Actually, staying at home isn’t much fun either. After eating, he’d just hole up in his room, occasionally playing games with Big Ray.

Just like that post Wanda made after going home: Home, couch potato, living in a drunken haze.

“Don’t go over there, help me out, will you?” Ray Jones knew Ethan Young’s gaming habits—he’d never seen a player more suited to solo queue than Ethan Young. He knew it, but after all these years, he still couldn’t get used to it. “Didn’t you see I’m about to die, Boss Young? It’s not you getting slashed, so you don’t feel the pain, huh? Damn, I’m done for, I’m done for.”

Ethan Young was unmoved: “You suck.”

“”

“I suck,” Ray Jones joked, “And whose fault is that? Who could stand a teammate more ruthless than the enemy, huh?!”

Ethan Young played two rounds, checked the time, and said, “You play, I’m logging off.”

Ray Jones felt like he was forgetting something, and only remembered when Ethan Young said he was logging off. He slapped his forehead: “It’s Aunt Lily’s birthday today, right?”

“I almost forgot too. Say hi to Aunt Lily for me, just wish her to get more and more beautiful and have everything go smoothly,” Ray Jones complained again, “Why didn’t you remind me?”

The guests downstairs hadn’t left yet.

It was Grace Miller’s birthday. Even though Ms. Miller had clearly said there was no need for a special birthday party, quite a few people still came over, and the gifts were piled up on the table.

Gregory Cooper’s status in the business world was well established. Even though not many people thought highly of this Mrs. Cooper, the proper etiquette still had to be observed.

“What’s the point of reminding you?” Ethan Young closed the game interface, one leg propped on the edge of the chair. After staring at the computer for so long, he was a bit sleepy. “Are you planning to give plastic flowers again?”

Ray Jones said, “Don’t look down on plastic flowers. They may be fake, but they never wither. My gifts are always practical.”

“So giving a scarf in the middle of summer is practical too?”

Ray Jones would never admit his gift-giving skills were lacking, and argued, “Winter will come sooner or later anyway.”

“So I should praise you for that?”

By six or seven in the evening, most people had left.

The house quieted down. The servants were tidying up fruit plates, mopping the floor, and wiping tables. Gregory Cooper went out to see the guests off.

Grace Miller was a bit tired and was about to go upstairs. Passing by the kitchen, she saw Ethan Young inside, an apron tied around his waist, sleeves rolled up several times, holding a bunch of greens, carefully washing them under the tap.

The water in the pot was just boiling, steam rising constantly. Ethan Young freed one hand to lift the lid, then put the noodles in. His movements were practiced and efficient.

Ethan Young was no stranger to the kitchen. Back when Grace Miller was busy with work and had no time to take care of him, dinner was either at Big Ray and Aunt May’s place, or he’d cook for himself—just a simple bowl of noodles or some fried rice.

Grace Miller didn’t say anything, just stood at the kitchen door watching.

It was a simple bowl of noodles: greens, chopped scallions, and a fried egg.

The boy lowered his head, eyes full of focus.

As Grace Miller watched, her eyes unknowingly grew moist. She turned away, raising her hand to wipe the corners of her eyes.

Ethan Young didn’t say much. He waited until Ms. Miller finished the noodles, then said, “Mom, happy birthday.”

Grace Miller nodded and replied softly.

She couldn’t say anything sentimental either. In the end, she just said, “It’s getting late, go to bed soon, you have class tomorrow.”

Tomorrow was Monday again. Ethan Young lay in bed, about to turn off his phone, when two notifications popped up in the bar above—timed just right.

From Penguin friend “Henry Howard”.

Hey old Young, found something good.

Add WeChat 1502xxx7043, check out this homework ghostwriting service.

Ethan Young’s finger paused on the screen, then after a moment, he typed a question mark: ?

Henry Howard: Someone from our grade, professional ghostwriter.

Henry Howard: Sean Parker says this person is really good, fair prices, can even imitate handwriting—so well that even Manager Jensen can’t tell.

Henry Howard: Plus, if you get caught, you get ten times compensation.

Ethan Young: So?

Ethan Young felt his understanding of slackers was still too limited—he was just not qualified.

