Cinderella went to school crying this morning.

Her eyes were still red and swollen when she arrived.

The sweet, airheaded girl was the class pet—everyone instantly dropped their morning readings to comfort her.

It wasn’t even her problem. Why did they care so much?

Cinderella perfectly captured a child’s raw heartbreak after betrayal.

By class time, she’d calmed somewhat, though she still occasionally pulled out a tissue to dab her tears.

Honestly… would she cry so hard she’d forget why she was crying?

Somehow, with her smarts? Unlikely.

The teacher had banned phones at school.

So Cinderella obeyed strictly—never touching her phone, even though Shi Xia had already sent the good news.

She only discovered it after sobbing all morning… then broke into a tearful smile.

In the orphanage, only Cinderella truly had a childlike innocence.

Chang’an’s heart resembled a polished pearl—once rough grit, refined to brilliance through sorrow and pain.

Innate purity and hard-won resilience held no hierarchy.

How she longed for those days: leaning on Brother Chang’an, gently teasing the doted-upon Cinderella.

Qing Xiang strummed the guitar. Leng Lingren moved like an enchanting dancer—swaying gracefully, steps light as lotus blossoms. Her gaze even made Chang’an blush.

Shi Xia replied to both.

But neither could check right away.

Cinderella was in class, obediently phone-free—and honestly, in no mood.

Adelle, twelve hours behind Shi Xia in a world-class lab, had other reasons.

“Adelle! There you are. Time to head into the lab.”

She knew the Middle Eastern guy was reminding her: stow the phone, wear the lab coat and goggles, tie her golden hair into a neat ponytail.

“Coming,” she said. “Did you notice anything odd yesterday? I’ve felt uneasy.”

After locking her phone away—Adelle, stripped of all adornment, embodying academic minimalism—she caught up to him, her senior lab partner.

“Same as always,” he replied with an easy smile.

What Adelle didn’t know: he hadn’t guarded the machine yesterday.

He’d skipped work, rock-climbing with his girlfriend by the sea, then shared a quiet moonlit moment on the beach—a subtle tan hinted at the truth.

But expecting Adelle to spot a slight tan on a Middle Eastern guy? Please.

Late last night, in a hidden corner of 4D spacetime, a miraculous curl of cosmic string—a still-theoretical physics concept—quietly formed.

And on one day in 2020, humanity missed the historic chance to observe it.

All because of a girlfriend’s whim.

Admit it, friend.

Science doesn’t need girlfriends. They only get in the way.

Notably, the lab’s deep night perfectly matched Chang’an’s afternoon return.

Twelve hours of time difference sometimes hid so much.

The photo of Shi Xia and Chang’an at the dining table—plus one adorably persistent little loli who’d squeezed right in—lay quietly unread in the three sisters’ phones.

Waiting to be discovered. Ready to bloom into a heartwarming surprise, brighter than June fireworks.

Late night. The lab door opened. A weary Adelle retrieved her phone.

And so… the scene unfolded.

Abdul Abbas: Woooooo! Adelle, are you crying?! I thought the future empress of physics never shed tears—like Buddhist ideals of “pure senses” and “freedom from desire”!

Abdul Abbas: What happened? I’m dying to… what’s the Chinese phrase? Right—gossip!

Adelle: Sh-shut up (sniffling)… It’s just… quantum entanglement got in my eyes…