Chapter 33: Threshold and Echoes

6:30. The rain had not stopped. Wind squeezed in through the window cracks. Carrying the damp, cold smell of earth. Lin Chen woke on his own.

His eyelids were heavy. But his mind was clear. As if washed with cold water. He sat up. The split in the sole of his foot throbbed under the gauze. The pain was dull. But there. He felt for the canvas bag by the bed. Ledger. Pencil. He crossed out yesterday's plan. Wrote: Day 13. 06:30. Goal: monthly exam. Funds 1.56. Meal coupons 0.32. Untouched. Reserve.

Cold water on his face. A thin rim of frost clung to the edge of the tin basin. The towel was rough. Scraped across his cheeks. Took the last of the sleep with it. He put on his Liberation shoes. The edges of the soles had already been flattened. He kept the split away from the load-bearing point. Leaned his center of gravity forward. Pushed open the door. The corridor floor was terrazzo. The edges had been worn to a sheen. Rain slanted in from the window at the far end. Gathering into thin streams on the floor. He kept to the wall. Avoided the standing water. In his head he was arranging time. Building Three to the washroom. Fifty meters. On foot. Two minutes. Wash up. Five minutes. Back to the dorm. Get the lunch tin. Go to the boiler room. Ten minutes. 7:00 sharp. In the classroom. Morning study.

The wind crossed the cinder track. Lifted fine bits of ash. His fingers froze stiff. His joints turned sluggish. He shoved his hands into his sleeves. Rubbed them in turns. Could not stop. If he stopped. His body heat would drop fast. In his head he was doing the sums. Balance 1.56. Meal coupons for four days. Sixty cents a day. Four days twenty-four cents. Three cents two left. Three cents two. Not enough for a new pencil. Not enough for a bottle of mercurochrome. Could only keep it. For emergencies. He put a hand in his pocket. Touched that half piece of compressed biscuit. The wrapping paper had already gone soft. He took it out. Unwrapped it. Broke off a quarter. Put it in his mouth. Dry. Astringent. Stuck in his throat. He walked to the boiler room. Drew hot water. Filled the enamel mug. The hot water went down. The biscuit crumbs dissolved. Turned to paste. He drank in small mouthfuls. Let the water fully enter his stomach. There was something in it now. But it did not stave off hunger. He placed a hand over his abdomen. Pressed lightly. Digestive fluids secreted. The hunger was suppressed.

7:50. The exam room setup was complete. Desks and chairs pulled apart. One meter between them. The blackboard listed exam rules. The chalk writing was hard and angular. The proctor was the math teacher from the next class. He held a sealed packet. Plastic rubbed against plastic. Making a rustling sound. Lin Chen walked to the seat by the window in the second-to-last row. Sat down. Pressed his canvas bag against the corner of the desk. Blocking the cold wind pouring in at a slant. The pencil wrapped in oiled paper sat by his right hand. Ruler. Eraser. Spare. Everything in place. He rested his hands on his knees. Moved them slowly. His joints were stiff. His body heat was draining away. But his hands were steady.

8:00. The bell shattered the curtain of rain. The iron hammer struck the bronze bell. The sound was muffled. With an echo.

“Quiet. Same rules as always. No whispering. No crib notes. If cheating is found. Zero points. Papers going out. Write your name and student number first. Do not start until the bell rings.”

The papers were handed out. The paper was rough. Smelled of ink. Lin Chen took his exam. Flipped straight to the last page. Looked at the final problem. Problem type. Inclined plane pulley system. Critical angle. Find the mass ratio. Exactly the prototype Old Li had mentioned. His heartbeat stayed even. His hands steady. He flipped back to the first page. Wrote his name. Lin Chen. Student number. 32. The pen tip scratched over the paper. Leaving clear marks. The oiled paper's moisture resistance had worked. The ink did not bleed. He pushed the canvas bag another half inch into the desk corner. Completely sealing the gap at the window.

The bell rang. Pens moved.

Mathematics. Ninety minutes. Basic problems. Fill-in-the-blank. Multiple choice. He moved fast. Did not skip steps. Did not save process. Scratch paper divided into sections. Each problem in its own area. Calculation. Verification. Symbols. Units. No mistakes. Mid-level problems. Solid geometry. Analytic geometry. He drew auxiliary lines. Set up a coordinate system. Wrote the equations. Solved. Filled the page with steps. Left no blank space. Final problem. Function derivative. Find the extremum. He stalled for eight seconds. His train of thought broke. He set down the pen. Closed his eyes. Breathed. In his mind he replayed the notes in his error book. Domain. Monotonicity. Endpoint values. He opened his eyes. Read the problem again. Took the derivative. Found the stationary points. Made a table. Determined the monotonic intervals. Substituted the endpoints. Compared. Got the maximum value. He wrote down the answer. Checked the clock. Sixty-two minutes. Twenty-eight left. Review. Symbols. Units. Logic. No mistakes.

