameo here. I’ve really gone all out: mature, rational, wise—let’s have a round of applause.