My IQ has been increasing year by year.

The winter of 2000 passed very slowly, like a stubborn old man who refused to leave.

Spring finally managed to squeeze into this small southern town when the first humid season of 2001 left the walls of our home covered in water droplets.

For Chen Zhuo, the past two years have been like a flattened black and white photograph—monotonous, dull, but with clear lines.

It's 5:30 in the morning.

Before the alarm clock even went off, his biological clock had already woken him up.

Chen Zhuo sat up from the bed and skillfully put on his sweatpants. The pants were a little short, revealing a section of his ankle.

This is a good sign, indicating that the bones are still growing.

He walked to the window and opened it.

It was still dark outside, the streetlights were dim, and the air carried a damp, earthy smell.

There wasn't much internal monologue, nor any sentimental reflections on watching the city awaken.

For Chen Zhuo, getting up is for running, and running is for maintaining this machine called the body.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, and drink a glass of warm water.

In the living room, Chen Jianguo was already putting on his shoes.

Comrade Chen hasn't been idle these past two years either. He's built up a muscular physique from being a runner-up, and even his cough from years of smoking has improved considerably.

"I'm gone."

Chen Jianguo gave a brief greeting and went downstairs.

The father and son were running on the sidewalk along the river.

The footsteps were rhythmic.

Chen Zhuo's breathing is now very steady.

For the first few months, every step I took felt like my lungs were on fire, and my throat was filled with the taste of blood.

That feeling is gone now, replaced by an adaptation.

Five kilometers.

This is a distance that is neither too long nor too short.

As Chen Zhuo ran, he felt the contraction and relaxation of his calf muscles.

He could feel the lactic acid building up, his heart rate rising, and the slight itch as sweat slid down his back.

All of this is a physical reaction.

You don't need to use willpower to tough it out; you just need to adjust your breathing rate to ensure that your oxygen intake keeps up with your oxygen consumption.

When I reached the finish line, it was just getting light.

It's still that same beef noodle stall.

When the owner saw the father and son, he didn't even need to ask any questions. He immediately cooked two large bowls of noodles and, as usual, added an extra spoonful of braised beef to Chen Zhuo's bowl.

Chen Zhuo sat down, took off his glasses, and wiped the fog off.

He is nine years old now.

He grew to 1.42 meters tall.

He's not considered tall for his age, but he's no longer the little kid who needed to stand on his bottom to sit in the front row.

A little flesh finally settled on his cheeks. Although he still looked quiet, beneath that quietness lay a tenacity rarely seen at his age.

"eat."

Chen Jianguo broke apart a pair of disposable chopsticks, lined them neatly on the table, and handed them to his son.

Chen Zhuo took the chopsticks and began to eat.

After dinner, Chen Jianguo would ride his bicycle to take him to school, and then rush to work at the factory.

Sitting on the back of the bicycle, Chen Zhuo watched the plane trees rushing past the roadside.

That's how life goes, day after day.

There were no dramatic events or life-or-death situations.

It's just eating, sleeping, going to school, and reading.

He had worn out his Russian-language textbook on calculus.

It's really rotten.

The spine of the book was broken in two, the table of contents on the first few pages had fallen off, and the cover was covered with sweaty handprints.

He didn't understand every single word in the book; that's a linguist's job.

He was just like a greedy thief, prying open the shell of language and stuffing all the most valuable formulas, theorems, and derivations into his brain without understanding them.

That feeling wasn't pleasant.

It's like eating a dry, compressed biscuit – dry, choking, and bloated.

My mind is filled with knowledge that has no practical application. I look at the utility poles on the roadside and try to calculate the force analysis, and I look at the sprinkler truck and try to calculate the fluid dynamics, but I have neither experimental data nor calculation tools, so I can only stare blankly.

I feel so suffocated.

The second period in the morning is math class.

The air in the classroom of Class 3, Grade 5 of Yuhong Primary School was so stuffy that it made people want to sleep.

The math teacher was an elderly lady nearing retirement; she was very kind, but her lectures were too slow.

She drew a circle and then a square on the blackboard.

"Class, today we're going to review the area of ​​composite figures..."

She spoke slowly and deliberately, tapping the chalk on the blackboard.

To find the area of ​​the shaded region, we can subtract the area of ​​the circle in the middle from the area of ​​the large square...

Chen Zhuo sat in the second-to-last row, twirling a ballpoint pen in his hand.

He looked at the blackboard.

That question was very simple.

Even without a pen, mental arithmetic takes only two seconds.

But the teacher has already been talking for fifteen minutes.

She repeatedly emphasized that Π should be 3.14, and repeatedly corrected students who mistook the radius for the diameter.

