novelraw Chapter 83 Breaking the Deadlock
Chapter 83 Breaking the Deadlock
The bus doors released compressed air with a sharp hiss, folding open.
“Let’s go, let’s go! Get on!”
It was Sunday, and Children’s Day on top of that. The bus stop was crowded with students. Everyone surged forward in a rush. Nan Xiuxiu grabbed Jiang Ran’s hand and ran with them.
Come to think of it—
This was the first time in Jiang Ran’s life that he had experienced what could be called a date between boyfriend and girlfriend.
On Worldline 0, he, Qin Feng, and Cheng Mengxue had spent their days hanging out together as a trio.
But…
This kind of dating felt subtly different.
Jiang Ran was like a little attendant.
Following behind Nan Xiuxiu.Watching her laugh as she browsed boutique shops. Listening to her chatter endlessly. Carrying her large and small shopping bags. Eating the snacks she handed to him.
“Want some of mine?”
Seeing that Jiang Ran had finished his milk tea, Nan Xiuxiu directly offered him her half-drunk cup.
Jiang Ran looked at the straw faintly stained with lipstick and shook his head.
“No. I don’t like this.”
“Huh?”
Nan Xiuxiu looked surprised.
“You used to love this… I only started buying it all the time because you liked it.”
“Drank too much. Got tired of it.”
Jiang Ran smiled lightly, brushing it off.
“Okay then.”
Nan Xiuxiu didn’t dwell on it. She put the straw back between her lips.
“We’ve walked a lot. Want to see a movie?”
“Sure.”
“What should we watch?” She scanned the posters outside the theater.
“Anything’s fine.”
Jiang Ran’s mind wasn’t on the movie.
In fact, he felt the cinema might be a rare pocket of quiet—time to sort through the chaos in his head.
“Let’s watch this.”
Nan Xiuxiu pointed at the familiar blue, round figure on the poster.
“I remember you said you loved Doraemon when you were little.”
“Nobita!”
On the screen, Nobita was once again in danger, and Doraemon rescued him with his Take-Copter.
It was the Children’s Day premiere: Doraemon: Nobita’s Painting Adventure.
The story was simple. Nobita and his friends entered the world of an oil painting and became embroiled in a magical adventure.
Since it was made for children, the core remained the classic template—evil dragon, brave hero, rescue the princess.
Nan Xiuxiu held her popcorn, watching intently.
Jiang Ran, burdened by too many thoughts, felt detached.
He couldn’t help but reflect: the template of a prince slaying a dragon to save a princess had endured for centuries without growing stale. Writers never tired of telling it. Audiences never tired of watching it.
Perhaps people simply loved happy endings.
Or perhaps… they always hoped such things might happen in their own lives.
Jiang Ran blinked.
Suddenly he realized—
Wasn’t his current determination to save Cheng Mengxue just like a hero rescuing a princess?
If so…
Who was the dragon?
Images flashed through his mind.
Qin Feng turning his head beside the transformer distribution box.
The massive eye suddenly opening at the center of the Ferris wheel.
The sack-covered prisoner kneeling on the high execution platform.
The executioner’s blade falling. The Magician’s head rolling.
The world’s number one criminal.
Humanity’s public enemy.
Qin Feng…
Are you the dragon?
“That was so good!”
As soon as they exited the theater, Nan Xiuxiu was full of praise.
“The comeback at the end—when Nobita used the portrait he drew of Doraemon—that was actually kind of epic.”
“Oh right! That reminds me—when are you developing the photos you took of me last time?”
Jiang Ran recalled the Fujifilm GW690 camera Nan Xiuxiu had given him. It had been lying on a shelf in the Film Camera Club for half a month.
“Probably next semester,” he said.
“Donghai University’s Film Camera Club can develop them, but they’re out of materials and chemicals. They need next semester’s activity funding.”
“Oh… okay.”
Next semester wasn’t far.
“Time goes by so fast. When next semester starts, we’ll be third-years. Final year before graduation.”
She turned toward him.
