The day before school officially started, Song Cong was called to the school. The guidance counselor surnamed Fu, was in his forties with a round belly and an amiable appearance. There were two topics to discuss: first, preparing a speech for the new student representative at the opening ceremony; second, although he hadn’t registered for the Olympic class exam, the school still recommended he participate.

“The top ten students in the city get direct admission to the Olympic class, and this selection test isn’t mandatory for them. But everyone except you has registered. Since you’ll get in anyway, it’s good to test the waters, right?”

He thought the city’s top scorer was too proud to participate.

But Song Cong had assumed not registering would naturally place him in a regular class. Now he was puzzled, “How can I avoid getting into the Olympic class?”

The Olympic class at Tianzhong was renowned far and wide, producing abundant results in mathematics, physics, and chemistry competitions every year. Entering this class meant guaranteed admission, reduced score requirements, and impressive honors on overseas applications – each a golden key to the future. This elite unit had only ever rejected those knocking at its door; how could it be rejected?

Principal Fu was quite curious, “Why don’t you want to join?”

Song Cong lowered his eyes, “Personal reasons.”

The Olympic class wasn’t the best choice for medical studies, and there were other opportunities for guaranteed admission without competitions. He’d had enough of living differently from others.

Song Cong had thought through each point.

“Do your parents know?”

“Yes.” Song Cong’s reason for his parents was that he didn’t want to be too tired, and the Song parents’ response was surprisingly unified – then don’t go.

Principal Fu, having taught for over ten decades, had seen all kinds of students. Occasionally he’d encounter some with strong personalities. He made no judgment, only smiled and said, “Take the test first, you might not even pass.”

Now it was Song Cong’s turn to be amused. He guessed this might be reverse psychology, but decided to play along and then break free. He pointed at the pen holder on the desk, “Then may I borrow a pen?”

He had come empty-handed.

The test venue was in the gymnasium. What surprised Song Cong was that there were hundreds of registered students. When the central tables weren’t enough, late arrivals sat in the stands. The test papers were already distributed – three subjects: math, physics, and chemistry, each on double-sided A3 paper, with a three-hour time limit.

He was led into the exam venue by Principal Fu, who whispered to the approaching proctor, “Arrange a seat.”

“Who’s this?”

“The top scorer.” Principal Fu exchanged a knowing look with them.

All registered students were present, filling the venue. Song Cong took his test papers and pointed to the stands, “I’ll go up there.”

The proctor silently shook his head, and then called over another colleague. Together they moved the proctor’s desk to a corner, set up a chair, and gestured for Song Cong to come over.

The commotion caused a subtle stir, but order quickly restored naturally, leaving only the sound of pens scratching paper.

After sitting down, his phone vibrated with a message from Jing Xiqi: “We’re going to buy computers first, come find us when you’re done.”

Chen Huan’er’s college entrance gift was a laptop, funded by Chen’s mother, with them as consultants. Jing Xiqi was enviously starry-eyed, but Jing’s mother firmly refused, fearing he’d only play games, so he could only secretly live vicariously by helping Chen Huan’er choose.

After all, if they bought a good one, he might get to borrow it.

Song Cong hadn’t prepared for the test and didn’t want to keep them waiting, so he quickly replied “OK.”

The proctor tapped the desk in warning, and Song Cong hurriedly put away his phone.

He needed to answer quickly. It was rare for him to feel rushed before an exam.

Still, he didn’t make it to the computer mall. The questions were difficult, and it seemed like he was just calculating when suddenly it was time to hand in the papers – three hours had passed in a flash. This quality of Song Cong’s was pointed out by his middle school homeroom teacher, summed up in two words – focus. Since childhood, when his mother took him to the emergency room and adults were too busy to mind him, he would watch those doctors slowly pick out glass shards from bloody wounds, then suture the flesh from start to finish, stitch by stitch. Song Cong had many such memories: their gazes, the forceps in their hands, their deep and shallow breaths. No matter what crying or shouting surrounded them, no matter what expressions patients made, no matter what urgency pressed from behind, those in white coats remained unmoved – in his vision, they were still. These scenes took root in Song Cong’s heart. Whether through imitation or learning, he had unconsciously absorbed what he saw as part of himself, becoming what teachers jokingly described as “someone who could solve problems even in a bustling supermarket.”

He was often asked how he studied. Teachers, classmates, uncles, and aunts in the residential compound – out of politeness, Song Cong usually answered seriously, “Pay attention in class, do more practice problems.” In truth, he couldn’t explain how his mind worked. Hearing something once let him grasp the general idea, and seeing something once imprinted it in his mind. Taking tests and solving problems was like pushing a boat with the current, advancing step by step. It was just that sometimes during these moments, his surroundings would occasionally fall still, and besides the task at hand, he couldn’t perceive anything else.

On the first day of school, class assignments were posted on the bulletin board outside the auditorium. Unsurprisingly, Huan’er, Qi Qi, and Jing Xiqi were all assigned to Class 5. Song Cong’s name appeared first in Class 24 – by tradition at Tianzhong, the elite unit always had the highest class number.

Qi Qi quietly told Huan’er that the Olympic class had separate records, and her father couldn’t easily approach the principal.

