Conspiracy: I'm directing my own life

My phone vibrated.

Chu Kong picked it up; it was a message from Ning Wantang:

Have you decided on your group yet? (^-^)

The emoticon formed by the symbol at the end of the sentence was so lively it was almost glaring.

Chu Kong stared at the screen, almost subconsciously starting to think about the other party's intentions.

"What groups?"

"Hey? Didn't you hear me? We're going to the botanical garden next week, you can form your own teams (^o^)"

Chu Kong seemed to have already envisioned what was about to happen: Ning Wantang would invite him to team up, then Li Ling would appear to cause trouble, leading to some conflicts and the resolution of the issues.

To complete a story where "the bonds between the boys deepen during their journey."

Perfect material for a reality TV show.

Chu Kong thought for a moment and replied, "I haven't decided whether to go or not yet. I haven't been feeling well lately, so I'll make a decision next week."

"Okay, but the registration deadline is in just a few days. Make sure you get some rest before then. I'm waiting for your good news (⁎˃ᆺ˂)"

"Um."

Goodnight, see you tomorrow! (^._.^)ﾉ

"Good night"

Conversation ends.

Chu Kong put down his phone, lay back down on the bed, and unconsciously stroked the screen with his fingers.

Ning Wantang was a deep participant; every word she uttered had a purpose.

So what was the purpose of that conversation just now?

Is this just a setup for the travel event?

Or is there a deeper meaning?

At this moment, Chu Kong realized that he had started analyzing again.

Analyze every detail, and try to guess every intention.

It's become instinctive, as natural as breathing.

It's like a morbid addiction.

And that's the problem.

When he treats the whole world as a performance, "analysis" becomes his only way of surviving.

But this very way of life is slowly consuming him.

He began to view everyone, including himself, through the lens of "roles".

He seemed to be examining not just specific "people," but "variables," "resources," and "threats."

Chu Kong opened his phone's photo album.

There were only a few photos inside, all uploaded from my aunt's phone.

He clicked on one of them.

At that time, my aunt's phone model was very old, so the pictures she took were very blurry.

The image shows a small cake.

That was a small cake my aunt bought for my birthday last year. When I brought it home on my electric scooter, the cream was all over the place from the bumpy ride. There was a candle with the number "16" on it, but it still looked so warm and cozy.

Chu Kong is smiling in the photo, a genuine, unguarded smile.

He looked at the photos, trying to recall how he felt at the time.

The sweetness of the cake, the flickering candlelight, and Auntie humming a birthday song off-key.

But memories are like looking through frosted glass, blurry and distant.

It's even blurrier than the image in the photo.

It's only been a year, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

Chu Kong turned off his phone and buried his face in his hands.

He didn't know what to do.

The night is already deep.

Outside the window, cars occasionally drive by, and in the distance, the faint sound of music from some unknown shop can be heard.

These sounds form the background music of the night, both real and illusory.

Suddenly, he remembered Shu Wenxue and that question.

What is freedom?

At that time, he gave the most brilliant sophistry.

But sophistry is still sophistry. Even if it can be refuted by everyone, it can never convince one's own conscience.

This time, he asked himself the question: "What is freedom?"

Now, with just one phone call, he can have the script arrange for him to win the lottery and go anywhere in the world he wants.

Is this considered freedom?

But wherever he goes, the camera and the script will always be with him.

Does freedom mean getting rid of this show?

That doesn't seem right either, because the script never interfered with his free will from beginning to end.

"Pressure" was the imaginary enemy he created. The one and only "unwarranted disaster" was traceable. Even Professor Freud, whom he knew as the "mastermind," did not do anything out of the ordinary.

Therefore, perhaps leaving the show is not the only solution to gaining freedom.

Perhaps freedom means not having to analyze things all the time.

Freedom is seeing someone's smile without having to wonder if it's real or an act.

Freedom is receiving a word of concern without having to guess its purpose.

Freedom is walking in the sunlight without feeling like countless eyes are glued to your back.

But can such freedom truly be obtained in this world?

