The intense studying made time fly by. The smoke of the new school term had barely cleared when the whispers of the midterm exams began to circulate. The students, somewhat numbed by the relentless grind of exam-oriented education, were not particularly anxious about the midterms. They seemed to embody a spirit of resilience, as if saying, "No matter the winds from all directions, I will take root and not let go." Those who wanted to play continued to do so, while only a few dedicated students, who treated hard work as their daily bread and exams as their mission, became even more diligent in preparation for this test.
Two weeks in advance, our Chinese language teacher and homeroom teacher, Teacher Zeng, surprised everyone with an announcement: this midterm exam would be a self-administered test!
The self-administered exam arranged by Teacher Zeng was not akin to the "North Alliance" and "Hua Alliance" battles that erupted in many universities in mainland China over market-driven admissions two decades later. Instead, it was a complete form of autonomy—students would create the questions, supervise each other, answer the questions, grade the papers, and assign scores. Of course, the questions they created were not for themselves but for their classmates.
The rules set by Teacher Zeng were simple. Our class was divided into eight groups with roughly equal numbers of students. The first group would create questions for the third group, the second for the fourth, and so on. To prevent any favoritism or leniency in grading, one crucial point was emphasized: Group A could not create questions for Group B if Group B was creating questions for Group A. There were no restrictions on the scope or format of the questions; it was only stipulated that the total score would still follow the traditional hundred-point system and must include an essay. Whoever created a question would also be responsible for grading it.
Based on Teacher Zeng's announced rules, I quietly calculated that I would be receiving questions from a girl whose grades were average at best. Given my proficiency in Chinese language, which leaned heavily on foundational knowledge—though I often struggled to score high on essays due to my tendency to deviate from standard student expressions—it seemed likely that having someone slightly less capable than myself as both question creator and grader might lead to an unprecedented low score. Conversely, I knew that my own questions were clearly designed for our class's most outstanding and well-rounded student, Huang Dongxiu.
Although it was a student-led exam, I understood that Teacher Zeng would still pay attention to both the test papers and results. Since I could already infer that the difficulty of my assigned questions wouldn’t fully reflect my "superior" Chinese language skills, I decided to showcase my abilities through my own questions. Moreover, facing someone like Huang Dongxiu stirred up various thoughts within me: first was a tinge of youthful jealousy; despite her excellence, there were times when I could outshine her in Chinese language. This time, I was determined to craft some challenging problems to give her a run for her money. Second was a sense of vanity—I wanted to demonstrate my Chinese language proficiency and overall capabilities in front of my classmates and Teacher Zeng; solid fundamentals and extensive knowledge were what I aimed to showcase. Lastly, there were some inexplicable youthful feelings; entering high school and adolescence brought me face-to-face with such an admirable girl who challenged my previous perceptions and stirred my emotions. This opportunity allowed me to connect with her closely; I wanted to impress her while also revealing some depth beneath her brilliance.
Amidst this turmoil of conflicting emotions, I finally prepared the midterm Chinese language exam paper meant for Huang Dongxiu and quickly awaited the scheduled exam time set by the school. Under the influence of various thoughts, my exam paper mirrored my feelings—chaotic yet exhilarating. At first glance, it appeared organized; however, upon deeper inspection, it revealed a mix of easy and difficult questions with significant jumps in difficulty—a true reflection of "one moment in heaven and another on earth." For the final essay prompt, I even played a little trick by requiring an article of any style or length addressing this unique examination format.
The actual examination process turned out to be rather mundane after all the excitement. Teacher Zeng eventually announced the results: I had graded Huang Dongxiu's paper as 86 points—exactly matching Teacher Zeng's official score. As for myself, I scored 91 points; however, Teacher Zeng privately told me that this score should not have been awarded based on my set of questions since they did not meet his expectations. He explained that he couldn't go back on his word simply because my question creator had assigned such a score.
It wasn't until Teacher Zeng stopped being our homeroom teacher and Chinese language instructor that I realized he had placed me in a position expected of a true question creator. He always held high hopes for his more capable students and regarded this as part of his teaching style; this self-administered exam was no exception to that principle.
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