He gritted his teeth and looked up, his eyes—made all the more strikingly black and white by his thin cheeks—gazing at these innocent, clueless children. The next second, everything quieted down, and with tears in his eyes, he looked at his own pants.

Pei... Charles Page...

Even though it was just a glance, Emma Bennett was absolutely certain—this was Charles Page from their childhood.

A five-year-old boy, unable to control his body after just losing his legs, wet his pants in class. This scene faded from everyone’s memory, replaced by the image eighteen years later of that crazed, stubborn, yet utterly cold computer genius.

To many, he was a ruthless, merciless devil, obsessively developing software that threatened social stability.

But the devil Charles Page was now just a fragile child who had just lost his legs.

“Emma Bennett.” a little girl said, “Let’s not play with him anymore!”

Emma Bennett was not yet four, the youngest child in the class.

Emma Bennett couldn’t remember how she had answered in her previous life, but she must have agreed.

Making a puddle of urine in kindergarten was something all the clueless kids thought was shameful.

What’s more, that child was scary—his legs below the knees had been cut off, leaving the lower half of his pants empty and limp. The children were both afraid and curious.

The classroom was in chaos, and the parents who came to pick up their kids hurried in because of the hailstorm. Mr. Clark pushed the wheelchair away; mindful of the boy’s dignity, she needed to quickly help Charles Page change his pants in the restroom, then organize the children to go home.

Emma Bennett watched helplessly as Charles Page was wheeled away, her sickly voice as weak as a kitten: “Charles Page...”

No one heard, so no one looked back.

She suddenly remembered twenty-three-year-old Charles Page, sitting expressionless in his wheelchair, his voice stiff as he declared he would protect her for a lifetime. The little dumpling Emma Bennett was dazed, let out a soft sigh, and lay her head on the desk.

Could it be that he gave too much in their past life, and now she was here to repay the debt?

～

“Charles Page, don’t be sad. Your classmates will forget all about it tomorrow. I have some sandwich cookies here—would you like one?”

Charles Page said softly, “I want to go home.”

“Then let’s wait for your mom, okay?”

Charles Page’s fingertips were pale; he lowered his head and said nothing more.

There were no cell phones this year. Only a few people had “big brother” brick phones, and those were usually people of status. Young Mr. Clark didn’t have one.

Charles Page’s mother was a surgeon, sometimes busy with surgeries late into the night. His father was the captain of the criminal police squad, a position of importance and also very busy. Both of their jobs allowed no carelessness, so the little boy would sometimes ask neighbors to pick him up.

For example, Emma Bennett’s parents, or the parents of kids like Henry Brooks and Grace Ford. They would take him home along with their own children.

Parents arrived at the school one after another. Young Mr. Clark had to watch the kids; another female teacher had taken the day off, so all the responsibility fell on her, and she was overwhelmed. Young Mr. Clark pushed the freshly changed Charles Page back to the classroom and gave him some building blocks to play with.

Charles Page kept his head down and didn’t move at all.

Emma Bennett looked at him with a complicated expression.

If you could live your life over again, what would Emma Bennett want to do most?

Of course, stay far away from that scumbag Samuel Howard, be filial to her parents for a lifetime, and have nothing at all to do with Charles Page. That is, if Charles Page hadn’t left such a deep mark before she died.

Her feelings for Charles Page were very complicated.

The hail was coming down in sheets, growing heavier and heavier. Occasionally, a parent would rush in and complain, “Oh, what kind of crazy weather is this? It was sunny this morning, and now it’s hailing in the afternoon.”

Then those with bikes rode their bikes, and those without carried their kids and ran. The children waved, “Goodbye, Mr. Clark!”

“Bye, Xiaowei! Bye, Lili!”

Soon, Emma Bennett’s mother, Lillian Clark, arrived with an umbrella.

In 1996, Ms. Lillian Clark was still young, with no fine lines at the corners of her eyes, wearing a crisp blue short-sleeved top, full of energy.

Emma Bennett’s gaze shifted from Charles Page to the bustling Lillian Clark running over, and her eyes instantly filled with tears.

Lillian Clark picked her up. “Oh, my troublesome girl, why are you crying? Did the hail scare you?”

Emma Bennett shook her head and lay on her mother’s back, choking up a little. Parents are the best to their children in this world—a truth many know but few truly feel.

“Here, hold the umbrella. Mommy’s carrying you and can’t free up a hand. Just rest the umbrella here on my shoulder and hold it steady.”

Lillian Clark greeted young Mr. Clark, then carried her daughter away.

Emma Bennett held the umbrella with her little hands, thought for a long time, and looked back.

The little boy Charles Page in the corner didn’t look at her.

Henry Brooks’s dad was the first to pick him up. The chubby boy rode on his father’s shoulders, strutting proudly.

Grace Ford’s grandma, wearing an apron, also took her granddaughter home.

Then it was Emma Bennett’s mom’s turn...

Following his gaze, Emma Bennett saw that Charles Page’s eyes were fixed on a small patch of wet ground nearby. It was left by young Mr. Clark hastily mopping up the urine.

She remembered the man’s cold yet gentle kiss eighteen years later, and looking at Charles Page now, a faint ache rose in her heart.

This man who would become so remarkable in the future was, in his tender years, so fragile and lonely.

Emma Bennett moved her fingers, wanting to look at Charles Page again, but Lillian Clark had already carried her far away.