I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 77

Chapter 77: No Turning Back (3)

Tong Xiao’s grand dream of the entire class soaring to success was dashed, her “Exam Master” persona shattered, and our “Beauty of Mathematics Exam Master’s Holy Light Descent Group” achieved a mere 30% passing rate.

Despite the dismal results, the little angels barely had time to weep. They rushed to comfort me, offering a hundred ways to outmaneuver my parents’ opposition, convinced Professor Fang was using this to bar me from entering the Fang family.

The more they insisted, the more I began to believe it myself. I confronted Fang Congxin to confirm.

Fang Congxin brazenly claimed he had already severed ties with his father. But if I doubted his loyalty, he’d gladly become a stay-at-home husband, even asking if my family’s wealth was substantial enough to calculate how much dowry he should demand.

I told him to get lost.

What a pathetic excuse for a man!

Halfway through exam week, Yuan Chongfeng’s betrayal was finally exposed.

When Aunt Yuan learned of Mom’s collusion with the enemy, the sisters’ bond faced its most severe test yet.

I had never heard Aunt Yuan lose her temper before, but this time she rushed to Changning, specifically to slap Yuan Chongfeng across the face. Then she broke down, sobbing like a woman drowning in tears, and cursed him for his heartlessness.

Yuan Chongfeng, having tasted success with my mom, tried the same trick on Fan Qing, hoping she’d talk some sense into Aunt Yuan. To his surprise, Aunt Yuan completely ignored him, leading to days of strained silence between them.

Later, with Teacher Fan’s guidance, Yuan Chongfeng finally understood the root of the problem: Aunt Yuan felt he didn’t treat her like a real mother and mistakenly believed my mom held a higher place in his heart than his adoptive mother. That’s why she was so furious.

Such a promising returnee, reduced to a petty squabble over nothing.

As the semester drew to a close, I tallied my savings and, thinking about my relationship with Xu Zheng, transferred all the meal money I’d saved over the years to him.

He flew into a rage, shouting, “Do you think you’re my mother?!” before hanging up.

Clearly, he’s still furious about Fang Congxin deleting his Weibo posts.

By the time he called again, I’d finished my last major exam.

He’d initially been so generous, saying we should be good friends again, but when I answered, he was still awkward. “Are you paving the way to avoid giving me a wedding gift later?” I teased. He cursed me a few times before finally getting to the point.

He said Yellow Hair had come to Changning. Hearing we were also here, he wanted to gather us all for a reunion.

Xu Zheng added that Yellow Hair was bringing Zhang Hui and wanted Fang Congxin to bring me along.

I imagined the five of us sitting together and really wanted to light a candle for poor Xu Zheng.

It occurred to me that Yellow Hair probably had no idea about Xu Zheng and Zhang Hui, or about Xu Zheng and me, otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested such an awkward arrangement.

Thankfully, Zhang Hui wasn’t stupid, and neither was I, so the gathering was reduced to just Yellow Hair, Xu Zheng, and me.

The venue was suitably swanky—the same High Tier Garden Hotel with the automatic curtains, even the same private room number.

I felt a bit dazed as I walked in, as if my life lately didn’t feel real.

Yellow Hair had clearly struck it rich. His slicked-back hair gleamed like polished oil, and his shirt strained tightly against his bulging muscles. The moment he saw me, he pulled out a card with a 9,999 yuan balance and shoved it into my hand. “I’ve opened a branch in Changning,” he said. “Come give me some pointers.”

“I already have a gym membership,” I replied.

“You clearly haven’t used it much,” he shot back.

“Still running that mouth, huh?” I shot back.

Xu Zheng, ever the sharp-tongued opportunist, seized the moment to kick a man when he was down, sniping, “If your gym’s trainers were hot enough, she’d be at your place in a heartbeat—and she’d even give you 9,999 yuan in cash, no problem.”

Though the three of us had known each other for years, our paths had diverged, and we’d never actually gathered like this before. But with those few cutting words, the years of silence between us seemed to vanish instantly.

Yellow Hair ordered a bottle of foreign liquor—allegedly distilled from a stack of RMB—and was already tearing up before he’d even taken a sip. He told me how tough things had been back then, yet I’d still gone out of my way to help him through. He’d figured he couldn’t face me again until he’d made something of himself, so he’d kept putting it off, until now.

“So, after all that waiting, all you give me is a 9,999 yuan promotional card?” I asked dryly.

“If you want cash,” he suggested, “you can sell it online. And maybe snag me another client while you’re at it?”

“Are you always this calculating?” I retorted.

“You don’t need my money anyway,” he countered. “You’re practically marrying Fang Congxin soon.”

Then he launched into a rambling tale about how he and Fang Congxin had patched things up—or, more accurately, reconciled.

What Yellow Hair didn’t know was that Xu Zheng had already told me about him hitting Fang Congxin. So he started his story from the very beginning, blissfully unaware.

