[014] No deviation from the topic

Fang Chang'an was momentarily stunned before realizing she was referring to the candy he received that afternoon as a return gift. He smiled at her and reached out to take the milk, saying, "Thank you."

The young girl, seeing him accept it, pressed her lips together and secretly smiled, quickly restraining herself again. In a soft voice, she replied, "You're welcome."

Fang Chang'an smiled once more, lowering his gaze to the box of milk. The packaging was entirely in English, not a single Chinese character, and he couldn't be bothered to figure it out—knowing it was an imported product was enough.

"I can barely afford to eat, yet the mayor’s family has imported food," Fang Chang'an thought, quietly envying them. He knew well how important calcium was at this age and decided to save the milk for breakfast tomorrow, when absorption would be best.

With limited nutrition, he had to budget carefully.

After placing the milk in the desk compartment, Fang Chang'an turned to look at Shen Mo, who was writing her name on her books.

Shen Mo
Class 4, Grade 1

Every book was marked with these six characters, written in regular script, as if she had practiced calligraphy. Fang Chang'an, during his university years and after graduation, had also worked on his handwriting for the sake of appearances, focusing on the semi-cursive scripts of Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi and dabbling in other famous calligraphers' works. Yet, he couldn't identify whose style she was imitating.

Perhaps it was Pang Zhonghua.

Nowadays, practicing handwriting usually meant copying from fountain pen guides rather than ancient calligraphy, and besides, Fang Chang'an's discerning eye wasn't very sharp; unless someone copied a well-known master, he typically couldn't tell.

Of course, anyone who knows characters can distinguish between regular, semi-cursive, cursive, and seal scripts.

Fang Chang'an's attitude differed from that of the students; he treated textbooks purely as leisure reading, which made his reading more attentive and immersive. He savored the texts in the Chinese literature book, especially "From the Hundred Herb Garden to the Three Flavor Study," which he read three times.

He had visited Lu Xun's former residence in later years, when crowds of tourists snapped photos. Fang Chang'an took pictures too but lingered longer, not even noticing when the girl with him wandered off.

His memory of that essay had faded by then, but rereading it now, while recalling scenes from his later visit, struck him as quite interesting. He even felt compelled to find "The Complete Works of Lu Xun" to read more.

Lost in thought, the bell for evening self-study preparation rang, and soon Cheng Mengfei entered the classroom, arms full of exam papers.

"Alright, everyone tidy up; don't leave your books on the desk," she said, standing at the podium with authority as she watched the students pack away their books. She counted the exam papers, handed them to the first row, and instructed them to pass them back.

Fang Chang'an quickly received his papers—not printed, but ink-pressed, with thick, bold markings and several places where the ink had bled.

"Everyone, don't rush to answer. First, check if any text is unclear. If so, raise your hand."

Fang Chang'an checked his paper; the handwriting was legible, and the questions were simple. He felt increasingly confident. After glancing at the questions and seeing classmates already writing, he took out a ballpoint pen and began answering.

He had already considered that he needed to show progress compared to the entrance exam, since this was the first exam after entering junior high. The improvement couldn't be too slight—there would be no surprise. But it also couldn't be too dramatic, or there would be no room for further progress.

In his previous life, Fang Chang'an's grades in the first year of junior high weren't great, ranking around twentieth, slowly climbing until he was in the top five by ninth grade.

He planned to replicate this trajectory, though his first-year grades could be a bit higher—ideally within the top ten of the class, steadily rising.

Still, only Chinese and mathematics, both with full marks of two hundred. Fang Chang'an intended to keep his total score in this diagnostic exam around one hundred eighty, averaging ninety per subject, with Chinese slightly higher and mathematics less critical.

The score sounded high, but in junior high and elementary exams, plenty of students scored one hundred ninety in both subjects, especially since math was often easy to ace.

This should place him in the top ten of the class, with room for fluctuations in future unit tests.

Ideally, he could plot a steadily rising, somewhat wavy line of grades—satisfying yet concerning, with the best effect.

The policy was set; next came the execution.

The classroom was quiet. Fang Chang'an quickly finished the phonetic annotation and word formation questions, moving on to reading comprehension, which he tackled carefully—after all, even original authors could get these wrong, so he dared not be careless.

