◎Circle◎

Chun Zao had finished her white peach juice completely during the second period, while Tong Yue’s twin sisters drink remained untouched, not a single drop gone.

After evening self-study, she still cherished it in her arms, even holding it up high with both hands along the way to pray to the moon, “Heavenly spirits, earthly spirits, Yuan Ye and I will work out.”

Chun Zao often found her friend’s words and actions speechless, but rarely interfered.

However, she didn’t throw away the empty bottle either, instead stuffing it into the side pocket of her backpack and taking it home.

Upon entering the door, there was a fragrant aroma from the late-night snack that Chun Chuzhen had habitually prepared for her daughter. Chun Zao called out “Mom” and turned to head toward the bedroom.

Chun Chuzhen called out to stop her.

Chun Zao turned back: “What’s wrong?”

Chun Chuzhen asked: “What’s in your bag?”

Chun Zao glanced behind her and realized she was asking about that beautiful drink bottle that she would never buy herself.

To avoid her mother’s wild imagination, she calmly lied: “Tong Yue treated me.”

Chun Chuzhen curled her lips: “Drink less of these beverages full of saccharin, they’re bad for brain development.”

Chun Zao was momentarily speechless, then retorted: “If you said two fewer words, my brain would be sharper.”

“You…” Chun Chuzhen was left speechless with anger.

Hanging her backpack on the chair back, Chun Zao came out to eat her late-night snack.

Chun Chuzhen was a faithful believer in various self-cultivation and wellness practices, often preaching “health knowledge” (wellness rumors) without distinguishing right from wrong. The meals she prepared were mostly bland types, and KFC or McDonald’s fried chicken and fries appeared on the late-night dining table only a handful of times.

Like tonight’s red bean glutinous rice balls, with a light sprinkling of golden dried osmanthus flowers on the surface, looking extremely appealing, but when you picked up a spoon and tasted them, you’d find they were almost devoid of sweetness.

Chun Zao mechanically scooped them up, sending one bland little round ball after another into her mouth.

Chun Chuzhen waited nearby, bored, so she put on her reading glasses and brought out a tablet from her room to watch live streams.

She had it on the lowest volume, but the host’s exaggerated and high-pitched tone boasting about product quality could still almost penetrate the sound card.

During this time, Yuan Ye also came home. The three briefly acknowledged each other, then the boy returned to his room.

Chun Chuzhen’s eyes followed him through the door, then turned back curiously: “You think this kid has Tsinghua or Peking University potential? He runs out as soon as vacation starts, never seen him studying.”

You’re asking me, who should I ask? Chun Zao harbored the same confusion.

But she didn’t like to comment on others, so she immediately changed the subject: “Are you buying things again?”

Chun Chuzhen shook her head: “How could that be? I wouldn’t be fooled by these sales tactics, just killing time.”

Chun Zao thought of the hundreds of garbage bags at home that were about to overflow from cabinets and drawers, and couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

The host’s voice became increasingly shrill.

Chun Zao found it annoying and quickly finished drinking the remaining soup in her bowl in three quick gulps. Only then did Chun Chuzhen exit the live stream room and clear away her bowl and chopsticks.

Just as she was about to leave the table, Chun Zao’s gaze drifted to the black-screened tablet in standby mode.

A plan temporarily pushed to the back of her mind sprouted again. Chun Zao glanced at her mother’s back and grabbed the tablet.

For convenience, Chun Chuzhen never set passwords on electronic devices, so Chun Zao easily accessed it, opened the music app, and searched for a video she had wanted to watch for a while.

A foreign female singer she liked had just released a new album recently. Last Friday she had overheard classmates with similar tastes talking about the newly released MV, describing it in glowing terms that filled her with anticipation. Tonight happened to be a good opportunity to take a look.

As soon as the prelude played, the sound of water in the kitchen stopped abruptly, and Chun Chuzhen rushed out as if afraid of being too late: “What are you doing?”

Chun Zao closed the interface and remained calm: “Looking something up.”

Chun Chuzhen’s response sounded like she was telling a joke: “Can’t you look it up on your phone?”

Chun Zao stared for a few seconds, then patiently repeated this fact she had complained about many times: “Mom, my phone doesn’t have a SIM card, I can’t even make phone calls, how can I look things up?”

How ironic.

Her mother, who never forgot any of her test scores and rankings, always had amnesia about this matter.

Always only remembered that she had once generously allowed her a phone.

“Where do you get so many things to look up…” Chun Chuzhen muttered impatiently, wiped her hands on her apron a few times, leaned over, and ruthlessly snatched the tablet from her daughter’s hands, placing it in front of her with a clang: “Look it up then, how long will it take?”

Because the movement was somewhat forceful, the edge of the tablet hit Chun Zao’s slightly curved knuckles.

