There are traps ahead.

After another round of eliminations, the dormitory on the third floor felt noticeably emptier. Those who remained were both deeply grateful to have made it this far and even more anxious about the uncertain future awaiting them.

At two in the afternoon, eighty-six students once again sat in neat rows in the assembly room that had already given them countless terrifying memories.

When handing out the test papers that morning, Professor Qiao had mentioned there would be another exam in the afternoon. However, as for the content…

Ha! As if he would ever reveal it. That devilish teacher had only let slip one thing—a cryptic comment that “we’ll try to eliminate half of you this afternoon”—which instantly plunged the classroom into nervous tension. Then, with an inscrutable smile, he left them all behind, so on edge that they could barely eat lunch.

The moment the door to the assembly room opened, it drew every eye. An elderly man, his hair half white but his energy undiminished, strode briskly up to the podium.

Before he could even speak, a gasp of recognition rippled through the students.

“It’s President Yu!”

President Yu wasn’t the dean of any one college at Southern University, but rather… the director of South City First People’s Hospital.

He had earned his PhD in medicine at Southern Medical College, completing his bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral studies in one continuous track. Before even graduating with his doctorate, he was recommended for an internship at South City First People’s Hospital, where he passed the six-month assessment in just one month. Within three years, he had become chief physician in clinical medicine, and at thirty-one, was the youngest department head in the hospital’s history.

At such a pace, he could have been appointed hospital director at thirty-five, but his youth was considered a drawback, so he spent three years as deputy director to gain further experience. Even so, Yu Liren became the youngest director the hospital had ever had.

He came from Southern University’s medical department, and so naturally held a professorship there as well, sometimes returning to lecture on specialized topics. Doctor He, from Chen Ruowen’s family, had been one of his properly trained students.

“I never thought President Yu would serve as a judge for the winter camp. I wonder what he’ll test us on?”

There was little need to speculate, as President Yu soon provided the answer himself.

“As a teacher who has been away from Southern University for many years, I am pleased to be invited here today to witness you, the next generation, join our ranks.

Southern University is a first-rate institution of higher learning, advocating equality and open-minded teaching. Achievements born of individual talent and professional skill are important, but they are not the sole standard by which we cultivate talent. We value, above all, the qualities developed through relentless effort and a pragmatic attitude—the commitment to continuous improvement…”

…The students were nearly lulled to sleep. President Yu’s speech soared to the heights of the university president’s annual commencement address, grand and incomprehensible yet somehow awe-inspiring.

“…Therefore, the core of this test is to assess the meticulousness and patience that everyone possesses, and which can be perfected through one’s own efforts!”

Anyone who could listen to that speech all the way through had already displayed considerable patience!

The test itself caught everyone off guard—not because it was unworthy of a genius hospital director, but because… it seemed almost too simple.

That thought persisted—until they saw the exam paper.

“What is this?!”

Before them lay a sheet crowded with “012345…” and a host of complex Chinese characters, as well as a tangle of foreign letters and symbols. Anyone remotely susceptible to trypophobia would have fainted at the sight of those intricate, unfamiliar scripts and dense arrangements. It was not so much a white sheet as a black blur threatening to overwhelm the senses.

“There are one thousand numbers, one hundred Chinese characters, and ten sentences written in different languages on this test paper. Over the next few hours, I ask you to copy everything from the test, in full, onto your answer sheet.”

President Yu signaled to the assistants in the back row, and each student received a specially formatted answer sheet.

“As Professor Qiao Yusen, a rising star at Southern University, once said: ‘There are no second chances in life.’

I deeply appreciate his meticulous approach to work. For this reason, each of you will receive one—and only one—answer sheet. Please copy the contents exactly, in order, into the designated boxes.

We will use a machine to grade your answers. If there is a misalignment, the machine will not recognize your response. Therefore, I urge you to focus with the utmost concentration and avoid skipping or missing any characters.”

A test of patience? More like an exercise in torment! The numbers and letters were one thing, but the Chinese characters—some so intricate they were barely legible—would be a nightmare to copy without error!

A few students raised their hands at this point.

“President Yu, what is the grading standard for this round? Will a single mistake mean elimination, or will we be ranked by our final score?”

President Yu seemed reluctant to answer, but when pressed, he finally replied.

“The school has set a tolerance limit of five errors. However, as a rigorous medical professional, I personally hope you will all strive for one hundred percent accuracy—aim for perfection.”

No one dared respond to that.

One glance at the test paper was enough to make anyone feel faint…

Chen Ruowen rubbed her eyes—many of her classmates did the same instinctively—then shook her head like a golden retriever fresh from a bath, trying to clear the dizziness.

She was not, by nature, a meticulous person, but at this moment, she had no other choice.

She habitually began by scanning through the test paper.

One thousand numbers—simple enough. Counting from zero to one thousand would take some time, but even without the paper, she could do it with her eyes closed…

Wait.

Something wasn’t right.

Counting from zero to one thousand should yield one thousand and one numbers!

Chen Ruowen glanced up at the elderly director, who stood smiling on the podium, then quietly lowered her gaze.

There was a trap here.

With such a dense mass of numbers, it would be hard to spot which one was intentionally omitted. But a simple deduction could help.

Mistakes among two-digit numbers under one hundred would be too obvious, so they were unlikely to be the target. Deliberate omissions were most effective when people grew mentally fatigued from repetition—so the missing number was most likely among the second set of five hundred. Yet, as the task neared its end, attention would sharpen again. By this logic, the most likely range for a missing number was between 600 and 900.

Among three-digit numbers, those with repeating digits—like 667, 668, 774, 775—were easiest to overlook.

Following this reasoning, Chen Ruowen quickly found the missing number.

It was 777.

If she skipped it or included it twice, every subsequent answer would be misaligned, rendering the entire test invalid.

These old teachers truly had a wicked sense of humor!