My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 134 Pen Pals

Chen Zhuo woke up very early.

He sat on the bed, listening to the sparrows chirping on the branches outside the window.

The dormitory was quiet. He had turned off the ceiling fan earlier that night, and now only a slight breeze occasionally blew in from outside the window, causing the few scraps of paper on the table to turn gently.

He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

The cold water splashed on my face, washing away the grogginess of waking up early.

Chen Zhuo dried his face, walked back to his dormitory, and looked at the international airmail envelope on the table.

Chen Zhuo walked over, picked it up and weighed it in his hand, then casually stuffed it into his large pocket, picked up the water bottle and went out the door.

The breakfast at the second canteen was still the same three items as always. Chen Zhuo bought two steamed buns and a cup of soy milk, and ate them while walking along the path towards the administration building.

The school's large mailbox stands at the crossroads in front of the administration building.

The campus was deserted during summer vacation, and you couldn't see a single person on the main road for half a day.

Chen Zhuo ate his steamed bun and walked at a leisurely pace.

As I approached the small square in front of the administration building, a person walked towards me.

He carried a black briefcase, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and walked with a steady gait.

Taoist priest.

Fang Shi came to the administration building early in the morning to attend a summer seminar. He was thinking about something when he caught a glimpse of a leisurely, swaying figure out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and recognized Chen Zhuo.

In this vast, empty campus, students are already conspicuous, let alone this child who left a deep impression on him.

"Xiao Zhuo?"

The Taoist priest stopped, a gentle smile on his face.

Chen Zhu swallowed the bun in his mouth, switched the plastic cup containing half a cup of soy milk to his left hand, and politely greeted them.

"Good morning, Dean Fang."

"Out so early?"

The sorcerer looked him up and down, noticing the water jug ​​he was carrying and the light-colored short-sleeved shirt he was wearing.

"Didn't you go home for summer vacation? I see the dormitories for the gifted children are basically empty."

"I'd be idle anyway if I went back, so it's better to stay at school where it's quiet."

Chen Zhuo shrugged.

"The library is less crowded these days, so there's no need to fight for a seat, and it's quite spacious."

Upon hearing this, the Taoist priest's smile deepened.

He likes students who are not impetuous. Being able to patiently read books in an empty city at this age is a rare talent.

His gaze swept over Chen Zhuo and landed on the half-open envelope sticking out of Chen Zhuo's shorts pocket.

The envelope was quite thick, with red and white aviation stripes showing through the edges.

"Send a letter?"

The sorcerer asked casually.

Communication at that time was not as advanced as it is now. It was perfectly normal for students to write letters home to let their families know they were safe or to communicate with classmates in other places.

Chen Zhuo nodded, his hand naturally slipping into his pocket, his thumb pressing the envelope further in, and then placing the side with the long string of English letters against his inner thigh.

"Hmm, I'll send you some essays I wrote in the summer."

Chen Zhuo's voice was steady, and his face carried just the right amount of youthful energy.

"Is it for your elders at home?" the Taoist priest asked with a smile.

"To my pen pal far away."

Chen Zhuo gently replied.

"I just write something casually and send it to him so he can take a look and give me some feedback."

The sorcerer couldn't help but laugh out loud after hearing this.

Having pen pals is indeed quite popular among young people these days.

He simply thought it was a hobby that kids used to pass the time during summer vacation.

"Having pen pals is great; writing more is better than going to internet cafes to play games every day."

The Taoist priest raised his hand and gently patted Chen Zhuo's shoulder twice.

"But don't stay cooped up in the library all day. Take care of your health, pay attention to the balance between work and rest. It's hot these days, so drink plenty of water and take precautions against heatstroke."

"Understood, thank you, Dean Fang."

"Okay, you go ahead, I need to go upstairs for a meeting."

Fang Shichong waved his hand, picked up his briefcase, and turned to walk into the administration building.

Chen Zhuo stood there, watching the alchemist's figure disappear behind the glass door, then turned around and walked towards the old green mailbox at the intersection, its paint slightly chipped.

The mailbox stood quietly in the sunlight, its flip-top lid swaying slightly in the wind.

Chen Zhuo walked over and checked the face value of the international airmail stamp affixed to the upper right corner of the envelope.

no problem.

He raised his hand and stuffed the envelope into the mail slot.

Those five pages of paper, imbued with graph theory and algebraic reconstructions, lay together with a pile of letters that might be filled with longing, complaints, or mundane daily life, waiting for the postman to open them.

Chen Zhuo patted the dust off his hands.

He turned around, walked back the way he came, turned into a small path, and arrived at the school's mailroom.

The mailroom was located in a bungalow next to the south gate. There was no air conditioning inside, only a floor fan blowing loudly.

The old man in charge of receiving and sending packages was wearing reading glasses and sitting on a small stool, repairing a transistor radio with a screwdriver.

The room was filled with all sorts of cardboard boxes, letters and packages. The air was filled with the smell of damp cardboard, mixed with a hint of the smell of burlap sacks from the outer packaging of the packages.

"uncle."

Chen Zhuo knocked on the open wooden door.

The old man looked up, squinted at him for a while, and then put down the screwdriver in his hand.

"Oh, Xiao Zhuo, you've come at the right time. I was just about to call your building manager to urge you on."

The old man stood up, walked to a shelf in the corner of the room, and laboriously lifted a cardboard box.

