That night,
the evening self-study classroom was eerily silent.
I was doing exercises with my head down
when my vision suddenly went dark,
and a loud buzzing filled my skull.
I pressed hard against my temples,
trying to force myself awake.
But the next second—
the whole world spun.
Panicked voices echoed around me:
"Lin! What's wrong?!"
My consciousness felt like it was being dragged downward,
pulled into darkness.
When I opened my eyes again,
I was lying in a hospital bed.
A doctor stood beside me,
his brows tightly furrowed.
"Mild anemia. Nervous exhaustion.
If you keep pushing your body like this, the consequences could be much more serious."
I froze.
So… my body was already past its limit?
When the news reached school,
the classroom erupted instantly.
Some were gleeful:
"Pretending to study hard and ended up collapsing? Serves him right."
"He must be doing this for attention. Making a big scene on purpose."
Homeroom teacher Zhang mocked me openly:
"See? This is what happens when someone overestimates themselves."
Those words cut into me,
stripping away what little dignity I had left.
I knew
I couldn't keep going like this.
Blindly staying up late would only destroy my body—
and my future.
I had to change.
So I created a detailed schedule,
breaking every subject into small, digestible tasks
and stuffing them into every spare minute of the day.
During the ten-minute breaks—
I pulled out my vocabulary book and memorized a few words.
During lunch—
I reviewed my mistake notebook and revisited old problems.
On the way home—
I mentally went over the key points from the day.
To improve efficiency,
I cut out pointless drills
and focused on high-frequency problem types.
Every problem,
I analyzed the underlying concept
and built my own templates for solving them.
For example, in math function problems,
I categorized the common types
and created step-by-step procedures for each category.
For physics mechanics,
I made a mind map—
connecting every formula into a web
that I could review anytime.
This method saved time
and made everything clearer, more structured.
Slowly,
my condition began improving.
No more constant drowsiness,
no more sudden dizziness,
and my memory was sharper than before.
A month later,
the quiz results came out—
520 points.
Not an incredible score,
but steady, solid progress.
More importantly,
my body was recovering too.
No more sudden faint spells,
no more feeling like I'd collapse at any moment.
As long as I kept this pace,
I was sure I could catch up—
and someday rise above everything.
But then—
Just as my confidence finally began to settle,
fate suddenly played a—
massive, merciless joke on me.