The afternoon session of the National Physics Olympiad had begun.
The morning had been the individual competition, and now it was time for the team event.
A crowd of parents and teachers escorted their students into the examination hall.
Madam Song held onto Song Huai, giving him endless reminders.
Pei Yaru glanced around but didn’t spot Rong Wangtian. She couldn’t help shaking her head—Rong Yu’s father was far too neglectful. At such a crucial moment, while other parents were eagerly offering last-minute advice, Rong Yu’s father was nowhere to be seen.
She gently brushed aside the stray hairs on Rong Yu’s forehead but didn’t offer any advice. There was no need—she had nothing to worry about.
The group of students entered the examination hall.
Teacher Yang chuckled. "I heard that during this morning’s written test, Rong Yu handed in her paper after just half an hour. Those two questions—even we teachers might not solve them in half an hour. Did Rong Yu just give up?"
Pei Yaru responded, "Has Teacher Yang forgotten? During the preliminary round, Rong Yu also submitted early and still scored full marks to qualify for the finals. If she has the ability, why waste time in the exam hall?"
"The preliminary questions were simple—she just got lucky," Teacher Yang scoffed. "But the national finals? Those problems are on another level. Without luck on her side, isn’t early submission just an admission of defeat?"
Pei Yaru realized how hard it was to change the prejudices in people’s hearts.
If words wouldn’t convince, then they’d just have to wait for the results.
Rong Yu and her team walked toward the competition area.
A top student from another class, Zhang Haoyu, glanced at Rong Yu and asked, "I heard you turned in your morning exam early?"
Rong Yu nodded indifferently. "Yeah."
Zhang Haoyu smirked.
Early submission? More like early surrender.
He’d heard Rong Yu aced the preliminaries, but now it seemed that perfect score was questionable.
Having someone like her on the team was nothing but bad luck.
Zhang Haoyu spoke up, "Girls are meticulous. You can handle the data recording later."
Rong Yu didn’t refuse.
The biggest difference between math and physics was that math emphasized logical structures and deductive reasoning, while physics focused on experimental verification and explaining phenomena.
When it came to hands-on physics experiments, she wasn’t particularly skilled.
Zhang Haoyu handed the notebook to Rong Yu, then slung an arm around Song Huai’s shoulder, whispering, "Girls might manage theory, but they always mess up the practical stuff."
Song Huai frowned. "Don’t judge others based on your own narrow views. Anyone who makes it this far is capable."
In the past, he might have doubted Rong Yu’s abilities too.
But at some point, his perception of her had changed.
Once the six-member team was in position, a countdown appeared on the large screen—ninety minutes.
Song Huai was the team captain, with Zhang Haoyu as deputy.
Song Huai spoke calmly, "First, we’ll set up the superconducting test system. Zhang Haoyu, you handle the oscilloscope adjustments. Rong Yu, you—"
Before he could finish, Zhang Haoyu cut in, "I think it’s better if the girl stays away from the core materials."
Rong Yu picked up a pen. "I’ll record the data and write the report."
People should rise to challenges—writing a report was just another form of essay-writing, after all.
Zhang Haoyu smirked.
At least she knew her place.
White mist rose from the liquid nitrogen dewar as Zhang Haoyu adjusted the instruments. Everything went smoothly at first—until he inserted the platinum resistance thermometer into the liquid nitrogen.
Rong Yu’s pupils constricted.
Just because she wasn’t great at experiments didn’t mean she didn’t understand them.
"Wait!" she called out.
But Zhang Haoyu didn’t stop.
Bang.
The platinum resistor overloaded and exploded. Thick, acrid smoke billowed from the precision instrument as the LCD screen flashed erratic data before settling on a glaring red warning.
"How did this happen…" Zhang Haoyu’s voice trembled. "We spent three months preparing for this final. What do we do? Song Huai, quick—think of something!"
Nearby teams shot them smug looks.
A referee approached, jotting notes on a clipboard.
Song Huai’s expression darkened.
He yanked out the charred wiring and asked, "Excuse me, do we have spare materials?"
The referee shook his head coldly. "Each team gets one attempt. Clean up and exit."
Song Huai’s shoulders slumped.
Last year, a minor experimental error had cost him the gold, leaving him with silver.
This year? Total failure. He’d return empty-handed.
The weight of it crushed him.
Zhang Haoyu was frantic with guilt. "I—I didn’t know this would happen. I really didn’t…"
Rong Yu pushed him aside.
He turned, ready to snap at her—but froze when he saw her pick up the burnt wiring. She examined it carefully, then removed her wristwatch and held out her hand. "Give me your watches."
Song Huai blinked. "What for?"
"Rule 27 of the competition allows the use of personal non-electronic auxiliary materials," Rong Yu said calmly. "The elements we need are in these watches. Help me dismantle them."
Zhang Haoyu gaped. "How could watches possibly have those components—"
"Seems your physics knowledge is lacking," Rong Yu remarked, her tone neutral, yet Zhang Haoyu couldn’t shake the feeling she was mocking him.
Song Huai shot him a look. "You caused this. Stop standing around and start dismantling."
Zhang Haoyu didn’t dare argue.
But Rong Yu looked up. "Actually, Song Huai, this is your fault."
Song Huai stiffened. "What?"
She spread out her draft paper, pointing to a series of calculations. "I just ran the numbers. Your earlier algorithm missed the quantum correction term. The error caused the malfunction."
Song Huai stared at her. "When did you calculate this?"
"Just now. In my head." Rong Yu sighed. She’d overestimated Song Huai—and the team had trusted him blindly without double-checking. No wonder things went wrong.
Now she understood why Song Huai had competed for years without ever winning gold.
"I told you, my operation was flawless!" Zhang Haoyu blurted. "So what now?"
Rong Yu bent over the damaged connector, carefully threading copper wire into the backup port.
Without hesitation, Song Huai moved to assist.
The rest of the team exchanged glances and got back to work, rebuilding the superconducting test system from scratch…
Rong Yu handed Zhang Haoyu a sheet of scribbled calculations. "Input this data. Quickly."
The countdown on the screen showed less than ten minutes remaining.
In Zhang Haoyu’s mind, data entry was women’s work—but now?
Rong Yu had outshone even Song Huai. Swallowing his pride, he got to work.
Rong Yu checked every detail one last time before pressing the green button. "Done!"
The computer of the judging panel suddenly beeped—the experimental data from Haicheng No. 1 High School's team had been successfully uploaded, and a staggering figure flashed on the screen:
Margin of error: 0.001%.
