On the other side of the dinner table, there was still no sound. Charlotte Lee opened her eyes. The woman across from her was looking at her with a complicated expression: “I talked to your teacher on the phone last week. He said he doesn’t know if you got arrogant after getting first place last time, but as soon as class ends, you run out of the classroom, your mind is wandering, and you can’t sit still. 茜茜, your dad and I have never forced you to get first or second place, but you have to work hard. Don’t think about taking shortcuts. If you weren’t feeling guilty, why would you ask me this?”

Charlotte Lee closed her eyes, lowered her head, and said nothing more.

Here we go again.

No matter what she said, it was pointless.

With her eyes half-closed, she kept shoveling plain white rice into her mouth.

This woman, whose emotions were always intense, whose cheeks always trembled, who had to wear sunglasses when going out, who had climbed step by step with her father from the countryside to the position of vice chairman of the provincial writers’ association, who loved to say “I’ve given most of my life for you and your father,” who could still smile and tie her man’s tie after fighting with a mistress until both were bloodied, was her mother.

She suddenly remembered something Zhang Ailing once said. She couldn’t recall the exact words, but the gist was: life is a gorgeous robe crawling with lice.

She hurriedly finished her meal, went back to her room, and closed the door, but didn’t dare lock it—if her mother couldn’t get in, she’d start yelling again.

Charlotte Lee took out her phone, hesitated for a long time, and finally sent a message to Thomas Chase.

“Do you know, I actually feel really tired of living.”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, unable to press it. After a few seconds, she snapped on her desk lamp. The harsh white light startled her awake. Charlotte Lee quickly deleted the message, word by word. Just as she was about to put her phone away, a stubborn thought arose, born of a kind of unwillingness for all living things. She slowly typed: “How’s your exam prep going?”

She put her phone on the corner of the desk and browsed through a historical timeline while waiting. More than twenty minutes later, she finally got a reply. The phone vibrated faintly through the tablecloth, like a trembling cry for help.

“Not good, not bad. Just keep working hard.”

That kind of reply, not even asking “How are you?”, completely cut off her chance to respond.

Charlotte Lee gave an awkward, bitter smile, but also felt relieved. Thank goodness she hadn’t sent that other message, or he’d definitely think she was crazy.

Charlotte Lee lay on her desk. Winter always made people tired and depressed. The more she thought, the more upset she became. She grabbed her phone and dialed Andrew Lane’s number.

“Hello?”

Andrew Lane’s voice was light and even a little cheerful.

“What are you so happy about?” Charlotte Lee’s tone was a bit unfriendly.

“Why do you care if I’m happy? What, you’re not happy?”

“I’m not happy.”

“What’s making you unhappy? Tell me so I can be happy about it.”

“Andrew Lane!” Charlotte Lee didn’t dare raise her voice, so she could only growl softly into the phone.

“I mean, why are you always fussing about? You’re first in the grade, you’re pretty, talented, have a happy family, and love is abun… well, not yet, but you have so many admirers you could sweep them out with a dustpan. What exactly are you unhappy about?”

Charlotte Lee held the phone in silence for a long time.

Andrew Lane, why are you saying this too.

It seemed no one wanted to pay attention to the details of other people’s lives. Charlotte Lee carefully hid her family’s real situation from Charles Johnson and Andrew Lane, her childhood friends, yet still hoped they could guess the pain she was suppressing from those little details.

She hung up directly, tossed her phone aside, and buried her head in her books.

Andrew Lane didn’t call back. That made Charlotte Lee feel even more like she was being unreasonable. Tears welled up in her eyes for a long time. Suddenly, she heard her phone ring on the bed.

She rushed over, only to find it was Charles Johnson.

“I heard from Andrew Lane that you’re in a bad mood? What’s wrong? Too much pressure? If you can’t get first place, then don’t. Give someone else a chance, do a good deed.”

