The wedding planning for the "Merger of the Century" was supposed to be a high-speed execution of logistics. We had Mei Ling handling the guest list with the precision of a talent agent, and Zhang Wei designing a menu that featured a "Deconstructed Banana Chip" dessert as a nostalgic nod.
But as Li Yan and I sat in the Aether-Nexus boardroom, surrounded by fabric swatches of "Shenghua Blue" and floral arrangements, a courier arrived.
He didn't bring a gift. He brought a single, vintage manila envelope. The kind the school used for official transcripts in 2018.
The Addressee: To the 99.8% Student.
My breath hitched. I looked at Li Yan. His face, usually an unreadable firewall, flickered with a rare shadow of genuine alarm. He took the envelope, his fingers tracing the wax seal of Shenghua Academy.
The Hidden Proctor
Inside was a single polaroid photo and a handwritten note.
The photo was grainy, taken from a security camera angle. It showed a young Li Yan, his school tie loosened, sitting in the dark computer lab at 3 AM. But he wasn't alone. In the reflection of the glass door, a shadowy figure was standing, watching him manipulate the grade database.
The note read:
"Equilibrium is a beautiful lie, Li Yan. But a tie is only a tie if the world believes it. I saw the 1.6% disappear. Did you think a Genius could hide from a Master?"
"Who is it?" I whispered, my hand trembling as I took the photo. "Who else was in the building that night?"
"The Principal was at a conference," Li Yan muttered, his mind spinning at overclocked speeds. "The November Guardians—Wei, Mei Ling, and Jia Yi—were at the boba shop waiting for me. I checked the logs. I wiped the cameras. Or I thought I did."
"Wait," Su Lan said, walking in with her tablet. She snatched the photo, squinting at the reflection. "Look at the cufflink of the person in the reflection. That's not a school uniform. That's a Golden Ginkgo pin."
The room went cold. The Golden Ginkgo was the highest honor for a retired professor at Shenghua. There was only one person who wore it every day.
Professor Chen. Our old Calculus teacher. The man who had challenged us to "solve the unsolvable."
The Uninvited Guest
"He's been watching us for six years," I breathed, the nostalgia of the school trip suddenly turning into a high-stakes mystery. "He knew you changed the score. He let you do it."
"But why send this now?" Li Yan asked, his voice sharp. "The day we start planning the wedding?"
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number, but the coding style was unmistakable. It was encrypted in Base64, a language Professor Chen used for our "Extra Credit" riddles.
Message: A merger requires total transparency. If the 99.8% isn't made public by the night of the Gala, the 'Seven Stars' will face a 'Forced Shutdown.' Meet me where the frisbee landed.
The Elevator Stand-off
We didn't tell the others. We couldn't risk the "November Guardians" panicking. Li Yan and I drove back to the empty school, our hearts racing in sync.
We reached the elevator bank—the site of the "Banana Chip Disaster." The doors were open, the interior lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb.
Standing inside, holding the very same metal tiffin lid from six years ago, was Professor Chen. He looked older, his hair a shock of white, but his eyes were as sharp as a laser.
"You're late," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "I calculated you'd be here four minutes ago. Your 'Love' variable is slowing down your 'Logic,' Li Yan."
"Professor," Li Yan stepped forward, shielding me slightly. "Why now? You've kept my secret since graduation. Why threaten our wedding?"
"Threaten?" Chen laughed, a sound like dry leaves. He tossed the tiffin lid, and Li Yan caught it instinctively. "I'm not threatening you, boy. I'm testing you. You think you can build a life on a 1.6% lie? You think she's happy being your 'Equal' when she could have been the girl who almost beat the greatest genius in Shenghua history?"
He looked at me. "Xiao Xing. Tell me. If you knew back then that he had to cheat himself to stay by your side... would you have loved him? Or would you have hated him for looking down on you?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Li Yan—his brilliant, beautiful, arrogant, sacrificial mind.
"I don't love him because of a score, Professor," I said, my voice echoing in the hall. "I love him because he's the only person in the world who thinks a 1.6% gap is worth a lifetime of devotion. But you're right about one thing."
I turned to Li Yan, taking the tiffin lid from his hand.
"We're not having a '98.2%' wedding, Li Yan. We're having a 99.8% wedding. We're going to tell the world the truth. No more shadows. No more 'Equilibrium.' Just us."
Professor Chen smiled, a slow, proud crinkle around his eyes. "Finally. A logical conclusion. The 1.6% debt is paid."
He handed us a final envelope—a real one this time. It was a recommendation letter for a Global Tech Peace Prize, addressed to both of us.
"Now go," Chen shooed us away. "And make sure the 'November Guardians' don't over-salt the mousse. I'll be expecting an invitation."