Compared to the previous child, Zoe Young's storytelling was truly bland, even a bit colloquial—so when she got to the part where Irene Moss was being tortured by the Japanese invaders, she saw the old man who had been looking down at the contestants' list finally raise his head and glance at her with a frown.

That look was hard to interpret. Zoe Young had never been very interested in this awkward hero story to begin with; the abundance of idioms and long sentences made it painful for her to memorize, so her performance was quite limited. Startled by that sudden cold look, she immediately lost her composure.

"Tortured cruelly, Irene Moss gradually lost consciousness, but she didn't say a word." Nonsense, if she fainted, how could she say anything? "But the brutal enemies didn't let her go. They brought a bucket of water and mercilessly splashed it on Irene Moss."

She woke up, only to face even more terrifying torture and interrogation from the deranged enemies. "Tortured cruelly, Irene Moss gradually lost consciousness, but she didn't say a word." Oh no, she repeated herself... Zoe Young paused slightly, and unsurprisingly saw a cold sneer at the corner of the old man's mouth—let's just call it a sneer.

She steadied herself, took a deep breath, and added a sentence of her own. "Just like that, Irene Moss fainted and woke up, woke up and fainted again... but she didn't reveal a single word of the Party's secrets." As she spoke, she imitated Claire Daniels by raising her left hand, clenching her fist, and making a "rather die than yield" gesture. The old man finally smiled—this time it seemed more like mockery...

After finishing her story, Zoe Young returned to her seat and realized her head was covered in sweat. She looked up at the judges' table, only to catch the old man looking at her with a strange expression. Having just finished her rambling, Zoe Young could only lower her head in embarrassment.

Half an hour later, the names of the twenty finalists were announced. Claire Daniels was so nervous she kept swallowing. Seeing this, Zoe Young reached out and gently held her hand. Claire Daniels shuddered, then turned to look at her, giving her a forced smile.

The judge took the paper, went on stage, and began reading the list into the microphone. At that moment, Zoe Young felt like she was back in math class, watching Teacher Yu holding a huge stack of torn homework books, reading them out one by one, the long fear and anxiety like a monster with a gaping mouth swallowing up all the little kids.

"Number 37, Yuxin Primary School, Claire Daniels." Claire Daniels's stiff body instantly relaxed. Zoe Young squeezed her hand and said, "That's great." "Number 47, Shida Affiliated Primary School, Zoe Young." Claire Daniels returned to her lively self, hugged Zoe Young with a smile, "It really is great!" It turned out that the old man was actually the head of the Provincial Children's Palace, Mr. Green. He gave feedback on everyone's preliminary performance on behalf of the judges, then announced the time, place, and content of the finals. "The hero story counts for 60% of the total score, the remaining 40% comes from the on-site question." Claire Daniels raised her hand, "Teacher, what is the on-site question?"

Mr. Green glanced in their direction, "You draw a topic from a big box, and make up a story on the spot based on the keyword on the slip."

There was a chorus of exclamations below—make up a story on the spot? Zoe Young was still in a daze when she saw Mr. Green glance at her with a faint smile, still a bit odd, but much gentler this time, as if saying, "Go for it, little girl who makes things up."

"Tch, I get it," Claire Daniels muttered in Zoe Young's ear, "They're just looking out for those with connections. I bet some people will definitely know the topics in advance."

"But isn't it a random draw?" "Are you silly," Claire Daniels rolled her eyes at Zoe Young, "If they want to cheat, the draw is no problem at all!" Zoe Young couldn't argue back—after all, Claire Daniels was older, and as the second-grade squad leader, she had saluted more times than Zoe Young had watched cartoons. Still, passing the preliminaries was something to be happy about. She ran out of the dim theater, where her mom was waiting for her outside. "Mom, I made it to the finals!" Her smile was sweeter than honey.

A mother's embrace is always the softest and most comforting, only the faint scent of grass and wood that used to linger at her nose had now become a more refined fragrance.

"You're the best, Zoe!" Her mom gently smoothed the bangs on her forehead. "When's the final?" "Next Sunday. The teacher said we'll be on the big stage at the Children's Palace, and there will be lots of people watching." Zoe Young swallowed the words "Mom, can you come?" One reason was she knew her mom was always busy; another was that if her family was in the audience, she might get nervous. Deep down, Zoe Young felt that even if there were ten thousand people in the audience, as long as she didn't know them, she wouldn't be afraid.

Her mom hurried back to work, leaving behind a reward for passing the preliminaries—a big box of David Mountain ice cream. Zoe Young sat alone in her little room, digging out the banana-flavored part with a small spoon—she enthusiastically offered some to Tina Young, but only got a "Stop showing off" in return. But Sister Lily generously congratulated Zoe Young and took a bowl of ice cream.

Maybe she was still wary because of the diary incident.

For the next week, she was in a wonderful mood. The excitement of passing the preliminaries, a little worry about the finals, the attention from everyone, the teacher's praise making her feel elated—of course, more importantly, was the fear that she might soon fall from the clouds.

Fail once, and you'll never be used again. Fail once, and you'll never be used again. As a seven-year-old rising star at school, she was probably overthinking it. But Zoe Young, who bloomed from the dust, understood better than most what disappointment meant. That timid, anxious "small-mindedness," the constant fear, and the deep understanding of how fragile and random "favor" could be... Every day, as she walked home from school with Andrew Lane, her emotions grew more and more complicated.

She wanted to do better, climb higher, and quickly become more important and stronger on her own. The flower that bloomed in the dust was called desire. A life filled with the word "more" was just beginning. Step by step, she walked toward the setting sun.

On the day of the finals, the place was packed as expected. Zoe Young ran out from backstage and peeked inside through the side door of the emergency exit. The bustling audience made her a little nervous, her palms cold and sweaty.

Zoe, she told herself, this time you must remember, Irene Moss only fainted once—don't make up nonsense and have the heroine dying and coming back to life.

Suddenly, she heard laughter behind her: "Hey, aren't you that little girl?" She let go of the doorknob and turned around. In the middle of the busy emergency corridor stood a boy in a white shirt and light gray plaid sweater vest. He looked at her, his eyes bright, his smile warm.

"Alan Carter?" Zoe Young didn't even have time to be surprised; the name just slipped out. The name was soft, and saying it filled her mouth with a gentle resonance.

She could tell that when he wanted to call her name, he paused, clearly unable to remember it. But he didn't let it show, quickly regaining his smile and softly asking, "So, Your Majesty the Queen, are you here to watch the competition?"

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13. But I Haven't Finished Yet

Latest update of Hello, Old Times!

Zoe Young immediately scolded the Duke Gregory & Son who had so enthusiastically invited her to be queen back then.

Really too high-profile. Still, Zoe Young happily savored this unexpected reunion. The person in front of her seemed to have jumped right out of her tin box. She looked up, her bright eyes curved in a smile, and said politely, "My name is Zoe Young." Exposed by a child for his forgetfulness, Alan Carter was a bit embarrassed and could only smile, "Mm, Zoe, are you here to watch the competition?" Before Zoe Young could answer, she suddenly heard someone calling from afar, "Alan Carter, Alan Carter!"

She was soon surrounded by a group of kids running over from the corridor entrance. They were about the same age as Alan Carter, or maybe a bit older. Four boys and five girls, each carrying an instrument case—long, wide, flat, or round—Zoe Young then noticed that Alan Carter was also holding a black case, which looked like a violin.

She felt like she was standing at the edge of a pot, watching a big basin of boiling water. "Did you hear they're adjusting the second violins? The principal second violin, that girl with the thick glasses and braces, she's moving to your first violin section. Some say she might take your associate principal spot..."