Ling Chen didn’t reply again.

Their first chat ended right there, frozen at that awkward exchange.

She had no idea whether he was too embarrassed to say anything more.

In any case, by the time Zhu Wenshu got home after her gathering with her friend, there was still no further activity on his WeChat.

Zhu Wenshu hadn’t thought much of it, but after she finished her lesson prep and checked her phone, she found dozens of messages in DingTalk, all weekend homework feedback from parents.

Only after becoming a teacher did she realize that the pressure borne by today’s parents was on an entirely different scale from that of parents in the past.

Most of them weren’t even that old, and after getting off work in the evening, they didn’t even get a chance to catch their breath before hurrying to accompany their children with homework, conscientiously completing whatever tasks the teacher had assigned.

In truth, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t rigidly required parents to accompany their children through the entire homework process—she believed that doing so would actually be detrimental to children developing independent thinking and self-management skills.

But the parents had all spontaneously thrown themselves into intense competition with each other, and she could hardly tell them not to bother so much.

Thinking of this—

and then looking again at her WeChat chat history with Ling Chen, Zhu Wenshu felt rather speechless.

What, was it that having money meant you could just let your child grow up unchecked, running wild?

Wasn’t he afraid the child might go astray in the future?

Moreover, this Experimental Elementary School wasn’t just any ordinary school—it was among the top one or two in all of Jiangcheng.

The students’ families weren’t necessarily all wealthy or of high status, but the overall caliber was absolutely top-tier—a single class was never short of children from highly educated, accomplished households.

Otherwise, why would graduate students from top teacher-training universities be scrambling so hard just to become an elementary school teacher here?

In an environment with this much competition, and here Ling Chen could still be so irresponsible.

Yes, she knew Ling Siyuan’s nanny wasn’t an ordinary nanny—she’d been hired at great expense to handle both daily care and academic tutoring.

But could that possibly be compared to a father’s presence in his upbringing and education?

This was a matter Ling Chen might be able to simply let go of, but Zhu Wenshu couldn’t allow herself to turn a blind eye.

This was her responsibility and mission as a teacher.

So she opened WeChat and sent Ling Chen a message, righteous and stern.

[Zhu Wenshu: Has Ling Siyuan finished his homework?]

Twenty minutes later.

[Zhu Wenshu: ?]

Fine.

Zhu Wenshu gave a cold laugh and opened Weibo.

She wanted to see just how busy this superstar could possibly be.

Too busy to spare even a moment for his own son.

Unexpectedly, the timing turned out to be quite fitting—searching “Ling Chen,” the very first real-time result that popped up pinpointed exactly where he was.

[User “Sleep Early, Jiangzibei”: Ahhhh short-haired Ling Chen in Teacher Zhang’s livestream today is SO handsome!!! I’ve already fainted, girls come collect my body later!!!!]

Zhu Wenshu didn’t know who this “Teacher Zhang” was. She kept browsing through the topic for a good while before figuring out that this “Teacher Zhang” was none other than the famous Zhang Yuming.

He was a landmark music producer in the Chinese-language music industry, having produced many well-known songs and launched the careers of numerous singers during his prime years, and Ling Chen counted as something like his “last disciple”—Ling Chen normally addressed him respectfully as “Teacher.”

The song “Classmate Little Silkworm,” which had made Ling Chen’s name explode in popularity, along with the album of the same title, had been produced by Zhang Yuming.

This producer had been in a semi-retired state these past couple of years, without much new work, but had taken a liking to livestreaming platforms, occasionally chatting with fans there or singing some old songs.

Following these leads, Zhu Wenshu found her way into Zhang Yuming’s livestream room.

The moment the feed popped up, Zhang Yuming’s face filled the entire screen, startling Zhu Wenshu.

He was squinting as he leaned close to his phone, adjusting the camera. After fiddling with it for a good while, once the odd overlay decoration finally vanished from above his head, he leaned back against the sofa with visible relief.

As he leaned back, the scene previously blocked from view was fully revealed.

Zhang Yuming’s living room had a vertical layout, with a dining table set up behind the sofa. Only a single floor lamp was on, and Ling Chen was eating a meal beneath its light.

He was far from the camera and the lighting wasn’t very bright, but one could still tell his hair had been visibly trimmed and styled—much shorter now, with his forehead exposed, not looking as listless as it had a few days before.

But Zhu Wenshu didn’t care about any of that.

She’d originally assumed Ling Chen appearing in the livestream was work-related, but after watching for a bit, it was obvious he was simply mooching a meal at Zhang Yuming’s place and had happened to wander into frame—not attending to any real business at all.

