Overtime

But after the scores were given, things became a bit awkward: Team One and Team Four both had thirty-two points. Who would get first place? Were they supposed to announce two champions?

The members of Team Two stared dejectedly at the final point slipping away before their eyes, their defeat sealed. The five of them had struggled through countless trials to reach the final round, only to lose their chance by a single point—on questions that would never appear on the college entrance examination. But, if anyone here was confident in the entrance exam, how could they be at this winter camp?

Team Three, meanwhile, felt defeated, each member glaring at Team Four. Not only had they really lost to their rivals, but Team Four now had the chance to compete with Team One for first place, and Team Three had even been surpassed by Team Six. Who could accept that?

Team One and Team Four sent their captains to the stage to receive the victory medals from Professor Yao and the competition committee, quietly awaiting the next verdict.

“Ha, it’s another rare tie—this is tricky,” the judges murmured as they formed a circle. Despite their words, the tone and expressions suggested they were quite pleased, eager to see how the drama would unfold.

Everyone else wore similar expressions. After a brief discussion, it was clear that the winter camp could only have one champion. With Team One and Team Four tied, a decision had to be made.

Professor Tong from the College of Science voiced his doubts. “I think the extra points for the Van Gogh question were a bit abrupt. If we disregard the bonus, Team Four answered the most questions, so I lean toward giving them first place.”

A representative from the Medical School shook his head. “Nanjing University has always encouraged questioning—there’s no progress without it. The question was our mistake; if a student spotted it, awarding extra points is reasonable.”

Another teacher glanced at the answer summary compiled by the test assistant and mused, “Judging by the questions, the ones Team One answered were slightly more difficult than Team Four’s.”

Ding Dun quickly shook his head. “Slightly harder? What’s hard, what’s easy? The definitions aren’t clear.”

“Well, yes, and Team One’s speed was outrageous—they barely gave other teams a chance on the early questions.”

After a while, discussion yielded no conclusion, and they turned to Professor Yao, the chief examiner for this round.

“By tradition, the chief examiner has the ultimate decision in the competition. Let’s leave it to Professor Yao.”

Professor Yao smiled. “Disputes are normal. We’ll settle it the old-fashioned way.”

...

As the competition ended, participants returned to their dorms in groups—some for a brief rest, others to pack for departure. The victors, Team One and Team Four, were asked to stay. Professor Yao handed each of them a confidentiality agreement, signaling the true purpose ahead.

“Everyone performed admirably today, but the winter camp can only have one champion. Following the tradition of Nanjing University, we’ll now hold a tiebreaker to determine which team will claim first place.”

Just as Wu Jie had said.

The members of Team Four exchanged excited glances, anticipation for the tiebreaker burning within them.

“And the reason there can only be one first place is because Nanjing University offers a special reward to the top team each winter camp.” Professor Yao gestured to the recently collected confidentiality agreements. “The following information must remain confidential, or Nanjing University reserves the right to withdraw the reward as stated in the agreement.”

“The reward is—freedom to choose your major.”

So it was true!

Whether hearing it for the first time, as with Team One, or suspecting it already, as with Team Four, everyone was thrilled. They exchanged glances, their fighting spirit reignited for the upcoming tiebreaker.

“After our discussion, the tiebreaker will be held tomorrow morning. The content—talent showcase.”

Professor Yao watched as the students were stunned into silence, quietly amused.

At their age, students barely had time for extra activities, let alone cultivating talents—unless they were art students, who would have time for such pursuits now?

---

But Nanjing University’s philosophy has always emphasized well-rounded development. Among several aspects, the least valued is—ironically—the test scores that other schools treat as their lifeblood.

Thus, the winter camp departs from the standard criteria for admission.

...

“Each team must present three acts, performed in turn, and the other teams will vote. So, what should we do?” Team Four sat in a circle in a quiet corner of the activity center, snacking on treats unavailable at the center, eating and worrying at the same time.

“We have such a poor relationship with Team Three—they won’t vote for us no matter how well we do,” Xiao Gao fretted.

Wu Jie’s hand paused, regretful. “If only I hadn’t said those rash things to Team Three—it’s my fault.”

Xiao Gao waved his hand quickly. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Don’t misunderstand.”

Mo Xiaoxin sighed, holding her drink anxiously. “Actually, it’s my fault. The captain only confronted Team Three to defend me.” She pushed herself up from her cushion. “I’ll go apologize to Team Three.”

