Zoe Young looked up in surprise. The gap between key middle schools and regular ones was nowhere near as big as the gap between high schools. Sean Sherman's decision—who knew how much of it was impulsive—but it was definitely a very risky choice.

"Or, if you took their money and went to Brightstar Branch School, so what? Pride and future—one of them is always more important." Zoe Young interrupted her, a bit agitated.

"It's not about pride," Sean Sherman turned to look at her, "it's about dignity. You can't compare future and dignity."

Zoe Young was left speechless. She knew that if she were in Sean Sherman's position, she might have made the same choice as Sean Sherman.

"If I fail these three years, I still have three more. I don't believe it."

Hearing a hint of choking in her voice, Zoe Young looked up, and saw that Sean Sherman had already turned and left.

That was the last time Zoe Young saw Sean Sherman's profile. The pimples on her forehead hadn't healed yet, and the reflection on her glasses made it impossible to see her expression—thin, serious, just like when they first met.

Zoe Young hurriedly stuffed the admission notice she had just received into her bag and dashed out the door.

She had dawdled while changing clothes, and finally realized she was running out of time—only fifteen minutes left until the agreed meeting time.

So she sprinted all the way, and when she reached the riverside, she saw from afar a tall figure in a white T-shirt, with a shoulder bag slung diagonally, standing in the sunlight.

Last night, when she got the call, the voice on the other end was both unfamiliar and familiar, making her lose focus for a moment.

"Hello, is this the home of Zoe Young?"

She grinned, then took a deep breath and strode toward him.

When she stood in front of him, she said nothing at first, just looked down and pulled out that little torn piece of paper from her bag—"admission notice."

The few gold-embossed characters on the cover looked a bit shabby.

"Hey, I got in."

Alan Carter seemed a bit tanned, his features much sharper than before, and his smile was especially bright, as if he was no longer so distant.

"Mm, congratulations, heroine, for returning to the world."

For a moment, Zoe Young suddenly thought of Sean Sherman. As a fellow heroine who had leapt off the cliff, Sean Sherman had neither secret skills nor luck. She simply proved that it's easier to get into a good high school from a good middle school—what the teachers said was absolutely right.

Zoe Young didn't want to bring up Sean Sherman. She was the lucky one, and no matter what, she had no right to look at her with pity. That would be an insult to Sean Sherman.

Zoe Young stopped smiling. She quickly put the admission notice back in her bag, lifted her face, and studied Alan Carter carefully.

"You're not as handsome as you used to be."

Alan Carter leaned dramatically against a lamppost and held his forehead: "You really are blunt."

Zoe Young nodded: "But now, you look more like a real person."

"I didn't look like a real person before?" Alan Carter asked with a smile, looking down.

"No." Now that they finally met, Zoe Young realized that when facing Alan Carter, she had unknowingly become so bright and confident, no longer looking up timidly.

"I mean," Zoe Young tilted her head, "an immortal has come down to earth."

Alan Carter smiled in a strange way, patted Zoe Young's head, and said, "It's good that you think that way."

Suddenly, Zoe Young had an idea. She tugged on Alan Carter's sleeve mysteriously and said, "Want me to take you somewhere? I was supposed to have something to do this afternoon, but now I want to take you with me."

"What is it?"

"You'll know when we get there."

"Is my mom very beautiful?"

Zoe Young almost greedily looked down at her mom in a wedding dress downstairs, then eagerly asked Alan Carter's opinion. Alan Carter smiled gently: "Mm, she's the most beautiful mom I've ever seen."

"You really know how to talk," Zoe Young glanced at him, "Even more beautiful than your mom?"

Alan Carter was stunned for a moment, not sure what he remembered, then nodded after a while: "I guess so."

They stood by the window on the second floor of the photo studio. The lawn below was set up as a backdrop, with foam sculptures creating a so-called European style.

Mom and Uncle Qi were posing for photos under the photographer's direction, the champagne-colored dress trailing a long train across the grass.