Charlotte Lee pouted and smiled, and finally let her tears fall.

Such thoughtfulness moved her deeply.

But since it came from Charles Johnson, how could she not feel disappointed.

On the other end, Charles Johnson kept sniffling. Charlotte Lee suddenly did feel a bit unreasonable. She said softly, “Charles Johnson, can you stop always being like a kid with a runny nose?”

She couldn’t explain why that kind of cruel, shameless honesty that hurt both herself and others made her feel so relieved.

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4. Who Gave Youth Its Restlessness

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Ian gently nudged Zoe Young’s elbow. “Zoe Young, what’s up with you?”

“What’s up with me?”

Ian shook his head, not knowing what to say.

Zoe Young had always been lazy, sitting at her desk doing problems or reading novels and comics, often daydreaming or sleeping in class. Ian had heard that good students liked to pretend they didn’t work hard, but actually burned the midnight oil at home.

But Zoe Young didn’t seem like an ambitious good student.

But now, things were different. After taking a day off, it was as if she’d been possessed. She spent the whole day buried in political philosophy, rearranging all the subjective questions from the test papers, reworking her answering techniques, her eyes on the papers practically blazing.

“Hey, why are you suddenly so fired up? Did you fall for the politics teacher?”

Michael was as blunt as ever. Zoe Young lazily turned around and replied, “Yeah, love grew over time.”

Driven by obsession, she wanted to be first in the grade. Just this once, before she went to see that person.

She knew Ryan Johnson was at the branch school and would definitely hear about it, so she had to be first in the liberal arts class.

She had to. Zoe Young suddenly thought of Sean Sherman, the girl who looked her in the eyes and said, “I have to get into Brightstar High School.”

At that moment, Zoe Young realized how lucky she was. Her mother had never said things like “You have to make me proud,” “I’m counting on you,” or “You’re my only hope in this life.” Even when she’d been treated unfairly, it was all dissolved by that deep, silent love. Her mother was always bright and independent, never teaching Zoe Young what resentment was, so Zoe Young never needed to be like Sean Sherman.

No one wanted her to take revenge, so she had no hatred. No one told her to be strong, so she wasn’t insecure.

There was no obsession forcing her to say “I have to.”

Zoe Young suddenly felt a little uncertain. Was this what her mother wanted to see?

Her eyes were glued to the bold words “Objective Laws and Subjective Initiative,” when Michael suddenly jabbed her hard with a pen.

“What is it?”

“After finals, my anime club needs extra actors for a performance. Want to join?”

Zoe Young was a little interested. She put her things down and leaned on Michael’s desk. “But it’s my first time…”

Michael’s expression froze, then the next second she burst out laughing, pounding the desk so hard it shook, every punch landing on her man Iverson’s face.

“You shouldn’t say things like that… though I know you’re telling the truth…”

Zoe Young was stunned for a full minute before she realized what Michael meant. Her face turned bright red, eyes wide, and without hesitation, she knocked over the tower of workbooks on Michael’s desk.

Charlotte Lee hated winter.

She didn’t know if it was because winter made people especially lazy, so even when she was anxious inside, she couldn’t finish her work, and her mind kept wandering.

Her water bottle was always full, but she’d still walk out to the water room to fill it. Seeing Ray Cindy sitting at her desk, focused and unmoving, filled her with guilt and fear.

Her parents’ “trust,” the praise from uncles and aunts, her reputation at school, and Thomas Chase’s polite, admiring smile—all of it piled up into a towering, shaky structure, reaching the clouds, but with a foundation as fragile as glass.

When she was little, adults would ask what she wanted to be when she grew up. Andrew Lane and Charles Johnson both had proper dreams, even if they seemed silly now. But for Charlotte Lee, she’d never told anyone her dream, but it had never changed.

She wanted everyone to say she was outstanding, to envy her, to like her.

What she did in the future didn’t matter. All she wanted was that brilliance and affection.