Papers collected. Physics handed out.

The rain intensified. Hammered against the glass. Water streaks twisted the cinder track outside the window. The air pressure in the classroom seemed to sink. The sound of pages turning grew heavier. The scratching of pen tips on paper thickened. Lin Chen stared at the exam paper. Pressed his fingers to it. Keeping it from wrinkling in the damp seeping in with the rain. He began breaking the time apart in his head. Multiple choice and fill-ins. Twenty minutes. Experimental questions. Fifteen minutes. Calculation problems. Fifty-five minutes. The fragments fit together. Ninety minutes. Ninety minutes. Enough to digest the first three chapters of mechanics. Trigonometric functions. Oxidation-reduction. He picked up the eraser. Rubbed away the auxiliary lines on the scratch paper. Drew again. Force analysis. Orthogonal decomposition. Set up equations. Substituted. Verified. Steps could not be skipped. Skip one. Lose points. Skip two. Throw points away. He did not know the county high school's grading standard. But he knew this. Fill in the steps. If the grader cannot find a place to deduct points. That is points.

Problem three. Adapted from the provincial competition. Inclined plane. Pulley. Light rope. Critical angle. Find the mass ratio. He no longer used the isolation method to grind it out. Went straight to the whole-system method. Forces on the system. Virtual displacement as support. Set up the vector equations. Solve. Mass ratio m1/m2 = √3. The steps filled three full lines. No omitted derivation. He checked the clock. Forty-eight minutes. Forty-two left. Review. Symbols. Units. Logic. No mistakes. He set down the pen. His fingers trembled slightly. Not from nerves. From low blood sugar. He shoved his hands into his sleeves. Warmed them by rubbing. Pressed down the spasm in his stomach. Lowered his breathing to the minimum. Drew no attention.

12:00. The dismissal bell rang. The crowd surged toward the cafeteria. Lin Chen waited until the end. Avoided the crush. Walked to a long bench. Opened the oiled-paper bundle. The rice had gone completely cold. A hard crust had formed on the surface. He broke it apart. Washed it down with the free soup. Swallowed mouthful by mouthful. The soup was clear broth. Two vegetable leaves floated in it. The salt taste was faint. He drank very slowly. Let the water fully enter his stomach. There was something in it now. But it did not stave off hunger. He placed a hand over his abdomen. Pressed lightly. Digestive fluids secreted. The hunger was suppressed. The split in the sole of his foot rubbed inside the shoe. Every step felt like stepping on broken glass. He adjusted his center of gravity. Shifted the weight to the outside of his foot. Avoided the crack. The edge of the sole had already curled up. He pressed the lifted part flat with his fingernail. It would not go down. Then leave it. As long as it did not affect walking. Fine.

A boy from the front row sat down carrying his lunch tin. Said nothing. Handed over a plastic bag. Inside was half a piece of braised tofu. Lin Chen shook his head. “No need.” The boy pushed the bag over. “Old Li said. On this physics final problem. Anyone who used the whole-system method. In the whole county there won't be more than five. And your steps were full. You weren't guessing.” Lin Chen accepted it. Thanked him. Did not eat it. Put it in the canvas bag. Tonight. With hot water. It could carry him to tomorrow's morning study.

The ledger was in the canvas bag. He did not take it out. The numbers were in his head. Balance 1.56. Meal coupons for four days. Sixty cents a day. Four days twenty-four cents. Three cents two left. Three cents two. Not enough for a new pencil. Not enough for a bottle of mercurochrome. Could only keep it. For emergencies. He put a hand into his pocket. Felt the half stub of candle. One centimeter left. Burn time about ten minutes. He took it out. Set it in his palm. Weighed it. Light. But enough. Ten minutes. Enough for one final problem. Enough to verify the calculations once. Enough to check the symbols once.