“Jiang Ran, what are you planning to do after graduation?”
“Don’t know.”
“Will you stay in Donghai?”
“Don’t know.”
He shook his head.
“I haven’t thought that far.”
Nan Xiuxiu studied him.
“Alright.”
They arrived at the bus stop again.
Night had fallen. They waited for the bus back to campus.
Jiang Ran watched the road in the distance.
Nan Xiuxiu lowered her head, rubbing the tip of her shoe against the ground, hesitating.
“Jiang Ran.”
At last, she spoke.
Traffic roared. The crowd buzzed.
Nan Xiuxiu looked up at him, half a step away.
“[…] If you figure out anything about your future plans… can you tell me in advance?”
Jiang Ran looked down at her.
He didn’t quite understand.
“Why suddenly say that?”
She bit her lip.
“I want to prepare.”
After a pause, she glanced at their hands.
“I don’t want… to be too far from you.”
That night.
After escorting Nan Xiuxiu back to her dorm, Jiang Ran returned to his own, drew the curtain around his bed, and lay flat, one arm covering his eyes.
His heart churned.
[…This can’t continue.]
He had never spent such an extended stretch of time alone with Nan Xiuxiu before. From morning to night today, he had felt her enthusiasm—her undisguised affection.
It was strange.
Increasingly strange.
Because in this relationship, he could not reciprocate.
Perhaps for Nan Xiuxiu, today’s date had been pure enjoyment.
For him, every minute had been a moral torment.
He was deceiving her.
He didn’t like her. He felt nothing for her. Yet he played the role of boyfriend.
That falsehood—
Was cruel.
“Too cruel.”
He lowered his arm and opened his eyes.
He couldn’t keep hurting her like this.
She was a good girl. He no longer harbored any bias against her. So…
“I’ll find the right moment and make things clear.”
He exhaled.
Yes, that would be painful too.
But at least the lies and pretense would end here.
He rolled over, picked up his phone.
He still needed a solution.
To fix the Positron Cannon. To meet Lu Ning. To find the rumored spacetime shuttle.
He had to get into Donghai University.
But as a junior college student, every road was blocked. How could he legally enroll?
He scrolled through page after page. The more he read, the more discouraged he felt.
Until suddenly—
In the graduate admissions policy, he saw something unexpected:
“[Special Circumstances: Students with outstanding academic strengths or exceptional potential may, upon joint recommendation by three or more professors of this university and approval through review, be admitted directly without participating in the unified examination.]”
“This—!”
Jiang Ran shot upright on the bed.
Graduate school?
What an unexpected joy.
He searched multiple university policies to verify.
It was real.
Different schools had slightly different requirements. Elite institutions required academicians as recommenders. Ordinary universities required professors. But the core rule was similar.
This provision existed specifically for exceptionally special academic talent.
Hope flared.
The prerequisites were difficult—but not impossible.
“Unbelievable.”
He laughed softly.
“Transferring to undergraduate is impossible. But transferring directly to graduate school might work.”
He researched further.
One piece of good news. One piece of bad.
The good news:
Aside from requiring joint recommendation and high-level academic achievements, there were no additional hard restrictions.
Even as a junior college student, if he secured recommendations from three or more academicians—and produced top-tier research results—
He could directly jump to graduate school.
In principle, it was feasible.
The bad news:
Since the founding of Dragon Country’s national education examination system—
There had never been a single case of a junior college student directly entering graduate school.
“But…”
Jiang Ran smiled.
No problem.
As long as it wasn’t forbidden, the rest was effort.
There had never been a first.
Until there was.
“Prejudices are countless! Who says junior college students can’t win math competitions!”
Right.
Who says they can’t leap directly into graduate school?
If there was no precedent—
He would become the precedent.
He knocked on the bed above.
“Hey!”
Roommate No. 4 stuck his head down.
“Are you crazy?”
“Thanks, brother.”
Jiang Ran gave him a thumbs-up.
“And I owe you an apology. About this morning. I take back my arrogance. I’m sorry.”