Zoe Young leaned on the windowsill, suddenly feeling that the woman carefully lifting her skirt and crossing the lawn wasn't her mom at all—she was just a girl in her twenties, stepping into a new life full of hope.

Everything in life was good—herself, her mom, her friends.

Looking up at the blazing sun at three in the afternoon, Zoe Young suddenly started to cry.

"What's wrong?"

Zoe Young clutched Alan Carter's sleeve, and after a while, slowly spoke.

"I think I'm a little too happy."

Overwhelmed by favor, unable to bear it.

Sharing each other's secrets, then using those "sworn to secrecy" secrets to exchange for someone else's, gaining a fragile friendship.

Zoe Young truly felt that being second place was a wonderful position—no matter how big the storm, the first place would take the brunt, and there was always room for improvement.

More importantly, those years of always being second in the grade were the happiest times in Zoe Young's short life.

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The Seventh Beauty: Growing Up Like Drawing Silk

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1. Waking Up in Second Year

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Zoe Young woke up calmly from her sleep. The moment she opened her eyes, the dream faded away like the end of a movie, the scene dissolving, the pale snowy ground returning to darkness.

Waking up naturally like this felt a bit strange, since she had just finished a nightmare. Even if a nightmare didn't end with a scream or sitting up suddenly, clutching her chest and gasping for breath, it still shouldn't have ended so quietly.

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, let out a long sigh, then took her phone from under her pillow. She'd seen the familiar Nokia startup screen hundreds of times—a big hand holding a small one—but today, the image made her chest ache a little.

The time showed "7:00." She thought she was all prepared last night, but forgot to set the alarm. On the first day of her second year of high school, she was already on the verge of being late. Zoe Young silently screamed at the air, immediately rolled out of bed, made the bed, took off her pajamas and put on the neatly folded white T-shirt and overalls on the chair by the bed, rushed to the bathroom to wash up, then sat down at the kitchen table, grabbed the bread her aunt had left out the night before, smeared some cream cheese on it, took a couple of bites, then jumped up to open the fridge and poured herself a glass of cold milk. The cold milk caught in her throat, making her choke, but she forced herself to swallow the rest and tried to cough as quietly as possible, afraid to disturb the morning peace.

She picked up her bag and the white school jacket hanging on the chair, quietly opened the security door, and didn't disturb her uncle's family, who were still asleep.

Maybe she ate too fast, and didn't have time to let the milk settle. As she went downstairs, her stomach ached a little. Zoe Young rolled up her jacket and pressed it against her stomach, hunching over slightly, which made her feel a bit better. The taste of butter and bread still lingered in her mouth, wrapped in the flavor of milk. The cold milk tasted like water, with no rich aroma, only a lingering aftertaste.

Originally, her aunt insisted on making her breakfast. When Joel Young first started college, her uncle remarried. The new aunt was a kind and traditional woman, but her old night-shift job had made her a late riser. When Joel Young came home for vacation, she just let him eat some leftovers from the night before, or go downstairs to buy soy milk and fried dough sticks from a street vendor.

Zoe Young still remembered standing at her uncle's door, looking up and calling for her aunt, and the complicated look in her eyes.

Of course, there was no dislike.

Remarried women always hope the other family has no burdens. But her uncle had just gotten rid of one burden, only to take on another.

Her aunt was a good woman. For example, she insisted on making breakfast for Zoe Young. She could get away with giving Joel Young fried dough sticks, but not Zoe Young. Sometimes, "treating everyone the same" isn't a compliment. Zoe Young knew that her uncle's sense of justice and enthusiasm brought her into the family, but when the enthusiasm ran out, her presence became a chronic burden in daily life. Like having to get up early every morning.

Worse, her aunt's cooking was terrible.

And Zoe Young was too embarrassed to leave food uneaten.

"Can I have bread and milk for breakfast every day?"