Chapter Thirty-Four: The Literature Enthusiast’s Final Exam

The philosophical clash between the two proud souls did little to improve their relationship. Before they knew it, the weekend had slipped by in a flurry of anxious revision, and the final exams commenced amid the warlike tension that gripped every student at Fudan High School. No one wished to perform poorly; their happiness during the Spring Festival, not to mention the thickness of their red envelopes, depended on it.

Aside from mathematics, which for Cheng Xiaoyu remained an insurmountable chasm, he had prepared quite thoroughly for all his other subjects. Especially English—out of one hundred points, he felt confident he could score nearly full marks. The tragedy was that English only counted for half its value in the total grade calculation.

The finals passed swiftly: three subjects a day, all done in two days. Physical education had been tested the previous week, and, unsurprisingly, Cheng Xiaoyu once again ranked dead last in the class. Fortunately, his classmates had long since grown accustomed to this.

Chinese was one of Cheng Xiaoyu’s strengths, and the questions were not particularly difficult. The first section was famous quotes to be completed. The first was from Mencius, “Born of adversity, die in ease.” The prompt was to continue: “If, when entering, there are no teachers or worthy men, and when going out, there are no external enemies, the nation will surely perish.” This was a breeze for Cheng Xiaoyu—provided he used the correct traditional characters. He wrote the answer in a flourish of beautiful penmanship. The following items were even easier: “The beacon fires have burned for three months, a letter from home is worth ten thousand in gold.” Du Fu’s “Spring View.” After seven or eight such questions, he turned to the analysis of a classical prose piece, “Letter to Wang Kunsheng”—nothing to trouble a literary youth such as himself.

Cheng Xiaoyu swept through the exam, reaching the composition section, where the prompt was to write an essay on the theme of dreams, with free choice of perspective, style (excluding poetry), title, originality required, and a recommended length of no less than 800 words.

The words “excluding poetry” immediately irked Cheng Xiaoyu. As a poetry enthusiast, he could not help but feel that the paucity of contemporary verse was a lamentable consequence of the education system. After a moment’s reflection, he decided that, since his score didn’t matter much to him, he might as well let his spirit soar. With bold, powerful strokes, he titled his essay “Riding on Dreams,” with the subtitle, “Excluding Poetry.”

I wish to be the loyal son of a distant land,
And the fleeting lover of material things,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I must walk the same path as martyrs and clowns,
While thousands would extinguish the flame,
I alone will lift it high—
This fire will burst and blossom in the sacred homeland,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I borrow this fire to cross the vast night of life,
This fire for the great language of our nation,
For the stronghold built of scattered stones,
For Dunhuang, whose bones are cold even in July,
Like white firewood and hard, pure snow,
Laid across the mountains of the gods,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I devote myself to this flame,
These three things are the lamps confining me, yet they shine forth,
Thousands must cross the blade of my sword to construct our language,
I am willing to begin again, from the very start,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I would willingly serve out a life sentence,
Among all things created by the gods, I am the most perishable,
Carrying the irresistible speed of death,
Only grain do I cherish,
I hold it close, raise children by it in my homeland,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I would also bury myself on the high mountains,
Guarding the peaceful homeland,
Before the great river, I am endlessly ashamed,
For my youth has been wasted, I am only weary,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
The years slip by, leaving not a drop behind,
Within a single drop, a horse falls dead,
A thousand years hence, if I am reborn on the banks of the nation’s rivers,
A thousand years hence, I will once again possess the rice fields of China and the snow peaks of the Zhou kings,
Heavenly horses gallop,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
I choose an eternal enterprise,
My quest is to become the life of the sun,
From ancient times to the present,
It is incomparably brilliant, incomparably bright,
Like all poets who ride upon dreams,
At last, I am carried by the gods of dusk into the immortal sun,
The sun is my name,
The sun is my life.

On the sun’s summit is buried the corpse of poetry—the kingdom of a thousand years, and myself,
Riding the five-thousand-year Phoenix and the dragon named “Horse”—I am bound to fail,
But poetry itself, like the sun, is destined to triumph.

Having finished, Cheng Xiaoyu gazed at his paper in silence. Once, poetry shone with dazzling glory, but in this nation racing forward at breakneck speed, it had grown desolate. Those great poets who glittered in the starry river of history had written all the magnificent verses of the land—we could only look up in reverence. This, he thought, was nothing short of civilization’s sorrow. The monstrous force of the economy, dragging urban culture into mutation, had erected this heavy, cold edifice of concrete and steel, crushing the homeland and grinding our values to dust.

Poetry was no more than a concubine cast off by politics.

And this generation could only imagine that words were fit for love songs—believing all lyrics to be about romance.

Cheng Xiaoyu was the first to hand in his paper. Under the helpless gazes of his classmates, he left the school; they could not understand the final melancholy of a literary youth.

