Their lips touched—not with a trace of lust or desire—but with the quiet closeness of two souls drawing near.
“Professor Xie, we really have to go now!” one of the medical staff called out with an uneasy expression. After hesitating several times, he couldn’t help but peek inside the room.
Just in time to see their usually composed and restrained Professor Xie lifting his lips from the girl’s. Though he couldn’t see the man’s face, his hands lingering on her cheeks said more than enough.
The medic was stunned on the spot.
Even after boarding the plane and ascending into the sky, he was still dazed.
Xie Dingyuan said coolly, “…The sample reports for the two confirmed cases?”
“Ah?! Oh! Right here…” He quickly handed them over.
Xie took them, eyes still fixed on the man’s face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Huh?” The medic blinked, completely blank.
A colleague whispered beside him, “Professor Xie called you three times and you didn’t respond.”
“Sorry! I… I was just thinking about something. It won’t happen again!”
Only then did Xie Dingyuan withdraw his gaze. His tone returned to indifferent: “Don’t let it happen again.”
“…Yes, sir.”
The medic couldn’t help glancing at the professor’s lips. Tch, just moments ago he’d been all soft and warm kissing a girl—now he was cold and sharp with them again.
…
“You fell asleep?!” The doctor came in to see the IV bag completely empty, with blood backing up into the tube—half of it red. He quickly woke Jiang Fuyue and swiftly removed the needle.
Jiang Fuyue smacked her lips, “Sorry, I was sleeping too soundly.”
Good dreams are always hard to leave behind.
She had just dreamt she was eating cotton candy—soft, fluffy, and strangely warm.
“All done. Head straight to the airport. Your teammates are already there. The flight is scheduled to depart in one hour.”
“We’re allowed to leave?!”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. Everyone’s been tested and has safely passed the 24-hour incubation period.”
“We’ve been tested?” Jiang Fuyue was surprised. “When?”
“You were unconscious. Professor Xie came in personally to draw your blood. That kind of treatment’s a first.”
All testing after that was handled by other medical staff—Xie didn’t intervene again.
“Professor Xie?” Jiang Fuyue’s heart skipped a beat. A flash of surprise lit her eyes. “Xie Dingyuan?”
“Who else could it be? Their lab personally delivered the kits and taught us how to use them. I didn’t expect Professor Xie to be even younger and more handsome than he appears in the news.”
This doctor was clearly a Xie Dingyuan fan—he couldn’t stop gushing: “This time, with the Schankwo virus sweeping through North F and claiming so many lives—more dangerous even than Ebola—I can’t believe Professor Xie came in person…”
Jiang Fuyue stood there in a daze. So the voice she heard in that haze wasn’t a hallucination—
He really was by her side!
…
An hour later, the flight carrying the survivors departed from Endafi Airport, bound for their original destination—Zurich!
At 3:00 PM local time, the flight landed on schedule.
Following the host country’s arrangements, Jiang Fuyue’s group headed to the Carey Hotel.
Because of their delay in Tunijilia for over a day, by the time they arrived, most other countries’ teams had already checked in—and even attended two networking mixers.
“This year’s really odd. The Chinese team’s not here yet? Usually, they arrive at least a day or two early.”
“I heard they’ve got a genius girl this year. She already won gold at IPhO and IOI. Everyone thinks she’ll snag gold at the IMO too.”
“Jiang Fuyue, right? I know her.”
“You do?”
The blonde-haired, blue-eyed student scratched his nose. “I competed at the IPhO…” He’d witnessed Jiang Fuyue’s terrifying prowess firsthand. Just thinking about it now gave him flashbacks.
“Huh? Is that the Chinese team?”
Under everyone’s not-so-subtle scrutiny, Jiang Fuyue and her teammates calmly used their key cards to open their rooms and went inside.
Wei Kongjue muttered, “Why do I feel like those people were staring at us?”
Guo Zidong replied, “They were staring at her—Jiang Fuyue.”
“…Oh.” Geniuses really were on another level.
After unpacking, it was already evening. Jiang Fuyue had a room to herself. She didn’t go down for dinner but ordered room service instead.
After eating, she paced the room a few times, then took a shower and went to bed.
Her acclimation issues were on the more severe side, and the doctor had prescribed her medicine before she left Tunijilia.