Fortunately, after his rebirth, his childhood memories hadn't faded, despite his later soul. His elementary-school answering mindset remained, and Fang Chang'an combined it with his own understanding, thoughtfully considering the intentions of the teachers who set the questions.

He took care with his handwriting, trying to mimic his former penmanship, though muscle memory made it feel strange.

Cheng Mengfei watched the students from the podium, occasionally reminding, "No whispering, keep your eyes on your own paper. This exam is to assess your true abilities; copying is meaningless. You might fool others, but you won't fool yourself..."

"Teacher Cheng isn't that experienced, but she’s good at reciting clichés," Fang Chang'an thought to himself. Before the first period ended, he finished both papers, spending the most time on reading comprehension.

He feared reading comprehension would veer off-topic, and the essay was tricky because of the short word count—it was hard to write so briefly.

The essay prompt was "My Ideal Junior High Life." Fang Chang'an wrote honestly, describing his current situation, expressing his fervent hope to change his fate through learning and his thirst for knowledge, even including how the bookstore owner had dismissed him at noon.

Of course, he didn't forget to elevate the theme at the end, stating that, with the country joining the World Trade Organization, it would embrace the world more actively. This nation, steeped in five thousand years of history, was embarking on the final stage of its great rejuvenation.

And our generation would shoulder this historical responsibility—it was our mission, our glory!

I will study diligently, grow earnestly, strive to keep pace with the nation's rise, and contribute my modest strength to the great rejuvenation of our nation!

From personal life to clear themes, upright thoughts, rich content, and fluent prose...

Having finished his essay—and even imagining how Teacher Cheng would comment on it—Fang Chang'an finally heard the bell, but then the next class started; there were still twenty minutes left in the exam.

He waited and waited, growing bored, so he raised his hand. "Teacher!"

The whole class, busy with their papers, turned to look. Cheng Mengfei was a bit surprised and asked from the podium, "What's the matter?"

Fang Chang'an kept his hand raised. "Teacher Cheng, I've finished and checked my answers. May I submit my paper?"

Cheng Mengfei had already noticed he was done, but hadn't expected such confidence, not even continuing to review. After a brief pause, she stepped down from the podium. "You may."

Fang Chang'an handed over both papers with both hands. Cheng Mengfei said, "If you need to use the restroom, you can step out first."

In those days, most children revered their teachers, even holding their bladders rather than ask. She probably thought Fang Chang'an wanted to hand in his paper early to go to the bathroom, but seeing him stay at his seat, she reminded him.

Fang Chang'an smiled. "Thank you, Teacher, but no need. I'll just sit here and read; I won't disturb anyone... I'll read English."

Cheng Mengfei smiled back. "You can read Chinese, too. The exam isn't based on the textbook."

"Alright."

Fang Chang'an sat back down, took out his Chinese textbook, and continued reading—not Lu Xun this time, but "View of the Boundless Sea," "West River Moon," and "Looking at Mount Tai." He marveled quietly that all the poems selected for textbooks were indeed classics.

While he read, Cheng Mengfei sat at the podium reviewing Fang Chang'an's papers. She hadn't finished the first paper before feeling surprised.

She had seen his entrance exam scores: 78 in Chinese, 89 in math—Chinese being his weaker subject—but he had perfectly navigated several traps in the first paper.

The purpose of the diagnostic exam was to assess students' true abilities, to serve as a reference for future teaching and tests. However, most schools intentionally made these exams harder to curb students' arrogance, encouraging humility for future learning.

In other words, high scores were hard to achieve!

Cheng Mengfei had reviewed the papers in advance; both Chinese and math included questions she expected students to miss. Yet, as she flipped through, Fang Chang'an had answered them all correctly.

She turned to the reading comprehension on the second paper and was even more astonished. Though he missed one point, his wording was concise—not like other students, who tried to pile on extra words hoping to hit a scoring point.

Then she looked at the essay...

Although Fang Chang'an was reading attentively, he was also watching the homeroom teacher. Seeing her sit at the podium, he was slightly puzzled: Hmm, didn't see Teacher Cheng bring a chair. Must have already placed it under the desk.

He guessed at the answer, noting how absorbed Cheng Mengfei was in his papers, and felt more at ease.

That essay was right!

He hadn't strayed from the topic!