I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 74

Chapter 74: Guard Against Greed and Anger (7)

Thinking about this, I suddenly realized that He Xiaoping’s story might be true.

Back then, to comfort Xu Zheng, I’d taken countless photos of couples, their faces obscured, deliberately creating the illusion that I had a boyfriend.

Later, I stopped posting the photos, but Xu Zheng kept coming to my school to freeload meals and drinks, snapping photos and posting them on Weibo. Occasionally, he’d even capture me eating, uploading the unedited images directly despite my repeated attempts to beat some sense into him—a pattern that continued to this present day.

So it’s no wonder Fang Congxin mistakenly believed I had a stable boyfriend.

If I hadn’t accidentally stumbled into that act of heroism on “The Beauty of Mathematics,” he might still be laboring under that misapprehension.

Xu Zheng had been blocking my romantic prospects for years—truly, his death was no great loss. I hope Wang Ziqi’s “Heartbreak Is Inevitable” party for him is suitably lavish and grand.

Thankfully, I managed to pull myself together and steer things back onto the right track.

Otherwise, Wang Ziqi might have had to arrange an even more extravagant funeral for Xu Zheng.

I said, “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?

If you’d told me all this back in your dad’s class, we could have started our sweet romance then and there.”

Fang Congxin’s face darkened. “See? You’d just fall for anyone easily, wouldn’t you?

If someone even slightly better-looking than me had come along back then, claiming to have liked you for ages, would you have been swept off your feet and run off with them?”

I thought about it seriously for a moment.

He nudged me. “Hey, at least put on a show and say no.”

I replied, “I probably wouldn’t fall in love at first sight, but maybe after a while, I might have.”

Fang Congxin’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with exaggerated sorrow. “Look at you, flitting around like a butterfly. You’d probably fly to whatever flower catches your eye.

If Liu Haoran were here right now, he could probably just beckon, and you’d run off with him.”

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Are you jealous of Liu Haoran, or are you still bitter about your high school self?

There’s nothing wrong with being initially attracted to someone based on their looks, is there?

No matter how much we hate to admit it, looks are the first impression, the key to social interaction.

Just like how a Peking University degree makes it easier to land a job, once you’re hired, would you ask your company, ‘Did you hire me for my degree or my skills?’

The answer, of course, is both.

But in a few years, your degree won’t matter as much. Your proven abilities will be what ultimately keeps you employed.”

“And asking the company, ‘If it were between Jack Ma and me, who would you keep?’ would be just asking for trouble, right?”

As Fang Congxin listened, a smile gradually crept into his eyes. He gently stroked my hair and said, “Because between us, you’re not the one plagued by insecurities, so you can speak so logically and clearly.

I can’t. I understand the logic perfectly well, but I can’t use it to convince myself.

It’s like—it’s like memorizing all the math formulas but still being unable to solve a simple problem I casually toss your way.”

“Hey, don’t just randomly drag math into this.”

“Then what should I bring up?

Bring up you saying you’ve decided you don’t like me anymore?”

I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. I take that back.”

He shook his head. “Lin Meng, I told you before that I could always match the intensity of your affection, because my love for you is as vast and inexhaustible as the ocean, easily able to match your small measure of affection.

I also said I didn’t want the person I love to choose me out of gratitude or pity. I don’t want my love to become a burden for you.

So I concealed my reserves, waiting patiently for your affection to slowly grow and deepen.”

“But I realized that was impossible.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the starry sky. “It’s a simple math problem. From the initial value to the growth rate, you’ll never catch up to my numerical value. I think I’ll have to prepare to hide this for the rest of my life.”

“But locking away the love that, after deducting the mutual part, grows increasingly disparate, and keeping it from bursting forth, is terribly difficult. Like how, in one moment, I suddenly long to hold you, in another, I crave to sleep with you, and in yet another, I desperately want to marry you. I can’t calculate which part, after the deduction, is the love I must hide.”

“When you reject me, I feel wronged and resentful. Why can’t you like me even a little as much as I like you? So, just like yesterday, I became aggressive and pushy, creating a new burden for you. Therefore, there is no solution.”

I swallowed hard, feeling utterly bewildered.

When he casually uttered the word “love,” I was momentarily stunned. So his affection had already qualitatively transformed into love?

Me—could I ever say “I love you” to Fang Congxin without any reservations?

Fang Congxin took my hand and said, “But today I understand how to prioritize. Whether you pity me or are moved, it doesn’t matter. I consider these as broad definitions of love.”

“I’ll find a way to refine these feelings, to bring them as close as possible to pure affection.

Even if they never reach the idealized purity I originally envisioned, it’s like approaching a limit in mathematics. As they infinitely converge, they become affection itself.”

Math really is my kryptonite, I thought. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying.

Seeing my bewildered expression, he smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t understand. Just continue being yourself, and I’ll take care of the rest.

If you like me because I’m good-looking, that’s fine. If it’s because I’m good to you, that’s fine too. And if—if you like me out of sympathy for what I’ve been through, that’s fine as well.

These fragmented, impure affections are like the twigs birds use to build their nests, ultimately becoming something warm and comforting. That’s equivalent to the love I’m pursuing.”

With this explanation, I thought I understood a little better.

He paused, then added, “So it’s okay if you can control your feelings for me right now.”

I rolled my eyes. “Affection isn’t something you can just turn on and off like that.”

“But isn’t that exactly what you did with Xu Zheng?”

He rubbed his nose. “My heart is small. I can’t let go of those years I lost unjustly.