Some students in the audience were taking notes diligently, some were secretly passing notes, and some were just spacing out.

Zhang Qiang sat next to Chen Zhuo, happily cutting an eraser into countless small pieces.

Chen Zhuo sighed.

He gently placed the ballpoint pen on the table, making an extremely soft sound.

It's really boring.

It's like someone who's already learned to run being forced to the ground and crawl alongside a group of babies who've just learned to crawl, while pretending to be happy and listening to the coach shouting slogans:

"One, two, one, climb up in an orderly fashion!"

This is torture.

He opened his bag and touched the Feynman Lectures on Physics inside.

This is his only antidote.

But if I were to take it out to look at it now, the teacher would definitely confiscate it, and then I'd have to ask my parents to come in and write a self-criticism—it would be such a hassle.

Chen Zhuo withdrew his hand.

He started playing games in his head.

He stared at the circle on the blackboard.

What if we don't treat it as a rigid geometric shape, but instead think of it as a spinning flywheel?

Chen Zhuo's eyes began to become vacant, his focus fading.

He constructed a virtual physics laboratory in his mind, making the circle spin faster and faster until it flew off the blackboard and crashed into the ceiling.

"Chen Zhuo?"

A call brought him back to reality.

The teacher was standing on the podium, looking at him while adjusting her reading glasses.

"Can you answer this: what is the area of ​​this shaded region?"

All the students in the class turned around and looked at him.

Chen Zhuo stood up.

He didn't even hear the specific numbers the teacher had asked about, but he glanced at the data on the blackboard.

"21.5".

Chen Zhuo gave the answer.

The teacher paused for a moment, glanced at the lesson plan, and nodded: "Yes, it's 21.5. Sit down, pay attention in class, and don't let your mind wander."

Chen Zhuo sat down.

He didn't feel proud; he just felt even more tired.

How much longer will we have to live like this?

I still have a year and a half before graduating from elementary school.

More than 500 days.

There are seven classes a day, each lasting forty minutes.

That's 14,000 minutes of wasted time.

Chen Zhuo did some mental calculations.

That's a huge loss.

This time investment yields almost no return.

That's a bit wasteful.

School ends at noon.

Chen Zhuo didn't go to the cafeteria, nor did he go with Zhang Qiang to the convenience store to buy instant noodles.

He went straight to the administration building.

Third floor, Principal's office.

The door was ajar.

Chen Zhuo knocked on the door.

"Knock knock knock".

"Come in."

The old principal's voice carried a hint of post-lunch languor.

Chen Zhuo pushed open the door and went in.

The old principal was holding a teacup, blowing away the tea leaves, when he saw Chen Zhuo enter, and he was delighted.

"Oh, what a rare visitor! What's wrong, taking time off to go to the library again?"

In recent years, Chen Zhuo has made many excuses to ask for leave, and the old principal has turned a blind eye. As long as the kid doesn't mess up the exams, he can do whatever he wants.

"It's not a leave request."

Chen Zhuo walked to the desk.

He was just tall enough to be a head taller than the tabletop, so he didn't need to stand on tiptoe.

"Principal, I want to skip a grade."

The old headmaster almost spat out the mouthful of tea he had just taken a sip of. He swallowed it, wincing from the heat, and put down the cup, looking at Chen Zhuo.

"Jumping again? You're in fifth grade now, if you jump again you'll be in sixth grade. What, do you want to graduate next year?"

"No."

Chen Zhuo shook his head.

I want to leave this year.

"This year?" The old principal frowned, genuinely confused. "It's only May, and final exams are just around the corner. Where do you want to go?"

"junior high school."

Chen Zhuo calmly uttered two words.

"I want to take the entrance exam for junior high school this year, and take it with the sixth graders."

The old headmaster was stunned. He took off his glasses, wiped them with a cloth, put them back on, and carefully examined the nine-year-old child in front of him.

The school uniform was still that same tracksuit, slightly faded from washing, and the hair was cut very short, making the student look energetic and neat.

Those eyes looked at you through the lenses, without flinching or looking away, revealing a decisiveness that only an adult possesses.

"Chen Zhuo, do you know what you're saying?"

The old principal's tone became serious.

"The transition from primary to junior high school is no joke. It's a district-wide standardized test, especially for the good junior high schools you want to attend, the questions are very difficult."

How many years have you been in school? You just finished fifth grade; have you even learned sixth grade material?

"I learned it," Chen Zhuo lied.

I didn't actually study it specifically, but the stuff from elementary school is pretty much the same if you just flip through it.

"Moreover," Chen Zhuo added, "I feel uncomfortable here. The teacher speaks too slowly, and it gives me a headache."

