Chapter Thirty-Four: Withstanding the Pressure

"Give up? Not a chance, David. Is your debugging done? If you mess things up again, I’ll kill you," Chen Ming suddenly turned his attention to David.

David hugged himself, shivering dramatically. "How terrifying~"

He ran his fingers through his hair, sending droplets flying. "See? Wet, all wet. I’m too nervous. I’ve really done my best. On matters of such importance, I wouldn’t dare play tricks. All right, the electronic synthesized voice will be used next. I wasn’t familiar with it earlier, but now it’s adjusted. As long as there are no more issues on your end, there won’t be any on mine."

Chen Ming took a few steps back in distaste. "Fine, get ready. The answers for the entire exam paper have already been sent to you. Prepare yourself."

"Li Daoran, get ready. There won’t be any more issues. It’s up to you now. We’ve already wasted too much time. Let me correct you—it’s not twenty minutes, you only have fifteen. And don’t forget, you need to run to the next exam room. The faster you run, the more time we’ll have. Let me add some pressure: for you it’s fifteen minutes, for us, only five. It’s all on you, Daoran."

Chen Ming looked at Li Daoran with heartfelt sincerity, his gaze so full of pressure that Li Daoran couldn’t help but feel entrusted with great responsibility.

He nodded heavily and lay back down, but his emotions were running too high; he couldn’t synchronize his brainwaves and enter Daoran’s world.

David had been ready for ages, frozen in the same position for a full minute before he finally couldn’t hold it anymore and stood up. "Are you going to sleep or not? Can you even sleep?"

Li Daoran opened his eyes and blinked. "Not really. I need to use the bathroom."

He removed his equipment, ended the live feed, went to the restroom, and then began practicing the Phantom Hand to relax his fingers. He discovered that practicing the Phantom Hand was quite effective at calming his nerves when he was anxious.

He walked to the bedside and pretended to run in place.

"What are you doing? Restless legs?" Chen Ming asked.

"No, just practicing. I’ll need to run for the next exam, right? What’s the route? Tell me now so I can be ready," Li Daoran replied.

"You’re in room 2035 right now. The next exam, Partial Information Warfare, is in room 1897. When you leave, run right for 200 meters to a staircase, go down two floors, turn right at the end, then left, and then—" Chen Ming remembered clearly, his watch had it all recorded, though Li Daoran might’ve only glanced at it and not memorized it. But for them, it was burned into memory. Chen Ming hadn’t finished when Li Daoran interrupted.

"Stop—can’t remember that. There’s got to be a watch navigation, right?" Li Daoran said.

"Just follow my instructions when the time comes. The route your watch shows isn’t optimal, and looking down wastes time," Chen Ming replied.

"You should’ve said so earlier," Li Daoran said, as if it were obvious.

"Weren’t you the one who asked? Lie down and sleep," Chen Ming could barely stand it. He felt as though Li Daoran was deliberately provoking him. He was still extremely nervous; this time, Rabbit Country had invested too much in this exam, and the pressure was immense. Yet, according to the agreements, none of this could be told to Li Daoran. His role was too sensitive and had to remain neutral, a consensus on the international stage.

Li Daoran reluctantly lay down, closed his eyes again, adjusted his state, and finally entered Daoran’s world.

"Now, start from the first question and read out the answers. Ready? Don’t stop writing."

… …

At 16 minutes and 47 seconds into the exam, Li Daoran finished his first paper. He shot to his feet, and with a loud crash, his chair flew out behind him, breaking the silence of the exam hall.

The proctor frowned at Li Daoran’s sudden movement, but before he could say anything, Li Daoran shouted, "Finished!" and bolted from the room.

He reached room 1897 in 1 minute 39 seconds, taking only ten seconds to descend two flights of stairs—he’d jumped down. If not for his intense training, he could never have managed such a feat.

At 15 minutes and 37 seconds, he finished the second paper. At that moment, Li Daoran was profoundly grateful he’d practiced the Phantom Hand; otherwise, his hand would have cramped up for sure.

Thus, in the silent exam halls and empty stairwells, an anxious figure could often be seen hurrying by.

Li Daoran dashed from one room to another, each time leaving behind only a shouted declaration of completion and a wake of stunned, disbelieving stares.

In 240 minutes—the time it took others to finish two subjects—Li Daoran completed eleven, averaging just twenty-one minutes each. Despite a few hiccups, with one minute left after the bell rang, the examiner mercifully collected his paper, allowing him to miraculously finish all the morning exams. Right or wrong, at least he’d written something for every question.

As the last papers were collected and everyone had left, Li Daoran lay collapsed on his desk, utterly drained.

The afternoon promised an even greater challenge: eighteen subjects in 360 minutes, averaging twenty minutes each. It was exhausting; he now realized that exams were as much a test of stamina as intelligence.

He’d run at least ten five-hundred-meter sprints that morning—far more exhilarating than parkour, with no time to catch his breath. The moment he arrived, he picked up his pen and wrote furiously, then dashed off again. It was grueling, and if not for the optimized route—sometimes just next door—he wouldn’t have made it.

"Time to eat! Why are you lying there? You did great, Daoran," someone called.

"I don’t want to eat," Li Daoran replied weakly.

"Man is iron, food is steel."

"Enough, I’m exhausted. You must be Chen Ming," Li Daoran said.

"I’m David. Chen Ming doesn’t care if you eat—he’s busy," David replied.

"Busy with what? The exams are over."

"Checking the answers, of course. I don’t know why, but they love comparing answers after the test, right?"

"Oh, I guess so."

Suddenly, Xu Xingxing poked his head in, looking suspiciously around. "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh, you’re here. Little Star, I’m talking to myself—old habit," Li Daoran replied, glancing up.

Xu Xingxing circled him. "Split personality? You’ve got issues."

Li Daoran brushed away Xu Xingxing’s reaching hand. "You’re one to talk."

"What’s your deal? You really finished the papers? Did Miss Liu give you the answers in advance? And you didn’t share with your buddy?" Xu Xingxing probed.

At the mention of Liu Meng, Li Daoran shot upright. He needed to find her—for medicine, yes, and to thank her, maybe even get a meal out of it. He grabbed Xu Xingxing and made for the door.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" Xu Xingxing protested.

"To see Liu Meng. Didn’t you say she gave me the answers? I’ll take you to ask her yourself. Don’t say I never look out for you," Li Daoran said, dragging Xu Xingxing along.

"No! I don’t want to go! I was wrong!" Xu Xingxing dropped to the floor, resisting as Li Daoran hauled him out.

"No way, you’re coming. We’ll share our blessings. Liu Meng’s a beauty, not a tiger—she won’t eat you. What are you scared of?" Li Daoran said, dragging Xu Xingxing by the arms.