"Because you might still need the desk upstairs," Amanda replied in a flat tone, her face expressionless. "I shouldn't affect you because of myself, so I should come down to the dining table to study."
Not affecting others because of one's own reasons, yielding good things to others, and leaving the less-than-ideal for oneself—this was an etiquette etched into her bones and blood, a constraint written into her soul.
Hermione frowned and gathered the things Amanda used for writing her essay into her arms. "Don't always think about others; think more about yourself. You're the one who should be put first, aren't you?"
If you don't even consider yourself, why would others give you priority? Wouldn't that just leave you getting the short end of the stick?
Hermione expressed her confusion at Amanda's mindset. She couldn't understand why Amanda subconsciously put others before herself.
However, if Hermione were to voice all her thoughts, Amanda might have replied that suffering a loss is a blessing, and not being too calculative is a basic rule of etiquette.
Mrs. Granger walked over and gently stroked Hermione's head. At her current age, she had already seen many Easterners like Amanda.
Most of them were like Amanda, not competing or grabbing. Sometimes, they would even yield opportunities and praise that belonged to them to others.
In response, Mrs. Granger could only say she respected their ways, but understanding them was too difficult; cultural differences made it hard to do so.
Now that she had met Amanda, Mrs. Granger barely understood why they could do it. They did it as children and were taught that way, so they naturally continued as adults. After all, it had become a "habit."
As for Amanda herself, Mrs. Granger felt she seemed to go a step further than other Easterners in this regard. Even in a small matter like where to do homework, she thought of leaving the desk for Hermione.
And Hermione wasn't even planning to use the desk at that moment. Mrs. Granger could respect the personal choices and practices of adults.
But for Amanda, she couldn't help but want to say a few words. Otherwise, she didn't know how many opportunities and treatments that originally belonged to her would be lost in the future because of this habit.
"Amanda, what belongs to you, or what you can strive for, you must work hard to get. And you should strive for the best. Don't yield when you shouldn't. Do you understand?"
Mrs. Granger looked at Amanda earnestly. This child was just too sensible. A child who is too sensible... will be bullied by others.
Amanda's expression was blank. Mrs. Granger's words created a severe conflict with the cognition in her brain.
Not competing, yielding, and being humble—wasn't that what was in the books?
With two ideologies clashing in her mind, Amanda couldn't forcefully distinguish who was right or wrong. She could only nod at Mrs. Granger with an unchanging face.
"Okay, thank you, Auntie. I will try my best to do that."
Listening to Amanda's voice devoid of any ups and downs, and looking at her expressionless face, Mrs. Granger suddenly felt a sense of incongruity in her heart.
Could simple parental suppression and immersion in study really turn a person into this?
It was normal for someone to become quiet and less responsive to the outside world, but not to the point of being this rigid and indifferent to external stimuli.
Looking at Amanda like this, she couldn't help but think of a certain infamous treatment in history, and she felt a chill run down her spine.
Forcing herself to calm down, Mrs. Granger smiled at Hermione. "Hermione, take Amanda upstairs to rest. Chat with each other or something, and don't let her study anymore. It's the first night of the holidays; have a good relax."
"Okay." Hermione nodded, took Amanda's hand, and walked upstairs.
Before leaving, Amanda politely bid goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "Auntie, Uncle, goodnight."
Only after saying that did she follow Hermione upstairs. Watching the two children turn the corner, Mrs. Granger guessed they could no longer hear, then turned to her husband. Her forehead was already covered in cold sweat.
"Don't you think Amanda's appearance is very similar to those people?"
Being doctors themselves—though dentists—they both knew relevant medical history. Thus, Mr. Granger understood exactly what his wife was talking about.
He frowned, his heart also thumping violently. "It shouldn't be... that kind of surgery was banned long ago. It's illegal. Which doctor would dare to do it?"
"And no matter what Amanda's parents are like, they are still her mom and dad. They wouldn't be that heartless, would they? Besides, even if they were that heartless, there's no reason. Destroying someone like that just to make them obedient?"