The cardboard box wasn't big, but it looked quite heavy. It was wrapped in wide tape, and the corners were slightly deformed.

"The package arrived yesterday afternoon. In this sweltering heat, I have no idea what's inside. It was incredibly heavy."

The old man placed the cardboard box on the counter, then took a register and an old pen attached to a ballpoint pen.

"Come on, sign your name."

Chen Zhuo took the pen and drew a stroke after his name.

He placed his hand on the cardboard box and weighed it in his hand.

It is indeed very heavy.

A crumpled postal slip was pasted on the surface of the box, and in the sender's section, three words were written crookedly:

Liu Xiuying.

"Thanks, sir."

He picked up the box, walked out of the mailroom, and sat down on the edge of a shady flower bed.

The box was sealed tightly. Chen Zhuo took out a small knife he usually used to cut draft paper from his bag and cut it open along the seam of the tape.

It was stuffed with wads of crumpled old newspapers as cushioning. Chen Zhuo removed the newspapers, revealing what was inside.

There are four cylindrical glass bottles.

It wasn't some fancy packaging; it was just the kind of glass jar you'd normally use for canned food, with several layers of bubble wrap wrapped around the outside, sealing it tightly.

Chen Zhuo carefully took out a bottle.

Without even opening it, you can see the bright red, oily sauce inside just through the glass, mixed with large chunks of meat, crushed peanuts, and finely chopped chili peppers.

Among the four bottles, there was also a half-page of paper torn from a workbook.

The handwriting on the paper was somewhat messy, clearly written hastily by Liu Xiuying while sitting at the old dining table at home.

"Xiao Zhuo, it's hot, and since it's the holidays, the food in the school cafeteria probably won't be very oily. Mom made you some meat sauce with your favorite mushrooms and lean meat. Mix it with noodles or eat it with rice when you eat. Don't be stingy with it, it'll spoil if it goes bad. Do you have enough money? If you need anything, just call home. Take care of yourself and don't put too much pressure on yourself every day."

The text consisted of only a few lines, with few punctuation marks, and contained two typos.

Chen Zhuo sat by the flower bed, holding the thin piece of paper in his hand, looking at the rough cardboard box containing the rice sauce at his feet.

Chen Zhuo folded the note carefully and put it into his pocket.

He put the glass bottle back into the cardboard box, hugged it to his chest, and stood up.

The sun had fully risen by then, and the cicadas began their new day's chirping. Chen Zhuo, carrying the box, walked even slower and more steadily than when he went to mail the letter.

For him, that letter sent to the other side of the ocean was merely a pastime for his mind.

The meat sauce in his arms was made by his own mother.

noon.

Chen Zhuo took a bottle of meat sauce and went straight to the second canteen.

He ordered a serving of cabbage and tofu, along with a full half-pound of white rice. Holding his lunchbox, he sat at the corner table and unscrewed the metal cap of a glass bottle.

The rich aroma of meat and the spiciness of chili peppers instantly filled the air.

Chen Zhuo scooped a large spoonful of bright red meat sauce and placed it on top of the steaming white rice. The sauce seeped down the rice grains, turning the white rice into an enticing bright red.

He began to eat heartily.

My mother, Ms. Liu Xiuying, has an exceptional skill in making sauce; the diced meat is chewy, and the chili is just the right amount of spicy.

Chen Zhuo finished half a pound of rice in one go, sweating profusely from his forehead, his stomach feeling warm and comforting.

After eating and drinking his fill, Chen Zhuo carefully put away the jar of meat sauce, picked up his water bottle again, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed towards the old library.

The reading room in the afternoon was still the same familiar stuffy and quiet place.

Chen Zhuo pushed open the door.

Su Wei was still sitting in her usual spot by the window, her left hand on the calculator and her right hand quickly jotting down data on a piece of scrap paper.

Chen Zhuo walked to his seat and sat down, placing the kettle aside.

Su Wei heard the noise and glanced at Chen Zhuo's desk out of the corner of her eye.

Normally at this time, Chen Zhuo would definitely take out those draft papers filled with matrix derivations and continue calculating, but today, Chen Zhuo's desk is clean and tidy, with only a blank notebook.

"Are the planks all knocked down?"

Su Wei kept writing, her eyes fixed on the draft paper. She casually asked a question, still thinking about Chen Zhuo's little topic about building blocks and using wooden boards yesterday.

Chen Zhuo pulled out a chair, settled into a comfortable position, and nodded upon hearing this.

"Finished knocking."

"It didn't collapse?"

"It didn't collapse; it looks quite sturdy."

Chen Zhuo's tone was gentle and casual.

"I put it in an envelope and mailed it to my pen pal this morning, asking him to check if any piece of wood was not nailed securely."

.

When Su Wei heard the words "pen pal," her fingers paused for a moment while pressing the calculator.

She looked up, her eyes showing a clear hint of speechlessness.

In this day and age, it's common for high school or junior high students to have pen pals to exchange ideas about the troubles of adolescence or share a few lines of poetry.

But Chen Zhuo, who usually reads books like an old scholar and whose mind is full of discrete matrices, actually has pen pals.

"Did you send math problems to your pen pal?"

Su Wei raised an eyebrow.

Are you sure your pen pal can understand it? Don't let them think you sent them a bunch of gibberish.

"He should be able to understand it."

Chen Zhuo smiled.

"If you don't understand it, just return it. Consider it a contribution to the postal service."