“I honestly think you’re right. If you can register, you can compete. If you’re qualified, there’s hope.”
Roommate No. 4 yawned.
“Oh, that Qiu Tongcheng competition?”
He scratched his nose casually.
“Dropped it.”
Jiang Ran blinked.
“At noon you were so passionate. What happened?”
“Can’t get enough teammates.”
He sighed.
“Team event requires minimum numbers. Didn’t even recruit five people all day. Forget it.”
“There’s an individual category.”
Roommate No. 4 leaned over.
“My strategy doesn’t work solo. Only team.”
“I’m listening.”
Jiang Ran stood by the bed.
“What’s your strategy?”
Roommate No. 4 sighed.
“You know my real ability won’t win. So I need probability. Like lottery. Which is harder—Qiu Tongcheng Prize or first prize in Double Color Ball?”
“From study difficulty, Qiu Tongcheng. From probability, Double Color Ball.”
“Exactly!”
Roommate No. 4’s eyes gleamed.
“Alone, guessing multiple-choice gives 25% accuracy. But with five people guessing, accuracy reaches an astonishing 75%!”
Jiang Ran froze.
“You… is that how probability works?”
He didn’t even bother reminding him the competition had no multiple-choice questions.
“Options are A, B, C, D. With five people guessing, there must be overlaps, so subtract 25%. Understand?”
“…Sure.”
Jiang Ran abandoned the conversation.
“You should sleep, Math Prince.”
“Math Prince is Gauss.”
“Then you be Math King.”
He sat down.
“Problems even Gauss couldn’t solve—you could solve…”
He stopped.
Gauss couldn’t solve.
Couldn’t solve.
Solve.
The echo rang in his mind.
Goldbach’s Conjecture.
Enlightenment struck.
He grabbed his phone and reread the graduate special recommendation clause.
Outstanding.
Academic.
Exceptional.
Potential.
What could be more convincing than proving Goldbach’s Conjecture?
The brightest jewel in mathematics’ crown.
A riddle that had stumped masters for two centuries.
From the aged Zhang Yang in 2045, he knew Lu Yu had risen to global fame at twenty by proving it.
If Jiang Ran could prove Goldbach—
What difficulty would there be in securing three academicians’ recommendations? Thirty might line up.
He immediately messaged Chi Xiaoguo.
The next morning.
Film Camera Club.
“I’m counting down!”
Chi Xiaoguo held her phone.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!”
The Positron Cannon glowed blue.
Jiang Ran pressed answer precisely at the mark.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
The familiar vertigo.
Two seconds later—
“Bang!”
He landed hard.
“Holy—!”
The neighboring cell shouted.
“Cell Three what—”
“Open the door!”
Minutes later, all cell doors opened.
Jiang Ran rushed to Cell Four and seized the hands of the aged Zhang Yang.
“Professor Zhang.”
His eyes were clear.
“You said Lu Yu was your student.”
“Yes.”
Zhang Yang looked startled.
“But only in general education. We didn’t interact much.”
“Do you understand Goldbach’s Conjecture?”
Jiang Ran stared at the only hope in this prison, in this 2045 future.
“Lu Yu’s proof—can you demonstrate it?”
Zhang Yang relaxed.
“Oh, that? You frightened me.”
“Can you?”
“What’s so difficult?”
He smiled.
“Like Newton’s laws. Discovering it is hard. But once solved, understanding it with the answer in hand becomes simple.”
“Lu Yu’s method was elegant. The derivations read like poetry. With undergraduate-level calculus and some related theory, it’s not hard to grasp.”
“Of course, that’s for someone at my level. Explaining it to someone without higher math background would be impossible.”
Jiang Ran smiled faintly.
Higher mathematics.
He could handle it.
And what he didn’t know—he could learn.
If backward learning with the answer wasn’t difficult—
Then he had a chance.
To bring Goldbach’s proof back to 2025.
“Professor Zhang,” he said, gripping his hand tightly.
“I want to learn the proof of Goldbach’s Conjecture.”
“Would you… teach me?”