A few days ago, I went to the School of Mathematics to see my dad. Xu Zheng happened to be there. He recognized me and struck up a conversation.”

I told him everything about you and me, and he was equally candid about his past with you.

It was clear you handled your feelings for him with such detachment, which made me feel pressured. I worry I might end up doing the same one day.

That little bastard Xu Zheng, what exactly did he say to Fang Congxin?

So, the fight we had yesterday was about him too?

Maybe we should just hold a funeral for Wang Ziqi.

I shook my head. “You’re nothing like him.”

Fang Congxin said dejectedly, “So I’m just a bit better-looking than him, then?”

“No, it’s not just that. You’re not only better-looking, you’re also richer and academically more accomplished—”

Fang Congxin raised an eyebrow. “Hey—”

I dropped the teasing tone and said seriously, “I don’t know what Xu Zheng told you, but you two are completely different to me.

You’re the first person I’ve ever truly fallen for. It’s still early days, fragile as an embryo, but it’s full of life and potential. It will grow strong.

Xu Zheng, on the other hand, was more like a phantom pregnancy—when a woman desperately wants a child so badly she convinces herself she’s carrying one, even though there’s no life inside.

I just mistakenly thought I liked him, but I realized it wasn’t true.

That wasn’t detachment or emotional control—it was recognizing reality for what it was.”

As I spoke so solemnly, Fang Congxin burst out laughing.

He ruffled my hair. “Pseudopregnancy? What a terrible metaphor.”

Though it sounded like a reprimand, I could tell he was in a good mood.

I rolled my eyes. “At least it’s more accessible than your limit-seeking nonsense, right?”

He nodded without hesitation, his eyes crinkling into a smile as his big tail swayed. “We already have the embryo of love. A real embryo might not be such a big deal.”

Huh?

That’s quite the leap, buddy.

I took two steps back. “I just remembered I have some math problems to finish. I still need to work out the relationship between the Fibonacci sequence and the golden ratio.”

Fang Congxin chuckled. “Why don’t you work out our relationship first?”

“Oh, and there’s metric spaces in topology too,” I said.

“Darling, let’s explore our space together first,” he purred, closing in like a flower-snatching rogue.

“And… and the applications of Bayes’ theorem!”

“Why don’t you apply yourself to me first?”

He yanked me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Come on, I’m starving.”

“Me too.”

“Food first, then work.”

“What work?!”

“Catching up on the math class you missed today.”

“How did you know I was taking class with Tong Xiao? Did my mom tell you?”

“Tong Xiao did.”

“Why does Tong Xiao tell you everything?”

“You suggested using me to get close to Tong Xiao back then.

I greeted Tong Xiao and warned her that a pervert might be secretly watching her. She suggested we turn the tables with a counterintelligence scheme, so—”

“She’s the real mole!”

Zhang Wuji’s mother was right after all.

Never trust a beautiful woman.

I paused. “But surely his father’s story wasn’t an act?”

“That part was real.”

“Then why did you hit him?”

“Because he really deserved it.”

“……”

Afterward, I took Fang Congxin home to meet my mother.

Mom had been worried sick about us all day, and it was time to reassure her.

I initially thought just bringing Fang Congxin along would suffice, but he insisted on stopping at a high-end department store to buy a gift.

I eagerly tagged along, hoping to bask in some reflected glory. But when Fang Congxin pulled out his wallet, he bought a silk scarf that was expensive enough to clothe me from head to toe yet barely larger than a pair of underwear, and then promptly left.

“Shouldn’t you have told the salesclerk to replace everything on that ugly woman—inside and out—then impatiently sat on the sofa waiting for me to emerge from the fitting room? And shouldn’t your expression have gradually shifted from indifference to rapt attention, until you declared, ‘I’ll take this, that, and both of those sets,’ while I stubbornly insisted, ‘No, no!’ But in the end, I’d still walk out of the mall trailing ten shopping bags behind you?”

Fang Congxin retorted, “Don’t take advantage of my feelings for you by adding so much drama to the story. Besides, I would never call you ugly woman.”

“But you’ve called me a pig before.”

“That was about your IQ.”

“Thanks for the clarification. I hadn’t even realized.”

“You’re welcome.”

Passing the I do diamond ring shop, he stopped. “Why don’t you go in and try some on? I can carry ten bags for you. One for each finger.”

“Are you trying to make me look like a Middle Eastern oil tycoon?” I retorted, not holding back.

“Then forget about the other ten bags,” he snapped back.

Meanwhile, my mother’s excitement about our reconciliation paled in comparison to her sheer delight over that palm-sized silk scarf.

As the saying goes, “One good turn deserves another.” My mom rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out three thick cashmere scarves, handing them to Fang Congxin.

She explained that she knitted a scarf for my boyfriend every winter. This year, with an unusually strong premonition, she’d started knitting the red one weeks ahead of schedule, finishing it just before we left—and nearly didn’t give it to him at all.

Judging by the scarf’s quality, the red one was indeed the only one barely presentable enough to wear out. This proved that with enough effort, even an iron rod can be ground into a needle. If I’d waited a few more years to find a boyfriend, my mom might have not only collected a rainbow of scarves but also started a lucrative side business.

Then I wondered why, in all the past three years, I’d never been worthy of wearing one of my mom’s handmade scarves.

But looking at the three gaudy gifts in Fang Congxin’s hands, I lost the motivation to compete.

Sometimes a mother’s love is a burden—I’d rather do without it.

Memo from Fang Congxin:

What’s scarier than losing?

Gaining something only to lose it again.

What’s more blissful than gaining?

Losing something and then getting it back.