Chu Kong turned over and stared at the ceiling.

He glanced at the time; it was 1:30 a.m.

Time to sleep.

There's another full day of "performance" to go on tomorrow.

Before turning off the lights, Chu Kong glanced out the window one last time.

The city was still brightly lit, but the silence of the night began to settle.

In the distance, the silhouette of Yulan Middle School's teaching building is hidden in the night, like a sleeping giant.

Tomorrow, Chu Kong will return there to continue performing in this play that has no end in sight.

But perhaps, just perhaps, he could try to act in a slightly different way.

With this vague thought in mind, Chu Kong closed his eyes.

-----------------

The next morning.

Chu Kong woke up earlier than the alarm clock.

He washed up, got dressed, and packed his schoolbag; every action was so ordinary it couldn't be more so.

But just as he was about to step out the door, he turned around and went to the window, looking out.

The morning sunlight bathed the streets in golden light.

Several elderly people strolled leisurely; passersby walked briskly and were full of energy; the breakfast stall owner on the street corner skillfully used long chopsticks to stir the fried dough sticks in the pot.

A vibrant and energetic atmosphere.

This world is so beautiful, so real.

Today, Chu Kong did not analyze how many actors were in these scenes, nor did he speculate on how much of these morning scenes were carefully arranged.

He just looked, simply looked.

I watched for about a minute.

Then he turned around, picked up his schoolbag, and walked out of the house.

The sound of the door locking echoed in the empty corridor.

Chu Kong walked down the stairs and pushed open the door of the apartment building.

A morning breeze wafts in, carrying the fresh scent of early morning.

Chu Kong took a deep breath and embarked on the road to school.

He had no idea what would happen today.

I don't know what Freud will arrange, I don't know if Shu Wenxue will suddenly appear, and I don't know how Ning Wantang will advance the "travel" plot.

But at this moment, in the morning sunlight, he decided to do one thing first: walk carefully and breathe carefully.

First, exist freely in this moment.

As for analysis, speculation, and response—we'll deal with that after things happen.

This might be a tiny change, so tiny that it has almost no real significance.

On the way, he ran into two classmates again.

They saw him and greeted him with smiles.

Chu Kong responded with a smile.

Last time, he pretended not to notice their smiles.

When he got home that day, the first thing he did was ask Zhou Huaijin about their identities. Unsurprisingly, they turned out to be minor participants as well.

But this time, his smile wasn't so stiff.

It wasn't because he believed their smiles were genuine, but because he decided, at this moment, not to think about it.

It's hard.

The urge to analyze is like muscle memory, always ready to be activated.

But he tried his best to restrain himself.

When Chu Kong arrived at school, he felt a strange fatigue, but at the same time, he also felt a sense of lightness.

There are already quite a few students in the teaching building.

Chu Kong walked up the stairs toward Class 19.

He nearly bumped into someone at the corner of the corridor.

This is a book by Wen Xue.

She was carrying a stack of books, as if she had just returned from the library.

Upon seeing Chu Kong, she nodded slightly.

"Good morning," Chu Kong said.

"Good morning." Shu Wenxue glanced at him. "You look better than you did a few days ago."

"You slept well." Chu Kong glanced at the stack of books she was carrying, mostly about philosophy. "Are you still struggling with that question?"

Shu Wenxue thought for a moment and said, "Actually, I'm not worried about it anymore. Maybe you're right, freedom is a false proposition, but that's not important."

"Why isn't it important?"

"Human freedom is the freedom of the soul, the freedom of the soul is the freedom of thought, and the freedom of thought is the proof of my existence." Only when Shu Wenxue spoke these words did her voice become less cold.

"Therefore, I think, therefore I am," Chu Kong replied.

Shu Wenxue nodded: "I'm glad to see you're awake." After she finished speaking, she left with the book, leaving only a faint fragrance behind.

Watching people come and go, seeing everything so new.

Finally, Chu Kong made a decision.

He no longer needs to be flawless, he no longer needs to fear failure, he no longer needs to be anyone.

He was finally ready to play his true self.