The old principal chuckled to himself.

This reason sounds outrageous, but when Chen Zhuo says it, it sounds just like stating an objective fact.

Which junior high school do you want to go to?

"City No. 1 Middle School".

Chen Zhuo's goal was very clear.

The best key middle school in the city.

Most importantly, Chen Zhuo had inquired and found that the No. 1 Middle School in the city had the best facilities and resources in this small town.

"The No. 1 Middle School of the city..." The old principal nodded.

"That place is incredibly competitive, with thousands of students vying for limited spots. They've reduced their enrollment quota this year, and they're also setting up some kind of science experimental class. The questions are said to be extremely difficult."

"That's the one I'll take," Chen Zhuo said.

Are you sure?

"Sure."

The old principal remained silent for a while.

He tapped his fingers on the table a few times.

If it were any other child, even the top student in the whole school, he would have kicked them out immediately if he made such a request.

But this child is Chen Zhuo.

There's something sinister about this child.

You might say he's smart, but he usually seems quite dull.

You might say he's stupid, but he reads faster than he flips through a book, always gets full marks on exams, and even his essays are always well-written and never go off-topic.

"OK."

The old principal slammed his hand on the table.

"Since you want to take the exam, I'll give you a chance. I'll register you. But let me make this clear: if you fail, don't be discouraged. Just come back and study for sixth grade."

"Thank you, Principal."

Chen Zhuo bowed.

A standard 90 degrees.

For no other reason than this respect that doesn't treat him like a child.

July, the heat is intense.

The main gate of the No. 1 Middle School was crowded with parents who came to see their children off to the exam.

A sea of ​​colorful parasols stretched out before them, the air thick with the smells of sweat, floral water, and restlessness.

Chen Jianguo took half a day off and rode his bicycle to take Chen Zhuo to the examination site.

"Son, don't be nervous."

Chen Jianguo handed Chen Zhuo a military water bottle, which contained cooled boiled water with a little salt and sugar.

"It would be great if you could pass the exam, but it's not shameful if you don't. You're only nine years old. Compared to those twelve or thirteen-year-olds, losing is still winning."

Chen Jianguo has a very good attitude.

In his view, it was already a miracle that his son had the courage to walk into the examination room.

"Um."

Chen Zhuo took the kettle and took a sip.

He wasn't nervous.

Nervousness stems from fear of the unknown or worry about one's own inadequacy.

For him, this was just a formality.

It's like filling out an application form before looking for a job—tedious, but necessary.

He walked into the examination room carrying a backpack printed with the image of Black Cat Detective.

Examination room number 30.

Upon entering, the previously noisy classroom fell silent for a few seconds.

Dozens of eyes were fixed on him.

There was no way around it; he was just too conspicuous.

Among a group of older children who had already begun to develop, and some even had downy hair on their lips, Chen Zhuo, who was just over 1.4 meters tall, looked like a primary school student who had wandered into the wrong house.

Although he is indeed a primary school student.

"Kid, you've come to the wrong place, haven't you?" A boy with a buzz cut in the back row couldn't help but ask.

Chen Zhuo ignored him.

He found his seat number.

09 number.

Pull out the chair, stuff the schoolbag into the desk drawer, and take out the pencil case.

Pencil, eraser, ruler, compass.

They were arranged neatly.

Then he sat there, back straight, eyes looking straight ahead, like a little monk in deep meditation.

The boy with the buzz cut, feeling slighted, pursed his lips and remained silent.

"Ring ring—"

The exam bell rang.

Chinese language and literature are still those boring things.

math.

The test papers were handed out.

Chen Zhuo took it and glanced at it briefly.

Two sides, A3 paper, densely covered with questions.

It was indeed a bit harder than a primary school final exam. It involved some simple junior high school algebra concepts, as well as a few logic reasoning questions.

But in essence, it still revolves within the framework of arithmetic.

Chen Zhuo picked up his pen and began work.

Fill in the blanks.

"A water tank can be filled in 5 hours through the inlet pipe and drained in 8 hours through the outlet pipe..."

Chen Zhuo glanced at it and wrote down the answer directly.

Calculation problem.

Simplify complex fractions.

Chen Zhuo worked very quickly; his hands were steady, and his handwriting was so neat it looked like it had been printed from a woodblock.

The feeling of waiting, caused by his thought speed far exceeding his writing speed, made him feel very bored.

He had to deliberately slow down and write neatly to avoid losing points for messy handwriting.

Half an hour later.

He turned to the last page.

The final, most challenging question.

"As shown in the figure, in right trapezoid ABCD, a moving point P starts from point A..."