Let me send you a voice message, is now convenient?

Though he wasn’t interested, Ethan Young still replied: Sure.

The next second, Henry Howard sent an invitation.

Ethan Young didn’t look closely, thinking it was just a regular voice chat.

But after pressing confirm, Henry Howard, who had just showered and was wearing nothing but underwear, appeared in the center of the screen: “”

Henry Howard’s hair wasn’t even dried, bare feet on the floor, bending over by the bed looking for clothes. His shoulder blades and back tensed slightly with the movement, a red string hung around his neck, that unique youthful energy almost flamboyant.

After two seconds of silence, Ethan Young said, “What are you doing? Showing off your sexy black underwear?”

“Damn,” Henry Howard was startled himself, turned back holding his clothes, “What the hell.”

Henry Howard was busy getting dressed. He meant to hit voice chat, but accidentally started a video call.

The lighting on Ethan Young’s side wasn’t great, a bit dim. He seemed to be lying in bed. Henry Howard quickly put on his clothes and pants: “Slip of the hand, don’t give me that look, you’re the one who’s lucky here, bro’s body—”

“If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.”

Henry Howard stopped bragging about his body: “There is something, yeah, about that ghostwriting.”

Ethan Young didn’t know why Henry Howard needed to talk to him privately about a ghostwriting service, so he casually asked, “Can you get a 20% discount for two assignments?”

“No,” Henry Howard said, “Do you still have that paper I gave you? What homework is on it? I can’t even understand what the hell I wrote myself.”

“”

Ethan Young calmly and without swearing ‘greeted’ Henry Howard, basically telling him to get lost, then prepared to end the video call.

“Just give it a try, maybe your handwriting and mine are a match.”

“You should ask if the ghostwriter’s handwriting matches yours,” Ethan Young said, “Can he even write your kind of crap?”

After saying that, Ethan Young directly hung up. The phone screen flashed back to the home screen, and the Knowledge Orb icon he’d forgotten to uninstall was still quietly sitting in the ‘Games’ folder, that patch of green especially eye-catching.

Unknowingly, it was already pitch black outside. The wind blew in from the window, carrying a slight chill.

Ethan Young closed his eyes, his consciousness fading, but he knew that summer seemed to be ending.

That passionate and restless summer, when Ray Jones shouted on the phone “□□妈抢我紫武”, when Henry Howard pulled down his black mask and grinned, saying “I’m mixed-blood from eight countries”—that summer was coming to an end.

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

36. Chapter Thirty-Six

Ethan Young got up early, changed into his school uniform, had some porridge and side dishes with Ms. Miller, checked the time, and got ready to take the bus back to school: “I’m leaving, call me if you need anything.”

Grace Miller put down her chopsticks and stood up: “Let the driver take you.”

Ethan Young bent down to change his shoes at the entryway, just like when he came home—he didn’t bring anything, looking more like he was going out to play than to school: “No need, I’ll go by myself.”

“You’re going like this? Not even bringing a backpack?” Grace Miller didn’t know what to say to him. “Did you do the homework your teacher assigned this weekend?”

Ethan Young said, “I did it, finished it at school.”

That excuse was just too fake. Grace Miller would have to be a fool to believe it: “I bet you didn’t do it at all.”

“There weren’t many problems I could do anyway,” Ethan Young put his slippers away, opened the door and stepped out. A gust of wind rushed in, damp and cool. “Doesn’t matter if I bring it back or not.”

Grace Miller was about to say, “The weather’s getting cooler, take care of yourself,” but Ethan Young was already several steps away.

The Cooper Family house was in a rather remote location; the nearest bus stop was a half-hour walk away.

Some residents were out for a morning run, circling the park with towels around their necks, panting as they jogged.

Actually, not everything here was annoying.

For example, the morning glow spreading across the sky, the plants along the road, and up ahead, a couple jogging with their child, deliberately slowing down, looking like a comical slow-motion replay.

Ethan Young put on his headphones as he walked, played a random song, then put his hands back in his pockets.

Fresh air, a new day.

What time Ethan Young arrived at school depended on how smoothly the bus ran. Sometimes he was unlucky—like now, when the bus stalled halfway.