Chapter 97: Deferred-Exam Slip

The morning fog had not yet cleared. Lin Chen put Fundamentals of Electronic Information Experiments and the deferred-exam application form into his canvas bag. The zipper caught halfway; he yanked it shut. When his left foot touched the ground, his ankle felt as though it had been wrapped in a layer of thick rubber. There was no pain, only the hollow unsteadiness that came whenever his center of gravity shifted. He braced himself against the doorframe and stood still, waiting for that mechanical alternation in his steps to line up with his breathing again.

The ledger lay open on the table.

Balance: 0.6 yuan. Goal: three one-inch photos, four photocopied key pages, homeroom teacher's signature.

He picked up a pencil and wrote out the arithmetic on the back of a sheet of paper. The cheapest one-inch photos at the town studio cost two yuan fifty. The copy room at County No. 1 High School charged one jiao per page. A slow-train ticket into the county seat cost four jiao. 0.6 yuan was only enough for half a ticket. He crossed out “train fare” and changed it to “walk to the county seat, catch a passing tractor to the northern outskirts, walk into town.” Tractor drivers usually charged two jiao for a ride. That would leave four jiao, exactly enough to copy four pages. The money for the photos—he did not have it.

He pushed open the door. The yellow dirt road had been packed firm by the night dew. When his left foot came down, his knee bent slightly and his right leg took over the force. His stride shortened by a third, but the cadence sped up. An hour later, the first sputtering farm tricycle appeared at the mouth of town. He raised a hand. The driver was an old man in a Liberation cap. Catching sight of County No. 1 High School's insignia on the canvas bag, he did not ask for money; he only told Lin Chen to keep an eye on the fertilizer sacks in the back. Lin Chen nodded and climbed up. Wind whipped past his ears, carrying the smell of diesel and raw earth.

He jumped down beside a wall in the northern outskirts of the county seat. The moment his left foot landed, it rolled hard. He shot out his right hand and caught himself against the wall, his knuckles whitening. After ten seconds, he kept walking. The rolling shutter of Morning Light Photo Studio on the back street behind County No. 1 High School was half open. Inside, the owner was washing photo paper in the darkroom, the red light throwing half his face into relief. Lin Chen stopped at the doorway. “Boss, I need one-inch photos. Three copies.”

Without looking up, the man said, “Two yuan fifty. Pay first.”

Lin Chen set down his canvas bag and pulled out Fundamentals of Electronic Information Experiments. “Uncle, I can sweep the darkroom and mix developer for you. In exchange for three photos.”

The owner paused with the tongs in his hand and turned to size him up. A senior-year student. Mud on his trouser legs. The sole of his left shoe worn crooked by half a centimeter. The man was silent for several seconds. “No strangers in the darkroom. Go wipe the display window outside and sort that box of discarded photo paper by size. Finish that, and I'll take your picture.”

Lin Chen nodded. He turned, picked up the rag and plastic bucket. The water was cold. Squatting on the ground, he scraped the glass clean pane by pane. The pile of discarded photo paper was mixed with the sharp smell of fixer. He sorted it into two-inch, one-inch, and half-body portraits, lined up the edges, and bound each stack with rubber bands. He did not move fast, but he never stopped. Two hours later, the owner handed him a kraft paper envelope. “Three copies. I'll keep the negative. Next time you come, make up the missing one yuan twenty.”

Lin Chen took it. The envelope was very light. He opened it. In the photo, his own expression was calm, set against a gray cloth background. It met the requirements.

Next came the photocopies. He went to the printing room next to the academic affairs office at County No. 1 High School. The iron door stood open. Inside there was only one old photocopier, humming without stop. The person on duty was a woman teacher wearing reading glasses. Lin Chen handed over the certificate pages that needed copying, his transcript, and the draft of his personal statement. “Teacher, four pages. One jiao a page.”

She glanced at the machine. “It keeps jamming. Today it's twenty percent off. Four jiao total.”

