In the last row of the senior year, the sunlight passed through the glass and fell on Xu Yang's notes, like a quiet golden thread. He never raised his head, never argued, he just wrote until his fingertips became cold. The system arrived silently, with the undercurrent of knowledge, skills, and emotions... He did not laugh or get angry, he just calculated the probabilities, and walked step by step through ridicule, hospital bed, betrayal, and endless light.
Some say he is a monster, others say he has light.
And he just looked at the night sky and whispered to himself:
"It turns out that the ending of everything has already been written in the data."
