Heading out, going downstairs, and passing through the old alleyways, Zhao Cheng could see the sun, barely halfway over the horizon, through the gaps between the high-rises. Its golden-red light stretched the shadows of people and things long.
By now, Zhao Cheng had forgotten his earlier troubles. April weather was wonderfully pleasant as long as it did not rain. The cool, mild breeze carrying the scents of plants and earth washed over him, leaving him refreshed and clear-headed.
April in reality held no such abundance of lies, nor any sorrow.
Quite a few people were already waiting at the street-side bus stop. Mornings were always like this.
If there was anything Zhao Cheng felt fortunate about, it was probably that he only had to ride four stops.
Yet at the thought of waiting for the bus, Zhao Cheng went blank for a moment. For one instant just now, he had suddenly felt as though his home was right beside the school.
But how could that be possible? Anyone who knew anything knew about school-district housing.
It was not that he disliked being a rich second-generation heir. His dad simply had not worked hard enough.
"Neither poor nor rich" was the nicer way of putting it. In blunter terms, it translated to being a workhorse.
So although Zhao Cheng was still young, he had a fairly clear head. He had already decided that he would resolutely stay away from third generations and enjoy a happy life.
Three minutes later, Zhao Cheng squeezed onto the bus and, with quick hands and sharp eyes, snatched a seat. At this hour, most of the passengers wore numb expressions. Zhao Cheng was already among the more spirited ones.
Even so, as the bus rolled on, he gradually began to feel drowsy.
Back then, whenever he