Lin Chen took four one-jiao notes from his inner pocket and laid them on the glass platen. The teacher pressed the switch. The machine drew in and spat out paper with the scorched, static smell of toner. Four copies came out, the text clear, no ghosting. He put the copies and photos into a transparent document sleeve.

Ledger update: balance 0.2 yuan. Debt to photo studio: 1.2 yuan. Materials complete.

He headed for the senior-year teachers' office. The corridor was thick with the smell of chalk dust and old newspapers. Homeroom teacher Wang's desk was the second one by the window. Mock exam papers and a thermos were piled on top. Lin Chen stopped at the door and knocked three times. Mr. Wang looked up, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose. “Lin Chen? Weren't you preparing for the competition interview?”

Lin Chen walked over and placed the deferred-exam application form and document sleeve on the desk. “Mr. Wang, Provincial Polytechnic's materials verification is Wednesday morning. It conflicts with the first mock exam. I'm applying to defer it and take the science paper that afternoon instead. Here's the verification notice and the checklist of interview materials.”

Mr. Wang picked up the form. His eyes stopped on “Reason for deferral” and “Promise to take the make-up exam.” His fingers rubbed the edge of the paper. Other teachers in the office were grading homework; the soft scratch of red pens across paper was unusually clear.

Mr. Wang did not reach for his pen right away. He took off his glasses and wiped them with the corner of his shirt. “If you miss your slot at Provincial Polytechnic's verification, it's void. If you miss County No. 1 High School's mock exam, it's counted as a zero. Two lines. You have to step on both.”

Lin Chen nodded. “Yes.”

“What happened to your left foot?” Mr. Wang's gaze dropped to the slightly splayed heel of his shoe.

“An old injury. It doesn't affect my walking.”

Mr. Wang put his glasses back on and picked up his fountain pen. The nib hovered over the signature line. A bead of ink gathered into a tiny black dot at the tip. He looked at Lin Chen. His tone was flat, without the slightest ripple, yet every word landed like a nail. “If I sign this, what proof do you have that you can really make it back the same day?”

Lin Chen did not answer immediately. He looked at the pen in Mr. Wang's hand. The office clock ticked. The second hand moved one notch. Then he said, in a voice that was not loud but with every word distinct, “Mr. Wang, I don't need proof. I only need your signature. If I'm not in the lecture hall by two o'clock Wednesday afternoon, report me absent. If I make it, hand me the paper. Rules are fixed. I'll proceed by the rules.”

Mr. Wang stared at him for five seconds. Then the pen touched down. Scratch, scratch. The official seal came down in the lower right corner of the form. The red ink had not fully dried. Mr. Wang pushed it back across the desk. “Two in the afternoon. One minute late, and the paper is void.”

Lin Chen picked up the application form. The edges of the paper had gone a little soft. He thanked him, turned, and left.

Slanting light reached into the corridor, dust floating in the bright column. At the stairwell he stopped. He unfolded the timetable. Wednesday, eight in the morning: first mock exam begins. Nine o'clock: slow train departs. Noon: arrive at Provincial Polytechnic. Twelve-thirty: verification window closes. He would have to compress the timing to the limit. But Mr. Wang's question was like a thorn lodged in the seam of Plan B. The interval between train departures on paper was fixed; the distance from the platform to the admissions office was alive. He lowered his eyes to his watch. The second hand kept jumping forward. He needed to go to the station and walk the route in person. Not calculate a theoretical time, but see the actual road conditions, the distance to the ticket gate, the cutoff point at the verification window. He folded away the application form, the canvas bag pressing down on his shoulder. His left foot resumed its mechanical alternation. Down the stairs, one step at a time. Wind poured in through the window, carrying the early autumn chill. He walked downstairs and pushed open the door. The sunlight was harsh. He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the county bus station. The road was still long. But every increment had to be measured out, inch by inch.