Just as Zhu Wenshu was rolling her eyes, Zhang Yuming turned back and waved Ling Chen over.

“Come over and chat—everyone’s been pestering me about you.”

Hearing this, Ling Chen turned his head to glance over, then walked over holding his water cup.

As he approached the camera, his features grew increasingly clear. His neat short hair no longer hid his eyes, and bright light gathered in them the instant he glanced up.

Even through the phone screen, it felt as though she were meeting his gaze directly, across the distance.

For that moment, Zhu Wenshu felt a slight jolt, as though he’d caught her watching his livestream.

Fortunately, he soon stopped looking directly at the camera, lowering his eyes to read the scrolling comments.

In truth, Ling Chen wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about this kind of aimless livestreaming.

If he’d known ahead of time that Zhang Yuming would be livestreaming today, he wouldn’t have come over for dinner.

But since he’d already appeared on camera, he couldn’t very well embarrass his own teacher by refusing to engage.

Weekend evenings were naturally peak hours for internet traffic.

The scrolling comments were an overwhelming mix of everything, and there was no way Ling Chen could read every single one—he could only skim through roughly, catching whatever he happened to see.

Zhu Wenshu sat at her desk, feeling nothing much, not the least bit excited.

After all, she wasn’t really here to watch Ling Chen’s livestream.

But seeing him earnestly answering questions from the comments, Zhu Wenshu got an idea of her own.

Her expression remained cold, yet the corner of her mouth curved into the faintest hint of mockery. Her fingers tapped lightly as she typed out a line.

[zws who loves oranges: Did you even finish your homework before going live?]

The moment she sent it, Zhu Wenshu watched with her own eyes as it got swallowed up in the flood of comments.

But the very next second—

Ling Chen: “Yes, I finished it.”

Zhu Wenshu: “?”

She stared at the screen, unable to believe it, blinking her eyes.

As it happened, Ling Chen was also looking at the camera at that moment, their gazes seeming to meet.

Had he really seen it?

That couldn’t be, could it?

She’d just sent it on a whim—surely it wasn’t that.

Zhu Wenshu felt a bit dazed at this point, staring blankly for a good while, and when she looked at the bottom of the screen again, the previously chaotic comments had all become uniform.

They were all the exact same line, copied and pasted over and over.

[Pass it on, Ling Chen finished his new song, the new album drops tomorrow!]

[Pass it on, Ling Chen finished his new song, the new album drops tomorrow!]

[Pass it on, Ling Chen finished his new song, the new album drops tomorrow!]

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Oh.

So he’d actually been answering a fan’s question.

Just as she’d thought—there was no way Ling Chen could have spotted her one comment amid that vast sea of scrolling text.

Once this wave of spam comments passed, a fan whose username came with a special glowing halo effect started a new round of spamming.

[May I ask, when you write songs, do you cut yourself off from the world entirely, vanish off the face of the earth, no water, no power, no internet?]

This fan seemed to be speaking with sarcastic bite, but was actually just gently reproaching Ling Chen for staying out of the public eye for so long.

But whether Ling Chen genuinely didn’t get the sarcasm or was just playing dumb, he took a sip of water, leaned back on the sofa, and said in a serious tone, “I don’t cut off contact entirely. I do try to reduce socializing, but when I have time I do check my messages.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She let out a cold laugh in front of the screen, then typed rapidly.

[zws who loves oranges: And then you see them and don’t reply, is that it?]

After sending it, she crossed her arms, leaned back against her chair, and continued to stare coldly at the man on screen.

Just then, Ling Chen, who had been keeping his eyes lowered on the comments, suddenly held his gaze fixed for a few seconds, his focus narrowing inward, as if thinking about something.

Right after, he lowered his head and patted his pants pocket, found it empty, then turned to glance at the dining table behind the sofa.

“One moment.”

He murmured this to the camera, then stood up and walked toward the dining table.

As his figure gradually moved away from the camera, Zhang Yuming, sitting nearby, shifted with a beaming smile to the center of the sofa, taking up most of the frame, leaving only a blurry figure visible in the distance.

Zhu Wenshu’s interest had also waned, and she felt like a Buddhist monk lecturing a Daoist priest—meddling in things well outside her own domain.

Real teachers caught students skipping class; here she was catching a parent instead.

How pointless.

She yawned, straightened up, and got ready to turn off her phone and go take a shower.

Just then, her phone suddenly popped up with a new message.

Zhu Wenshu tapped it without thinking, and the screen immediately switched to WeChat.

[C: All the homework is finished.]

“…?”

Zhu Wenshu’s back suddenly went rigid.

She stared straight at the chat window, then inexplicably scanned the room around her.

