In the countdown hourglass called "Third Day", time is two completely different textures.
Someone folded it into a precise scale - Lin Ji's early self-study, from dictating ancient poems to solving the three final questions, the error was controlled within three minutes. His world is made up of a precise combination of error notebooks, plans and whole-wheat bread, and is as orderly as an impeccable proof question.
Someone stirred it into chaos - when Lin Ji counted the 2.4 Seconds it took for the ball to roll down the slope, Chen Hao was competing with the whole world for a falling pen, a vague rumor, a drawer full of snack cards and inexplicable emotions. His energy burns in countless trivial matters, like a grand but purposeless fireworks.
But if order is just the armor of fear of losing control, does chaos hide another kind of unrecognized bravery?
When the screen of Chen Hao's mobile phone hidden under the table dimly lit up during the self-study class, a "hunt" was staged in silence. And a crooked paper frog appears unexpectedly, like a grain of sand falling at the junction of two parallel worlds - it can't solve any formulas, but it can jump out of arcs that are never taught in textbooks.
Is there really a gap in intelligence between top academics and poor academics? Perhaps, it's just two souls using completely opposite languages, calling for the same unclaimed youth.