When she woke again, it was pitch black. Jiang Fuyue turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed her phone.
3:00 AM.
Maybe she’d slept too much—she was completely awake now, no matter how hard she tried to fall back asleep.
She stared at her contact list, accidentally opened.
After a pause, she found Xie Dingyuan’s number and lightly tapped to call…
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable…”
She wasn’t surprised. Labs inside military bases typically had strict signal controls.
And given the sensitivity of Xie Dingyuan’s current research, the Swiss side would be even more cautious.
Jiang Fuyue opened WeChat, tapped on Xie Dingyuan’s profile, and stared at the message box for a long moment. Finally, she typed just two words—
【Thank you】
Sent.
As expected, there was no reply.
She set the phone down, turned off the light, and lay flat.
Ten minutes later, she fell back into a deep sleep.
….
The next morning, all delegations gathered in the University of Zurich’s auditorium for the IMO Opening Ceremony.
The host first introduced the Jury Committee members—i.e., the team leaders of each country. This year’s chairperson was Professor Gale, a renowned Swiss mathematician.
Then the host country’s representative took the stage, gave a welcome speech, and read out the competition rules.
Some inspiring and encouraging words followed to conclude the ceremony.
That afternoon, all participants toured the University of Zurich, the Zurich Museum, and more.
This was also the best opportunity for countries’ teams to meet and exchange before the contest.
It was then that Jiang Fuyue encountered Naohara Tosaki.
Which meant—the Chinese team ran into the R team.
A familiar scene. Something similar had happened back at the IPhO.
But back then, it had been Naohara Tosaki’s older brother—Chiba Tosaki—who’d crossed paths with Jiang Fuyue.
The result? He was utterly humiliated.
Maybe that memory was too painful. This time, the R team kept their distance.
China’s team also maintained a cautious stance for now.
Surprisingly, the most relaxed ones were Jiang Fuyue and Naohara Tosaki themselves—
Naohara Tosaki said, “We meet again. Remember the challenge I gave you last time?”
Jiang Fuyue replied calmly, “How could I forget?”
Naohara Tosaki smiled, eyes lighting up from their usual dullness. “Then see you on the battlefield.”
With that, he turned and walked away with his team.
Wei Kongjue and Guo Zidong exchanged looks: “Did he just declare war?”
Tan Jiaxu muttered, “Definitely smelled like gunpowder.”
Chen Cheng said, “No need to talk—just crush them!”
But Jiang Fuyue didn’t take it seriously. She waved a hand casually, “Come on, let’s walk around a bit more…”
Meanwhile, the team leaders—including Li Zhao from China—were taken to another hotel.
They had to choose six problems and translate them into their native languages.
From this moment until the end of the exam in two days, they’d be in total isolation.
Vice-leader Yuan Bentao stayed with the students and managed their daily life.
As night fell, with the exam starting the next day, Chen Cheng and Tan Jiaxu came to find Jiang Fuyue.
She assumed they wanted her to “predict” some questions again—but they didn’t.
They simply had problems they couldn’t solve and came to ask her for help.
Chen Cheng: “Got it now!”
Tan Jiaxu: “Use the Cauchy inequality first…”
The two left excitedly to work out the answers.
Jiang Fuyue called after them jokingly, “What, not asking me to make predictions this time?”
A flicker of eagerness flashed in both their eyes—but it quickly vanished.
Chen Cheng: “As much as I want to, not this time.”
Tan Jiaxu nodded like a chicken pecking rice.
“Why not?” Jiang Fuyue raised an eyebrow. Changed their minds?
Chen Cheng replied, “We want to see what we can do on our own—how many points we can score, what prize we can win.”
Tan Jiaxu added, “Once or twice is okay. But three or four times… it just doesn’t feel right.”
With that, they grabbed their test sheets and ran off.
Everyone, through continuous competition and practice, was growing and maturing.
Perhaps, that was the greatest value academic competitions gave students—growth.
…
On the third day, the IMO officially began.
Six questions total, each worth seven points. A perfect score: 42.
The exam is split over two days, with three problems each day.
Time: 9:00 AM to 1:30 PM.
Four and a half hours—Jiang Fuyue finished in just 50 minutes.
Then—
She raised her hand and turned in her paper.
