Chapter 48: Turbulence and Stillness

The metal floor of the truck bed shuddered. The smell of diesel mixed with the cold wind pouring in. Lin Chen hunched his neck. His chin rested against the zipper of his canvas bag. A hot-water bottle pressed to his chest through an old sweater. The temperature was even. Not hot. Not cold. Both hands gripped the rail. His knuckles blanched. Rubber gloves scraped lightly against the iron pipe. A faint rustling sound. He lowered his center of gravity. Pressed his hips tight to the floor of the truck bed. Bent his knees slightly. Buffered the jolts.

The tractor climbed uphill. The engine’s roar deepened. Black smoke burst from the exhaust pipe. The wind shredded it at once. Dark ice on the road reflected a gray-white sheen. The tires rolled over it. Fine crunching sounds followed. The vehicle tilted left. Lin Chen shifted left with it. His weight pressed to that side. No resistance. Follow the motion. A right turn. Weight to the right. Shorter steps. Steady breathing. He checked his watch. 5:40. Fifty minutes since departure. The motion-sickness medicine had taken effect. No churning in his stomach. Only a dull vibration crawling up along his spine. He closed his eyes. Ran the timeline through his head once. Depart at 05:00. Arrive at 07:40. Wait for the exam at 09:00. Exam starts at 10:00. Two hours and forty minutes. Margin of error plus or minus ten minutes. Acceptable.

Old Zhao turned around from the driver’s seat. The collar of his military coat was turned up. A cigarette butt glowed dimly in his mouth. “Road’s slick. Sit tight. No rush.” Lin Chen nodded. “Uncle Zhao. Brake drum temperature.” Old Zhao frowned. “Hasn’t even heated up yet. What are you checking for?” Lin Chen said nothing. He brought the back of his hand near the left rear wheel’s mudguard. The metal surface was slightly warm. Not overheating. He nodded. “Normal.” Old Zhao exhaled a plume of white mist. “You know your stuff.” Lin Chen did not answer. His eyes returned to the road ahead. Curves. Steep grade. Dark ice. Cold light reflecting off it. He did not need to know his stuff. He only needed to survive.

7:20. The tractor entered town. Asphalt road. Less dark ice. The tires sounded firmer against the ground. Old Zhao slowed down. Pulled over. Stopped. The engine died. The vibration ceased. The truck bed fell abruptly quiet. Only the wind whistling through the iron rails remained. Lin Chen released his hands. His knuckles were stiff. He stood slowly. Weight forward. Stepped down from the truck. The rubber soles bit into the road. Anti-slip worked. He walked to the cab. “Uncle Zhao. Thank you.” Old Zhao waved him off. “No. 3 Municipal High is east. Old school gate. Don’t go wrong.” Lin Chen nodded. Turned away. Canvas bag held against his chest. Hot-water bottle against his chest. Steps steady. Thirty centimeters each. Don’t step on the edge.

7:40. No. 3 Municipal High School. The old school gate. Rust mottled the iron. The guardroom light was on. Frost had formed on the glass window. Lin Chen walked to the entrance. Showed his admission ticket. The guard checked it. Stamped it. Let him through. He entered the campus. Concrete paths. Snow still unswept. Footprints everywhere. He followed the main path. Avoided the crowd. The old classroom building. Three stories. Red brick. Paint peeling from the walls. He went up to the third floor. The corridor was cold. Wind poured in through a broken window. It carried the smell of chalk dust. He found the exam room. Senior Year Three, Class Two. The plaque’s paint had faded. He pushed the door open and went in.

The classroom was empty. Desks and chairs arranged neatly. On the blackboard were the words: “Winter Camp Written Examination Room.” The chalk writing was precise. He went to the third row by the window. Sat down. Put the canvas bag under the desk. Opened the zipper. Took out the hot-water bottle. Unscrewed the cap. Went to the hot-water room at the end of the corridor. Filled half of it with warm water. About sixty degrees. Hot to the touch, but not boiling. He poured it into the bottle. Tightened the cap. Wrapped it in an old towel. Put it back on the corner of the desk. The rubber surface heated quickly. Through the towel, the warmth spread evenly. He laid out his admission ticket. ID card. Pencil. Eraser. Ruler. Compass. Set them down one by one. Even spacing. No overlap. Nothing blocked.

