Live Stream: Overly Pampered Education Creates Three Superstars in One Family

When Wang Zihao saw this photo, something inside him clenched painfully. It wasn't heartache, because heartache presupposes that the other person is weaker than you. His feelings for Lele weren't like that.

That's more like a sense of responsibility.

A sense of pride that others are waiting for me to save them.

He transferred 1,000 yuan almost without hesitation.

A little while later, Lele sent another photo. In the photo, she was standing in front of a full-length mirror, wearing a Lolita-style dress.

Her skirt was puffy, with layers of lace cascading from her waist to her knees, and a large bow tied at the neckline. She tilted her head, making a victory sign, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and she looked exquisitely beautiful in the soft lighting.

It's just that the face is blurred out...

[Isn't my new dress pretty? You're the first to see it!]

When Wang Zihao saw this sentence, his heartbeat noticeably quickened.

The first one to see it.

What does this mean?

It means that he is special to her.

He leaned against the headboard, his fingers flying across the screen, but his eyes were unusually bright.

[Lele, you look so beautiful in a dress.]

The other end sent a shy emoji.

Wang Zihao's finger paused on the screen for a moment, as if he was mustering some courage.

Then he typed a line, deleted it, typed another line, and finally sent it: "Lele, I miss you so much. I want to see you!"

After sending the message, he stared at the screen for a while. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The time at the top of the phone screen jumped several times, but there was still no reply.

He flipped his phone face down on the bed, turned over, and stared blankly at the beige wall opposite him.

He stared at it for a long time, then flipped the phone over and checked the network signal and message status. The messages showed as read, but there was no reply.

His fingers tapped lightly on the back of his phone case as several thoughts raced through his mind: Was something wrong with her? Was she looking at a dress? Was she talking to her family? Each explanation seemed more plausible than the last, but none of them truly put his mind at ease.

Just then, the landline phone by the bed rang.

Wang Zihao was startled, but quickly calmed down and picked up the microphone.

The receptionist's polite and professional voice came through the phone: "Hello Mr. Wang, your room rate yesterday was prepaid for the first night, and you need to pay for the second night today. Would you please come to the front desk to handle this if it's convenient?"

Wang Zihao paused for a moment while holding the microphone.

"Okay, I'll go down now."

He hung up the phone, turned on his phone, and glanced at the balance notification from the bank. From yesterday to today, the number on this card was decreasing rapidly at a speed he had never thought about before.

The ten thousand yuan he transferred to Lele last night was an amount he once thought he could completely control. But now, as he sat in his hotel room, watching the balance on his text message plummet from five figures to four, a long-forgotten sense of unease slowly crept up his spine.

He went downstairs to the front desk, gave the receptionist a slight twitch of his lips, and tried to make his tone sound nonchalant, like an adult who had stumbled a little in life but didn't seem to care.

"Um, could I put it on my tab? It's not that I don't want to pay, it's just that I'm a little short on cash right now. I'll pay you back in a couple of days, okay?"

The receptionist maintained a professional smile, but that smile showed no sign of wavering: "I'm sorry, sir, our hotel policy is that we do not allow charges to be carried on credit. We suggest you pay your room fee today."

Wang Zihao's smile froze for a moment. He stood there, his hand resting on the smooth marble countertop of the front desk, then he thought of a solution: "Here's what you do, can you make a phone call for me? Tell that person that the room fee can be deducted from their account."

He gave a phone number, speaking clearly.

The receptionist hesitated for a moment, but still dialed the number.

The phone rang twice and was answered.

The receptionist spoke into the microphone in a standard, professional tone, explaining the situation. After she finished, there was a moment of silence on the other end, then a middle-aged man's voice came through the microphone.

"He wants me to pay for the room? Where is he? Let him answer the phone."

The receptionist looked up at Wang Zihao and said, "This gentleman wants you to take this call."

Wang Zihao's pupils contracted slightly. He was being told to answer the phone. He stood still, able to picture Wang Wenwu's expression on the other end: a furrowed brow, a downturned mouth, an impatient, condescending look, as if dealing with a troublesome person.

Wang Zihao shook his head, his voice soft but firm: "I won't answer."

The receptionist relayed a message into the microphone.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

That silence is more unbearable than any roar. It may contain many things: disappointment, anger, mockery, or something even more terrifying: the expectation that this would happen.

Wang Wenwu's voice rang out again, his tone indifferent: "Let him pay for his own room. What does it have to do with me? Don't call again, or I'll block you."

The call ended. The busy tone echoed in the lobby.

The receptionist put the microphone back on the landline, looked up at Wang Zihao, and maintained her professional smile, but there was something else in her eyes.

Wang Zihao wasn't sure what it was; it could be sympathy, embarrassment, or impatience, but he preferred to believe it was a polite and unbiased professional demeanor.

He was very familiar with this kind of "belief" because he would use it as a shield whenever he had to face something he didn't want to face.

"Sir..." the receptionist's voice remained polite, but her politeness was a wall without a door. "Do you have any other payment methods?"

Wang Zihao stood there, silent. He suddenly felt that the magnificent hotel lobby had become somewhat dazzling; the light reflected from the huge crystal chandelier was too bright, making him feel uneasy. The marble floor, gleaming from the mop, reflected his tense face. He pulled his hands from the table, stuffed them into his coat pockets, and clenched his fists.

"Fine, I won't give it to you then." His voice was hoarse for a moment, then cleared up, sounding relaxed. "At worst, I'll just find somewhere else to stay."

He turned and walked towards the elevator, his steps quick, the soles of his shoes making a crisp sound on the marble floor. With each step, he told himself that he refused to believe he could starve to death outside without Wang Wenwu.

He stepped into the elevator, the doors slowly closing behind him. Mirrors surrounded him, forcing him to see himself from every angle; his eyelids were slightly red from a sleepless night. He looked down at his toes, his lips moved, and he muttered something to himself.

I will not grant your wishes!

I'm afraid you've been wishing for my death all along, wishing I would beg you for my life!