I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 28

Fang Congxin and I entered the private room together.

My mom was animatedly sharing some amusing stories. When she noticed us walk in, she gave me a meaningful look, as if a thought bubble above her head read: “There’s something going on between you two.”

I sat down next to her, keeping my gaze forward. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Was there a double-seat in the restroom outside? You were with him for so long.”

I pretended not to hear and changed the subject, “What’s everyone chatting about that’s so entertaining?”

My mom sat back and arranged the plates, “We were just talking about things from when you were kids.”

“Really?” My mind was weighed down with worry, so I responded absentmindedly.

Then my parents eagerly began reminiscing about the past.

My mom first began by recounting that after I learned the idiom “Chiseling a Wall to Borrow Light,” I was so inspired that during the adults’ work hours, I used a small drill to secretly make a hole in the wall that separated my room from the neighbor kid’s room. We exchanged marbles in secret until it was discovered two years later when we moved furniture.

Fang Congxin seemed quite interested, propping his head up with one hand, glancing at me with his eyes slightly raised.

My dad didn’t want to be outdone and immediately added my escapade of taking a leap of faith off the second-floor balcony in an attempt to get to the game console at the local shop before the neighbor kid.

Fang Congxin’s lips curled up, and he pulled out his phone to jot things down.

My mom pressed on, sharing the exclusive story of how I once asked different relatives to attend my middle school parent-teacher meetings, resulting in two people claiming to be “Lin Meng’s father” and being instantly recognized by the sharp-eyed and unforgettable class teacher.

Fang Congxin laughed openly.

With such an enthusiastic audience reaction, my dad seized the opportunity to reveal his best story: at the Lantern Festival riddle event, I guessed the answer to the riddle “Wearing a big red hat, dressed in colorful clothes, singing at dawn to urge everyone to wake up early” as “mom,” causing a sensation in the neighborhood.

Fang Congxin couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud.

Thank you to both representatives for enthusiastically participating in the embarrassing history storytelling competition. I announce that life is neither joyful nor death fearful, please grant me a three-foot white silk so I can end it all right here.

My phone buzzed, and I received a private message from Fang Congxin on the campus forum.

I had almost forgotten this ancient form of communication, making all my eye-blinking efforts in vain.

I acted nonchalantly and opened the message to read.

He wrote: “With your knack for getting into trouble, can the path to course withdrawal really go smoothly?”

I frowned and didn’t reply to him.

Fortunately, my side finally finished their speeches, and the mic was passed to the other side. I was all ears, delightedly listening.Teacher Feng cleared her throat and began telling a story about how, when Fang Congxin was just a kid, he desperately wanted to buy a book. Since the nearest Xinhua Bookstore didn’t have it, he bravely took a trip alone to the next county to hunt for the book. During his quest for directions, he encountered a police officer and ended up being escorted back home in a police car.

I burst into laughter.

Professor Fang then recounted how, after moving to Beijing, Fang Congxin participated in a math competition for the first time and won first prize. Finding it particularly meaningful, he dismantled the trophy and turned it into a shiny golden food bowl for the family’s dog.

I laughed again.

Mentioning the dog led Teacher Feng to share how, after their lost pet was found, Fang Congxin crafted a homemade tracker to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

I chuckled.

Continuing on the topic of the dog, Professor Fang described how Fang Congxin created a small walkie-talkie for the dog, designed using binary options to train the dog to communicate with humans.

Professor Fang then spent quite a bit of time illustrating what that walkie-talkie looked like.

I let out a slight laugh.

It was interesting, but it was a different vibe from my own stories. Mine would fit into a joke collection, while his carried the air of anecdotes about famous people, perfect for storybooks or essays to inspire children to learn like scientists—avidly and resourcefully. I had always thought such anecdotes were made up by writers to earn more.

Naturally, the conversation shifted to my parents lavishly praising Fang Congxin’s exceptional talent. Both being from the science field, they admired these smart, hands-on students the most. My dad, who has a particular admiration for prestigious schools, was full of praise, showering Fang Congxin with every compliment he could muster in his lifetime.

In truth, my performance in the humanities was passable, though not as outstanding as Fang Congxin’s in the sciences. Yet, my father seldom praised me. He had once taught a humanities class and faced numerous frustrations, developing a bias along the way. He believed humanities students were either dreamy or dull. Someone like me, who struggled in both science and humanities but did relatively better in the latter, was rare but not praiseworthy. In his eyes, I was the least capable among the mediocre, merely a sergeant at best rather than a general.

“Lin Meng is also quite brilliant, Teacher Lin. I’ve read her history assignments. She doesn’t just regurgitate textbook content; her perspectives are novel and astute. I remember a question asking why commerce thrived in the Qin Dynasty despite its policy to prioritize agriculture over commerce. The history book glossed over it briefly, but she provided three distinct and lucid points. Her clear thinking and unique insights, along with broad knowledge, are as commendable as being able to solve problems using calculus in high school.”“Our school emphasizes sciences over humanities, and there are fewer humanities competitions in the country, so her brilliance is just overshadowed,” Fang Congxin said with a smile to my dad.

The server poured me a glass of juice, and I took a silent sip. It was a bittersweet experience.

My dad glanced up at me, raising his eyelids slightly. “That’s true. Since she was young, she’s always loved flipping through history books, using math time to read about history instead.”

“Just like me, using time to read Chinese literature books for solving problems instead. Fundamentally, it’s the same; there’s no saying who’s better than whom in terms of excellence.”

I glanced slightly at Fang Congxin and could almost see a holy halo floating above his head, and a pair of pristine white wings sprouting from his back.

My mom secretly kicked me under the table, constantly giving me signals with her eyes.

Then Professor Fang chimed in, “Lin Meng’s math is also better than your Chinese, after all.” Saying so, he pulled a piece of paper from his bag. “I specifically brought some of her assignments over. Even though the final answers are wrong, the approach to solving them is truly creative. I think she shows promise in math.”

I immediately spewed out the orange juice I had just sipped.

If Professor Fang had lived during the Anti-Japanese War, he would certainly have been an outstanding guerrilla leader. Last time, he caught me off guard with a surprise test, and now he does it again by unexpectedly showing the test papers, taking you from heaven to hell in a split second.

The problem involving the square root of 2 and 52 did not hold up to scrutiny. I wiped my mouth and almost leaped over to Professor Fang’s side, intently focusing on the paper.

Hey, it seemed someone had secretly lengthened the horizontal line of the radical sign. Others wouldn’t notice it, but I could tell the difference.

Did Fang Congxin fix it for me before reporting it back then? I silently looked at him.

He was holding back a mischievous grin, enjoying the scene.