Chapter 120: Outliers and Manual Review

The terrazzo floor of the corridor radiated the damp chill of winter. Lin Chen leaned against the wall, his breathing gradually steadying. He looked down at his left foot. After tearing open the sock, the wound’s edges were ragged, dark red blood mixing with pale yellow tissue fluid seeping out slowly. The insole was soaked through, the fibers matted and hardened; it was unwearable. He rummaged through his canvas bag and pulled out half a roll of medical gauze, a small bottle of iodine, and a pair of rusty scissors. He’d bought them at the town clinic last week for eighty cents. The bottle cap’s rim was already worn white.

He unscrewed the iodine cap. Dipping a cotton swab, he drew circles from the center of the wound outward. A sharp sting shot along the nerve endings straight up his calf, his muscles contracting involuntarily. He bit his lower lip, tasting rust, but his wrist didn’t tremble. He swapped swabs three times until the wound bed showed a clean, dark red, no longer pale. He cut a piece of gauze, folded it into four layers, and placed it over the injury. He secured the edges with medical tape. The movements were precise, without a single wasted step. When he slipped his rubber shoe back on, the collar rubbed against the gauze edge. He paused for a second, adjusted the laces to ensure even pressure distribution, and avoided compressing the wound.

Time: 12:40. One hour and twenty minutes until the Academic Affairs Office opened at 2:00 PM.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Not to sleep. To run through the procedure in his head. Anomalous answer sheet: high probability of uneven shading pressure or smudging. Machine unreadable, routed to manual review. Manual review had a lower error tolerance than the machine, but the rules allowed for appeals. He needed to confirm three things: the scope of the anomalous area, the review cycle, and whether it would affect the final score archiving.

1:50. He stood up. His left leg hit the ground, his center of gravity shifting. He braced himself against the wall, adjusting his gait. Right foot bore the weight, left foot dragged. With each step, the friction of the sole against the floor echoed loudly in the empty corridor. He didn’t look at his foot. He only watched the stairs ahead. A thin layer of ice coated the step edges; he hugged the wall, avoiding the slick patches. His breath condensed into white mist in the cold air, quickly scattered by the draft.

The first floor of the teaching building was the teachers’ office area. The Academic Affairs Office was at the end of the corridor. The door was ajar. Inside came the sound of rustling paper and the clack of abacus beads. Lin Chen raised his hand and knocked with his knuckles. Three times. Even pressure.

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open. Warm air mixed with the smell of old newspapers and ink hit him. Two people sat behind a desk. One was the grade head, wearing reading glasses, grading essays. The other was an academic affairs clerk, a middle-aged woman in a dark blue sweater, with a stack of answer sheets spread before her. An old optical mark reader sat on the desk, its indicator light off.

“Lin Chen?” The clerk looked up, her gaze lingering on his face for a second before dropping to his slightly limping left leg. “Sit.”

Lin Chen sat on a wooden chair beside him. Back straight. Hands resting on his knees.

The clerk pulled an answer sheet from a drawer and slid it toward him. “First mock exam, math. Shading area for Part III, multiple choice questions 1 to 10. The reader flagged it three times. The pencil marks are too light, with smudged edges. And this—” she pointed to the bottom right corner of the sheet, “a bloodstain. The machine flagged it as damaged, unreadable.”

Lin Chen looked down. There was indeed a dark brown smear on the answer sheet. He must have brushed his wound while shading in the exam room. The pencil marks were indeed faint. His hand had been shaking badly then; he couldn’t control the pressure, and the pencil lead slipped on the paper.

“Per the rules, areas the machine can’t read are routed to manual review.” The clerk picked up a red pen and drew a circle on the sheet. “The manual grading committee meets at 3:00 PM. Your paper will be reviewed separately. If the answers are correct, they’ll be scored at the standard rate. If the shading is too ambiguous, it’ll be graded at the lowest tier. Results will be posted tomorrow morning.”

“Understood.” Lin Chen said. His voice was steady.

The grade head took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Your hand was shaking badly during the exam?”

“Hypoglycemia. Plus the cold.” Lin Chen replied. He didn’t mention the foot injury. Explanations were extraneous variables that only increased communication overhead.

The grade head glanced at him, didn’t press further. “Go back and eat on schedule. Second-round review is starting soon. Don’t let one mock exam throw off your rhythm. Sign here.”

The clerk handed over an Answer Sheet Anomaly Review Confirmation Form. It was mimeographed, the characters slightly blurred. Lin Chen took it. With a black pen, he wrote his name in the signature field. The handwriting was clear, without cursive connections. He slid the form back.

