On June 22, the college entrance exam score hotline opened.
Qin Jiao’s friends were more anxious than she was, rushing to check her score as soon as the line was available. Qin Jiao herself remained calm.
Total score: 706.
That was Qin Jiao’s final score!
She couldn’t compete for Rongcheng’s science top scorer.
Not just Rongcheng—within her school, she knew a classmate scored 707.
Her friends felt a bit regretful, but Qin Jiao was fine with it, “Top scorer is just a title. I gave my all these three years, no regrets. Life’s race is long.”
She wasn’t pretending to be indifferent.
A year ago, she might’ve been upset over not becoming student council president. Now, she faced gains and losses with more grace.
For college applications, Qin Jiao aimed for Peking University’s Guanghua School of Management.
Compared to Qin Jiao, Wen Kai’s score was less stellar at 668.
Last year, he scored 569, improving by 99 points this year!
At first glance, Wen Kai seemed impressive, and some might wonder if another year of repeating could push him to 700.
But that wasn’t the case.
This year’s exam was easier.
Last year’s science cutoff for first-tier universities was 538, with Wen Kai 31 points above. Beijing, a top destination, was out of reach, leading him to repeat. This year, Sichuan’s science cutoff was 598, and Wen Kai’s 668 was only 70 points above. Easier questions favored mid-tier and slightly above-average students like Wen Kai, who was diligent. Scoring 668 wasn’t surprising.
For top students like Qin Jiao, easier exams were less favorable.
Simple questions narrowed the gap between top and above-average students.
With harder questions, 700-scorers like Qin Jiao would still hover there, while above-average students would fall further from 700.
Now, with Wen Kai at 668, some thought it wasn’t far from 700—just a few points per subject.
Not true!
“Even two more years of repeating, I might not break 700. This is my peak, and I’m very satisfied,” Wen Kai said.
Extending repeating could improve scores or cause burnout. Wen Kai handled one year’s pressure but doubted he could endure more.
He was content with 668, enough for most Beijing universities except Tsinghua, Peking, or Renmin.
His goal wasn’t that high—he targeted Capital Aerospace University, majoring in computer science.
When Wen Kai shared this over the phone, Wen Ying paused.
He noticed her silence, “Think the major’s prospects are bad?”
Most consult elders for major choices, but Wen Kai asked Wen Ying, showing trust and treating her as an equal, knowing she’d face this in two years.
“No, no, it’s great,” Wen Ying said.
Computer science was a 21st-century hotspot, genuinely promising, unlike overhyped “pit” majors like biology. Graduating in 2009, Wen Kai could join big tech as a high-paid coder.
Wen Ying saw nothing wrong with a major offering both future and fortune.
In society, few truly embrace poverty with a rich inner life.
Some claiming contentment are just lazy, avoiding change, numbing themselves day by day.
To live better each day, ideals aren’t enough—you need Wen Kai’s pragmatism.
Worried her hesitation might sway him, Wen Ying encouraged, “Kai-ge, here’s to a million-yuan salary!”
Wen Kai laughed, thinking she was joking, and played along.
A million-yuan salary felt distant in 2005, when graduate starting salaries were modest. Wen Kai hadn’t met anyone earning that much. Unknowingly, by aiming for a top city, a solid university, and a strong major, his income ceiling already surpassed most peers.
As the saying goes, women fear marrying wrong, men fear choosing the wrong career.
Wen Ying felt this deeply. In her past life, had she not been a lawyer but graduated from a low-value “versatile” major, buying a Shanghai house in six years—without parental help—would’ve been impossible, even in 16 years!
With Qin Jiao and Wen Kai scoring well and set on their schools and majors, Wen Ying had no more worries and focused on her final exams.
During her exams, Zhao Dong’s autobiography hit shelves!
He’d found another publisher and released it quickly. In May, he stole Song Foxiang’s spotlight at a donation ceremony, and by late June, he was promoting Zhao Family Letters on local Rongcheng TV shows. Wen Ying, busy with exams, didn’t watch, or Zhao Dong’s publicity might’ve soured her mood.
Song Foxiang, watching Zhao Dong leverage him to enter Rongcheng’s cultural circle and appear on TV, was so furious he wanted to curse Zhao Dong daily.
Song Chan ignored her dad’s childishness.
Song Shao finally understood why Xie Qian warned them against taking Zhao Dong’s million-yuan compensation.
Donating it all, Zhao Dong still used Song Foxiang as a stepping stone. Had they accepted the money, Zhao Dong wouldn’t just step on his uncle—he’d crush him.
A migrant tycoon, Zhao Dong was clearly packaging himself for something big.
Song Shao didn’t know what, but his uncle, a magazine editor, couldn’t afford to cross him.
With big enough stakes, Zhao Dong wouldn’t play fair.
Best for his uncle to steer clear.
Zhao Dong, Jinhu Group’s Boss Xie, his son Xie Qian… Song Shao briefly worried for Wen Ying, but the Xie family’s issues wouldn’t involve a high school girl like her, so he let it go.
After her last exam, Wen Ying stepped out of the classroom, exhaling deeply.
Li Mengjiao ran over from the corridor, “How’d you think you did?”
