"The teachers are good," she said first, her voice steady. "They already gave us reading lists."
Shuyin looked at her daughter—really looked—and felt something warm bloom behind her ribs. Not pride, exactly. Recognition.
"And you like it?"
"Yes."
A pause. Then Yuyan added, quieter, as though the admission cost her something, "I like it here."
That was enough.
They got into the car. The door closed with a solid thunk, sealing them inside the soft leather warmth. The world outside became distant again—the other parents, the other children, the ordinary afternoon fading behind tinted glass.
Yuyan began talking almost immediately, the floodgates opening now that they were alone.
"The mathematics teacher is strict but fair. He said if we finish early, we can read. The languages instructor showed us calligraphy—real brushwork, not just printing. And the library…" She paused, searching for words. "It has three floors."