It didn’t hurt.

But it felt inexplicably humiliating.

Chun Zao’s gaze fixed, answering her mother: “A few minutes.”

Chun Chuzhen lifted her chin: “Fine, I’ll watch.”

Chun Zao’s chest heaved violently once.

“Never mind.”

She got up and left the chair.

Chun Chuzhen’s inexplicable anger flared, condemning her retreating figure: “You just want to look at inappropriate things.”

Chun Zao stopped at the doorframe, turned around to refute: “Who wants to look at inappropriate things?”

Chun Chuzhen’s tone was certain: “If you don’t have a guilty conscience, why don’t you dare do it in front of me?”

Chun Zao stared at her in amazement, then, after a moment, pulled her lips into a smile: “I’m not afraid, I just disdain it. As if others care about your broken tablet.”

Chun Chuzhen also laughed, finding it quite absurd: “If you don’t care, why did you secretly pick it up to look?”

Chun Zao bit her jaw, tears forming in her eyes: “Secretly? Haven’t I spoken to you properly about this before? Which time didn’t you ramble on and agree reluctantly and unwillingly? And which time didn’t you watch me like watching a criminal?”

Chun Chuzhen fell silent.

Finally, she coldly pushed the tablet, her tone light and airy, as if bestowing a favor: “Use it then, I won’t watch, just don’t delete the history.”

Chun Zao remained motionless.

Ever since school started, such confrontations would erupt at any moment in her life, without warning and effect. She raised her gun and pulled the trigger, but the damage caused was nothing more than water falling into water.

The living room was like the Dead Sea.

Chun Zao put away her overambitious invisible toy gun and marbles, turned around, and returned to her bedroom.

A mother knows her daughter best – Chun Chuzhen knew her well.

She did want to look up things that seemed “inappropriate” to her mother – but just for… five minutes, just five minutes, the length of one song. She had hoped again and again that her mother could understand and agree.

No miracle occurred.

She was used to these moments of powerlessness and frustration, used to her mother’s domineering judgment and interference, but why did large waves of bitterness still flow out each time? Chun Zao sat at her desk covering her face for a while, then two minutes later, she pulled out tissues and wiped dry her red-rimmed eyes.

She pulled out an A4-sized English exercise book from among her book stands.

Burying herself back into the dense pages to repair her burned emotions.

Chun Chuzhen put the pots, bowls, and utensils back in the cabinet, not caring about her daughter as she usually would.

Naturally, Chun Zao wouldn’t say goodnight to her either.

The mutual punishment between mother and daughter was always silent and tacit.

The last sound heard from outside the door was Chun Chuzhen talking to Yuan Ye as if nothing had happened: “You’re going to shower?”

Yuan Ye hummed in response.

Chun Chuzhen said: “Wait a moment then, let me take the bed sheets out of the washing machine.”

“Okay.”

Close to eleven-thirty, Chun Zao closed the English exercises she had filled. This was extracurricular homework. Her venting methods were usually simple, accompanied by unimpeachable purposes.

She went to the bathroom to wash up.

Her mother was an electricity-saving fanatic. She had expected to be greeted by complete darkness when opening the door, but unexpectedly, the living room light was still on, as was the bathroom.

She felt somewhat comforted.

Chun Zao stopped in front of the sink, observing her unchanged self. The crying time had been brief, and the sadness hadn’t left any traces in the whites of her eyes.

She pulled off her hair tie, binding her loose hair into a high ponytail, and casually picked up the mouthwash cup with a kitten pattern.

The girl in the mirror suddenly froze.

Below the mouthwash cup, there was a note pressed down, folded twice, with the contents invisible.

Chun Zao immediately covered it back with the cup.

She bent down closer, carefully lifted it again, confirming that what she saw wasn’t an illusion.

There was…

Chun Zao’s heart suddenly raced, her throat tightening. She glanced at the half-open bathroom door, reached out to close and lock it securely, then returned to unfold that “secret message”:

Very elegant, easily recognizable black handwriting in a casual running script:

First line: “I’ve turned on hotspot.”

The second line was a password, containing numbers and letters, eleven characters total.

Somehow, her face instantly warmed up, as if she had accidentally turned on the shower and hot water was pouring down without warning. Chun Zao quickly hid the note in her palm.

She took a five-minute combat shower, turned off the lights, and closed the door, returning to her bedroom.

Then she hid under the summer quilt, took a deep breath, threw the note beside her face, and half-believingly opened her phone to search for wireless networks.

Four WiFi networks eagerly popped up.

Chun Zao’s thumb paused.

How would she know which one it was?

But this concern quickly dissipated. She didn’t need to guess at all. The one with full signal bars had a name with distinctly personal characteristics.

Just one circle character:

“〇”