Jing Xiqi was the happiest, praising Qi Qi as “beautiful” all morning, and now chanting “fate, fate” like Tang Sanzang. Qi Qi couldn’t help but retort, “You’re just riding on Huan’er’s coattails.”

Jing Xiqi didn’t think much of it, “Later she’ll be the one riding on mine.”

“Song Cong, you…” Huan’er turned around but couldn’t see him, muttering softly, “He was just here.”

In the academic affairs office, Principal Fu was quietly observing the youth before him.

On the desk lay the Olympic class selection test papers. He was undoubtedly first place, thirty-some points above second place. In this extraordinary competition, this score represented far more than just effort – it demonstrated mentality and intelligence under high pressure.

Moreover, he had no preparation and was even fifteen minutes late.

Yet now the youth had come with only one request – to change classes.

Principal Fu tapped the test papers, “Do you know this year’s guaranteed admission rate for the Olympic class graduates and which schools these seniors got into?”

Song Cong frowned, “Principal, I didn’t want to take the test in the first place.”

“But the fact proves,” Principal Fu looked at him, “Song Cong, you’re more suited for such a group.”

An elite unit equipped with the strongest teaching resources, unleashing unlimited potential under pressure, where everyone harbored lofty ambitions to soar high.

“I…” Song Cong suddenly smiled, “I know what I want.”

“Go back and think it over,” Principal Fu was reluctant to give up, “After all, this affects your life for the next three years, even your future.”

When one approach failed, Song Cong changed tactics and began playing pitifully, “Principal, please just let me change classes. If I’m there in body but not in spirit, wouldn’t that just cause trouble for you and the teachers?”

“We’re least afraid of trouble.”

“But I am,” Song Cong said with utmost sincerity, “What if things get chaotic? Wouldn’t that shake the troops’ morale?”

Principal Fu was stumped and simply waved his hand, “Go back to class first and prepare for your afternoon speech. We’ll discuss the rest later.”

Song Cong thanked him and left.

He had no choice but to go to Class 24. The smallest class, on the top floor, is an undisturbed quiet zone.

If he stayed here – Song Cong thought – it would just be repeating the past three years anew.

A classmate approached, “You’re the city’s top scorer, right? Please help us out in the future.”

“Yes,” Song Cong nodded, then added, “But I probably won’t be able to help, I’m changing classes soon.”

Though not loud, these words thrown into the quiet classroom caused an uproar.

People from the front, back, left and right immediately surrounded him. Even students sitting far ahead turned around and pricked up their ears. Everyone asked the same question, “Why change classes?”

After all, it took every ounce of effort just to earn a chance to sit here.

And those chances were limited.

Song Cong didn’t want to say much, but he had to give a credible reason, so he told them, “I don’t want to do competitions.”

Everyone’s expressions varied. Some nodded in understanding, some relaxed at having one less strong competitor, and some regretfully commented “With your grades, it’s a waste not to do competitions.”

Song Cong silently took out his books, no longer responding to the surrounding discussions.

What path to take and how to take it were two different matters – the former had never been an obstacle to the latter.

At the afternoon opening ceremony, Song Cong stood on the stage under the gaze of over a thousand people.

He adjusted the microphone, took out his speech, and after slightly regulating his breath, began, “Respected…”

These three words were like fish food scattered over the sea, with students in the playground gathering like small fish in groups to whisper. “So that’s the middle school top scorer, he’s so handsome” “He’s also first in the Olympic class test, didn’t you see the big board?” “His voice is nice too, wow, why wasn’t I at his middle school?”

Chen Huan’er stood in the crowd, her head spinning from the surrounding praise. She poked Qi Qi’s back in front of her, snickering softly, “Even if they were at the same middle school, they might not have seen him.”

As an important member of Song Cong’s friend group, she was excited enough to fly.

Qi Qi half-turned and made a “shh” gesture, “Don’t make noise, listen to the speech.”

Huan’er obediently closed her mouth, unconsciously straightening her back amidst the surrounding comments.

After a while, Qi Qi turned back again, “Song Cong hasn’t changed classes, right?”

Song Cong had been called away by teachers at noon to rehearse for the ceremony, so he hadn’t eaten with them. But if the city’s top scorer switched to a regular class, the news would have spread already, and there had been no such information in the school so far.

Huan’er didn’t pay much attention, “He’s been busy today, and probably hasn’t brought it up yet.”

“That’s true.” Qi Qi nodded, turning back to watch the radiant person on stage. If you change – you must, must change to this class.

Song Cong finished his speech and bowed before leaving the stage.

Huan’er applauded enthusiastically like everyone else. She was proud of her mother who possessed medical skills to save lives, proud of her father who shouldered great responsibilities to protect the country, and among friends who made her proud, Song Cong was the first.

Every day, setting out together from the residential compound to school, sometimes gathering around the same table to eat the same meals, reviewing and doing problems to face one test after another that they dared not slack off on – because of all these ordinary, common things, she hadn’t realized just how excellent her friend was.

Or perhaps in the process of growing familiarity, she had forgotten.

Chen Huan’er watched the spirited youth walking down from the stage, suddenly feeling that forgetting was a good thing.

Only when he wasn’t the lofty top student could they share the unwillingness to fall behind, the self-doubt buried in their hearts, and the troubles and confusion that had nowhere to go.

You can be excellent, but as my friend, you don’t need to be that excellent.