The tour robot, recovering from its system crash, continued its introduction: Ninghu Middle School has nearly six thousand students across three grades, with about two thousand students in each grade. The first-year grade has forty classes, with approximately sixty students per class. The second-year grade has two fewer classes, with roughly fifty students per class, and the third-year grade has three fewer classes, with about forty-five students per class.
Where did the missing classes and students go? The answer is, they were asked to leave.
Not all students at Ninghu Middle School are geniuses. In the dozens of classes in each grade, there are only two to four 'top' classes, followed by a dozen 'elite' classes, and then the 'regular' classes.
Any student who ranks at the bottom of their grade in the final exams, regardless of their class, will be asked to leave.
The student composition of each class is fluid. Through monthly exam rankings, students with outstanding grades move up to better classes, while those with poor grades go to regular classes.
Beneath Ninghu's seemingly warm and gentle exterior lies an undisguised brutal principle.
Simon and Su Xiangli felt nothing about this. After all, according to the student ID and class ranking rules revealed by the tour robot, they actually ranked first and eleventh, respectively, among this year's new students.
The Primary School Entrance Exam consisted of four subjects: Chinese Language, Mathematics, Science, and Foreign Language (English and a third language, two sets of papers taken together, weighted six to four). The total score was four hundred. Simon scored three hundred ninety-nine point five, with that half point deducted from his Chinese Language essay. It was probably because the grading teacher felt awkward giving a perfect score; that's how Chinese Language exams are—a perfect score might raise suspicions of foul play. Su Xiangli scored three hundred eighty-two points, with some points deducted from Chinese Language and Mathematics. This time, she didn't hide her abilities in the Foreign Language exam and also got a perfect score—you really did it, Su Xiangli.
The construction of Ninghu Middle School was truly a bit too good. The robot led the two children around for an hour and a half, and they had only seen the first-year teaching building, the student dormitory where they would live, two cafeterias, and an administration building. Most of the time was spent traveling between places.
The robot said that morning exercise meant waking up around six o'clock, running from the dormitory to the cafeteria, and after eating, walking to the teaching building. This would be around six fifty, when morning self-study would begin.
That's insane.
The leap between primary school and middle school was a bit too large, not just in terms of space, but also in atmosphere. The second and third-year students had already started school—what was nominally a 'holiday activity' was actually remedial classes, an early start to the school year—everyone was rushing around, which left Simon and Su Xiangli feeling a bit lost.
The high-pressure youth was indeed about to begin.
…
Today is September 1, 2089, Thursday, the first official day of school.
Simon and Su Xiangli, led by the tour robot, arrived at the auditorium where the opening ceremony was being held. Everyone sat down by class in order. Simon and Su Xiangli's student numbers were not close, so they were separated. To Simon's left was student number fifteen from Class Two, and to his right was student number two from his own class. Both were boys. The one from Class Two was quieter, while the one from his own class was a talkative shorty.
In the tiered seating of the auditorium, a circle of school leaders sat at the very front, behind them were the Class Teachers from each class, and further back were the subject teachers. The students' seats were at the very back.
The first principal to speak on stage, surnamed Ge, was a robust man in his forties who looked like he was in his sixties. His voice was soft and somewhat effeminate, and once he started, he talked non-stop. However, his speech was very interesting, quoting classics and historical references with ease, often inserting a motivational phrase every three sentences. It gave the impression of listening to a storyteller or a 'Hundred Schools Forum.' In short, the principal was a linguistic artist with an explosive speaking effect, and everyone applauded him off the stage.
The students below generally exchanged whispers, not wanting to listen to the rambling adult nonsense. With over two thousand people talking, it was a rustling cacophony. If not for the school's excellent sound system covering the noise, it would have been no different from a bustling market.
The director of student affairs, with a dark expression, hosted the ceremony and repeatedly emphasized silence. The Class Teachers in the front rows stood up, turned around, and yelled for quiet. Simon saw his own Class Teacher, a middle-aged Woman with a dark red complexion, thin lips, deep nasolabial folds, and an exaggerated perm that looked like a shaggy rock goat perched on her head. Her voice was bright, deep, and broad, louder than the slender man next to her.
"Class One, no talking! Anyone I see talking will stand for the afternoon classes!"
The chatterbox to Simon's right tried to mumble a few more words but immediately shrank into his chair and fell silent after the Class Teacher glared at him.
After being reprimanded, the students were like frozen chicks, no longer chirping.
Simon quietly scooted his butt forward a bit, then looked to his right. The little kids were mostly leaning back in their chairs, their eyes either listless or looking around, like observing the lifelike stone lions on the railings of a stone arch bridge—of course, they were all living people to begin with.
Student number two beside him was a soft-faced little lion, number three was a girl, very proper, looked suitable for a class cadre position, number four was a boy, a bookworm, number five was a boy, a handsome young man, looking half-dead from sleepiness, numbers six, seven, eight… number ten, was a boy, the back of his head was facing Simon, and he was also looking to his right—at Su Xiangli.
Simon silently leaned back against the seat.
The school leaders on stage were spouting a lot of annoying nonsense—no, no, that's too impolite. It should be said that they were representative empty words under formalism. Compared to the principal, this person was merely an open-mouthed puppet, with a tape recorder inserted, playing old tapes from decades ago.
Actually, the principal was also just a… Simon rested his left hand against his face, his right index finger tapping rhythmically on the armrest, tap-tap-tap-tap. The plastic armrest and his nail collided, producing a hollow, crisp sound. The chatterbox beside him looked like he wanted to speak but held back. Simon noticed he had piqued the other's desire to complain, so he immediately stopped, smiled at him, and then quickly turned his head away to prevent number two from blurting out the suppressed nonsense.
What's the deal with that kid, number ten?
There are only three key middle schools in Southeast Province. Simon was the top scorer in the province for the Primary School Entrance Exam, so that brat number ten should be ranked ten or lower. Su Xiangli was eighty-third in the province. So, that little scoundrel number ten is just a small fry.
Simon's mind was full of wild thoughts. He patted his head to dispel the boring notions and tried to listen to the person on stage. One second, two seconds, he failed.
What a troublesome day. In the morning, Sun Ying snatched the last shrimp dumpling, which was originally Simon's, but since she was his own younger sister, it was considered keeping the benefits within the family. And that Class Teacher, she looked like a harsh and malicious menopausal Woman. He hoped she wouldn't be overly strict…
Simon scooted forward again and looked to his right once more. The back of number ten's head was still facing him, and this kid was quite big, completely blocking Su Xiangli. Were they having a great conversation right now? Su Xiangli could certainly make anyone she chatted with feel comfortable and refreshed…
No, she definitely wouldn't with her own parents…
Xiao Lu leaned back against the seat again.
What exactly is that boy, number ten, called? They said no talking, and you're still chattering away.
The recorded speech on stage continued its nonsense, like an endless mental torture, sounding like static to Simon's ears.
For the third time, he leaned forward.
Numbers two, three, four… number ten turned around. He was a soft-looking boy with bronze skin. Number eleven, she also leaned forward, turning her head.
Their eyes met by chance. Simon made a funny face and quickly leaned back.
Alright, alright, let this ceremony end quickly. My first class of the school year is waiting for me.
He grumbled inwardly, but a smile unconsciously crept onto his face.
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