Chapter 81: Rankings and Margins

At six in the morning, the corridor of the guesthouse echoed with the scrape of a mop over the terrazzo floor. A trace of dampness seeped in through the gap beneath the door. Lin Chen opened his eyes. The water stain on the ceiling was still there, its edges drier than they had been the night before. He moved his left ankle first. The joint was stiff. The gauze had dried hard, its edges slightly curling. The seepage had stopped. He sat up and took iodine, cotton swabs, and spare gauze from the side pocket of his canvas bag. Peel off the tape. Lift it away. The wound had darkened in color; its edges were dry, with no redness or swelling. The amount of tissue fluid was within expectations. He covered it again with sterile gauze and fixed it in place with crossed strips of tape. Slow, but steady. Shoes on. Laces tightened. Thirty-centimeter stride. Weight shifted right. Left foot touching down lightly. Muscle memory recalibrated. Adapt.

He washed up. Cold water. Towel wrung dry. In the mirror, the person looking back at him had hollowed eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, stubble coming in. He shaved. Back in the room, he counted his things. Insulated box. Scratch paper. Pencil. Mistake notebook. Remittance slip. Desiccant. Spare gauze. In the inner layer of the canvas bag: seven one-yuan bills and three fifty-cent coins. Seven and a half yuan. The ticket would cost eighteen. Short by ten and a half. He had already worked that out the night before. The provincial competition committee did not cover food or lodging; the return hard-seat fare could be reimbursed at the finance office of Qinghe County No. 1 High School with his admission slip and score sheet. The prerequisite was placing on the list. He had to wait for the rankings. Waiting was another kind of calculation. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the mistake notebook. Theory section: three wrong answers. Two calculation errors. Practical section: compensation value for voltage fluctuation. Error from manual attenuation steps. He checked them one by one. Estimated deduction on theory: no more than eight points. Deviation in the practical section's noise-floor reading: within the allowable range. Total-score range: top forty in the province. Probability: seventy percent. He capped the pen. No anxiety. Only steps.

At nine in the morning, the corridor was quiet. The others sharing the room left one after another. Before leaving, Chen Hao knocked on the door. "They're posting the notice at the gate of the Provincial Electronics Institute. Going together?"

"You go ahead. I'll come later," Lin Chen answered.

The door shut. He walked to the window and opened it a crack. The wind carried the earthy smell that followed rain. He stepped back to the desk, took out the insulated box, and checked the connectors. Nothing loose. The coaxial cable was wound neatly. The metal contact on the grounding clip had been wiped clean. Everything was laid out in order of use: admission slip, pen, scratch paper, insulated box, desiccant, spare gauze. The list was clear. Nothing redundant. He sat down and closed his eyes. In his mind, he ran through the timeline ahead: back to the county town, hand in the score sheet, reimburse the fare, return to school, first senior-year mock exam, college applications. The steps were clear. Nothing redundant.

At eleven, he went out. Thirty-centimeter stride. Avoid standing water. The bluestone road had softened under the rain, and the soles of his shoes slipped on it. He adjusted his center of gravity. Every step landed on solid ground. More than a dozen people were already gathered in front of the bulletin board outside the institute gate. A4 sheets with black print on white paper were taped to the glass. When the wind blew, the corners curled. Some stood on tiptoe. Some took photos. Some murmured under their breath. He stayed at the outer edge of the crowd. No pushing. His gaze swept upward from the bottom. Third prize. Second prize. First prize. Provincial team list. His name was on the seventh line under second prize. Lin Chen. Qinghe County No. 1 High School. Total score: 187.5. Rank: 34. The top twenty would enter the provincial team. He was fourteen points short. Second prize. Enough. Under Qinghe No. 1 High School's long-standing bonus policy, a provincial second prize meant ten bonus points on the college entrance exam and priority in the first round of independent-admissions screening. He memorized the numbers and turned away without lingering. Footsteps rang out in confusion behind him. He listened to his own breathing. Steady. Even.

Back at the guesthouse, he packed his things. The zipper of the canvas bag closed with a click. He went to the front desk and got back his deposit: five yuan. Added to the seven and a half in his hand, that made twelve and a half. At the ticket window of the station, he asked for a hard-seat ticket to Qinghe County. Fare: sixteen yuan. Still short by three and a half. He took out the fifty-yuan remittance slip. He could not use it. It was his younger brother's medicine money. He stood in silence at the window for three seconds, then turned away and went to the post office next door. Cashing the remittance slip cost a handling fee of two jiao. He received forty-nine yuan and eight jiao. He walked back to the ticket window, bought the ticket, and received thirty-three yuan and eight jiao in change. He split up the cash. The ticket went into the pocket against his body. The rest of the money went into the inner layer of the canvas bag. Accounts settled. Nothing redundant.

At two in the afternoon, the long-distance bus pulled out. The engine roared. The cabin was thick with the smell of gasoline, sweat, and cheap leather. He sat by the window with the canvas bag in his arms. His left foot rested near the edge of the aisle so it would not be jostled. Outside, the city thinned into hills and farmland. He closed his eyes and ran through the timeline ahead once more. Back to the county town. Hand in the score sheet. Reimburse the fare. Return to school. First mock exam. College applications. The steps were clear. Nothing redundant. He took the letter from the pocket against his chest. It was from his mother. The paper edges were already worn soft. He had never opened it. Now the time had come. He split the seal with his fingernail and drew out the sheet. The handwriting was neat, carrying the smoke-and-fire warmth of the kitchen stove.

"Chen. Everyone at home is fine. Your father's back injury has a medicated plaster on it; he can go out into the fields again. Xiaoman drew a new picture and said she'll paste it on the wall when you come back. The primary school at the village entrance is hiring a substitute teacher. Eighty yuan a month, close to home, and it won't keep me from getting back in the evening. I signed up. Study in peace. Don't worry about things at home. As for money, we'll take it slowly. Guiying."

He finished reading, folded the letter paper, and slipped it back into the envelope. His finger stopped on the words substitute teacher. Eighty yuan a month. Close to home. His mother going to teach meant the family now had another stable source of income, and she would still be able to look after the stove at night and Xiaoman's medicine. No more carrying bricks at the brick factory. No more breathing dust. He looked out the window. The hills rose and fell. The clouds hung low. He took out graph paper and wrote: Mother substitute teaching. Income +80/month. Expense - brick-factory heavy labor. Household cash flow improved. Variable: substitute-teaching contract term one year. Need to confirm renewal policy. He crossed out "risk" and changed it to "variable." The pen paused. The bus jolted once, and a dull pain rose from the wound on his left foot. He adjusted his posture without frowning. The bus kept moving forward. Dust lifted and settled on the glass. He opened the mistake notebook and wrote on a fresh page: Chapter 82 goals. Return to school. Mock exam. Applications. The pen came down. Ink seeped into the fibers of the paper. He closed the notebook and leaned back into the seat. His breathing was steady. Waiting for the next stop.