Then, with a hint of wariness in her eyes, she kept her head far away from the phone, stretching her arm out to tap the screen and switch back to the livestream.

In the feed, she could vaguely make out Ling Chen leaning against the sideboard, his back slightly hunched, head lowered, one hand raised in front of his chest.

It was the classic posture of someone using their phone.

No… way…?

Could it be that Ling Chen hadn’t just seen her comment, but had somehow recognized her right away?

Were his eyes some kind of super-precision, eight-star, eight-diamond sensor or something?

After a few seconds of inner tension, Zhu Wenshu patted her own head, telling herself this was just a coincidence, that it was simply impossible.

Ling Chen had surely just happened to remember her earlier message at that particular moment, nothing more.

Right, that was exactly it.

[Zhu Wenshu: Okay, good that it’s done.]

But even having convinced herself, Zhu Wenshu still felt a bit guilty while replying to Ling Chen’s message, and added one more line.

[Zhu Wenshu: I was mainly worried you’d get too busy and forget, so I wanted to remind you specially]

[Zhu Wenshu: Ling Siyuan doesn’t concentrate very well—were you watching over him while he did his homework?]

[C: Yes.]

He was practically fuming.

Ling Chen thought flatly.

[Zhu Wenshu: Mm-hm, well, go on back to whatever you were doing.]

[C: Mm.]

That night, Zhu Wenshu had a nightmare.

She dreamed that many, many years later, she was still Ling Siyuan’s teacher.

On her way to a juvenile detention center, going to visit Ling Siyuan, who had been locked up.

She followed a prison guard through a winding, twisting corridor, finally stopping outside a dark, damp iron door.

Before long, the sound of clanking chains rang out from inside.

Zhu Wenshu looked up sharply, and through the iron-barred window, she saw that familiar face and cried out in shock.

“Ling Chen?!”

That cry woke her up.

In the cool of early autumn, Zhu Wenshu opened her eyes drenched in sweat, staring blankly at the ceiling, caught in a hazy state somewhere between sleep and waking.

About ten minutes passed before her thoughts gathered themselves, and she slowly turned her head to check the clock.

Oh no!

It was already seven twenty!

With no time left to dwell on that absurd dream, Zhu Wenshu scrambled out of bed in a tumble, hastily wiped her face, grabbed her bag, and dashed out the door.

Fortunately, where she lived wasn’t far from school, and she arrived just in the nick of time, not too much trouble in the end.

By the time she sat down in the office, the homework collected by the group leaders was already stacked on her desk.

Zhu Wenshu caught her breath, sighed at the stack of notebooks, then took out a small mirror to tidy up her messy hair, getting ready to go teach.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

Zhu Wenshu turned around and saw Ling Siyuan clinging to the door frame, not daring to come in.

“What’s wrong?”

Zhu Wenshu asked. “Class is about to start—why aren’t you in the classroom?”

Ling Siyuan raised his arm, holding a notebook to cover half his face, and trotted over with a bouncy, eager gait.

“Teacher, I just got to school. I’m here to turn in my homework.”

“Why so late today?”

Zhu Wenshu said with a smile, “Slept in, did you?”

“I had an upset stomach this morning…”

“Feeling better now?”

“Much better.”

Zhu Wenshu took his homework notebook and flipped through it casually, noticing that his handwriting was actually neater than usual.

The corner of her mouth curved up as she asked, “Yuanyuan, your homework has improved again from last night. Did your dad help teach you?”

“No, my dad went to sleep.”

Ling Siyuan puffed out his chest and lifted his head, saying proudly, “My uncle did it with me.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

The faint smile froze at the corners of her mouth, turning into a stiff, rigid curve.

Just as she’d suspected…

Zhu Wenshu took a deep breath and patted Ling Siyuan’s head.

“All right, hurry back to class now.”

Once Ling Siyuan’s figure had disappeared from the office, Zhu Wenshu spent a while grading homework.

After much deliberation, she still couldn’t help herself and took out her phone, finding Ling Chen’s WeChat.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, deleting and rewriting for a good while, before she finally sent a line.

[Zhu Wenshu: The school doesn’t require parents to accompany their child through homework. If you truly don’t have the time, you don’t have to.]

At this hour, Ling Chen actually replied quite quickly.

C: Fine then, I guess yesterday I was just making trouble out of nothing.

Aren’t you a singer? Since when did you start putting on an act with me too.

[Zhu Wenshu: Ling Siyuan already told me it was his uncle who did homework with him yesterday. You really don’t need to go out of your way to lie to me.]

[C: …]

[Zhu Wenshu: After all.]

[Zhu Wenshu: If your child doesn’t learn anything, it’s not going to dock my pay.]

[C: ………]