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

Wang Zihao stood in front of the pool, his fingers still covered in suds of foam.

Chen Chu's words were like a pebble thrown into a lake in his heart, ripples spreading outwards, but he couldn't believe it was true.

He stood with his head down for a long time, the redness on his face spreading to his ears, and even a faint blush spreading across his neck.

No one had ever told him with such certainty that he had done a great job.

He couldn't help but look up at Chen Chu. Chen Chu was holding a freshly rinsed plate up to the light, squinting as he examined its surface with an earnest expression, as if he were appraising a treasure. There was no trace of sarcasm, mischief, or condescending tolerance in his demeanor. He was genuinely and carefully examining the plate, as if confirming the completion of a work of art.

"...Are you telling the truth?"

Wang Zihao couldn't help but say.

Chen Chu put down the plate, turned to look at him calmly, and asked, "Do you think I'm joking?"

Wang Zihao did not answer. But he also did not look away.

Chen Chu reached out and picked up a washed and drained plate from the dish rack. He pinched the edge of the plate with his thumb and forefinger and gently rubbed it. His fingertips rubbed against the porcelain surface, producing a crisp squeaking sound.

He handed the plate to Wang Zihao so that he could hear the sound: "Listen, this sound."

Chen Chu looked satisfied. "The cleanliness of this bowl would put most nannies to shame. They'd be too embarrassed to accept money if they saw it."

Wang Zihao looked at the plate that gleamed cleanly under the light, and heard the dry, clear scraping sound. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

But a change was quietly taking place; the blush on his face was slowly fading, not because his embarrassment had subsided, but because it was being replaced by something gentler.

He lowered his head and said nothing more. He simply picked up the last bowl covered in foam from the sink, turned on the tap, rinsed it carefully, and then put it in the dish rack.

Chen Xiayu stood on a low stool next to her, holding a rag, and was responsible for wiping the rinsed bowls dry.

The two were in the kitchen, neither of them speaking, only the sound of running water and the crisp clinking of porcelain.

But this silence is not awkward; it's like a stream that has just joined a river, still searching for its own speed and direction, but it is already flowing.

After the last bowl was placed in the dish rack, Chen Xiayu jumped off the low stool, draped the rag next to the faucet, turned around, and looked up at Wang Zihao.

Her eyes were large, with clear black and white, like two black grapes just pulled from the water, wet and shiny, reflecting two small spots of light under the kitchen light.

She just looked at him quietly without saying a word, but her gaze held a childlike, undisguised intensity.

Wang Zihao felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze and wanted to turn around and leave the kitchen, but then felt that walking away directly would be impolite.

He stood there, hesitated for a moment, frowned, and asked in a muffled voice, "...What's wrong?"

Chen Xiaoyu continued looking at him, then stretched out a small hand and gave him a not-so-perfect thumbs-up: "You're... awesome!"

Her language system was still developing complex sentence structures, but these three words together were clear enough to convey her meaning: she thought he washed the dishes very well, so she wanted to praise him.

Wang Zihao froze on the spot. He looked at the little girl in front of him, who was not even as tall as his chest. Her thumb was sticking out crookedly, and there was a small piece of rice stuck to her fingernail.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his ears turning red again. But this time, the redness wasn't from embarrassment and awkwardness, but from uncertainty about how to deal with this sudden kindness.

He felt as if his brain had suddenly crashed, all the processing programs were stuck somewhere, the fan was whirring but just couldn't keep the system running.

In the end, he just kept his head down and quickly walked out of the kitchen.

Chen Xiayu stood at the kitchen door, watching his retreating figure as if he were fleeing, then looked down at her own still-pointing thumb, put it down, walked into the living room, climbed onto the sofa and sat down.

Her thinking was simple: her father praised Wang Zihao, so she should praise him too.

Throughout her life, Nannan has never been inferior to anyone!