9:50. The other examinees began filing in. Footsteps. Scraping sounds. Murmured conversation. Lin Chen did not look up. He checked the pencil tip. Sharpened. Tested a stroke. The line was even. It did not break. He closed his eyes. Took three deep breaths. Heart rate steady. Fingers slightly cold. But able to hold the pencil. He placed his hands on the hot-water bottle. Left them there for ten seconds. Heat transferred. His fingertips warmed. He took them back. Spread out a blank sheet of scratch paper. Wrote nothing. Only waited.

10:00 sharp. The proctor handed out the exam papers. Paper brushing over desks made crisp sounds. Lin Chen took his paper. Flipped through it. Checked the page numbers. Nothing missing. No smudges. He filled in his admission number. Name. Seat number. His movements were slow. Steady. No shaking. At 10:05, the bell rang. The exam began. The pencil tip came down.

Main paper. Multiple choice. Fill-in-the-blank. Calculation problems. The prompts were long. The data dense. Lin Chen did not skim. He read word by word. Circled the key parameters. Stripped away distractors. The pencil tip moved. A soft scratching sound. Magnified in the quiet classroom. Estimate five at the midpoint. Estimate seven to the right. The rule turned over in his mind. His hands moved to its rhythm. Underline. Annotate. Calculate. Check. Muscle memory overrode hesitation. When he got stuck, he did not panic. Skip it. Mark it. Come back later. Time was cut into fixed modules. He no longer chased speed. He chased zero mistakes. A written test without scratch paper margin for error was zero. One wrong digit and an entire long problem became worth nothing. He had to turn estimation into instinct, as natural as breathing.

11:20. The main paper was nearing the end. The final long problem. Mechanics synthesis. Inclined plane. Friction. Resolution of forces. He gave himself fifteen minutes. Wrote it out step by step. No skipped steps. No omissions. Handwriting neat. Pressure even. Time up. Stop writing. Check. Variables extracted accurately. Model simplified reasonably. Conclusion clear. He capped his pen. Fingers tightened. The edge of the page curled. He pulled out the hot-water bottle. Warmed his hands for thirty seconds. Did not break rhythm. Put it back on the desk corner. The temperature had dropped. But it was enough.

11:30. The proctor collected the main paper. Then handed out the additional-question paper. A single sheet. A4. Blank. No prompt text. Only one line:

Please design a low-cost, implementable winter road anti-skid and materials transport optimization plan based on the actual resource conditions in your region. Requirements: internally consistent logic, reasonable data, and practical operability. Time limit: 30 minutes.

Lin Chen stared at the line. Three seconds. No panic. He did not need eloquence. He needed structure. He lifted his pen and wrote a framework on the paper.

1. Describe the phenomenon (3 minutes). State facts objectively. No lyricism. No judgment. 2. Extract the core variables (5 minutes). Strip away distractions. Lock onto key parameters. 3. Build the model (10 minutes). Derive from known principles. List assumptions. 4. Boundaries and error (7 minutes). Point out model limits. Give paths for correction. 5. Conclusion (5 minutes). Return to the prompt. Define applicable scenarios clearly.

The pen tip paused. The structure was complete. The logic closed. It relied on no extracurricular knowledge. Only basic deductive ability. He turned to the blank page. Began to write.

Phenomenon. Southwestern mountain region. Continuous winter precipitation. Icy roads. Tractor transport. Brake drum overheating. Longer braking distance. Dark ice sections. Loss of center-of-gravity control. Material loss. Rising time cost.

Variables. Road friction coefficient. Vehicle load. Thermal fade in the braking system. Driver experience. Slope of alternate routes. Cost of anti-skid materials.

Model. Segment-based speed limits. Spread coarse sand on the outside of curves. Lower the cargo-bed center of gravity. Grip the rail with both hands. Shorten stride length. Monitor brake drum temperature. Cool with water every thirty minutes. Give priority to backup routes with slopes under 15 degrees.

Boundaries. Cost of coarse sand. Water source for cooling. Driver stamina. Extreme blizzards. Model failure. Correction path. Add tire chains. Adjust departure time. Avoid the pre-dawn low-temperature period.

Conclusion. This plan is suitable for routine winter transport in mountain areas. It requires fine adjustment according to actual road conditions. Core logic: under resource constraints, exchange the lowest cost for the greatest safety margin. Do not pursue perfection. Pursue control.