Yellow Hair’s version of events largely mirrored Xu Zheng’s. Fearing Fang Congxin would report him for cheating and implicate me, he tailed Fang Congxin and indeed beat him up.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Fang Congxin offered no resistance, passively enduring two blows.

Yellow Hair had always dismissed Fang Congxin as a bookish nerd, so he initially found nothing strange about his lack of reaction. But when Fang Congxin’s expression remained blank and dazed, Yellow Hair panicked and fled.

It wasn’t until Fang Congxin failed to attend school for several days that Yellow Hair began to wonder if he’d gone too far.

Learning that Fang Congxin’s family owned a detached villa in Taixi, Yellow Hair scraped together some money to buy fruit and nervously went to pay a visit. To his shock, the gate bore a massive “奠” character—a funeral tribute—and solemn-faced men in black suits were streaming in and out.

According to Taixi tradition, memorial rites are held both at funeral homes and in the deceased’s home.

Assuming it was an elderly relative who had passed away, Yellow Hair curiously followed the crowd inside. But the portrait hanging above the altar revealed a young and beautiful woman.

Kneeling beneath the portrait, draped in mourning robes, was Fang Congxin himself, his face bruised and swollen.

Yellow Hair immediately bolted, colliding with both the outgoing and incoming principals of Taixi High School as he fled.

For Yellow Hair, neither moral principles, school regulations, nor power were on his side. At his uncle’s urging, he dropped out of school.

Last year, Yellow Hair and Fang Congxin ran into each other in Beijing. Yellow Hair treated Fang Congxin to drinks as an apology.

Fang Congxin was remarkably magnanimous, acting as if he didn’t care at all about the beating Yellow Hair had given him—the same beating that forced him to send off his mother at her funeral looking so battered and bruised.

Instead, he peppered Yellow Hair with questions about his junior and senior high school days.

Yellow Hair had devoted most of his energy during those years to making money, so his academic life was unremarkable. As they talked, the conversation naturally turned to me—the school’s legendary figure.

After that, Fang Congxin would often seek Yellow Hair out for casual chats.

Yellow Hair came to believe that Fang Congxin was a broad-minded and trustworthy friend. He was also remarkably generous, spending freely without hesitation—a man worth getting close to. That’s how their friendship truly blossomed.

Never in a million years would Yellow Hair have imagined that Fang Congxin would end up with me.

“The world really is small, isn’t it?” I said, nodding in agreement while sipping my drink. In my mind, I pictured Fang Congxin sending off his mother that day, and a suffocating ache gripped my chest.

If only the world were just a little bit smaller—small enough for me to have held his hand, patted his back, and whispered, “I’m here” back then.

He would tear up whenever he talked about A Bao, but he never mentioned his mother. She must have cried for so, so, so long, so long that he couldn’t bear to bring her up anymore. The three of us chatted about this and that, gossiping about things like Lei Chuifeng’s daughter being caught dating at school by Lei Chuifeng himself. As the night deepened, Zhang Hui called Yellow Hair to urge him to wrap things up. “It’s over,” Yellow Hair announced. Xu Zheng and I had no one to call us home, but it wasn’t appropriate to continue drinking alone together. As we stepped outside, car headlights suddenly blazed to life by the roadside. Fang Congxin leaned against his car, watching me approach from afar. The light sculpted his tall figure, so handsome my knees went weak. I thought, Maybe I’ve been too lucky in love, and that’s why I have to suffer so much math-related bullshit in this life.

“Lin Meng,” he asked in the night, his voice unusually seductive, “shouldn’t you at least report your secret rendezvous with your ex-boyfriend?”

I wanted to match his tone, but before I could speak, something surged out of my mouth in a violent eruption. I really can’t handle high-tier liquor! Fang Congxin had probably wanted to look cool, stepping out of the car in just a white shirt on this freezing night. Instead, I’d spewed a map of China onto him, complete with Hainan, Taiwan, and the Nansha Islands splattered across his shirt and even my own clothes.

Without hesitation, Fang Congxin grabbed my arm and led me back into the Garden Hotel. As we entered, we ran into Xu Zheng, who had returned to use the restroom after claiming he’d take me home as soon as he was done. Fang Congxin’s spine straightened instantly. He strode triumphantly to the front desk and, without hesitation, asked if they had a honeymoon suite available. Poor Xu Zheng, I thought. What did he ever do to deserve this? Fang Congxin indulged his childish need for revenge with an extravagant purchase, pulling me into the elevator. As the doors closed, we both instinctively glanced at the mirrored walls. But the elevator was entirely mirrored, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw his nervous gaze reflected back at me through the opposite mirror. We’re adults, I thought. We’re not going to book a room just because someone’s shirt got dirty. The stained shirt was just a thin veil of shame, like, like the Emperor’s New Clothes. So that’s the deeper meaning of the Emperor’s New Clothes, I realized. I’ve been too shallow all along.