Or maybe it’s just been too long—no matter how hard he tries to hold on, the people in his memories have irreversibly faded, no longer so clear, even starting to gradually overlap with some stranger...

“小 Wang?” Owen Harris called out to him uncertainly.

William Bennett snapped out of his daze, suddenly not even in the mood to pretend. He mumbled, “Dad, my stomach hurts. I’m going upstairs.”

“Hey, don’t run off—what about dinner?” Martin Bennett tried to grab him but missed. “Didn’t we agree? You won’t even give your dad this little bit of face?”

William Bennett slung his backpack and squeezed through the door, not looking back as he said, “Your son has exams tomorrow—five subjects, hasn’t studied a single one. Who has time for dinner?”

The housekeeper handed him slippers, and he shuffled upstairs. At the corner, he couldn’t help glancing out the window. They were still in the yard below, Martin Bennett saying something to Owen Harris.

No doubt explaining what a spoiled brat his son is, just joking around, don’t take it to heart.

Edward Harris was still being held by his mother, unable to leave. He stood indifferently in the shadows, his free hand holding his phone, head down, scrolling.

After a few swipes, he seemed to sense something and suddenly looked up toward the upper floor.

William Bennett was startled and quickly turned away.

He hung a “Do Not Knock” sign on the handle, locked the door, put on his headphones, and cranked the music up so loud that not even thunder outside could be heard. Only then did he sit down.

The new textbooks were lined up on the desk. He curled up in his chair, spinning a pen.

His phone, lying nearby, lit up every so often. He let several messages pile up before reaching to unlock it.

The messages were from his desk mate at his previous school—not great at exams, but loyal, with a natural air of a hero. William Bennett often felt he wasn’t there to study, but to join the outlaws of Liangshan. From seniors to freshmen, as long as you were alive, you had some connection with him.

Octagon Crab:

The final exam papers for math, physics, and chemistry in sophomore year? What do you want those for? Come on, boss... You’re already previewing material right after summer break?

Octagon Crab:

Wait, that can’t be it. Why would you need final exam papers to preview?

Octagon Crab:

Boss? Say something.

Octagon Crab:

Brother William?

Octagon Crab:

Class monitor! Fine, if I don’t send the test papers, you won’t even see my messages.

William Bennett spun his pen and typed one-handed—

Canned:

Just saw this.

Octagon Crab:

Yeah, keep pretending. You’re just lazy, can’t even be bothered to type more than a sentence, always letting messages pile up before replying.

Octagon Crab:

See, you’re doing it again.

Octagon Crab:

Fine, you’re handsome, you make the rules. I got the test papers for you—one each for math, physics, and chemistry, right? Why don’t you want Chinese and English? What, you discriminating against subjects now?

Canned:

You’re the one discriminating. There’s no way to do that many in one night, gotta make choices.

Octagon Crab:

What the heck? One night? What are you up to? And aren’t you usually so lazy you’ll send a voice message instead of typing? What’s up with you today? Actually typed two sentences.

William Bennett paused, clicked his tongue, finally gave up on typing, and sent a voice message: “Because I just got to this crappy school today, and there’s a weekly test tomorrow, covering all the material from the first semester of sophomore year. If I don’t cram tonight, I’ll get zeroes in all five subjects. No time for Chinese and English, I’ll leave those to fate. I can still struggle a bit with math, physics, and chemistry.”

Octagon Crab replied with eight Black Question Mark memes, then sent over the three test papers without another word, plus a voice message.

“Wait, I don’t get it. Doing one test paper per subject won’t help much, right? They’re not going to use the exact same questions anyway.”

William Bennett: “Who said I was going to do the papers?”

Octagon Crab: “Then what are you going to do?”

William Bennett: “I’m going to use the papers to highlight the key points based on the score distribution. The questions vary a lot by province, but the main points and tough spots are pretty similar. I’ll see which modules are worth the most points and focus on those tonight—better bang for my buck.”

Octagon Crab: “You can do that?”

William Bennett: “Told you, last-ditch effort.”

Octagon Crab: “What about the rest?”

William Bennett: “Leave it to fate.”

After sending that, the young master suddenly felt a wave of bitterness. Sixteen and a half years in the world, and now he’s leaving his exams to fate.

He thought for a moment, then asked Crab: “What was that guessing formula again?”

Octagon Crab: “Wait, hang on, I wrote it on the first page of my notes, I’ll take a picture for you. Wow, the day I see you use a guessing formula, the whole world should celebrate.”

Past midnight, after finishing chemistry and physics, William Bennett’s eyes were dry and sore—but his stomach was even worse; he was starving.

He paced his room twice, checked all three snack stashes, and found nothing left. With no choice, he opened the door.

As expected, there was a sticky note on the door: “There are washed red grapes in the fridge, matsutake chicken congee is being kept warm in the kitchen. Don’t eat anything else at night—it’ll upset your stomach.”