Seeing how well-behaved and cute she was, the neighbors liked her even more, "It's always the girls who are the good ones, soft and sweet, and so sensible. Not like my rascal of a son—always out and about, never seen at home and never passing his tests."
"Yes, if my child could have half of Mianmian's smarts, I'd be content."
"My kid's the same, acting like doing homework is a death sentence."
Jiang Mianmian listened to these familiar words and suddenly felt a subtle sense of triumph, as if a serf had turned over to sing a song.
There was a time when she was the subject of such talk, but now she had transformed into "the child from another family."
How unpredictable the world was.
The other children, hearing their mothers praising Jiang Mianmian and belittling them, all secretly glared at her with envy.
The two boys who had always isolated her, calling her a country bumpkin and pulling on her braids, looked like they wanted to give her a beating.