The mathematics exam was in the afternoon. Cheng Xiaoyu glanced at the test, his head spinning. In his past life, it was math and English that had dragged him down, preventing him from achieving a good score on the college entrance exam. In this life, he knew the notes do-re-mi-fa-so, but not 1, 4, 5. Facing the hieroglyphics of math, he let his imagination run wild.

In the rectangular coordinate system O, using the origin as the pole and the positive x-axis as the polar axis, a semicircle has the polar equation p = 2 cosθ, θ in [0, π].
(1) Find its parametric equations;
(2) Given a point on the curve, the tangent at that point is perpendicular to the line y = x + 2. According to the parametric equations in (1), determine the coordinates of the point.

Cheng Xiaoyu answered:
I walk through Jiangnan,
The face that waits in the seasons blooms and withers like the lotus,
If the east wind does not come, the willow catkins of March do not fly,
Your heart is like a small, lonely city,
Like the bluestone streets at dusk,
The chirp of insects is silent, the spring curtains of March unopened,
Your heart is a small window, tightly shut,
My horse’s hooves are a beautiful mistake,
I am not returning—I am just a passerby…

Another question: Let the function f(x) = |x + 1| + |x – a| (a > 0).
(1) Prove: f(x) ≥ 2;
(2) If f(3) = …

Cheng Xiaoyu responded:
How can I make you encounter me
At my most beautiful moment?
For this,
I have prayed to Buddha for five hundred years,
Asking him to let us weave a bond in the dust of the world,
So Buddha made me into a tree,
Growing beside the path you must take,
Under the sun,
I blossomed with utmost care,
Every blossom a hope from a former life,
When you approach,
Listen closely,
The trembling leaves are my passion waiting,
And when you finally pass by, indifferent,
Falling behind you to the ground,
Friend,
Those are not petals,
But my withered heart.

Given the function f(x) = …, the curve at point (0, 2) has a tangent intersecting the x-axis at x = –2.
(1) Find a;
(2) Prove: For …, the curve and the line have only one intersection point.

Cheng Xiaoyu wrote:

I have never been known by anyone,
So I have never been forgotten.
To live in another’s memory
Is not my aim.
Meeting is a matter for two,
Leaving is the decision of one.
Meeting is only the beginning,
Leaving is for the sake of the next farewell;
This is a world where leaving is in vogue,
Yet none of us are good at saying goodbye.

And so, page after page of his exam was filled with Cheng Xiaoyu’s elegant calligraphy and poetry. In the world of numbers and words, these exquisite verses seemed to harmonize the two; not answers, perhaps, but better than answers—the test papers themselves became beautiful scrolls.

Cheng Xiaoyu had revised history, politics, and geography carefully, and did reasonably well, but two days of exams had nearly drained him. Watching his classmates celebrate with youthful exuberance, he wished he could be infected by such pure happiness.

After the exams, Chen Haoran couldn’t wait to invite Cheng Xiaoyu to Lantern Forest. After a moment’s thought, Cheng Xiaoyu decided to bring along Xia Shamo and Wang Ou. The four set off together; with winter break beginning, Cheng Xiaoyu planned extra rehearsals for their Guilty Crown band, assigning Wang Ou the task of learning basic guitar melodies.

Chen Haoran’s older brother, Chen Jinglong, had invited Cheng Xiaoyu and friends to Lantern Forest several times before, but the pressure of schoolwork had left no time. This visit was to finally honor the invitation. Cheng Xiaoyu knew Chen Jinglong hoped they would perform at Lantern Forest, but in his view, a band with only two songs to their name was hardly ready to go on stage.

Cheng Xiaoyu’s stockpile of good material was limited—he would have to rack his brains for suitable songs, write out the arrangements, and lead rehearsals. As for a masterpiece like “Ballad of the Sword Drawn,” he felt it best to save those—such treasures were few and far between.

Chen Haoran’s personality had improved greatly; at least now he would respond when spoken to by this group, rather than looking at everyone with disdain, as if conversation was a waste of his time. At that moment, Chen Haoran was checking answers with Xia Shamo, who was pushing her bicycle. Naturally, he considered his answers the only correct ones.

Wang Ou did not demand too much of himself academically. As an athlete, he only needed to score a bit over three hundred points, like Cheng Xiaoyu. His goal was Shanghai University of Sport—a manageable target for a local, so he felt no pressure.

Xia Shamo’s grades were consistently among the top ten in her class, and about thirtieth in her year group. University admission was not a problem, but getting into her target school, either Jiaotong University or Fudan, would depend on her performance in the college entrance examination.

Chen Haoran was under even less pressure—he already had a guaranteed spot at Fudan, pending the results of the recommendation exam and interview.

As for Cheng Xiaoyu, he was the greatest cause for concern. His only wish was to enter the Shanghai Theatre Academy, with no interest in other schools. Admission to that institution was even harder than Peking or Tsinghua University, with fewer spots and fiercer competition. Thankfully, Aunt Zhou was a professor there, which gave Cheng Xiaoyu a little reassurance.

Arriving at Lantern Forest, they were greeted warmly by Huang Yong—the earring-wearing bassist—who even gave their new friend Wang Ou a bear hug. Such uninhibited camaraderie was typical among rock musicians.

