She stood straight again, her gaze falling first on Lucas's face, then slowly moving to me.

That look was cold enough to freeze.

"Fine."

"You have backbone. I'll remember that."

"I just wonder if you'll still be this stubborn when your futures are gone and your paths are blocked."

She finished, turned, and left.

The sound of her heels hitting the stairs was sharp, like a blade scraping against nerves.

Once she and her people had completely left, the neighbors in the corridor gradually dispersed.

An auntie who passed by couldn't help but look at us a couple of times; she seemed to want to say something but ended up just sighing.

The lights went out one by one.

The narrow corridor returned to silence.

Belatedly, I realized my palms were soaked in sweat and my fingers were trembling slightly.

The strength that had kept me standing up to her vanished, leaving me feeling hollowed out.

Lucas said in a low voice, "Let's go inside."

Back in the room, as soon as I closed the door, my legs felt weak and I nearly stumbled.

Lucas reached out to steady me.

"Why were you trying to be so strong?"

His tone wasn't heavy; it even carried a hint of rare helplessness.

I leaned against the door to recover, looking up at him. "Should I have just watched her humiliate you like that?"

Lucas fell silent.

After a moment, he whispered, "I don't care what she says."

"But I do."

I responded almost instantly.

"Lucas, I know you can endure it. But I don't want you to have to swallow everything yourself."

"By what right do they trample on others' dignity and think of it as a blessing?"

"By what right?"

At the end, my voice caught slightly.

Lucas looked at me, a deep emotion slowly swirling in his eyes.

The grip of the hand steadying my arm tightened slightly.

"Lynn."

"Yes?"

"In the future, don't stand up quite so fast."

I was stunned. "Why?"

"Because if they really go mad, you'll be the first one they come for."

His expression was grim as he spoke; he clearly wasn't joking.

I was momentarily lost for words.

Lucas lowered his eyes, his voice raspy. "It's nothing for me to take a few insults, but I don't want you to suffer along with me."

The room became incredibly quiet.

From outside the window, the faint sound of an electric scooter passing by drifted in, along with a child arguing about wanting to watch cartoons.

Ordinary, everyday sounds.

But my heart felt like it had been struck by something heavy, leaving me with waves of aching softness.

"But you aren't the kind of person who should be treated that way by them either," I said softly.

Lucas looked at me for a long time. Suddenly, he raised his hand and, just like that late night before, awkwardly patted me on the back.

"I know."

"That's why we have to leave even faster."

Sloane’s mother's visit tonight had pushed the situation into the open.

She wouldn't stop here.

Neither would Sloane.

We had originally planned to move on Sunday, but now it seemed we shouldn't wait even a day.

I looked up. "We pack tonight."

Lucas didn't hesitate. "Okay."

That night, we barely slept.

Old books, clothes, test papers, pots and pans, bedding—everything that could be taken was organized bit by bit. It was only when we truly started packing that I realized how little of value we had accumulated through our years of poverty.

Lucas went to borrow a tricycle.

At four in the morning, before dawn, the whole alley was silent. We used this time to move our things to the new place, trip by trip.

Half the streetlights in the old complex were broken, and the wheels made a clattering sound as they rolled over the stone path.

I followed behind carrying a box of books, my arms aching and numb, yet my heart was strangely settled.

It felt like a flight.

Yet it also felt like we were finally, truly beginning to leave.

By the last trip, the horizon was already turning white.

We stood in the almost empty rental room, looking around the small space we had lived in for so long, neither of us speaking.

It was very simple—hot in the summer, drafty in the winter, the wallpaper yellowed, the kitchen too small to turn around in.

But it had, after all, held many of our most difficult and peaceful days.

I said softly, "Let's go."

Lucas nodded and closed the door for me.

As the lock clicked shut, I suddenly felt a strange sense of daze.

It felt like a formal farewell to a certain part of my past self.

14

The new place was more crowded and noisier than I had imagined.

Early in the morning, the cries of street vendors selling breakfast could be heard from below, while someone next door had the morning news blaring. Outside the window, the power lines were a tangled mess, and pigeons fluttered their wings as they flew from the opposite eaves, leaving behind a fine trail of dust.

But standing by the window, watching the strangers hurrying below, I felt safe for the first time.

No one here knew who we were.

No one would stop specifically to size us up.

In a crowd, being poor, exhausted, or in a hurry became perfectly ordinary.

We were like two drops of water merging into a river, finally becoming inconspicuous.

After moving, Lucas and I only slept for two hours before rushing back to school.

He bought me soy milk and steamed buns on the way. I took a couple of bites, but my stomach still felt tight and empty; it was mostly fatigue.

However, the moment I entered the school gates, I forced myself to suppress all my weariness.

This week, the comprehensive testing for the exchange program was set to begin.

I couldn't afford to mess up at this critical juncture.

Just after the second period in the morning, I was notified to go to the academic affairs office to pick up my test schedule.

The teacher there was relatively gentle when handing me the paper, even adding a specific remark: "Prepare well. Don't let those rumors outside affect you."

I took the schedule, my heart stirring slightly.

It seemed that not everyone within the school administration was willing to submit to the pressure from the Sterling family.

At least some teachers were willing to reserve opportunities for students with actual ability.

Leaving the office, I looked down at the schedule in my hand. It clearly stated the testing times, locations, and procedures.

Written exam, oral interview, comprehensive Q&A.

I would have to navigate every step on my own.

This feeling actually made me feel grounded.

But that sense of security didn't last long.

At noon, something happened in class.

Someone had stuffed a photo into my desk.

It wasn't a recent photo.

It was from my past life.

To be precise, it was a photo that looked enough like my past life to be utterly nauseating—

The girl in the photo was wearing a light-colored nightgown, huddled in the corner of a bed, her face pale and her eyes filled with terror. The camera angle was tricky; you could even see a man's wrist and an expensive watch at the edge of the bed, framed with just the right amount of ambiguity.

It wasn't me.

At least, not the me of this lifetime.

But that face clearly shared seventy or eighty percent of my features.

I stared at the photo, the blood in my body turning cold inch by inch, and my fingers began to tremble.

Images from my past life rushed back like a tide.

The room, the lens, the clothes I was forced to change into, the images captured on purpose.

When the whim struck him, Caspian would nonchalantly photograph me, saying I was "photogenic" when I cried and that he’d keep them to look at later.

I had always thought those things only existed in the past life.

But now, this photo—clearly fabricated and framed with intent—felt like a heavy blow, knocking me straight back into my most unbearable nightmare.

People nearby had already noticed.

Rustling whispers began to rise.

"What is this..."

"Does it look like her?"

"No way, playing that dirty?"

My ears were buzzing, and my mind went blank.

The next second, the photo was snatched away.

I looked up sharply and saw Lucas standing by my desk, his expression grim to the extreme.

Without a second look, he folded the photo, tore it in half, then tore it into even smaller pieces until it was completely unrecognizable.

The classroom became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Lucas raised his eyes and scanned the room, his voice as cold as ice.

"Who put this here?"

No one spoke.

"I'm asking again. Who put this here?"

A boy in the back row, intimidated by his gaze, waved his hands hurriedly: "Not me, I just walked in..."