"Medical technology is so advanced now, and that surgery was proven harmful long ago. No one could really be that ignorant..."
Mr. Granger didn't continue, because he wasn't sure what Amanda's situation actually was.
"Whatever," Mrs. Granger shook her head. "Let's not go to the clinic tomorrow. We'll take Amanda for a comprehensive physical exam. We might as well have Hermione do one too. We'll know if something's wrong once they're checked."
"Alright." Mr. Granger nodded, agreeing with his wife's decision. It was better to check; if there was something wrong, they could find a way to treat it, and if not, they could rest easy.
On the other side, in Hermione's room upstairs, Hermione was sitting on the bed playing with Amanda's hair.
Amanda leaned blankly against the headboard, letting Hermione's fingers continuously twirl her hair.
"Sigh..." Hermione sighed. "People used to say I loved studying and was a bookworm. Now, comparing myself to you, I feel like I'm practically too lively."
"Who is so eager to study and do homework the very first night they get home for the holidays? At least let yourself rest a bit."
Amanda's eyes were as still as an ancient well without a single ripple as she shook her head.
"Homework is just the basic requirement. I must complete it as quickly as possible and then devote myself to independent study. Holidays are the best time to overtake others on a curve. I cannot be overtaken by others, and I must use this time to surpass them."
"Overtake... on a curve?" Hermione looked confused. Did that term mean what she thought it meant?
Passing the car in front while on a curve? Isn't that prone to accidents? And what did that have to do with Amanda saying homework was just the foundation and she needed independent study?
Shaking her head, Hermione wisely decided not to dwell on the term if she couldn't understand it. Regardless, she keenly sensed that she probably wouldn't like its true meaning.
Giving up on agonizing over the phrase, Hermione's eyes darted around as she thought of a good idea.
"Ahem, Amanda, let's discuss something."
Amanda slowly turned her head to look at Hermione, her tone indifferent and without a ripple. "Okay, go ahead."
Hermione raised her hand and scratched her cheek, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Well, I really want to study with you, but I also really want to play with you. This summer... can you study when I study and play when I play? Just to keep me company?"
"Is that okay?" Hermione looked at Amanda expectantly, forcing herself to put on a pitiful expression.
A thought appeared in Amanda's brain without hesitation: I shouldn't slack off during the holidays. I cannot slack off. I should continue studying during the break so I won't be overtaken on the curve. I should... surpass... others.
A slight pain shot through her mind, and the thought that had just appeared was interrupted, resulting in a series of pauses.
Another thought flashed from the depths of her brain: promise her. This thought told Amanda, as it usually did.
"Okay..." Amanda obeyed the thought, nodding with eyes that remained dead.
"Great! It's a deal then." Hermione smiled happily, lay down comfortably on the bed, and crawled into her duvet.
Seeing Hermione get into bed, Amanda leaned over to turn off the bedside lamp. Hermione's room instantly fell into darkness.
Slowly crawling into her own covers, Amanda closed her eyes and instantly fell into a deep sleep.
Hermione, who had originally wanted to have a little night chat after turning off the lights, felt a pang of heartache hearing the steady breathing beside her.
She turned over and carefully pulled Amanda into her arms, slowly patting her back. It had been quite a while since she started making Amanda sleep six hours a day.
She could still fall asleep so quickly; one could only imagine how exhausted her spirit must be.
Lowering her gaze, Hermione's resentment toward Amanda's parents deepened. Holding Amanda, Hermione slowly closed her eyes.
In the dark and silent night, while people were deep in sleep, an invisible existence quietly supplemented part of Amanda's identity in this world and left an unlimited black card, universal for all banks worldwide, in the pocket of the trousers she was to wear tomorrow... Waking up once every hour, Amanda got up exactly at six in the morning. She got out of bed and changed her clothes silently, being careful not to wake Hermione.
As soon as she put on her trousers, Amanda noticed something seemed to be in her pocket.