Chen Chu led Wang Zihao on a tour of the house, briefly introducing the location of each room, where the bathroom was, how to turn the water heater to the left for hot water, that there were new towels in the cabinet, that the TV remote control for the living room was in the coffee table drawer, and that the drinks in the refrigerator were free to drink without hesitation.

His introduction was concise and clear, without excessive enthusiasm or deliberate aloofness. At each room, he would stand at the door, say a few words, and then leave. Leading Wang Zihao to the room door, Chen Chu pushed it open and reached out to touch the light switch on the wall.

The moment the lights came on, you could see that the room had been cleaned, the sheets were freshly changed and laid out neatly, with a faint smell of laundry detergent left after drying.

There were new tissues on the bedside table.

After all, he can be considered a young person...

The window was ajar, and the evening breeze blew in through the crack, causing the curtains to sway gently, making the room feel less cramped and unfamiliar.

"This is your room. The bedding is all new, so feel free to sleep."

Chen Chu stood at the door, not going in, but simply opening it to a point where he could see the entire room. He then turned to him and said casually, as if he were instructing him on something very ordinary, "Get some rest. Just call me if you need anything. I live in the cubicle in the living room." After saying that, he left.

Wang Zihao stood motionless in the center of the room for a moment. The room wasn't large, but it was simply and cleanly furnished. A desk stood in the corner, its surface empty. The streetlight outside cast a thin, pale yellow shadow on the ceiling through the gap in the curtains.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at his fingers. The tips were wrinkled from being soaked in water, and a faint smell of dish soap lingered on his fingertips. He had never paid attention to this smell before, but now, sitting in this quiet room, the lemon scent became the focus of his attention.

Wang Zihao sat on the bed, his gaze fixed on the shadows cast by the streetlights outside the window. His mind was a jumbled mess, as if multiple channels were simultaneously broadcasting different programs: seeing Chen Chu, washing dishes, foam, the plates being scrubbed, Chen Xiayu's crooked thumb. These images replayed frame by frame in his mind, relentlessly.

He took out his phone and opened the browser.

He didn't know why he wanted to search for this, but he typed it out word by word anyway.

How do you know if you've washed the dishes properly?

Click to search!

Doubao's answer popped up.

To wash dishes thoroughly: 1. First, scrape off any leftover food residue and rinse with hot water to remove any surface oil; 2. Apply a small amount of dish soap to a sponge and wipe only the oily areas, avoiding covering the entire bowl with foam; 3. Rinse thoroughly under running water, paying particular attention to the rim and the outer edge of the bottom; 4. Invert the bowl to drain, do not wipe it dry with a cloth.

Wang Zihao frowned as he read the answer. This was not the answer he wanted.

He wanted to ask "what counts as" clean, not "how to wash".

He typed another line.

"I asked what constitutes a clean dish, not how to wash it."

Doubao was silent for a moment, and the loading time was slightly longer than usual. Then Doubao's reply popped up: "Next, I'll tell you in the most straightforward and direct way how to wash dishes properly. The standard is just three words: 'Rough to the touch.' After rinsing the dishes, gently run your finger around the inside of the bowl. If it feels rough, it means the oil and dish soap have been rinsed off. If it feels slippery, it means there's still residue, whether it's oil or dish soap, and you need to rinse it again."

Wang Zihao stared at those three words for a long time, feeling a rough texture on his fingers. He couldn't help but rub his fingertips together, then put down his phone, turned over, lay on his side on the bed, and stared at the white wall opposite him. The faint scent of laundry detergent from the sheets wafted into his nose.

He remembered the bowls he had just washed; he hadn't even checked if there were any residues left on the bowls before putting them directly into the dish rack.

According to Doubao's standards, those bowls were probably just rinsed with water to remove the surface foam, but there was still an invisible layer of dish soap residue on the bowl walls.

Furthermore, online comments suggest that if dish soap is not rinsed thoroughly, long-term use may have adverse effects on the human body, with some even claiming it may pose a cancer risk.

