If the school was a battlefield, then home was a stage.
At school, Jiang Yue could at least choose his weapons: sarcasm, silence, violence in the form of a smile. At home, the weapons were different. At home, the audience mattered.
Because at home there were parents.
Two parents who had just gotten married and were trying so hard to look like a successful new family that the effort showed in every small movement, every carefully timed smile, every "we're fine" that came out too bright.
Jiang Yue came back from school with his bag dragging against his hip and his patience hanging by a thread.
The moment he opened the door, he smelled food.
Not the lazy kind of food from before—instant noodles, quick stir-fry, whatever his mother could throw together after work.
This was real food. Soup. Meat. Something simmering, filling the apartment with a thick, domestic warmth that felt foreign now.
He stepped inside and saw the dining table set.
Not just set. Staged.
Bowls placed evenly. Chopsticks aligned. The kind of setup that said someone wanted tonight to be memorable.
Jiang Yue's stomach tightened with suspicion.
From the kitchen, his mother's voice called, "Yueyue? You're back!"
Jiang Yue made a noise that could be interpreted as a greeting or a warning and kicked his shoes off.
Wei Nianzhan was already home. Jiang Yue could tell because a pair of neat shoes were lined up by the door at a perfect angle. Of course they were.
He walked into the living room and found Wei at the table, laptop open, papers spread out. He looked up briefly when Jiang Yue entered, then looked back down.
Not ignoring. Not welcoming either.
Just… acknowledging.
Jiang Yue dropped his bag on the sofa like a body.
"Where's your dad," he asked, because he didn't want to ask whether this was some kind of family event.
Wei's voice was calm. "Coming soon."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "So it's a meeting."
Wei didn't respond.
That was his superpower. He could make silence feel like you were talking to yourself.
Jiang Yue leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the table.
Wei's laptop screen was filled with notes. Jiang Yue caught a glimpse of a timetable, color-coded.
Of course he had a timetable.
Jiang Yue's skin crawled.
His mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of soup. She looked tired, hair pinned up loosely, but her face was bright with effort.
"Wash your hands," she said immediately, like this was any other normal day.
Jiang Yue stared at her for a second, then went to wash his hands because arguing with her felt like stepping on a flower.
When he came back, she was placing dishes down, moving around the table like she was trying to arrange peace.
"Sit," she said, smiling too much. "We're eating together tonight."
Jiang Yue sat because he was trapped by love.
Wei closed his laptop and set it aside neatly. He didn't complain. He didn't hesitate. He just complied, which made Jiang Yue feel both irritated and strangely… exposed, like he was the only one who couldn't fake it.
The front door opened.
Wei Chengyu walked in, suit jacket still on, tie loosened slightly. He looked exhausted in the way busy men always looked—like they were proud of their exhaustion because it proved they mattered.
"Smells good," he said as he took off his shoes.
Jiang Yue's mother smiled at him immediately, warm. "Go wash your hands."
Wei Chengyu nodded and went to the bathroom.
Jiang Yue watched his mother's face when she looked at him. Soft. Hopeful. Almost relieved.
She wanted this so badly.
Jiang Yue felt his chest tighten.
This was the performance.
This was the part where they all sat at the table and acted like a family. Like the word family didn't feel like a new coat that didn't fit yet.
Wei Chengyu returned, sat down at the head of the table automatically. Jiang Yue's mother sat beside him. Wei sat to the right. Jiang Yue sat to the left.
Like a photo.
Like an arrangement.
Wei Chengyu cleared his throat. "Let's eat."
They started.
The soup was good. The dishes were good. Everything tasted like effort.
Jiang Yue ate quietly for the first few minutes, because his mother's eyes kept flicking toward him like she was checking whether he was behaving.
Wei ate neatly, chewing slowly, expression calm.
Wei Chengyu started talking about work. His mother responded politely, asking questions, laughing at the right moments.
It was domestic theater.
And Jiang Yue was the rebellious actor who didn't know his lines.
He tried anyway.
"So," Jiang Yue said suddenly, voice casual, "did you have a good day at work."
Wei Chengyu looked at him like he'd been surprised by a dog speaking.
Then he nodded. "Fine."
Jiang Yue smiled politely. "Good."
Silence.
His mother's eyes widened slightly, grateful. Like she wanted to clap.
Jiang Yue felt weirdly ashamed.
Wei Chengyu took a sip of soup, then said, "I spoke with Teacher Gao today."
The chopsticks in Jiang Yue's hand stopped.
His mother's expression tightened. "Why."
Wei Chengyu glanced at her. "She called. She said Jiang Yue has been… inconsistent."
Jiang Yue's jaw clenched.
Of course.
Of course she called.
Teacher Gao would rather die than let a student exist without being monitored.
Wei Chengyu continued, tone calm but firm. "She mentioned his ranking."
His mother looked at Jiang Yue quickly, worry flashing. "Yueyue…"
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. He shoved a bite of food into his mouth, chewing harder than necessary.
Wei Chengyu's gaze sharpened. "We're not blaming you," he said. "But you need to take this seriously. This is your final year."
Jiang Yue swallowed. "I am."
