My IQ Increases Year by Year

3:30 PM, the Provincial Education Commission Guest House.

The King Long bus came to a steady stop on the concrete ground of the courtyard, letting out a long hiss of its air brakes.

The doors opened, and a wave of heat surged in.

"We’re here. Grab your things, don’t leave anything behind."

Old Zhou stood up and patted down his suit.

A commotion stirred through the bus.

Everyone began pulling their bags down from the luggage racks.

No one was thinking about the ceremonious feeling of setting out on a campaign. They had all been sleeping, their faces marked with imprints from the seat covers, their hair as messy as a bird’s nest.

Wang Yang had just woken up. He groggily slung on his backpack and almost smacked his head on a handrail.

Liu Kai was fumbling around under his seat. His half-eaten bag of crackers had rolled off somewhere.

Once off the bus, with their feet on solid ground, they finally felt human again.

The guest house had a large courtyard planted with several old parasol trees.

The place had the unmistakable look of an old government-run establishment. The building was short, only four stories, its exterior covered in the small, beige ceramic tiles popular in the eighties. The window frames were green aluminum alloy.

There were no colorful banners at the entrance, just a single brass plaque polished to a high shine.

Old Zhao walked at the very front, carrying a black briefcase with worn corners.

Old Zhou followed at the rear, still holding the mesh bag of tea-leaf eggs that Chen Jianguo had insisted he take.

The group entered the lobby.

The lobby’s terrazzo floor, a mix of black and white stone chips, was mopped so clean you could see your reflection in it.

The air held a faint scent of perfume mixed with the smell of old wood.

The reception desk was a tall, old-fashioned counter of varnished wood. Behind it sat two clerks in deep red uniforms.

There were no other guests at the moment, so the two were huddled together, looking down at a magazine. An enamel mug sat beside them.

Old Zhao walked over and placed his briefcase on the counter with a soft thud.

"Hello, we’re from Zeyang City No.1 Middle School. We made a reservation by phone."

The clerk looked up, glanced at the group of students with their large and small bags, but showed no surprise.

This kind of guest house was used to hosting groups from other cities coming up for meetings and exams all year round.

"Do you have your letter of introduction?"

one of the older clerks asked, casually tossing a handful of sunflower seed shells into the trash can.

"We do."

Old Zhao unzipped his briefcase, took out a file folder, and pulled out a sheet of letterhead.

On it was a genuine handwritten letter, stamped at the bottom with the big red official seal of the Zeyang City No.1 Middle School Finance Department.

In addition to the letter of introduction, there was also a cashier’s check.

In this era, this was the proper procedure for doing business.

There were no electronic reservations or credit card swipes; all that mattered was this piece of paper and that seal.

The clerk took it and glanced it over, their attitude immediately becoming much more professional.

After all, City No.1 Middle School was one of the province’s old, prestigious schools, and they sent students here for exams more than just once or twice a year.

"Ah, you must be Teacher Zhao, correct? We’ve had your rooms reserved for a while."

The clerk flipped through the registration book while clacking away on a calculator.

"Third floor, the domestic guest wing. All the rooms are on the shady side, so they’re quiet."

"Alright. Could we have a few more key cards, please?"

"Also, when you issue the invoice, please be careful. Write out the full name, not the abbreviation. It’s hard to get it reimbursed by the finance department otherwise."

"Understood. Don’t worry."

The clerk took several keys from the cubbies behind them—the kind with rectangular plexiglass fobs—and tossed them onto the counter.

"Breakfast is on the first floor, from seven to eight-thirty."

While Old Zhao handled the check-in, the students crammed into the lobby’s sofa area to wait.

The sofas were the old-fashioned leather kind, with white lace doilies draped over the armrests.

Sitting down produced a soft WHOOSH.

Liu Kai flopped down and groaned in comfort.

"Oof, my butt was about to fall apart from all that bumping on the road. This is way more comfortable."

Zhao Chen was about to prop his feet up on the coffee table but put them down sheepishly after Nan Xiaoyun shot him a glare.

"Mind your manners. This is the Provincial Education Commission’s turf."

Nan Xiaoyun reminded him in a low voice.

Just then, a few people came down the stairs on the other side of the lobby.

They also looked like students, about the same age as them.

Except they weren’t carrying backpacks or water bottles.

They held cans of Coke, wore light blue short-sleeved school uniforms, and had Nike basketball shoes on their feet. They walked with a confident swagger.

Those were students from the Provincial Experimental Middle School.

In this provincial city, wearing that uniform on the street turned more heads than wearing a suit.

Wang Yang, who had been rubbing his legs, paused when he saw them.

He nudged Zhao Chen next to him.

"Hey, look."

"Look at what?"

Zhao Chen was bent over, tying his shoelaces.

"That thing they’re holding."

Zhao Chen looked up.

The students from the Provincial Experimental School were chatting as they walked out. One of them was holding a rolled-up booklet.

It was very thin, probably only a few dozen pages.

The cover was plain blue paper, with a few bold characters printed on it. It was hard to see clearly from a distance, but it definitely wasn’t one of those colorful review books sold in stores.

The booklet was crudely made, looking like something run off on a mimeograph and bound at the school.

"What is that? Internal lecture notes?"

Zhao Chen squinted.

"Probably."

Wang Yang’s voice was a little tight.

"I just heard the one with glasses say that all the questions Old Li came up with this time are in there."

"Who’s Old Li?"

"Professor Li from the province, of course. The head of the exam-setting committee this time."

Wang Yang bit his lip.

"They’re his *real* students. We did ten thousand practice problems, which is like fishing for a needle in a haystack. For them, that one booklet is the answer key."

The students from the Provincial Experimental School quickly walked through the revolving door and disappeared into the afternoon sun.

From start to finish, they never once glanced in their direction.

It was like how you don’t deliberately stare at the trees on the side of the road when you walk.

Chen Zhuo was sitting on a single armchair at the very end, holding the half-eaten bag of crackers Liu Kai had given him, chewing on them one by one.

Chen Zhuo glanced at the departing figures, then at Wang Yang’s face, which was a canvas of envy, jealousy, and resentment.

But he didn’t say anything, nor did he go over to offer any comfort.

’What could he say? That it didn’t matter, that they were stronger?’

’That was just empty talk.’

This kind of resource disparity was an objective reality.

It was like them wearing eight-hundred-yuan Nike Airs while you were in thirty-yuan Warriors. There was nothing to be said about it.

’Acknowledge the gap, and then use those thirty-yuan Warriors to outrun them. That’s what really matters.’

"Alright, grab the keys and head upstairs!"

Old Zhao finished the check-in and walked over, a handful of keys in his grasp.

"Two to a room, sort it out yourselves. Hurry up, drop your stuff, wash your faces. We’re meeting downstairs at four-thirty to go check out the exam site."