Lucky chance!

It had been months, Tsong had already forgotten about the letter. He was spending another day in his crumbling shack. Suddenly there was a knock on his door, and with a light tap of his fist, several rotten boards that served as the door fell to the floor. A man in a suit entered Tsonga's hut. He introduced himself as a man from the Ministry of Education.

The man from the Ministry of Education: "Tsong...hmmm no last name. Is that you? "

The village idiot Tsong got up from his nerfed bed, it was unexpected for him to have an obscure guest come in, also so decently dressed.

Tsong: "That's mine!" he said in a very squeaky and annoying voice, but the professionalism of his interlocutor allowed him to ignore the illiteracy and he continued.

The man from the Ministry of Education: "Young man, you have won the competition and will become a student who will go to America! Congratulations!" The man reflexively stretched out his hand, but seeing that it was smeared with an incomprehensible grease, awkwardly put it back.

In fact, it was a miracle that anyone had even picked up this form. The paper that Tsong had sent was covered in an incomprehensible sludge, covered with many stains obviously originating from Tsong's own fluids. And the questionnaire itself was filled out extremely illiterately, the only thing that was correct was the address of this crumbling hovel of a bum (I'm surprised this place had an address at all).