I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 76

Chapter 76: No Retreat (2)

But he still had many loose ends to tie up and didn’t have time to come see me.

Mom had originally booked her flight back to Taixi for today. Fearing I’d try to change her ticket, I stopped her.

At the airport, I repeated a thousand times that my fainting spell was just due to low blood sugar and had absolutely nothing to do with the psychological trauma from years ago. I even boasted that I was strong enough to perform a full set of military boxing drills. Finally, she relented, shoving her earbuds in with a dismissive air. But I knew she wasn’t really listening.

Just as I pretended to have no lingering trauma in front of her, she had to pretend she was convinced by my assurances. And I, in turn, had to pretend I believed she was convinced.

I was well-versed in this charade.

Back then, if it hadn’t been to ease my mother’s guilt, I wouldn’t have returned to school so quickly, pretending everything was normal as I attended classes.

And Mom, to put my mind at ease, pretended she had emerged from her remorse and regret, moving on hand-in-hand with me.

Pretending, pretending, we pulled ourselves through that difficult time, even with lingering scars, even when it was hard to keep up the act.

I hugged Mom, reminding her to drink less alcohol back home and take care of herself.

My mom paused, then said, “I understand.”

The online uproar continued unabated.

No one could withstand the magnifying glass of the internet.

A malicious clique spread rumors about Tong Xiao, claiming she was vain and opportunistic, questioning how a sophomore could afford such extravagance, implying she must have bartered her youth and beauty for it.

Tong Xiao posted her bank statements online, meticulously categorizing all income sources with clear, logical breakdowns.

She followed up with a new Weibo post: “I once coveted vanity, but now I’ve trampled it underfoot. It’s no longer the armor I wear against the world. I’ve found new strength.”

Many women rallied to her defense: “It’s her money, she can spend it how she likes! These bitter grapes are just sour.”

A second-generation rich kid even came forward to clarify, claiming he had long admired Tong Xiao but she had never accepted any gifts from him.

Soon after, Tong Xiao confessed in the tutoring group that she had established the tutoring group to generate income and offered full refunds to anyone dissatisfied.

But not a single person requested a refund.

The responses came in perfect unison: “Don’t worry, Exam Master! All of Changning University stands behind you!”

Counting heads, the tutoring group barely had twenty-odd members. Where did they get the audacity to claim they represented all of Changning?

So, I joined to beef up the numbers and make the response seem more convincing.

But deep down, I knew that no matter how solid the support behind you, some of life’s trials you have to face alone.

From now on, everyone would scrutinize her anew—defining her, discussing her through tinted lenses. Any future achievements she made could be tainted by these labels.

That’s the kind of thing that takes immense willpower to endure.

If an ordinary person like me can emerge from disaster, surely Tong Xiao can too, I thought.

Then came the news: Mumu Tech announced it would donate a fixed annual sum specifically to combat domestic violence and support girls’ education.

That evening, a new trending topic emerged.

Fang Congxin had created a Weibo account and posted a five-second video.

He spoke only one sentence: “I regret resorting to violence as a solution, but I will never regret protecting my loved one.”

The comments section beneath the video quickly devolved into chaos.

The top comment read: “Did his girlfriend save the Milky Way in her past life?”

Second: His boyfriend energy is overflowing!

Third: Does Big Brother need a second wife?

Fourth: I’ve already sent my resume to Mumu Tech!

Fifth: Can anyone point me to his girlfriend’s Weibo?

When I frantically turned back to find my Weibo, I discovered my account had already been deleted.

A message from Fang Congxin lay unread in my WeChat: I’ve hacked your and Xu Zheng’s Weibos. All the data has been backed up.

You don’t need to keep the Weibo with photos of you and your ex-boyfriend if you don’t want to.

Tell Xu Zheng to consider this method atonement for his past sins.

Despite this, the internet sleuths dug up my past anyway, even resurfacing those cringeworthy, self-aggrandizing photos from my misguided youth when I thought I could impress talent scouts.

Initially, there was merciless ridicule.

But then someone dredged up the accident from my high school days, and my past was dragged through the mud again. The jeers gradually faded away.

The hundreds of thousands of online rivals withdrew their attacks, and many supportive sisters even sent me blessings.

I had fled Taixi for Changning, hoping for a peaceful life, only to become an internet sensation anyway.

By the time the storm finally calmed, it was almost final exam season.