Chen Haoran couldn’t wait to drag Cheng Xiaoyu to the basement to see the new bass drum, now set against the wall. Cheng Xiaoyu eyed Chen Haoran’s old drum kit and hesitated. The kit was the common type with two toms mounted on the bass drum. Adding the new bass drum would not only look awkward, but make the toms hard to play.

A proper double bass setup either has toms on independent stands, or one on each bass drum. Upon inspection, Cheng Xiaoyu was relieved to find that Chen Haoran’s toms were not mounted on a single stand over the bass drum, but each on its own stand. He quickly asked Chen Haoran to fetch tools so they could remove one tom.

The group busied themselves, removing one tom and mounting it onto the new bass drum. Fortunately, Chen Haoran had bought the same brand, or it might not have worked. With the double bass drums set up as Cheng Xiaoyu required, the formerly meager drum kit now looked twice as imposing—like a two-wheeled electric scooter transformed into a four-wheeled sports car. Chen Haoran’s eyes shone with excitement as he begged Cheng Xiaoyu to demonstrate.

Cheng Xiaoyu tried it out, but found his body coordination lacking. Having never practiced seriously, he could barely manage the standard kit well enough to earn Chen Haoran’s approval; the double bass drums were beyond him at present. He managed a few beats and, though Chen Haoran didn’t notice much difference, he wasn’t disappointed; he could see that Cheng Xiaoyu’s drumming was methodical, not random.

Without embarrassment, Cheng Xiaoyu stepped down and said, “Not good enough—I haven’t played in ages, need more practice. But I remember the practice patterns; I’ll write them out for you.”

Chen Haoran nodded. Cheng Xiaoyu took out pen and paper and drew several simple exercises for him. He explained, “Most people think the feet are harder to train than the hands, but the real reason is twofold: balance and coordination with the upper limbs. If your lower limbs have poor timing or unstable speed, it’s usually due to poor balance or lack of coordination with the upper body. When using double bass drums, keep the right hand’s rhythm steady; you must maintain balance and evenness with both feet. If your left or right foot is too heavy, it’ll disrupt the balance. So, practice with cycling patterns—right hand, right foot, left foot—to improve balance.” Chen Haoran nodded, took the sheets, and, ignoring the others, began experimenting on the drum kit.

Huang Yong brought down a few drinks and placed them on the table. Cheng Xiaoyu took one, sipping as Wang Ou clamored for him to review his progress. Xia Shamo and Cheng Xiaoyu watched with interest as Wang Ou picked up the guitar. First, he played a scale, then launched into “Two Tigers,” which was reasonably smooth.

Standing beside him, Cheng Xiaoyu began to instruct him, starting with the placement of the right hand, explaining which fingers controlled which strings, guiding Wang Ou step by step. Xia Shamo listened attentively, pondering each point. Cheng Xiaoyu glanced at her, “Interested?”

She smiled, radiant as a garden in bloom. “It’s not so different from guzheng—they’re both string instruments, there must be some similarities.”

“Anyone can pick up guitar from zero. With your background, you’ll learn even faster. It’s winter break—might as well have some fun,” Cheng Xiaoyu replied.

Xia Shamo nodded, “All right, it looks quite interesting.”

At Wang Ou’s request, Cheng Xiaoyu played “One Day, One Day.” None of the others had ever seen him play guitar before. When the melody began, Chen Haoran involuntarily stopped practicing, listening intently to Cheng Xiaoyu’s performance.

The clear, sorrowful melody wound through the cramped basement. The listeners were utterly still, afraid that even the slightest movement would disrupt Cheng Xiaoyu’s focus and ruin the flawless performance.

Huang Yong, himself a guitarist, recognized the skill involved. In China, guitar playing was not widespread, and this level of proficiency was already that of a master.

When the song ended, all four applauded.

Noting the late hour, Cheng Xiaoyu agreed to meet again the next afternoon.

Huang Yong invited them to stay for dinner, saying that Chen Jinglong, the owner, would arrive soon.

“Another time,” Cheng Xiaoyu replied. “I’m a bit tired after the exams. We’ll be coming often enough during the holidays—there’ll be plenty of chances.”

Huang Yong agreed, seeing the logic.

As they left, Cheng Xiaoyu reminded Wang Ou to bring his guitar tomorrow; otherwise, if Xia Shamo wanted to learn, there wouldn’t be enough guitars to go around.

Cheng Xiaoyu considered stopping by Fu Xiyue’s shop with Xia Shamo to buy another guitar, and the band needed an electro-acoustic guitar as well. His home studio was nearly finished, and he would need a good piano, too.

Fu Xiyue occasionally texted Cheng Xiaoyu with questions about learning guitar, but her messages were never laden with ulterior motives. Toward such a beautiful, intelligent girl, Cheng Xiaoyu always felt a gentle compassion. As long as her intentions were not to cause harm, a little harmless use was, in his eyes, entirely acceptable.