The next day, Qin An trudged to school with dark circles under his eyes. In the end, besides kneeling on the keyboard, washboard, and remote control, he still couldn’t satisfy Qin Yage’s demand: where did the hairpin he gave her really come from? Of course, Qin An could never reveal the truth—that he’d stolen it.

Stepping into the classroom, Qin An spotted Huang Jiajun chatting animatedly with An Qi at his seat. He raised a hand to greet the class monitor, but before "Good morning" left his lips, Huang Jiajun turned away pointedly. Qin An just shrugged helplessly, chiding himself for overestimating their rapport.

"Qin An, you look exhausted. Confident about today’s exams?" An Qi asked.

"I’m fine! You seem tired too," he replied.

An Qi stretched lazily. "Dad mentioned trouble at Huanle Park. It’s been on my mind."

Midterms meant reshuffled seating—top students separated from strugglers to prevent cheating. Teachers trusted the "good kids" implicitly, unaware how many were imposters.

First up: Chinese. The stout-waisted teacher, Lin Chunlan, distributed papers.

*Hmph!* She slapped Qin An’s test onto his desk, knuckles rapping the wood. Her glare promised to devour him whole. *Seriously, what grudge could be this deep?*

Qin An beamed as he took the paper. Her fury dissolved like a punch sinking into cotton.

The exam posed no challenge. While classmates wrestled with sentences, readings, or recitations, Qin An was already savoring the essay prompt: *If I Had One Day*. The 600-character grid felt like a joke. He could draft ten-thousand-word reports effortlessly, but condensing thoughts into 600 characters? Tricky.

*Should I fill it with flowery prose? Or quote Gorky: "Time is the most elusive yet precious thing..." to sound profound?*

But Qin An refused. He’d plumbed the world’s darkness, steeped in bloodshed and sorrow. Now, cradled in happiness, he tasted only joy.

His gaze drifted to the ribbon fluttering on a girl’s hair in the front row. Inspiration struck—a flood of images and words surged in his mind. Pen hovering, he hesitated. *Is this too raw?* Then he shrugged. *So what?* He wrote what his heart demanded, scribbling furiously across the page.

Elementary exams flew by—no English meant finishing by noon. Qin An aced the math test in twenty minutes, insulted by its simplicity. He handed in his paper early, ignoring the teacher’s garbage-like stare and classmates’ sneers. An Qi merely sighed, used to his antics. But the class monitor gnashed her pearl-like teeth. *That bastard.*

Bored, Qin An strolled the corridor, hands behind his head. Then—a familiar figure caught his eye on the playground.

A red-and-white baseball cap. A crisp white tee. A bat gripped tight. None other than Wang Luoran.

Behind her huddled a frail girl, clothes torn from tugging. Facing them were two lanky middle-schoolers in uniforms, radiating trouble.

Before Qin An could intervene, Wang Luoran snapped:

"You only pick on girls younger than you? Pathetic."

"What’s school life without bullying girls?" one sneered.

"Yeah! And look at how she dresses—asking for it!"

The girl behind Wang Luoran burst into tears, trembling. Wang Luoran’s rage boiled over.

"I heard your mom’s a nurse," one boy taunted. "Strange men always visiting... No wonder she became—"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!" Wang Luoran swung the bat wildly. Oddly, the boys didn’t dodge—just shielded their heads. Blinded by fury, she kept striking. By the time Qin An reached the field, both boys were bruised and crumpled, yet Wang Luoran showed no sign of stopping.

"Luoran! Enough!" Qin An yelled. No response. He locked his arms around her shoulders from behind, her body thrashing. Pressing his cheek to hers, he whispered: "Luoran... stop. Please."

After repeated pleas, she finally turned. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, "Qin An... why? Why can’t I protect Mom? I try so hard... Is it because I’m just a girl?"

"No," he murmured, stroking her back. "It’s the world’s fault."

She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. Her nails dug into his back, making him wince.

Glancing around, Qin An saw the girl and the two boys had fled. But near the bushes—four figures lingered. The three runaways... and an older man. Sunlight glinted off something in his hand. His smile was oily, sinister—a stain on Qin An’s memory.

That night, a storm brewed next door.

"Xia Yixin, look what your daughter did!" The man—Ren Yin, head of discipline—slammed a tablet on the table. "Bullying a junior, beating up heroic seniors, skipping exams..."

"Impossible! Luoran would never—" Xia Yixin protested.

"The footage doesn’t lie." Ren Yin patted her shoulder, voice dripping false sympathy. "Remember your place. Without me hiring you as school nurse, you’d never be a doctor. Without me covering her scandals, your ‘Little Tyrant’ would’ve been expelled years ago. I’ve silenced the victims’ families this time... but tomorrow, I expect your answer." He chuckled. "Ha! Ha! Ha!"

As Ren Yin whistled his way out, Wang Luoran darted from behind the door, crashing into her mother’s arms. "Mom, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!"

Xia Yixin stroked her hair, face ashen. "Not your fault, sweetheart. I just want you safe. My life... doesn’t matter."

"But—"

"Shh." Xia Yixin forced a smile. "If you truly care, wear the new dress I bought you today."

Wang Luoran returned after a while, twisting in a blue dress dotted with white flowers. Her short hair framed tear-filled eyes. "Mom... do I look weird?"

Xia Yixin pulled her close, voice breaking. "My beautiful girl." Tears fell—warm on her own cheeks, icy on Wang Luoran’s.

*Knock knock.*

"Ms. Xia, returning your bowl!" Qin An called. The door swung open before he could knock.

Standing there was a girl in a blue floral dress, wheat-toned shoulders bare, tears trembling on her lashes. Utterly heart-wrenching.

"You’re... the Little Tyrant?"

Wang Luoran nodded silently, face flushed crimson.

"Ms. Xia, the food was amazing," Qin An said quickly.

"Glad you liked it. I’ll cook more," Xia Yixin replied, her smile brittle, skin pale as snow.

"Qin An—I need help." Wang Luoran yanked him into the courtyard without looking back.

"I saw Ren Yin leaving your place. What did that creep want?"

"He filmed me beating those trash bags," she whispered, tears spilling like beads. "He’s blackmailing Mom... threatening to make her do unspeakable things. It’s my fault—if I’d just behaved—"

Qin An pieced it together instantly. "I have a plan."

"Really?" Her dull eyes sparked with hope, though doubt still pinched her brow.

"We steal the footage."

Wang Luoran sprinted to her bike. Qin An patted his satchel—tools ready.

"Hurry up!" she urged. "Or I’ll go alone!" *Shouldn’t the veteran driver be me?* Qin An sighed, hopping onto the back rack. His hands lightly gripped her waist.

Neither noticed the face pressed against the window next door—cheeks squished comically against the glass, eyes fixed on them.

"Time to buy a bike," Qin Yage declared resolutely. "Just one."