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

The assistant next to him pushed up his glasses, looked at the black envelope, and showed no jealousy in his eyes.

There was only a faint sense of envy.

He has studied mathematics for over forty years, and has received the National Natural Science Award, the Ministry of Education's Science and Technology Progress Award, and various other awards and prizes.

But none of the rewards were for "solving a century-old problem".

It's not that he didn't work hard enough, it's that he didn't have the luck or the brains.

He glanced at Chen Mo and thought to himself: This kid is worth it.

Zhou Weihan looked down at the black envelope and then smiled.

"I dreamed of winning the ICM bounty when I was young."

"Later I woke up from the dream and realized I couldn't have it. Today you have it, and I'm even happier than if I had taken it myself."

He patted Chen Mo on the shoulder, a little harder than last time.

"It's not just politeness, it's genuine joy, because you've accomplished what our generation couldn't. The Chinese mathematics community has waited so long, and finally, we've achieved it."

"One million US dollars is not much. The value of the Poincaré conjecture cannot be measured in money, but no one has claimed this bounty since it was set up."

"You're the first, and that's enough."

Chen Mo looked at the black envelope in his hand but did not open it.

I didn't look at the card inside.

I just pinched the seal to check its thickness and then put it in my pocket.

There was no refusal.

They didn't say "that's too much".

I didn't say "I'm not worthy".

He simply put it in his pocket, just like he would put Zhou Weihan's business card in his pocket.

His movements were natural, and his expression was calm.

Su Wanci noticed this detail and her heart stirred.

She has seen far too many people's attitudes in the face of money.

Some people are greedy, and some are hypocritical.

Some people pretend not to care, while others are secretly scheming.

But Chen Mo is not any of them.

His attitude toward this money is the same as his attitude toward getting a perfect score on the college entrance exam, toward the "Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng," and toward the Poincaré conjecture.

This is mine, I've taken it, nothing more to say.

It's not arrogance, it's just the right thing to do.

Principal Wang stood behind his desk.

Watching Chen Mo put the black card into his pocket, I suddenly remembered something.

He turned around and pulled a bank card from the drawer.

The card was brand new, unopened, and had a label on the back.

He took the card, walked up to Chen Mo, and handed it to him.

"This is yours."

He said his voice sounded a little embarrassed, as if he were handing over a rather inconspicuous gift to someone who had already received many gifts.

"The top scorer in the college entrance exam receives a bonus of one million yuan from the municipal government and the education bureau, not US dollars. Compared to that black card, it's not much, but—"

He didn't continue.

Chen Mo took the card, glanced at it, and then put it in his pocket next to the black envelope.

Two cards, one black and one blue, one with one million US dollars and the other with one million RMB.

In total, it amounts to nearly eight million RMB.

An eighteen-year-old boy became a millionaire in a single day.

Su Wanci's mouth opened slightly.

She wasn't unfamiliar with money, but she had never seen anyone receive so much money in a single day.

A reward of one million US dollars and a prize of one million RMB for the top scorer.

All together, that's enough for her whole family to work for decades without eating or drinking.

Chen Mo then put the two cards into his pocket.

It was exactly the same action she usually took when putting her bus card into her pocket.

"You... you're just going to accept it?"

"She couldn't help but ask."

Chen Mo turned his head and glanced at her.

"What else can we do? It's exhausting to keep pushing it back and forth like this."

Su Wanci opened her mouth, as if to say something.

But he found himself unable to refute it.

He was right.

The money is his; he has every right to take it.

Refusing would only seem hypocritical.

She shut her mouth and silently calculated in her mind how many cups of taro bubble tea eight million could buy.

Then I decided to stop calculating because I couldn't finish.

Zhou Weihan watched as Chen Mo accepted both cards.

The smile on his face changed from "relief" to "gratification".

He turned around to face the other professors in the office.

It was as if he was speaking to them, and also to himself.

"Money is just an external thing. Who cares about that at our age? What we really envy isn't his bonus, but his brain."

"At eighteen, we proved the Poincaré conjecture. What were we doing at eighteen? Memorizing formulas, solving equations, and worrying about whether we could get into university."

"When he was eighteen, he had already solved one of the biggest problems in our industry."

Some people expressed their feelings.

"I am 67 years old this year. I have been studying mathematics for more than 40 years. The largest prize I have ever received is 100,000 yuan."

"What Chen Mo got today is something I could never get in my entire life, but I'm not jealous at all."

"Why? Because I know that even if you give me that million dollars, I still can't prove the Poincaré conjecture. Money is for capable people, and I admit I'm not capable."

Some people smiled, their tone becoming more relaxed.

"What I envy is not his money, but his age. If I could prove the Poincaré conjecture at eighteen, I wouldn't have to do anything else in my life; I could just sit at home and wait for people to come and visit."

A low chuckle rippled through the office.

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

"Perfect Score in College Entrance Exam? Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng Shocks Everyone!" is sparking a reading frenzy on Cola Novels. Haven't you read it yet?

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

Currently reading: Chapter 72 Youth! It's so enviable..., latest chapters available here.

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

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The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

Bookmark this page to continue reading "Perfect Score in College Entrance Exam? Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng Shocks Everyone!" anytime, anywhere.

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."

A low chuckle rippled through the office.

The laugh was soft, but genuine.

It's not mockery, but a bittersweet, helpless self-deprecating remark about the passing of one's youth.

"You're all wrong."

Others countered that...

"You envy his brain, you envy his age, you envy his bonus."

"But what's truly enviable is his time. He still has plenty of time to do more things, while we people don't have any time left, but he does."

The laughter in the office stopped.

No one disagreed, because he was right.

Everyone present had gray hair and wrinkles; the youngest was over fifty.

They have already lived more than half of their mathematical careers, and what they can do, prove, and leave behind is basically set in stone.

But Chen Mo was different. He had just turned eighteen, and his life had not yet truly begun.

The Poincaré conjecture was just his starting point, not his end point.

He still has decades to do more, prove more theorems, and create more miracles.

And they could only watch from the sidelines, envious and sighing.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the office.

His hands were in his pockets, and in his left pocket were two bank cards, one black and one blue, totaling nearly eight million.

His expression didn't change much; he wasn't excited or humble, much less "tearful" or "grateful" as some people might have imagined.

He just stood there, like someone who had just received a package and was waiting to go back and open it.

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She thought, this is Chen Mo.

He got a perfect score on the college entrance exam, saying, "Anyone can do it."

He said that the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River" was "written for one person."

Poincaré guessed, and said, "It's done."