As time passed, the atmosphere in the examination hall grew increasingly tense.
In the last half-hour, all the keyboard clattering ceased.
The room was as silent as a graveyard.
Participants began turning their heads frequently, looking around, and even exchanging glances with their teammates.
Time continued to tick away, but the last question remained an insurmountable mountain, blocking everyone’s path forward.
This included Jiang Fuyue.
Yes, she hadn’t handed in her paper early as before and had stayed for a full four hours until now.
But unlike the others who were visibly anxious and restless, she sat calmly in her seat, not looking at the question or typing, but deep in thought.
Finally, a foreign contestant stood up and voiced his doubt first—
“Sir, I have ample reason to believe that the last question is a mistake and unsolvable. It shouldn’t be part of this competition. What does everyone else think?”
As one person spoke, others chimed in—
“Right, it shouldn’t be here!”
“And it’s ridiculous, making the IOI a unprecedented joke!”
“Since it’s an error, it should be corrected.”
Even Gao Zhaoming and Huang Hui couldn’t help but nod.
Fan Ye glanced at Jiang Fuyue, and seeing her remain silent, she immediately calmed down, stopping herself from nodding in agreement.
To say that the question was “wrong” might not be entirely accurate.
It was an open-ended “proposition” with room for discussion.
Yes, it wasn’t a “question” but a “proposition.”
The former requires a solution, typically involving calculations; the latter’s correctness cannot even be determined since a “proposition” can be true or false.
A question whose validity can’t be guaranteed—how could they solve it? How should they answer it?
“We cannot accept such a question appearing in the IOI competition, especially as the final question!”
“Right! Unacceptable!”
“With less than thirty minutes left in the exam, we demand that the organizers immediately replace this flawed question with an alternate one and compensate us for the time wasted on this faulty question,” someone called out.
This immediately received widespread support.
The exam staff seemed troubled, but the participants’ wishes and demands couldn’t be ignored. Leaving a brief “Wait a moment, I need to make a call to consult my superiors,” they turned and left for the hallway.
The scene was temporarily controlled under the reassurance of another staff member.
About two minutes later, the staff returned, informing everyone that since the question setter insisted the question was not erroneous, the committee decided not to replace it and asked everyone to continue working on it.
This sparked outrage.
“What kind of nonsense is this question setter?! Does he even understand?”
“Let him try answering it!”
“…”
The exam hall erupted into a new wave of commotion, with emotions running high.
Someone suggested, “We want to see the question setter!”
“Yes! Bring the setter here—”
“If he says it’s correct and we all think it’s wrong, let’s face off!”
The staff had to ask for permission again.
This time it was quick. Less than a minute later, they returned: “The question setter has agreed and is on his way.”
Xie Dingyuan walked into the exam hall amidst a chorus of scoffs and murmurs.
“I heard you wanted to see me?” he began in fluent English.
“Yes!” The blond man who first requested to see the question setter stood up. Tall and robust, he locked eyes with Xie Dingyuan, his gaze full of determination.