Wei Chengyu's eyebrow lifted. "Your rank suggests otherwise."
Jiang Yue's hand tightened around his chopsticks.
Across the table, Wei Nianzhan's gaze stayed on his bowl.
Not involved.
Not helping.
Just there.
Jiang Yue hated that.
Wei Chengyu said, "Nianzhan has always been disciplined. If you need help, you should learn from him. Study with him."
Jiang Yue's chest flared hot.
He looked at Wei. "Do you want to study with me?"
Wei's chopsticks paused slightly.
He looked up.
His gaze met Jiang Yue's for a moment, steady. Then he looked toward his father.
"I can," Wei said, voice calm.
Jiang Yue's mother exhaled, relieved, like a bridge had appeared in front of her.
Jiang Yue stared at Wei, stunned by the easy agreement.
He wanted Wei to refuse. He wanted Wei to say no, because then Jiang Yue could say, See, it's not me. It's not my fault.
Instead, Wei said yes.
Which meant the choice was now Jiang Yue's.
And Jiang Yue hated choices when the "right" one was obvious and humiliating.
He laughed lightly. "Great. So now I have a live-in tutor. What a dream."
His mother's smile faltered.
Wei Chengyu's expression cooled. "Jiang Yue."
Jiang Yue looked at him, smile still in place. "What. I'm grateful."
Wei Chengyu's voice sharpened. "Don't be disrespectful."
Jiang Yue's heart thudded. The old anger, familiar as a scar, rose up fast. He hated that tone. He hated that word. Disrespectful. Like he was a problem to be corrected.
His mother's hand moved toward his arm again, silent plea.
Jiang Yue looked at her face.
She was trying. She was trying so hard her eyes looked glassy.
And suddenly, Jiang Yue felt exhausted.
Not angry-exhausted.
Bone-exhausted.
He lowered his gaze and muttered, "Fine. I'll study."
The table went quiet.
His mother's shoulders loosened in relief.
Wei Chengyu nodded once, satisfied. "Good."
Wei Nianzhan didn't react.
Jiang Yue's jaw clenched again. Of course Wei didn't react. Wei didn't give praise. Wei didn't give softness. Wei just existed like a standard everyone else was measured against.
Dinner continued.
They talked about school schedules. About what time to leave in the morning. About grocery lists.
Normal things.
Jiang Yue nodded at the right moments, answered politely, even smiled when needed.
Parent performance.
His mother's face brightened slowly as the night continued, as if she believed the performance was becoming real.
After dinner, his mother stood up quickly. "I'll wash dishes," she said.
Wei Chengyu immediately said, "I'll help."
Jiang Yue blinked.
That was… not something he was used to seeing. His own father had never helped wash dishes. Not once. He'd acted like the kitchen was contaminated.
Wei Chengyu rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen beside Jiang Yue's mother.
Jiang Yue stared after them, feeling disoriented.
Wei Nianzhan stood up too, gathered the plates, and carried them to the kitchen without being asked.
Jiang Yue sat there alone for a second, watching them move like a family.
Like people who knew what to do.
It made him feel like an outsider in his own home.
He stood up abruptly and headed toward his room.
Behind him, Wei's voice came, quiet. "Study."
Jiang Yue stopped in the hallway and turned. "What."
Wei stood by the table, looking at him. "You agreed."
Jiang Yue laughed, bitter. "You're taking this seriously."
Wei's gaze held his. "Someone has to."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened. "Why. Because your dad told you to."
Wei didn't answer immediately.
Just a fraction too long.
Then he said, voice low, careful, "Because you don't get another chance."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
That sounded like concern.
It irritated him instantly.
"Don't," Jiang Yue snapped. "Don't pretend you care. You just want your family to look perfect."
Wei's gaze sharpened. "I don't care about looking perfect."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "You're literally perfection in human form."
Wei's jaw flexed slightly, and for a second his calm cracked. His voice slipped—just one line, too honest.
"You think this is perfect?"
The words hung in the hallway like smoke.
Jiang Yue froze.
Wei's expression tightened immediately, like he'd revealed something he hadn't meant to. He looked away first, breathing controlled.
Then he said, colder, "Go study. Or don't. It's your life."
He turned and walked toward the kitchen.
Jiang Yue stood there, pulse loud.
He felt something twist in his chest again, the same confusing tug he'd felt before when Wei almost slipped.
Not softness.
Not yet.
But something like… recognition.
Like Wei was also trapped in this performance.
Jiang Yue's fingers curled at his sides.
He wanted to chase Wei and force the crack open.
He also wanted to slam his door and pretend none of it mattered.
So he did what he always did.
He chose the third option: he went into his room, shut the door, and stared at his desk like it was an enemy.
Outside, the sound of dishes being washed drifted through the apartment. Water running. Low voices. Domestic peace being constructed in real time.
Jiang Yue sat down slowly.
He opened his textbook.
He stared at the words until they stopped blurring.
And in the quiet, he realized something dangerous:
Parent performance wasn't just for the adults.
It was for him too.
Because if he didn't play his part, he would become the villain in his mother's new story.
And he didn't know if he could handle being that, not when she'd looked at him tonight like she believed he could still be good.