Socially Mortifying Moment

The playground was stiflingly hot, though a lone cloud in the sky shielded the sun—yet it did little to dispel the restless heat radiating from the crowd of over a thousand people.

On stage, Principal Shen Zhongping was in full swing, his speech animated and his spit flying, utterly oblivious to his own enthusiasm. To Lin Mo, the principal seemed far more interesting than the usual script-reading administrators—he delivered his speech like a stand-up comedian, even dropping punchlines now and then. Parents and students alike were thoroughly entertained, with no trace of dissatisfaction.

"...So, education is like cooking. It’s not just about good ingredients making a good dish—a skilled chef can turn even ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary."

Shen Zhongping reached for his teacup, only to find it empty. His gaze swept across the crowd before landing on Lin Mo, his smile widening. "Ah, my tea’s run dry. Since I need to refill it, why not invite a student up here to say a few words in my place?"

The audience immediately buzzed with excitement. Parents craned their necks, curiosity fully piqued.

"He’s resilient, intelligent—a young man I deeply admire," Shen Zhongping continued, his eyes scanning the crowd before locking onto someone in the front row.

Lin Mo felt a sinking dread as the principal’s gaze settled on him.

A second later, Shen Zhongping’s booming voice echoed across the field.

"Come on up, my star pupil—Lin Mo!"

Lin Mo’s mind went blank.

For a moment, he wondered if he was hallucinating.

Lin Mo: ...Me?

Whispers erupted around him, followed by countless stares—some amused, others outright gleeful—all drilling into him.

His self-proclaimed "arch-nemesis," Fang Jun, was the first to start chanting:

"Lin Mo! Lin Mo! Lin Mo!"

Soon, the entire Class 8 joined in, their cheers so enthusiastic it felt like they were pushing him onto a pub stage for an impromptu speech.

Under the collective gaze of the entire school—students, teachers, and parents—Lin Mo sighed and made his way to the stage.

Why am I here?

Why did no one warn me about this?

He even began mentally reviewing his recent actions, wondering if he’d somehow offended the principal and was now being publicly punished.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

By the time he reached the steps, Lin Mo had steadied himself. He adjusted his slightly crumpled collar and faced Shen Zhongping’s beaming smile, resisting the urge to punch it off his face.

Shen Zhongping patted his shoulder approvingly and handed him the microphone with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times.

"I have high hopes for you."

Yeah, high hopes my ass.

But Lin Mo wasn’t the timid kid he used to be. He wasn’t about to freeze up now.

He took the microphone, his fingers brushing against its cool metal surface, producing a faint static hum.

He didn’t speak immediately. The murmurs in the crowd gradually died down, every pair of eyes fixed on him.

Clearing his throat, his voice rang out clear and calm across the field.

"Hello, everyone. I’m Lin Mo, currently ranked first in Grade G1 of Guangba."

The school officials behind him nodded in approval—a standard, polished opening.

"But what I want to talk about today has nothing to do with grades. Not even academics."

The smiles on the officials’ faces stiffened. Only Shen Zhongping looked unsurprised.

The students, previously drowsy, now perked up with curiosity.

Lin Mo paused, then took a deliberate step forward.

"My parents passed away when I was in middle school."

The entire auditorium seemed to freeze.

It wasn’t a question, nor an exclamation—just a simple statement. Yet it landed like a boulder crashing into still water, sending silent shockwaves through the crowd.

"Since then, I’ve lived alone in Goat City. It hasn’t been easy, but it hasn’t been unbearable either."

He spoke slowly, enunciating every word.

"Loneliness is a constant. Every day, I come home, turn on the lights, and face four empty walls."

"Longing is routine—especially during holidays, or when I achieve something small and have no one to share it with."

He didn’t describe heart-wrenching pain. Instead, he spoke of mundane details, trivial moments.

Yet those details pricked like countless needles, piercing every listener’s heart. Several girls in the front row had begun to tremble.

"I’ve thought about letting myself rot—wasting my days, since no one was left to care. I’ve even thought that if it ever became too much, I’d just... leave this world to find my parents."

The audience fell utterly silent, breaths held.

Even the students who’d been fidgeting earlier now stared, transfixed, at the lanky figure on stage.

"But there are still people in this world who love me. I have friends. I have... things I want to protect."

Lin Mo paused, scanning the crowd.

Not many. Just a handful.

"So I chose to stay. To live well. To see more of this world."

"After all, life’s just thirty thousand days. I want to experience as much of it as I can."

(Though, strictly speaking, I’ve got more than thirty thousand.

So what? What’s anyone gonna do about it?)

Lin Mo nearly broke into song right then.

Among the parents, a middle-aged man in a suit removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as he muttered under his breath. Another parent patted his back, though her own eyes were reddening.

They weren’t just pitying him anymore. They were marveling at a kind of resilience and strength they’d never imagined in someone so young.

Lin Mo’s mini-speech ended.

He didn’t say "thank you." Just gave a slight bow, returned the microphone, and walked offstage.

For a heartbeat, there was dead silence.

Then, someone started clapping.

The applause spread like wildfire, erupting into a thunderous roar—no longer polite or perfunctory, but genuine, awed.

And of course, someone recorded it.

Years later, Lin Mo would cringe rewatching it.

Future class reunions were bound to turn into public humiliation sessions.

As Lin Mo stepped down, Zheng Yuan hurried over, lightly touching his shoulder.

"Xiao Mo, why did you bring that up? Aren’t you afraid of—?"

She didn’t finish, but the concern was clear.

"Aunt Zheng, don’t worry. Now that everyone knows, they’ll pity me a little. Maybe cut me some slack—just like how you rented me that apartment so cheaply, right?"

Zheng Yuan knew it would earn him sympathy, but she couldn’t help remembering what had happened to Xie Yuling back in school.

Lin Mo knew too.

But if anyone dared use his past against him, he’d make sure they learned exactly why flowers bloom so red.