The Choice

The desk lamp cast a dim, yellowish glow as I buried myself in a mountain of assignments. The clock quietly crept toward midnight. I hadn’t expected to enter a late-night grind mode in the very first week of high school. But I couldn’t bear the thought of missing my homework right at the start, so I forced my weary eyes open and battled through the exercises.

The next day, I carried my drawing board and art supplies, my eyes heavy with dark circles, to the art teacher. Warm sunlight gently bathed the plaster busts as my pencil whispered across the paper, tracing lines without pause. “There’s progress,” the teacher said, erasing unsatisfactory strokes with a rubber. I remained silent, though inside, emotions surged like a tide.

After lunch, I rested my head absentmindedly on my sketchbook, fingers loosely gripping my pencil, and began to doodle. A circle slowly took shape, followed by an inscribed triangle, angle bisectors, and the familiar “AC = BD”… Unconsciously, the geometry problem from yesterday fully appeared on the page. I gazed at the two similar triangles and couldn’t help but smile faintly, a sense of relief washing over me. In that moment, I felt I finally understood which path I should choose.

A week later, on Sunday, I returned to the art studio, but this time, it was for the last time. “Teacher… I’m not going to study art anymore,” I mustered the courage to say.

“Hm? Have you discussed this with your parents? Well, that’s alright, quite good actually. Everyone thinks art entrance exams are a shortcut, but in truth, they’re even tougher than the regular ones. To be honest, people like me who studied art don’t have much of a future, haha,” the teacher smiled wryly.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant… It’s just that I probably can’t juggle both the cultural and art classes, plus Jianglin High School doesn’t have an art track…” I waved my hands anxiously, trying to explain. Indeed, feeling exhausted was one reason, but a more crucial factor was that, rather than merely depicting the world’s external shapes, deep inside I longed to explore its underlying structure, to understand why it appeared as it did. I dreamed of one day painting an exquisitely detailed diagram of cellular metabolism.

I took a final glance around the studio: easels standing everywhere, piles of oil paints in the corner, pencil shavings and eraser bits drifting in the air, and the pervasive scent of turpentine. In my heart, I silently said, “Goodbye.”

Yet, I had neither the time nor the mood to dwell on farewells. High school life spun like a rapidly turning gear—intense and busy. The first monthly exam loomed at September’s end. During the National Day holiday, the math competition class held a quiz that would weed out half of the students, leaving only fifty places. Having never touched competitions in middle school, my foundation was weak. After class, I had to pore over the lecture notes repeatedly just to grasp the concepts. But I really wanted to stay.

I had no clear idea of the rewards of “winning prizes” or “getting into a good university” through competitions. My sole desire to remain was probably because… only during those three and a half hours on Saturday afternoons could I sit beside my only current friend, Lin Quan, attend lectures, solve problems, and occasionally chat.

Time flew during study sessions like a fleeting horse. The seven-day National Day holiday was supposed to offer a break after exams, but four days were spent attending math competition classes, with the last day reserved for the quiz.

The teacher’s pace was astonishingly fast, almost relativistic, trying to cram the concepts, proofs, and applications of edge and angle elements, Menelaus' theorem, Ceva’s theorem, power of a point and radical axis, as well as sine and cosine theorems into our heads within just a few days. As a novice like me, I clung to Lin Quan after every class with endless questions, while she—seemingly omniscient—always explained the complex topics more simply than the teacher. After several days, I experienced a strange blend of joy from finally understanding and frustration at the vast gap between us.

“So… how did you figure out those two angles were equal?” I asked with a puzzled look.

“Didn’t we just cover that?” she blinked.

“No, not how to prove it… but how did you see it?” I pressed eagerly.

“Ah… I just saw it that way…” She furrowed her brow in difficulty, then, as if performing a magic trick, pulled a utility knife from her sleeve and cut out those two angles from my notes without hesitation. She stacked them together and smiled, “See! They’re equal!”

“Well, what kind of explanation is that… Wait, where did you get that knife?!” I stared wide-eyed.

“I always carry it… isn’t it cool? Like those spies or agents in movies who have weapons on them!” She winked mischievously before slipping the knife back into her sleeve. That really fit her style—always bursting with strange imaginations, even though this was no battleground, no fugitive chase, just an ordinary city key high school.

Suddenly, I felt I ought to pay more attention to my personal safety in the future.

However, she always left in a rush after class, often disappearing before I could fully react from her answers. “If I’m late going home, my mom will scold me,” she once confided with a shy, helpless expression I had never seen before.

After the exam, I felt completely deflated. Lin Quan, however, smiled cheerfully and asked if I wanted to try the new cherry-flavored Fanta from the vending machine, but I was too ashamed to speak. The earlier fill-in-the-blank questions, which extended from class material, went fairly well—but for the five big problems later, I fully solved only two, while the other three I merely began some initial deductions. I felt deeply guilty that all the time Lin Quan spent explaining to me had been wasted. With such poor performance, I feared I no longer deserved to study beside her.

“No thanks…” I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper, silently praying the teacher would give me a few extra points so I could pass the selection. In the days that followed, the first thought upon waking was always the quiz score. I fervently prayed, “Please let me pass, please let me pass…” I had never been so anxious, not even before receiving middle school exam results.

On the third day after the National Day holiday, during the long break, a crowd gathered near the third-floor restroom. (Each floor had a restroom… sometimes notices were posted on the wall opposite the restroom, so passersby could see them. Thus, these facilities were not only places for biological needs but also hubs of information—official announcements and local gossip alike.) “Math competition class list!” someone called out loudly, and my heart leaped into my throat, pounding wildly.

A pink printed sheet was firmly stuck on the wall. I squeezed forward, anxiously scanning the dense list of names.

Finally, I saw my name—Gu Zhixuan!

But where was Lin Quan?!

Lin Quan’s real name was Lin Quan, but stubbornly, she wrote the name she had chosen on every textbook, notebook, and homework cover, only compromising during exams. It wasn’t until the math competition quiz results were posted that I learned her true name. Unsurprisingly, her name topped the list.

Later, when I borrowed her paper to review, I noticed the two characters “Lin Quan” in the name field were small and scrawled, seeming reluctant—as if deliberately avoiding something.

Nonetheless, at least from now on, I could once again sit beside her for study sessions on Saturday afternoons.