“I should be the one to go,” Wu Jie stood up as well. The two prepared to leave, and the rest of Team Four rose to join them, insisting that if apologies were to be made, they’d go together. Only Chen Ruowen remained seated, her expression odd.

“Why apologize?” she asked.

“To…get them to forgive us, so they’ll vote fairly tomorrow,” Wu Jie replied, struggling with the words. After all, it’s uncomfortable to boast about beating someone in the morning and then go groveling at night, but for the sake of the team, he had to swallow his pride.

“Are you sure an apology will make them vote fairly?” Chen Ruowen raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…not very likely,” Wu Jie admitted.

“Then why bother?” Chen Ruowen questioned.

“We should at least try.”

“What if trying only triggers their resentment and they vote entirely for Team One instead?” Chen Ruowen pressed.

The others paused. Judging from Team Three’s behavior that afternoon, Chen Ruowen’s scenario was entirely possible.

After all, they’d even copied Chen Ruowen’s answers to steal points—shameless indeed.

“Come back,” Chen Ruowen called her teammates back, calmly scooping another spoonful of ice cream.

“Xiao Gao, if it were the other six teams competing and we were voting, and Wu Jie insisted you vote for, say, Team Seven, would you listen?”

Caught off guard, Xiao Gao scratched his head, glancing sheepishly at Wu Jie. “Well…haha, probably not. But if Ruowen told me to vote, I’d definitely do it.”

The group laughed, and Wu Jie jokingly shook a fist at Xiao Gao.

Chen Ruowen ignored the latter half, nodding. “The conflict with Team Three is only between their captain and the guy who spoke ill of Xiaoxin. The captain of a winter camp team doesn’t have enough authority to sway everyone’s votes, and the teachers didn’t announce the contest beforehand—tomorrow, the audience won’t be seated by team, so they won’t have time to coordinate votes.”

Her explanation instantly reassured everyone.

Chen Ruowen continued, “As long as our performance tomorrow is good enough, there’s no need to worry about others refusing to vote for us.”

“So the question is—” Xiao Gao raised his hand, surveying the group. “What exactly are we performing tomorrow?”

---

The open space at the center of the activity hall had been transformed into a small viewing arena, with stools arranged in three-quarters of a circle, leaving a gap for an entrance.

Teachers and participants from the winter camp found seats—some grouped with teammates, others with school friends. Except for Teams One and Four, who sat together in their designated area, the other teams were scattered, just as Chen Ruowen predicted.

As chief examiner in the previous round, Professor Yao briefly explained that the two tied teams were “voluntarily” offering a gift to the camp, inviting everyone to watch the performances in a relaxed, friendly spirit.

By the draw, the first performer was a member of Team One—a boy with a decent voice, who sang a popular song and earned enthusiastic applause.

Next up was Mo Xiaoxin. When everyone volunteered their talents earlier, most had chosen simple acts like singing, but Mo Xiaoxin’s specialty stood out among the literary programs. Her teammates eagerly pushed her onto the stage.

“Go for it, Xiaoxin!” Wu Jie led the group in giving her high-fives, sending her off.

“H-hello, everyone. Today, I’ll…recite pi.”

“Pfft…reciting pi? Is that a talent?” The audience erupted.

Even the judges were surprised—they hadn’t received the program list in advance, and a recitation act caught them off guard.

“This child—weren’t we told to prepare lighter acts?” Professor Yao laughed helplessly.

“Let’s watch. If she’s chosen it as a talent, she must recite well,” Professor Tong said.

Mo Xiaoxin glanced toward her teammates, clenched her small fists.

“3.141592653589793238462643327950582231…”

As time passed, the initially casual expressions of teachers and students turned to surprise, then to seriousness.

“How many digits has she recited?” Professor Tong asked.

The two counters, referencing pi on their phones for accuracy, quickly replied, “Over seven hundred.”

“She’s so fast and hasn’t stumbled once…” Professor Tong nodded. “This girl is impressive.”

A nearby Nanjing University student, who had assisted with the tests, handed over Mo Xiaoxin’s profile, excited. “She’s won first prize in the math olympiad two years in a row! Professor, we must recruit her for our math department!”

Professor Tong smiled, “That still depends on her own wishes.”

“…9302955.”

Mo Xiaoxin finally breathed out, bowing to the audience.

“The teacher said the time limit is ten minutes, so I’ll recite the first 1,500 digits.” She looked nervously toward the teachers.

The two counters beside Professor Tong immediately understood and stood, announcing the results to the audience.

“Absolutely correct.”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.