My IQ Increases Year by Year

The south side of Zeyang City.

The snow on the roadside was half-melted, mixed with rotten vegetable leaves from the morning market and the red paper of firecracker casings.

Zhang Qiang walked in front, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his down jacket, his neck scrunched down.

He led Chen Zhuo through a series of twists and turns, ducking into an old alley lined with family residential compounds, and stopped in front of a semi-basement establishment that didn’t even have a sign.

The only thing hanging above the door was a small, paint-chipped wooden plaque, with "Feiyu Computer Typing and Copying" scrawled crookedly in red paint.

"This place is super, super hidden. It took me days to find it."

Zhang Qiang lowered his voice and, with practiced ease, lifted the heavy curtain over the doorway.

The moment the curtain was lifted, a thick, hot wave of smells—stale smoke, instant noodles, and greasy hair—blasted them in the face.

The basement was dimly lit. One of the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling was broken, flickering intermittently.

Dozens of bulky monitors were arranged in four rows, their light illuminating a sea of young, excited faces.

The aisles were narrow, and the floor was littered with flattened cigarette packs and sunflower seed shells.

The clatter of keyboards and the frantic clicking of mice merged into a single din, punctuated by the pained screams of characters from *Legend* or the classic "Fire in the hole!" from Counter-Strike coming from the speakers.

The counter was at the very back, really just two old school desks pushed together.

The owner was a bald man in his thirties, an old army greatcoat draped over his shoulders. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips as he stared intently at a Taiwanese blockbuster on his screen. A roll of toilet paper lay next to him.

"Boss, two computers. We want seats next to each other."

Zhang Qiang leaned in and pulled a crumpled wad of bills from his pocket, slapping it on the counter along with a handful of one-jiao coins.

The owner shot Zhang Qiang a sideways glance, then looked at Chen Zhuo, who was standing behind him with most of his face buried in his scarf.

The owner didn’t touch the money on the counter. He blew a smoke ring.

"No IDs, I take it?"

"Nope."

Zhang Qiang’s reply was bold and unapologetic. He pushed the money further across the counter.

"Three hours. Use the rest for two Cokes, the glass-bottle kind."

The owner couldn’t be bothered to argue. He’d seen plenty of kids like this, sneaking out during the school holidays.

He fished a bottle opener out of his drawer, popped the caps off two Cokes, and slid them over.

"No more seats together. There are two open over by the restrooms, across the aisle. Numbers 14 and 16. I’m not giving you a slip; I’ll just start your time from the main computer. The screens will lock automatically when your time’s up."

As he spoke, the owner tapped a few keys on his keyboard and swept the change into his drawer.

Zhang Qiang picked up the two Cokes, still sweating with condensation, and handed one to Chen Zhuo.

"Come on. It’s quieter by the restrooms."

Chen Zhuo took the Coke and followed Zhang Qiang deeper into the room, turning sideways to avoid the legs jutting out into the aisle.

Computers 14 and 16 were indeed in the far corner, right next to the restroom. To be honest, it smelled a bit.

Chen Zhuo pulled out the chair for computer 16. The seat had two cigarette burns in it, revealing the yellowed sponge underneath. He paid it no mind and sat down.

The monitor was covered in dust and fingerprints. The white A4Tech mouse on the desk had been worn smooth and shiny from use, and the crevices of its scroll wheel were packed with ancient grime.

Chen Zhuo placed his Coke on the corner of the desk and pressed the power button on the tower.

The fan inside the tower began to whir, straining.

He hadn’t come to the internet cafe to play games.

Before the holiday break, his little makeshift team had taken on a gig: optimizing the back-end search database for a stock photo website based in the south.

Chu Ge was responsible for the core code, and Chen Zhuo was in charge of the macro architecture. They were supposed to finish before the break, but the night before he left, Chu Ge insisted on rewriting a module, which delayed their progress.

The two had agreed to communicate by email over the Chinese New Year holiday to go over the last few segments of code. Once that was done, they would send it to Su Wei, who was also staying on campus, for a final check. After that, they could close out the project and get paid.

The screen flickered to life, and Chen Zhuo clicked on the Internet Explorer icon on the desktop.

The connection was slow. The hourglass next to the cursor spun for a long time before the webpage finally loaded, stuttering into view.

Zhang Qiang was already logged into *Legend*. He’d picked a warrior and was hacking away wildly in the Zombie Cave with an Asura Axe.

"The drop rate is way too low."

Zhang Qiang complained, clicking his mouse furiously.

"I’ve been grinding all morning and haven’t even seen a single skill book."

"Try heading toward coordinates (342, 215)."

Chen Zhuo said casually, his eyes still on his own screen.

Zhang Qiang froze.

"How’d you know?"

"Just a guess. The respawn rate for that corner is usually written into a fixed loop in the source code. A lot of private servers don’t bother to change it."

Chen Zhuo typed in the URL for the Keda campus email.

Dubiously, Zhang Qiang maneuvered his character over. Less than two minutes later, he suddenly slapped his thigh.

"HOLY SHIT! A Corpse King actually spawned! Brother Zhuo, you’re amazing!"

Chen Zhuo just smiled and didn’t reply.

The email login page finally loaded.

Chen Zhuo entered his student ID and password and hit Enter.

Two unread emails sat silently in his inbox.

The first was a mass email from the Dean’s Office about holiday safety precautions. Chen Zhuo glanced at it and moved on.

He looked at the second one.

The sender wasn’t Chu Ge.

The sender’s name was a string of English letters: Adrian.

The email domain was: @ias.edu.

Chen Zhuo froze for a second. Of course he knew what that domain meant.

The Princeton Institute for Advanced Study.

He clicked open the email.

The light in the internet cafe was dim. Chen Zhuo leaned back in his chair, staring at the dense blocks of English text on the screen.