She took it out and looked; it was a black bank card with no specific bank name or card number. Along with it appeared a slip of paper explaining how to use the card.
Briefly analyzing the origin of this card, Amanda easily categorized it with the things she had previously obtained from her trunk.
So, this should also be from the world consciousness. Putting the black card into her pocket, Amanda walked out of Hermione's room light-footedly.
Coming down to the kitchen, she silently recited the History of Magic textbook while skillfully and professionally preparing breakfast.
Over half an hour later, a table full of hearty breakfast was laid out on the dining table.
Mrs. Granger, who had just gotten up to prepare some breakfast for Hermione and Amanda to take with them so they wouldn't be hungry after the physical exam, froze when she saw the large spread on the table.
Hearing footsteps, Amanda placed the last plate of sandwiches on the table and turned to look at Mrs. Granger.
"Good morning, Auntie. Please come and have breakfast."
Mrs. Granger looked at the tempting breakfast on the table and turned to Amanda in disbelief.
"Good morning... Did you make all this, Amanda?"
"Yes," Amanda nodded expressionlessly. "Does it not meet your requirements, Auntie? Or is there nothing you want to eat? I can make it again."
"No, no," Mrs. Granger quickly waved her hand. "I'm just a bit surprised."
Amanda and Hermione were the same age. They believed they had raised Hermione to be independent enough—cleaning her room and washing her clothes, Hermione could do it all herself.
But compared to this large table of breakfast Amanda made... Hermione really couldn't do that.
Nodding, Amanda mechanically pulled out a chair for Mrs. Granger.
Mrs. Granger looked at Amanda and pursed her lips in embarrassment. When they decided yesterday to take the two girls for a physical exam today, they had already gone upstairs to rest.
She and her husband didn't go up to disturb them, thinking they could just tell them this morning.
She hadn't expected Amanda to get up so early to prepare breakfast. A physical exam required fasting. Amanda had made such a large breakfast, but for now, it could only be looked at and not eaten... She felt quite bad about it.
"Auntie, aren't you going to eat?" Amanda turned to look at the breakfast she had made.
She couldn't be sure what Mr. and Mrs. Granger liked to eat, so she made many varieties, each in a small portion, hoping there would be something they loved.
But... was the current situation that there was nothing Auntie liked?
Or was she not thoughtful enough, or did she not do a good job, and Auntie was dissatisfied? Amanda lowered her gaze, as angry scolding echoed in her mind.
"You can't even do this well? Do you have the brain of a pig?"
Mrs. Granger snapped out of it. Seeing Amanda with her head lowered and eyes downcast, she felt a pang in her heart and quickly reached out to pull the girl to her side.
She picked up a sandwich and took a bite. "Auntie is eating," she chewed twice, and her eyes lit up with genuine sincerity. "It's delicious! Amanda, you're so good at cooking!"
This really wasn't just to comfort Amanda; her skills were truly excellent! In Mrs. Granger's view, compared to professional chefs, it wasn't much different.
When Amanda heard Mrs. Granger express satisfaction, the scolding in her mind finally stopped.
Looking at her blankly, Amanda shook her head and spoke mechanically, "My cooking isn't that good."
When her mom and dad used to eat, they would always point out problems with every dish—too salty, too bland, or the meat was overcooked.
Mrs. Granger swallowed the sandwich and shook her head. "Don't say that. Your cooking is very good. Not just among your peers, but even better than mine."
As she spoke, Mrs. Granger reached out to rub Amanda's head. "Did you learn to cook from your mother?"
Amanda shook her head, her voice devoid of ripples. "I taught myself from books."
Mrs. Granger was stunned for a moment, then couldn't help but praise, "Self-taught, that's incredible..."
But... Amanda was only eleven now, which meant she was even younger when she learned to cook? Ten? Nine? Why did she have to learn this at such a young age... Mrs. Granger felt a sense of doubt in her heart.
What puzzled her even more was, wouldn't her parents be worried about such a small child learning to cook? Kitchen knives, hot oil, gas—everything was dangerous.
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