Life was a real grind.

Originally, not many people at Changning University knew about my past. But after all the publicity in the early stage, the entire class seemed to have received some divine summons, collectively pressuring me to study.

Tong Xiao, normally so steady and composed, started tutoring me every day, explaining the solutions to the practice questions I’d been assigned. She even resorted to banging on the table like my dad used to do.

No respect for elders!

Fang Congxin, on the other hand, was completely hands-off. “The master guides you through the gate,” he said, “but the cultivation is up to you.” He effortlessly handed me off to the “organization.”

See? Men are totally unreliable when it really counts.

Only Ge Chunchun, who claimed her values had been “subjected to a hydrogen peroxide experiment,” remained single-mindedly focused on getting me to use Fang Congxin’s connections to secure a passing grade.

I’d considered that plan ages ago, but the little girl’s relentless enthusiasm was kind of amusing. So I just hummed and nodded along, listening to her brainstorm bizarre schemes. One tactic involving “attacking his heart” actually piqued my interest.

One early morning, I called Fang Congxin just as he was getting off work. “If you can convince Professor Fang to make the exam a little easier so I can pass,” I said, “I might consider pulling a ‘Middle Eastern oil heiress wearing ten diamond rings’ stunt.”

That evening, he wired back, declaring everything was ready except the exam itself.

Astonished, I asked how he’d managed it. He confessed he’d resorted to my crude suggestion: holding a sword to his neck and threatening suicide if he failed.

Knowing Fang Congxin would sacrifice any shred of dignity to get married, I regretted not having him steal the exam questions outright.

The Beauty of Mathematics was scheduled for the first day of exam week.

Fang Congxin had no time to cram with me.

The day before the exam, Mumu Tech’s upgraded Changning University website made its debut.

It was the culmination of their first phase of work, and he needed to be with his brothers.

I stole a moment to log in and saw, tucked away in the corner of the homepage, a line of tiny characters: “Mumu Muxi: Go get ’em, exam takers!”

The website’s elegant design, intuitive interface, and stable performance earned universal praise from students. Only a few perfectionists griped on the forum: “Let’s nitpick a bit.

There are still a few typos on the homepage.

Shouldn’t the bottom line read ‘Mumu Tech cheers on the exam takers’?

Of course, this is probably the fault of whoever handles the school’s content.”

Since it was right before exam week, not many people responded to his message. Only one classmate named Qiqi replied: “Straight men can be terrifyingly romantic.” I thought to myself, Fang Congxin and I had bonded over “The Beauty of Mathematics,” and my math teacher was also my future father-in-law. According to the typical happy ending in idol dramas, I was practically guaranteed to pass this exam. But reality proved that passing was impossible. Professor Fang had designed an impossibly difficult math exam. The exam hall was filled with groans of despair, and I crashed and burned. When the results came out, I scored 59 points, perfectly mirroring Fang Congxin’s score from our first remedial exam. This confirmed that the tarot cards predicting my eternal failure in math were unerringly accurate. Manjusri Bodhisattva truly could only handle arts subjects, or perhaps my wish to exchange my exam failure for Yuan Chongfeng’s safety and well-being had pleased a Buddha with higher authority than Manjusri.

I heard Fang Congxin stormed off to confront his father. His father explained that mathematics was an indispensable part of the Fang family’s identity. Had Fang Congxin not proposed marriage beforehand, he would have simply seen me as his son’s girlfriend. But since he had, Professor Fang felt compelled to raise the exam’s difficulty to meet his standards for a daughter-in-law. He also mentioned hearing about test-prep agencies circulating leaked questions. The purpose of math education wasn’t just to pass exams, but to spark genuine interest in the subject and cultivate problem-solving skills.

These training institutions were essentially a form of cheating, and to maintain fairness and uphold the social responsibility teachers had pledged during “The Beauty of Mathematics” debates, such adjustments were perfectly justified. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Professor Fang used Fang Congxin’s own spear against his shield, and the logic was irrefutable. This further demonstrated Professor Fang’s unwavering integrity, ironclad principles, and ruthless willingness to betray even those closest to him—a true master of killing his own kin.

Due to the shockingly high failure rate, Professor Fang petitioned the university to hold a massive make-up exam at the end of the second semester. This meant I’d have to endure another half-year of math torment. But my chances of securing a graduate school recommendation hadn’t completely vanished yet.