“Anything else?” the clerk asked.

“Before the review results are out, how will my total score ranking be displayed?”

“Temporarily listed as pending. It won’t affect the class average statistics. Go back and wait for notice.”

Lin Chen nodded. Stood up. His left leg dragged again. As he walked out of the office, the door closed behind him. The warmth was sealed inside. The corridor’s temperature dropped instantly.

He walked to the stairwell and sat down. He took out his ledger from his bag. Opened to a fresh page. Wrote:

14:30. Academic Affairs Office. Answer sheet anomaly confirmed. Cause: Insufficient shading pressure + bloodstain damage. Processing path: Manual review. Cycle: 12 hours. Risk: Lowest tier scoring. Probability: 30%. Impact: Total score fluctuation range ±15 points. Within tolerance. Conclusion: Accept. No appeal.

He closed the ledger. Logical loop closed. No emotional fluctuation. Only parameter updates.

Wind seeped through the window cracks. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against his Nokia. The screen was dark. He took it out and placed it on his knee. Waiting.

2:45. The phone vibrated. Not a text. A call. The screen displayed: Unknown Number. Area code from the provincial capital.

He pressed the answer key and held it to his ear.

“Is this student Lin Chen? This is the Admissions Office of the Provincial Institute of Technology.” The voice on the other end carried static, speaking quickly. “Your verification materials have passed preliminary review. The interview is scheduled for Saturday at 9:00 AM. Location: Room 302, third floor of the Yifu Building. Please arrive on time.”

“Received.” Lin Chen said.

“One additional point.” The voice paused, followed by the rustle of paper. “Before the interview, you must submit a medical examination report from a county-level or higher hospital. Key checks: cardiovascular function and infectious disease indicators. The report must bear the hospital’s official seal. Originals will be verified, copies retained. If you cannot provide it by 9:00 AM Saturday, your interview eligibility will be automatically canceled. A material checklist will be sent via SMS shortly. Keep your phone on.”

The call ended. Dial tone.

Lin Chen lowered the phone. The screen went dark. He opened his ledger. The pen tip hovered above the paper.

Medical report. County hospital. Official seal.

Cost: Standard checkup package, 15 yuan. Expedited report, extra 5 yuan. Total: 20 yuan.

Current balance: 0.6 yuan.

Time: 72 hours until Saturday at 9:00 AM.

He glanced down at his left foot. Blood had already seeped through the gauze edges. The medical exam required blood draws, an ECG, and internal medicine checks. The doctor would ask him to remove his shoes and socks. The wound’s condition couldn’t be hidden. If the examining doctor deemed his mobility restricted or infection risk high, the report might not get stamped.

He gripped the pen tightly. His knuckles turned white. He wrote a new entry in the ledger:

Objective: Obtain medical report before Saturday 9:00 AM. Gap: 20 yuan funding. Wound condition. Path: Part-time work / scrap collection / temp labor. Wound exudate must be controlled. Need to coordinate basic dressing with the school infirmary in advance. Tolerance: Zero.

He crossed out “0.6 yuan.” Next to it, he wrote “20.0”. The blank space between the numbers looked like a chasm that needed crossing.

A dismissal bell rang from the end of the corridor. Sharp, drawn out. Students’ footsteps surged up from the stairwell. Noise filled the space. Lin Chen put away his ledger, slipped the phone back into his pocket. He braced himself against the wall and stood up. His left foot hit the ground, the pain unchanged. But he was already accustomed to this weight.

He turned and walked toward the school gate. Snow had started falling again. Fine flakes landed on his shoulders, melting quickly. He didn’t look up at the sky. He only watched the path beneath his feet. Every step calculated distance. Every step compressed the tolerance.

The phone vibrated in his pocket again. He stopped. Took it out. The screen lit up. A new text message. From Old Chen.

“Grade meeting at 3:00 PM. Overall first mock results will be announced. Your review results will be synced. Bring a pen and notebook. Don’t be late.”

Lin Chen stared at the screen. His thumb tapped the keys, replying: “Received.”

He put the phone away. Continued walking. Wind swept up snow dust from the ground, pelting his pant legs. He knew the afternoon meeting was just procedure. The real hard battle was on Saturday. On the medical form. In the 20-yuan gap. In whether his left foot could endure the blood draw and ECG corridor.

He quickened his pace. Right foot pushed off, left foot dragged. His breath condensed into white mist in the cold air. The road was still long. But the scale remained. He only needed to input the next parameter into the ledger.