The pen moved. Handwriting neat. Pressure even. No shaking. Time up. Stop writing. Check. Complete framework. Closed logic. Data reasonable. No blank answers. No cross-outs. He capped the pen. Fingers tightened. The page edges curled. He slipped it into the exam envelope. Pressed it down.

12:00 sharp. The collection bell rang. The proctor gathered the papers. Lin Chen stood up. Packed his bag. Pulled the zipper shut. Canvas bag against his back. Hot-water bottle back into the side pocket. Motion-sickness tablets in their foil pack against his body. Admission ticket in the inner sleeve. He checked. Nothing missing. Turned. Went out. The corridor was cold. Wind poured in through the broken window. It carried the raw smell of snow. He went downstairs. Steps steady. Rubber soles landed on the icy stairs. Weight forward. Don’t step on the edge. The anti-slip tread bit into the ice. Fine crunching sounds. Effective.

He walked out of the teaching building. The sunlight was harsh. The clouds had broken apart. The road reflected cold light. The dark ice had begun to melt. The surface was wet and slick. Lin Chen stood on the steps. Took a deep breath. Cold air flooded his lungs. It carried the smell of diesel and chalk dust. His body felt hollowed out. His fingers numb. But not shaking. He took out his ledger. Opened it. Blank page. Pencil moving.

Day 28. 12:15. Written exam complete. Progress: Main paper error-free. Additional question framework implemented. Timeline executed in a closed loop. Time spent: Two hours. Status: Met standard. Shortfall: Funds 0.31. Return ticket not purchased. Must walk to the town entrance. New variable: Additional question focused on resource optimization. Not pure theory. Emphasis on implementable logic. Countermeasure: Shift return-trip center-of-gravity control to walking. Thirty-centimeter stride. Anti-slip. Don’t step on the edge.

The pencil tip paused. He closed the ledger. Fingers tightened. The page edges curled. He shoved it to the bottom of the bag. Pressed it down. Turned. Walked along the main road. Avoided the crowd. Steps steady. Thirty centimeters each. Don’t step on the edge. The anti-slip tread bit into the ice. Fine crunching sounds. Effective.

At the school gate. The iron gate stood half open. The guardroom light was on. A new notice had been posted on the window. White paper. Black text. Lin Chen stopped. His eyes swept over it.

“Results of the Winter Camp written examination will be announced tomorrow at 14:00. Those who pass should report to the third floor of the laboratory building at 14:30 for the comprehensive interview. Interview focus: practical problem decomposition ability, resource-coordination logic, and performance under pressure. Those who do not pass should make their own return arrangements. No separate notice will be given.”

Lin Chen stared at the line. Three seconds. No panic. He did not need a miracle. He only needed execution. He withdrew his gaze. Turned. Kept walking. Canvas bag against his back. Hot-water bottle against his chest. Steps steady. Thirty centimeters each. Don’t step on the edge. The anti-slip tread bit into the ice. Fine crunching sounds. Effective.

The wind passed through the gaps with a low whistle. The far ridge line stood clear. The clouds were thin. Sunlight fell on the snowfield. Cold light reflected back. He closed his eyes. No formulas in his mind. No words. Only three lines. One was the estimation rule. Estimate five at the midpoint. Estimate seven to the right. One was the icy road surface. Rubber tread. Weight forward. Don’t step on the edge. One was the additional-question framework. Phenomenon. Variables. Model. Error. Conclusion. Three lines crossing in the dark. No collision. No entanglement. Each moving forward on its own.

He opened his eyes. His gaze settled toward the town entrance ahead. Old locust tree. National highway. Tractor. Dark ice. He did not need to guess the result. He only needed to prepare for the next step. He took out the foil sheet of motion-sickness pills from the pocket against his body. The edge was sharp. It pressed into his palm. He took it out. Set it in his hand. White tablets. Six of them. Enough for two trips. He closed his eyes. Breathing steady. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the zipper pull of the canvas bag. The metal was ice-cold. Rough. Like an unpolished stone.

Tomorrow. Wednesday. Interview.

He turned over. Faced forward. His breathing gradually slowed. Outside the window, the wind had stopped. The snow grains had grown finer. They tapped against the glass with tiny pattering sounds. Everything was smoothed flat. Nothing left but white. And cold.