Afternoon exam. Chemistry. Oxidation-reduction. Balancing. Lin Chen's blind spot. The paper was handed out. He looked over the questions first. Mark oxidation states. Find rise and fall. Balance charge. Environment. Medium. H+/OH-. The order could not be disturbed. Disturb it and it was wrong. He broke it down step by step. Scratch paper divided into sections. Calculation. Verification. Symbols. Units. No mistakes. Final problem. Industrial process problem. Remove impurities. Purify. Calculate yield. He stalled for fifteen seconds. His train of thought broke. Put down the pen. Closed his eyes. Breathed. Replayed the note marks in his notebook. Impurity ions. Precipitation pH. Filtration. Washing. Drying. Opened his eyes. Read the problem again. Wrote the reaction formulas. Calculated the mole ratio. Substituted. Got a yield of 87.5%. Checked the clock. Seventy-five minutes. Fifteen left. Review. No mistakes.

Papers collected. The rain stopped. The clouds broke apart. The sky was gray-white. The wind carried the damp smell of earth. Lin Chen packed his schoolbag. Counted everything. Half a candle stub. Cardboard. Matches. Pencil. Eraser. Ruler. Put them in the bag. Pulled the zipper shut. His fingers were frozen stiff. His joints sluggish. He stood up. His knees gave a light crack. The pain in the sole of his foot had become a dull ache. Like needles jabbing nerve endings. He walked back to the fourth floor step by step. Pushed open the door. The dorm was quiet. Only the even sound of breathing.

He walked to the bed. Sat down. Took off his shoes. Untied the gauze. The edges of the split had turned white. Tissue fluid had seeped out. It had not suppurated. He picked up the mercurochrome. Cotton swab. Dipped it. Applied it. A sharp sting. He held his breath. Spread it evenly. Wrapped it again. His movements were slow. But extremely steady. He lay down. Closed his eyes. Arranged time. Tomorrow. 6:30. Morning study. 7:00. Breakfast. 8:00. Class. 12:00. Lunch break. 18:30. Evening self-study. 21:30. Back to the dorm. Wash up. Sleep. One step, one imprint.

He felt for the ledger. Opened it. The pencil moved. Day 13. 22:10. Monthly exam finished. Progress: whole-system method applied to the physics final problem. Chemistry oxidation-reduction medium mastered. Time spent: full day. Status: up to standard. Gap: funds 1.56. Meal coupons 0.32. Tomorrow: normal routine. Wait for grades.

The pencil tip paused. He closed the ledger. His fingers tightened. The page edges curled. He stuffed it into the bottom of the bag. Pressed it down. Footsteps came from the corridor. Very light. Even rhythm. Night patrol teacher. The beam of a flashlight swept past the crack of the door. Stopped. “Sleep early. Grades come out the day after tomorrow. Don't overthink it.” The voice was low. With an echo. “Got it,” the boy in the lower bunk answered vaguely. Lin Chen said nothing. His hands rested on his knees. Moved slowly. The pain in his foot had gone numb. His body was emptied out. But he did not sleep. Outside the window. The clouds had scattered. Moonlight was cold. Puddles reflected light. The wind had stopped.

He slipped a hand into his inner pocket. Felt that notice stamped with a red seal. The paper was warm. The edges curled. He unfolded it. Read it once. Report. The time had passed. The rules remained. One step, one imprint. Must not be disrupted. He folded it again. Put it away. His fingers tightened. The edge of the cloth bag bit into his palm. He closed his eyes. His breathing stayed even. In his head he arranged the time. Tomorrow. 6:30. Morning study. 7:00. Breakfast. 8:00. Class. 12:00. Lunch break. 18:30. Evening self-study. 21:30. Back to the dorm. Wash up. Sleep. One step, one imprint.

The wind outside passed through the cracks. Letting out a low whistle. In the distance. A faint broadcast came through. County No. 1 High School campus radio. Sound check. Electrical static. Then the dean's voice. “Notice. The results of this monthly exam will be announced Friday morning. The top twenty in the grade. And those with full marks in a single subject. Will be recommended for the city physics competition training camp. Training fees at one's own expense. Relevant students, please prepare accordingly.”

The sound spread through the air after the rain. Carrying a metallic chill.

Lin Chen opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the ledger by the bed. The pages were faintly white. He reached out. Touched the pencil. On a blank page. Drew an extremely faint line.

Day 13. End. Progress: caught up three weeks. Blind spots cleared. Funds: 1.56. Status: alive. New variable: city competition training camp. Cost unknown. Countermeasure: tomorrow during break. Ask Old Li about the detailed training fee. If over budget. Give it up. Protect the monthly exam scholarship.

The pencil tip paused. He set it down. Closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. 6:30. Morning study.