Wang Zihao felt increasingly uneasy as he thought about it. He turned over, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep.

Can't sleep.

Three hours later.

He turned over again, picked up his phone and glanced at the time: 1:15 a.m.

He put his phone back on the bedside table, closed his eyes, and his mind was filled with those bowls—the rims of the bowls, the outer rings of the bottoms.

Those places he hadn't properly rinsed.

He tossed and turned in bed for about ten minutes before finally sitting up resignedly.

The living room was quiet, with only the soft, dim light from the wall lamp.

The living room was empty, and the bedroom door was closed.

Wearing slippers, Wang Zihao walked step by step towards the kitchen on the cool floor.

He turned on the kitchen light, walked to the dish rack, picked up a bowl he had washed earlier, and gently ran his thumb along the inside of the bowl. Most of them were fine, but some had a barely perceptible slippery feel, as if a very thin film was attached to them.

His fingers froze.

It wasn't clean as expected.

He put the bowl in the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed all the bowls and plates in the dish rack again. After rinsing each one, he ran his fingertip along the inside of the bowl to make sure the astringent feeling was there before putting it back in the dish rack.

He did all this quietly, without making a sound, except for the sound of flowing water, which was particularly clear in the kitchen late at night, like a thin stream flowing between the stones.

After rinsing the last plate clean and putting it back on the dish rack, he turned off the tap, stood in front of the sink, and looked down at his hands, which were white and wrinkled from being soaked in water.

He didn't leave immediately, but stood there quietly for a while.

Then he turned off the kitchen light, went back to his room, and lay down.

She fell asleep shortly afterward.

……

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city.

Chen Ziran sat in the passenger seat of Wang Wenwu's house. The car drove down a quiet street and then slowly stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. The gate automatically slid open to both sides after sensing the license plate, and the car drove into the short private driveway. The outline of a detached villa gradually became clear in the night.

Warm yellow light shone through the first-floor windows, spreading a soft halo over the lawn in front of the door.

As the car came to a stop in front of the porch, Chen Ziran, sitting in the passenger seat, briefly lost control of his expression. He silently gasped. He had assumed the Wang family was quite wealthy; from the snippets he'd overheard in his conversation with Chen Chu and the price of the car Wang Wenwu drove, he already had a rough estimate in his mind.

But what he didn't expect was that this level of "wealth" amounted to owning a detached villa.

A detached house. With an iron gate. The kind with a porch light.

Chen Ziran took a deep breath, quickly adjusted his facial expression back to normal, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.

A night breeze swept over me.

He stood in front of the porch, looked up at the outline of the house, red brick walls, white window frames, and a light shining in a second-floor window.

He silently estimated the value of the house in his mind, then decided not to think about the number anymore, because thinking too much about it could easily lead to an unbalanced mindset.

Wang Wenwu walked around from the driver's side, car keys in hand, and pushed open the door: "Come in."

Chen Ziran followed him across the threshold.

There were two people standing at the door.

A woman and a boy. The woman looked to be about thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old. She was wearing a plain-colored long dress with a light gray cardigan over it. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she exuded a gentle and clean aura.

Her gaze lingered on Chen Ziran for a moment, then she slightly curved the corners of her mouth into a smile that didn't seem aggressive.

The boy stood next to her, about seven or eight years old, wearing a clean white T-shirt and dark shorts, standing upright, and glanced at Chen Ziran.

Zhou Lin took half a step forward, her voice gentle and natural, as if she had prepared for a long time but without sounding deliberate: "Hello, you must be Ziran? I'm Zhou Lin, you can just call me Aunt Zhou."

After she finished speaking, she slightly turned her body to make way for the boy next to her.

Wang Minghui took a small step forward and said in a low voice, "Hello, my name is Wang Minghui."

After he finished speaking, he even extended a hand.

Chen Ziran shook his hand, then let go, and smiled at Zhou Lin: "Hello Aunt Zhou, I'm sorry to have troubled you..."