My IQ has been increasing year by year.

It was still September 2001.

The morning sunlight filtered through the two rows of tall plane trees at the No. 1 Middle School, casting dappled patterns on the terrazzo-paved corridor on the second floor of the administration building.

The air still carried the chill of last night's dew, but beneath that chill, a restless atmosphere was already subtly emerging.

It's 7:30 in the morning.

Office of the first-year junior high school students.

This is the power center of the entire first year of junior high school, and also a gathering place for all kinds of gossip, exam papers, teachers, and chalk dust.

Old Zhao.

Zhao Jianguo.

The homeroom teacher of Class 1, Grade 7, the grade leader, and the math group leader.

He was sitting behind his large desk at that moment.

He didn't look too good.

You could even say it's a bit dark.

It's like someone borrowed 500 yuan and hasn't paid it back, or you just discovered that the good cabbage in your field has been eaten by the pig next door.

Yesterday afternoon, Chen Zhuo was not in the classroom.

Those were leave slips he personally approved, the reason being a temporary transfer to the physics group.

As an enlightened homeroom teacher, Lao Zhao criticized him very frankly at the time.

After all, that's Lao Zhou.

That slovenly but undeniably talented physics genius spoke up himself.

But afterwards, the more Lao Zhao thought about it, the more uneasy he felt.

Who is Chen Zhuo?

He went to great lengths, even slamming his fist on the table with the principal, to get himself transferred to be the homeroom teacher of Class 1.

The derivations, the logic, the handwriting, the sensitivity to numbers in class that day—that's a natural math prodigy!

How come, less than a month into the new semester, Old Zhou, that blacksmith, snatched it away?

And they would spend the whole afternoon there!

Two full class periods plus extracurricular activity time!

How many math problems can you do in one afternoon? How many formulas can you memorize?

Old Zhao held a red pen in his hand and made a big X on the unfortunate student's homework, the force penetrating the paper and even tearing a layer of the homework.

"That old bastard, he's quick on his feet..."

Old Zhao snorted coldly, picked up the freshly brewed jasmine tea, but hadn't had a chance to drink it yet.

"Squeak~"

The office door was pushed open.

This door hinge has been lacking lubrication for a long time; every time I open the door, it sounds like it's screaming.

Old Zhao knew who it was without even looking up.

In the entire school, the only people who dare to enter his office without knocking are the principal and that old man.

really.

A familiar, slightly cheap tobacco smell mixed with a hint of oil wafted in.

Old Zhou carried a large, chipped teacup in his hand, a copy of "Radio" tucked under his arm, and hummed a tune from a Peking Opera aria that had drifted off-key to his grandmother's house. He sauntered in, wearing his ever-present slippers.

"Hey, Team Leader Zhao, busy already?"

Old Zhou's stubble-covered face wore an extremely irritating smile.

It's the smile of a weasel that has stolen a chicken, or an old bachelor who has finally gotten married.

Old Zhao rolled his eyes, ignored him, and continued grading homework.

"Spit it out if you have something to say, or get lost. This is the grade-level office, not your physics department's crappy warehouse."

Old Zhou wasn't angry.

Without any hesitation, he pulled over a chair and plopped down opposite Old Zhao.

then.

He slowly pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from the book "Radio".

"It's nothing serious."

Old Zhou unfolded the paper, his movements as gentle as if he were caressing a lover's hand.

"Just to broaden your horizons."

Old Zhao curled his lip.

"Open your eyes? What good stuff could you possibly have? Unless you bring over that Nobel Prize trophy."

He glanced at the paper casually.

Just one glance.

Old Zhao stopped writing with the red pen in his hand.

That was an integral derivation about air resistance.

The complex coordinate system, the rigorous vector decomposition, and the lines of calculus formulas that flow like clouds and water.

And then there's that beautiful natural logarithm, ln.

Old Zhao is an expert.

Although he teaches junior high school math, he was a top student who graduated from a proper mathematics department back in the day.

He could tell at a glance that this was not just a physical derivation, but also an extremely solid mathematical foundation.

The integral transformation and the variable substitution were executed cleanly and efficiently, without a single unnecessary step.

"this......"

Old Zhao pushed up his glasses, his body involuntarily leaning forward, almost pressing his nose against the paper.

"Who wrote this?"

Old Zhao's voice trembled slightly.

He already knew the answer in his heart, but he couldn't believe it.

Or perhaps, they simply don't want to believe it.

Old Zhou chuckled, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow from smoking.

"Who else could it be?"

He flicked the paper with his finger, making a crisp snapping sound.

"That little darling in your class, the nine-year-old one."

Old Zhao suddenly raised his head and stared intently at Old Zhou.

"Chen Zhuo?!"

"That's right."

Old Zhou picked up his teacup, took a sip, and looked quite pleased with himself.

"The night before last, I asked him to do this, but he thought the question was too easy and insisted on taking in all sorts of obstacles. There was nothing I could do about it, and then..."

Old Zhou shrugged, looking like he was saying, "I'm helpless too."

"And then they immediately gave me a calculus lesson! Tsk tsk tsk, can you believe how infuriating that is?"

Old Zhao didn't say anything.

His gaze returned to the paper, his expression becoming extremely complex.

Shock.

ecstasy.

Then came deep jealousy.

This is calculus!

A nine-year-old seventh grader has taught himself calculus and can apply it so skillfully!

What does this tell us?

This shows that the child's logical thinking ability has completely surpassed that of his peers, and even surpassed that of most high school students.

This is a mathematical genius!

He's a mathematical genius who was blessed by God—no, God chased after him to feed him!

But......

Such a promising talent, why was he put to work in such a crude subject as physics?

Look at these formulas, they're just for calculating the friction of a damn wooden block?!

What a waste!

This is practically like holding a golden bowl and begging for food!

Old Zhao's heart was bleeding.

"How is it?"

Old Zhou seemed oblivious to his old friend's inner turmoil, still showing off.

"This brain of his is born to do physics. His intuition and modeling ability are amazing. I think he's a shoo-in for the national award next year."

Old Zhou put the paper away as if he were putting away a treasure map.

"Alright. You've seen it and that's it. I just came to say hello. From now on, this child will be mine on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Don't assign him any chores like cleaning."

After saying that, Old Zhou stood up, humming a little tune, and walked away contentedly.

Old Zhao was left sitting there alone.

The office was eerily quiet.

Old Zhao slowly put down the red pen in his hand.

He took off his glasses, rubbed his temples, and then put them back on.

A glint of light flashed in the eyes behind the glasses.

That's the wolf seeing meat, the hunter seeing the prey's allure.

"Is he cut out for physics?"

Old Zhao sneered, his voice low but ruthless.

"fart!"

"Physics is just a supplement to mathematics. Without mathematics as its framework, physics is just a bunch of rotten flesh."

"The fact that he uses calculus so fluently shows that mathematics is in his blood."

"Old Zhou, Old Zhou, you want to take it all for yourself?"

Old Zhao opened the drawer.

From the very bottom of a pile of lesson plans and test papers, I pulled out a slightly yellowed, thin paper.

That was the exam paper from the 1995 National Junior High School Mathematics League.

It was also the most difficult year in the legend.

Old Zhao pulled out the test paper and slammed it on the table.

"dream!"