The Real Horror is the College Entrance Examination

As the saying goes, "A blessing in disguise," right? In the second semester of my sophomore year, everyone was feeling the pressure of exams, so couples started forming here and there to relieve the stress. It's like they say, even a broken boat has many nails. Maybe because there were only two guys in the art studio, I finally caught the eye of a girl.

Her name was Du Feiyu, and she was my deskmate. Her appearance matched her name—gentle and graceful, as if she were made of jade. I thought to myself, well, it's a girl, so I'll take it. After all, this was my first love. I had all sorts of fantasies about how this romance would unfold—how wild, how taboo. But once again, I was wrong.

Aside from asking me to carry her bag every day and to fetch her meals at the cafeteria, I also had to run to the school shop to buy chocolates for her every time the bell rang. At our school, when students were in relationships, they called each other "husband" or "wife." But I swear, calling me her husband felt more like being treated like a servant. Every time she called me "husband," I knew what was coming—another errand to run. The closest we ever got physically was when she asked me to rub her shoulders after class or while she was painting.

We couldn't even hold hands, let alone kiss or hug, or anything more. Sometimes, I wondered if she only kept me around because of how easygoing I was. Damn.

Well, I thought, a man's got his own pit, and this pit is all I've got. As long as it's a pit, it's fine. Life just passed by like this, and everything was peaceful.

Of course, I didn't forget Uncle Jiu's teachings. Maybe because my soul had been damaged, as he said, my already poor memory had worsened, and I couldn't focus in class at all. So I stopped trying to pay attention. Instead, I just slept during cultural lessons. Actually, I wasn't sleeping; in internet novel terms, this was "meditation." According to Buddhism, this was entering a state of samadhi. Sanqing Book really was quite magical. When I chanted it without distractions in my mind, images of mountains, rivers, and animals would flicker through my brain like scenes from a film, eventually merging with me. I could feel the "qi" around me, and it wasn't half bad.

During professional courses, I'd just stick two pieces of paper on my drawing board—one for watercolors, the other for talismans. The talismans I painted with red watercolor actually looked quite convincing. Of course, they were just practice; they had no power. Old Jia saw me doing this once and scolded me, telling me I was wasting my time and would end up selling trinkets on the street one day.

In my heart, I cursed him. "You're a frog in the well. Do you think you can understand my ancient techniques?"

Lost in Taoist arts and daydreams, I spent almost a year thinking I had made some progress. One day, I decided to seriously try drawing a talisman to see if it would work. I took a piece of paper, about 20 cm long and 10 cm wide, and when Little Yu was asleep during lunch break, I snuck into the empty art studio alone.

After making a sword gesture with my right hand, I respectfully bowed three times to the Heavenly Master of Lingbao and started chanting a spell.

First spell: "The five thunder gods gather; their electric light burns bright. They bind the evil spirits and bring eternal life. Quickly, as the law commands!"

Second spell (water spell): "This water is no ordinary water, it is the northern Ren and Gui water. A drop in the inkstone, rainclouds will soon form. The sick swallow it and will be cured. Evil spirits are crushed as the law commands!"

Third spell (ink spell): "The Jade Emperor has the ink of the gods, burning like clouds. The Nine Stars grind it lightly, and thunder roars. Quickly, as the law commands!"

After chanting the three spells, I thought the regular ink I was using might not have enough power, so I made the bold decision to bite my left index finger to draw blood (because right-handed talismans can't be drawn with a hurt right hand). Damn, I thought it would be easy, like how people do it on TV, but it hurt like hell!

But I couldn't give up now. I dipped my right hand in the blood and quickly drew the simplest "Jiaxu Zi River Fire Borrowing Talisman." I made the symbol's head, body, and foot all in one go, and after finishing, I bowed three times again to the Heavenly Master of Lingbao.

Looking at my first finished talisman, I couldn't help but admire it—this was truly a masterpiece! Now came the most important part. I had to activate the talisman. My heart raced as I placed it on the ground, praying, "It has to work, it has to work." I took a deep breath, made a sword gesture, pointed at the talisman, and shouted, "Quickly, as the law commands!"

With a snap, the talisman spontaneously caught fire. I was overjoyed. "Holy shit! I really have superpowers now!" I couldn't help but laugh.

Feeling mighty, I picked up the burning talisman and lit a cigarette, taking a long, satisfied drag. Damn, I was just wishing there were more ghosts around—there was no one for me to show off my skills on.

After this, I decided something important: I would keep my little finger nail long because biting my finger hurt too much. It would be so much easier to just scratch myself and get a little cut.

Although I felt proud, I didn't get carried away. I remembered Uncle Jiu's warnings not to reveal this technique. "The gods are always watching," as they say. A man of honor must keep his word. With that thought, I threw the burnt talisman in the trash, locked the art studio, and went out to buy Little Yu the milk tea she wanted when she woke up. This girl was picky—always wanted her milk. But even with that, I still hadn't seen any signs of her having anything like other developments.

Days flew by quickly, and before I knew it, senior year was almost over. I remembered what a philosopher once said: "It's not the time that slips through your fingers that is scary, but the time that lies ahead." I can deeply understand this now. What lay ahead of me? The college entrance exam. That was terrifying.

The college entrance exam, as the name suggests, is the final exam for high school students. According to the current system, this exam pretty much decides your future—whether you'll be eating meat or drinking porridge. I think everyone can relate to this. For example, after the exam, two housewives meet in the market. One asks, "How did your kid do?" The other replies, "Ah, not too well, just got into Harbin Institute of Technology." "What? Harbin Tech? That's a top-ten school!" The other woman doesn't want to admit her child only got into Harbin's lower-tier architecture university, so she makes an excuse and leaves.

Even parents are like this, so how much pressure do you think the children feel? The competition among students is so intense now that if you end up at a third-rate university, you're too embarrassed to even talk to others.

For me, it wasn't about embarrassment; it was whether I could even get into university. Since Du Feiyu wanted to go to Harbin Vocational College, it seemed I was destined to follow her there. I'm not saying I'm spineless, but after a year of being with Du Feiyu, I realized that although she didn't have a 36D bust, she really didn't have any other redeeming qualities either. Normally, going to university would be the perfect opportunity to break up with her, but after something happened, I discovered a side of her that I never knew about.