: Trash game, uninstalled.

Ray Jones had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, squatting by the box and contemplating life, with an apron tied around his waist. On the apron, in red artistic characters, it read “方宝来葵花籽油”—one look and you could tell it was a supermarket clearance promotion, buy two get one free.

He wasn’t bad-looking, features regular, with a bit of a ruffian air—just a bit dark-skinned. Squatting like this, he looked even more like a street thug.

Ray's Mom passed by carrying a plate. Seeing him like this, she was instantly furious, and directly kicked him in the butt: “What are you squatting there for! Is the lamb done grilling?”

“I’ll go right now, right now.”

Ray Jones hurriedly stood up. He took two steps out, then seemed to remember something, turned back and said, “Wait a sec, Mom, let me ask you something.”

Ray's Mom replied smoothly, “Don’t know, no money, been there.”

“Can you be serious? I mean, do you remember back in middle school, Ethan Young had really good grades, even represented our neighborhood in a math competition and won an award. And when we were kids, playing with Rubik’s cubes, he could solve it blindfolded, it was awesome—”

Ray's Mom tossed the dirty plate into the sink: “So what? When I was a kid, I got perfect scores on every test, but look at me now, still muddled. Some people even grow up ugly—like you, for example. Just look at yourself now.”

Ray Jones tried to grasp that faint thought in his mind: “No—Mom, I really think—besides, what’s wrong with me now? I think I’m pretty handsome.”

“Handsome, my ass. Go fix those messy colors on your head first.” Ray's Mom started lecturing him, “Kids these days just want to play. They’re all smart, but it depends how much effort they put into studying. Take that Andy from the next street—his grades used to be a total mess, but after he got out of the hospital, he jumped over a hundred places in the mock exam. I figure maybe you need a car accident to clear your head, all you do is play games all day—”

“”

“Twenty skewers of lamb, right? I’ll go right now.”

------------

5. Chapter Five

Ethan Young never slept well. He’d just fallen asleep when the sound of things being smashed downstairs woke him up.

Porcelain shattered on the floor, sharp and clear.

Along with the smashing came familiar angry curses, the speaker’s tone full of the arrogance that comes from years in a high position: “This is my house, all of you get out—pack up and get out! Take your filthy hands off, who said you could touch me, you think you’re worthy—”

Ethan Young raised his hand to pull off his sleep mask but didn’t open his eyes, his temples throbbing faintly.

“Young master, I made you some hangover soup, please have some.” It was Annie’s voice, timid and hesitant. “You drank too much…”

Something else was smashed, a dull thud, and then the cursing grew even sharper: “I told you to get out, all of you get out! You lowlifes, can’t even understand human speech, can you!”

“Oh, look at my memory, almost forgot—when did I ever have a say in this house? But some people who aren’t even surnamed Zhong really think they’re something.”

“”

Ethan Young tossed and turned in bed, finally sitting up in frustration and cursing, “Fuck.”

Three years.

This farce had gone on for three years, day in and day out.

Three years ago, Grace Miller married the famous entrepreneur Gregory Cooper of City A. The news was everywhere. Not only Grace Miller, but even Ethan Young was subjected to all kinds of malicious speculation.

The rumors sounded almost believable.

The ever-curious public wrote countless versions of his life for him, the most sensational being “the mistress” and “the illegitimate child.”

If Ethan Young hadn’t lived through all those years of dodging debt collectors, never knowing where his next meal would come from, and almost being unable to pay his tuition after months of delay, he might have believed those endless, shoddy stories himself.

As for Jack Cooper—the biological son of Gregory Cooper—no matter which version of the mother-and-son story was true, he couldn’t accept it, nor did he care about the facts.

All he knew was that after losing his mother, someone was trying to take everything that belonged to him—including the most important thing.

The inheritance.

After a long time, things finally quieted down downstairs. After much coaxing, they’d managed to get Young Master Cooper back to his room. Ethan Young leaned against his bed, clearly hearing the sound of Jack Cooper’s door closing, and as they passed his own door, a soft sigh, followed by footsteps heading back downstairs.

Ethan Young stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Suddenly, he felt inexplicably thirsty.

It was as if a fire was burning through his insides, all the way up to his throat.

Grace Miller was sitting on the living room sofa, her gaze desolate, the white gauze nightgown trailing to the floor. When she saw Ethan Young come down, she just lifted her head slightly, looking tired: “Why are you up? Did the noise wake you?”

Ethan Young had guessed she’d be here. He wanted to say, “How many times have I told you, if he wants to go crazy, let him, it’s none of your damn business.” But seeing her like this, he forced himself to swallow the words, and just said, coolly, “Happy now?”

Grace Miller: “In a couple of days, it’s his mother’s death anniversary.”

Ethan Young: “So you just stood there and let him yell at you for an hour.”

Grace Miller didn’t reply.

Ethan Young’s tone was emotionless, but every word was sharper than the last: “Did you kill his mom? Did you steal his dad?—If he likes to curse, let him curse. And you, you just go along with it, what a show.”

At this moment, Grace Miller was nothing like the strong woman she’d been in the car earlier. She sighed softly, “Don’t say that.”

Ethan Young said, “No one owes him anything. Doesn’t he have any self-awareness?”

“”

Ethan Young poured two glasses of milk in the kitchen, handed one to Grace Miller, and tried to speak calmly: “Mom, drink this and go rest. It’s late.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear any of this tonight. Next time you stand there and let him yell at you, I’ll beat him until he can’t speak.”

“I mean it.”

Grace Miller took the glass.

The boy standing in front of her—she didn’t know when he’d grown so tall. Grace Miller felt a little dazed.

The boy’s features all took after her. This kind of face should have looked delicate, but some kind of sharp, cold indifference had broken through the surface, making him seem unapproachable—even to her, his mother, he felt like a stranger.

Her gaze finally landed on the strands of hair sticking up on Ethan Young’s head from sleep, noticing they were still as soft and fine as when he was a child.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. By the time she came back to herself, Ethan Young had already turned and gone upstairs.

Ethan Young’s sleep quality was terrible—so bad that even milk did nothing. Once woken up, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall back asleep.

He glanced at the pitch-black night outside the window, suddenly wanting to know what time it was.

He’d only meant to check the time, but once he picked up his phone, all sleepiness vanished.

: Fuck this, I’m done playing! [/image]

: This time I’m really done! [/image]

: Last time! If I play again, I’m a pig! [/image]

Two hours ago, Ray Jones had sent three screenshots in a row, all of them saying: Score too low, you are not qualified to enter the game lobby~ Please answer the questions seriously.

Ethan Young typed a reply: Do you think Heaven will be moved by the persistence of a zero-score specialist?

Ray Jones was probably already fast asleep. Ethan Young hadn’t planned to wait for a reply anyway. After exiting, he hesitated for a while between continuing to lie like a corpse or playing some weird little game, and finally tapped on the Knowledge Orb app icon.

Dear user, welcome back to Quiz Masters Clash~ Your test score is full marks. Click to continue and enter the game lobby!

Three in the morning, and the game was still lively.

“I Love Studying”: Anyone want to come to a private room and PK math formulas? Waiting for a kindred spirit.

“Goal: No Weak Subjects”: Is the third multiple-choice question on the Olympiad C paper a mistake? Is it wrong, or am I wrong?

“Strive Upward”: It’s so late, and you guys still aren’t sleeping?

“Study Study Study, My Life Is Only”: Sleep? Sleep for what? Do you know how many people will surpass you for every minute you sleep early?

“For a Better Tomorrow”: Brother Study speaks the truth. Life is short, study time is precious, sleeping in is a waste of this great time.