They were all orphans who had grown up together, sleeping on the same hard wooden beds, eating the same simple meals, and wearing the same worn-out clothes.
Xiao Ya had even arrived at the orphanage a year later than she had.
But why could Xiao Ya smile so brightly and naturally?
Why did Xiao Ya always seem to easily earn a rare moment of gentleness from the director, or secure an unspoken "center" status among the other children?
Why did that respectable-looking couple smile with such approval at Xiao Ya’s words, while their conversation with her fell instantly flat?
She began to observe more closely—not the children who bullied her, but those who "fared well," especially the one or two who, like Xiao Ya, were relatively "popular."
She noticed those children rarely spent time alone. They were always huddled together in small groups, sharing insignificant trifles—a glass marble, a candy wrapper, or whispering secrets that would end in stifled laughter.
When they spoke to the director, their voices were a bit "sweeter" than usual. Even if they were just asking "What's for dinner?" they would add a slight, playful lilt to their words.
When assigned heavier chores, they would help each other out, or use tactics like "Let's race to see who finishes first" to make the dull tasks a bit more interesting.
And Xiao Ya... Xiao Ya seemed to do even better than them.
Xiao Ya’s smiles weren’t just for adults or those she considered "friends." Even when facing the awkward, non-conformist children, Xiao Ya would proactively greet them or share a little of something she had saved for herself.
Xiao Ya seemed to have a gift for easily sensing others' emotions, then using a few seemingly casual words or a small gesture to brighten their mood.
The director liked Xiao Ya not just because she was sweet-talked, but also because Xiao Ya was "observant." She would proactively help with small tasks within her capability, doing them quickly and well without ever complaining.
What about herself?
Li Nanzhu widened her eyes in the darkness, scrutinizing herself.
She seemed... always used to being alone.
Previously, only when Xiao Ya dragged her along would she participate in group activities.
With Xiao Ya gone, she was more inclined to find a corner to daze in or do things that didn't require interacting with others, like tidying her bed or staring at the bare old tree outside the window.
When she spoke to the director, she would only answer in a matter-of-fact way or state her most basic needs. She never "acted spoiled," nor did she ever initiate a conversation.
When assigned a task, she would bury her head and do it, leaving as soon as it was finished. She wouldn't think about "racing" with others, nor would she proactively help anyone else.
Her awareness of other children's emotions... seemed very dull.
Sometimes she couldn't tell if someone was joking or truly upset, so she simply didn't participate or respond.
So, was it because she was "unfriendly"? Because she "didn't know how to act"? Because she wasn't "clever" enough?
But... a faint, unmerited sense of grievance welled up in her heart.
She just... didn't know how to do it.
Xiao Ya seemed born with these skills.
But she seemed born... clumsy.
Furthermore, she always felt as though there was a barrier between people.
She didn't dare fully trust those smiles, nor did she dare easily offer so-called "friendship." She was afraid of being left behind again, just like how Xiao Ya had been adopted, leaving her alone to face everything. She wrapped her heart tightly, thinking she wouldn't get hurt that way.
But now, it seemed she had wrapped it so tightly that she had lost even the basic ability to "survive" in this environment.
If... if she just became like Xiao Ya, would things get better?
If she tried hard to imitate, tried hard to smile, tried hard to talk, tried hard to "fit in," would everyone accept her again?
Would the director stop looking at her with such coldness?
This thought, like vines growing in the dark, entangled her heart.
Even though it felt awkward and... somewhat "fake," perhaps it was the only way?
She decided to start with the simplest form of imitation.
First, the smile.
She stood before the blurred, cracked mirror in the dormitory, trying hard to curl the corners of her mouth, attempting to produce a cloudless smile like Xiao Ya’s, where the eyes would curve into crescents.
The girl in the mirror had the corners of her mouth pulled up stiffly, but her eyes were empty and dazed, even carrying a hint of unconscious scrutiny and wariness. She looked strange and forced.
She frowned, relaxed, and tried again. Once, twice... until the muscles in her cheeks began to ache. The smile in the mirror still carried an unshakable sense of distance and deliberateness.
She felt a bit discouraged but told herself it was fine; she just needed more practice.
The next day, she gathered her courage. On the way to the canteen, she encountered a girl named Xiao Ling, who was usually polite to her. She took a deep breath, squeezed out the smile she had practiced for so long—the one she thought looked most natural—and proactively greeted her: "Xiao Ling, g-good morning."
Xiao Ling was laughing and chatting with another girl. Hearing her, she turned around. Seeing the obviously unnatural, even stiff "smile" on Li Nanzhu's face, she froze. A flicker of inexplicable strangeness passed through her eyes. She twitched the corner of her mouth, gave a vague "Mhm," and pulled her companion along to walk faster, leaving Li Nanzhu standing alone. The smile on her face slowly collapsed, leaving only a deeper sense of bewilderment and embarrassment.
She tried to imitate the way the "popular" children spoke. Hearing them discuss a certain cartoon, she leaned in and whispered, "I-I also think the protagonist is very cool..."
The children paused their discussion and looked at her. Their gazes were subtle. One of them shrugged. "Oh." Then the topic shifted, and no one responded to her.
When the director ordered a cleaning session, she tried to proactively say, "Director, I-I can wipe the glass over there."
She wanted to show that she was being "proactive."
The director glanced at her, her eyes still lacking any warmth. She simply nodded. "Mhm, go ahead then. Be thorough."
She wiped the glass with all her might, her fingers turning red from the cold, but a small flicker of expectation remained in her heart. She hoped the director would say, "You cleaned it quite well," just like how she occasionally praised Xiao Ya.
But nothing happened. When the director came to inspect, she only gave it a cursory glance, said nothing, and turned away to attend to other matters.
Each imitation and attempt was like punching cotton—getting none of the "positive feedback" she expected.
Instead, because of her deliberate and unnatural actions, the other children looked at her with even more suspicion, and the private gossip seemed to increase.
"What's wrong with her lately? It's kind of creepy."
"She's trying to copy Xiao Ya but she's terrible at it. It's just a clumsy imitation."
"Maybe she's gone crazy?"
Li Nanzhu heard them, and her heart sank bit by bit.
Imitation... didn't seem to work.
She couldn't learn Xiao Ya's heartfelt warmth and enthusiasm that seemed to infect everything around her.
She couldn't learn that seemingly innocent yet perfectly timed way of handling people.
She couldn't even learn how to naturally join a conversation, how to express concern at the right moment, or how to make herself look "cute" instead of "weird."
She felt trapped in a transparent shell. She could see how the outside world operated, and how others lived "correctly," but no matter how she reached out, she couldn't touch it, couldn't blend in.
That feeling of being out of place didn't decrease because of her "efforts"; instead, because of this deliberate, failed imitation, it became even more sharp and painful.
It seemed... something was truly "wrong" with her.
This realization brought a bone-deep coldness and despair that were far worse than merely being excluded or ignored.
The days flowed slowly in grayness and continuous frustration.
Li Nanzhu was like a clumsy actor on a stage with no applause and only scrutiny, rehearsing those forced smiles and awkward words over and over again.
Just as she was almost crushed by this futile effort and self-doubt, another turning point arrived.
Rate on N.U.