It's a moving point again.

The teacher who sets the questions seems to have a particular fondness for questions that involve making points move around.

These types of questions are among the most challenging in elementary school math olympiads because they test dynamic thinking, requiring students to visualize the diagram in their minds and discuss it in segments.

Still boring.

Chen Zhuo drew a coordinate axis on the draft paper.

No differentiation is needed; this is simply an extremum problem of a piecewise function.

He spent five minutes translating the solution into language that elementary school students could use.

"When point P moves to..., the length of the base is..., the height is..., and the area at this time is..."

Finished, now for the last bonus question.

The question is very short:

"Observe life: Why is it that when riding a bicycle, the faster the wheels spin, the less likely the bicycle is to fall over? Please try to explain the reason. (There may be multiple answers.)"

Chen Zhuo paused for a moment when he saw the question.

Chen Zhuo held the pen and thought for about ten seconds.

He wanted to write about the conservation of angular momentum.

I want to write something.

I want to draw a nice force analysis diagram for that spinning top.

But in the end, I decided against it.

He thought for a moment, then picked up his pen and wrote:

"It's like playing with a spinning top; the faster the top spins, the more stable it stands."

When a wheel rotates at high speed, it exhibits a tendency to maintain the direction of its rotation axis.

Like a stubborn person, if you push him, he may sway, but he doesn't want to fall down; he wants to keep standing and spinning.

The faster it goes, the stronger its temper becomes, and the more difficult it is for Earth's gravity to pull it down.

Therefore, going fast prevents you from falling.

After writing this, Chen Zhuo found it a little funny.

Interpreting the cold, hard law of conservation of angular momentum as stubbornness—that's probably the true essence of Feynman's vivid teaching method, isn't it?

He drew a simple sketch next to it.

A rapidly spinning wheel, with several lines drawn next to it to represent that "stubborn" force.

That was his answer.

He glanced at the clock.

Forty-five minutes remaining.

The surrounding area was filled with the rustling sound of writing, occasionally interspersed with a few frustrated sighs and the vibration of an eraser on the table.

The boy with the buzz cut was scratching his head and had even chewed up the pen stub.

Chen Zhuo flipped the paper over and placed it face down on the table.

He did not hand in his paper early.

He's here to pass a test, not to put on a show.

He closed his eyes and began to review the chapter of "Feynman Lectures" he had read the previous night in his mind.

Regarding the "principle of least action".

That is one of the most beautiful and profound principles in physics.

Light travels in a straight line because that takes the shortest time.

An object moves because that minimizes its impact.

The world is lazy. It always chooses the easiest way to operate.

Chen Zhuo felt that he should also follow this principle.

Get the biggest benefit at the lowest cost.

English

For him, Chinese is not as difficult as language arts.

it is finally over.

He packed up his stationery, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and followed the flow of people out of the examination hall.

The sunlight outside was so bright that it was hard to open one's eyes.

Chen Jianguo was pushing his bicycle under the shade of a tree, a towel around his neck, looking anxiously inside.

Seeing Chen Zhuo come out, he quickly went to greet him.

"How are you? Tired? Have some water."

Chen Zhuo took the kettle and drank a sip of warm salt water.

"good."

"Was the question difficult?" Chen Jianguo asked cautiously.

"It's not difficult," Chen Zhuo said honestly, "it's just that my hand gets sore from writing."

"Hey, that's good, that's good."

Chen Jianguo didn't ask any more questions. He knew his son's personality; if he said it wasn't difficult, then it really wasn't difficult.

"Come on, let's go home! I'll have your mom make you some pork ribs tonight!"

Chen Zhuo straddled the back of the bicycle.

As he passed the school gate, he glanced back at the gate of the No. 1 Middle School in the city.

There is a red brick building there.

Several large characters stand on the rooftop: "Investigate things to acquire knowledge".

Those childish games we played in elementary school are finally coming to an end.

"dad."

Chen Zhuo called out.

"Why!"

"I want to buy a new chair."

"What's wrong? Is the chair at home uncomfortable?"

"It's too short." Chen Zhuo looked at his father's broad back in front of him. "The table is too high, it's inconvenient to study."

"Buy it!" Chen Jianguo shouted, his voice brimming with confidence. "Buy one that can be adjusted! One of those boss chairs with wheels!"

The bicycle bell rang crisply once, merging into the bustling evening traffic.

That year, Chen Zhuo was nine years old.

He finished first in the city, bidding farewell to his childhood ahead of schedule.

Those readings about a, o, e, and the struggles about the chicken-and-rabbit problem were all left behind by him like mud off his shoes.