Sophia frowned as the memories struck her again.
She remembered it too clearly—the reek of alcohol, the sight of her father stumbling through the doorway, the cruel laughter echoing in the small apartment.
That night, Victor had laughed in her face.
Through the thin glass window, he had looked at her and sneered:
"You will never have a future."
It was that moment—the contempt, the dismissal—that seared itself into her memory.
How could such a man, she thought bitterly, the so-called "father" who mocked her so harshly, possibly have written a song as beautiful as Under the Sea?
---
On stage, Sophia spoke lightly, but the sorrow in her voice was unmistakable.
"After that, he went upstairs. He told me I was worthless."
Each time she revisited that memory, the grief and confusion twisted inside her.
---
The screen played the scene.
Victor climbed the narrow staircase, reeking of liquor. He banged on the bedroom door. Through the glass pane he could see his little daughter, Sophia, bent over her desk, writing.
She wrinkled her nose at the alcohol clinging to him.
Victor's mouth curled into a crooked grin.
"What are you writing there? You can't do what your mother did. You think you can write songs?"
His laugh was cruel, mocking, exaggerated.
"You? Perform a song you wrote? Don't make me laugh!"
He roared with bitter amusement.
"What is this—some sloppy pop song? Hahaha!"
His laughter cut through the small room like a knife.
Sophia gripped her pen tightly, her knuckles turning white. She did not cry. She did not answer. She only turned her gaze to her mother's painting of the girl in the white dress and whispered her promise in her heart.
[I can do it.]
[The more he looks down on me, the harder I'll work to prove him wrong.]
[I will not write shallow songs. I will write with meaning. And I will perform calmly, with strength.]
At that moment, her character sharpened.
She became:
tough, determined, confident, defiant.
The confrontation had planted something in her.
And now, inside the packed stadium, one hundred thousand people clapped endlessly. The applause rolled like thunder.
Because here was a five-year-old child, facing humiliation and dismissal, and yet showing a perfect will.
---
Audience voices rose from every corner.
"Other children would have quit already. But she didn't—she kept going, and she finished it."
"What five-year-old has this kind of resolve? Incredible."
"Her character was flawless even at the beginning. Whoever has a child like this is truly blessed."
"Victor tried to crush her, but thank God she had light in her heart."
---
At the Baijia Forum, the debate raged.
Professor Tian smiled faintly at Professor Carter.
"I bet you can see it now," Tian said. "This child is extraordinary in her own right. What does it matter if she was born in the mud? What does it matter if her father was a drunk, or if her mother could only help a little? She carried an inextinguishable light in her heart—that's what's rare and precious."
He continued with awe in his voice:
"No wonder Sophia's achievements in literary history are so great. Even the official media have used her writing and introductions in recent years. This is no accident. She had the spirit of the heavens in her from the very start."
Professor Tian shook his head in admiration. "This child is perfect. Her talents, her gifts, her nature—it's like she was created by the gods themselves. I'd dream of having such a child."
---
But beside him, Professor Carter remained silent.
His eyes narrowed. He still felt that something was wrong.
The timing. The words. The laughter.
Victor's behavior was too precise, too deliberate.
It was as though he had chosen to drink, chosen to mock himself, chosen to become the villain—in order to shape his daughter's fire.
That final mocking sentence, the sneer about "sloppy pop songs," had not been meaningless cruelty. It had been the spark that ignited her defiance.
It had planted a belief: I will not be worthless. I will fight. I will prove myself.
Carter's heart pounded. Could it really be?
Was it possible that Victor had intentionally contaminated himself, sacrificed his own image, to create an enemy for his daughter—an enemy she would fight against for her entire life?
Was it possible he had made himself the villain on purpose, to give her the strength to win?
---
"No," Carter muttered, shaking his head. "Impossible."
It was too much.
If true, it would mean a level of love and sacrifice the world had never seen.
Not the education of the rich. Not the discipline of the powerful.
Something far rarer.
Something beyond belief.
---
The scene shifted again.
It was the final moment before Sophia completed her first masterpiece, Under the Sea.
Her small bedroom glowed with dim orange light. She sat at her desk, scribbling with fierce concentration.
But elsewhere in the apartment—in the smallest, darkest room—Victor writhed in agony.
He clutched his head, blue veins bulging, his body drenched in sweat.
It was midnight. His brain cancer struck again, pain ripping through him like knives.
He did not scream. He did not call for help. He bit his lips, muffling the sounds, rolling on the thin mattress in torment.
His frail body, thinned by illness and years of labor, trembled violently.
Yet, in the midst of the attack, he dragged himself up and stared into the mirror.
His reflection showed a pale ghost of a man, but his eyes blazed with fury.
He roared at himself:
"Stay alive!"
"Stay alive!"
"What will happen to your child if you die?!"
"How will she survive?!"
His voice was raw, his throat tearing, but his will was immovable.
---
And in that moment, everyone watching the Happy Family program, everyone on Douyin and every live broadcast platform, thought the same thing.
Victor had been diagnosed with brain cancer.
He had been given one year.
He had no money for chemotherapy. He had survived only on cheap painkillers.
And yet—he had endured for more than ten years.
How?
How did he survive the pain?
How did he endure endless nights of agony?
How did he work exhausting jobs by day, while hiding his torment at night?
How did he withstand the scorn of his own daughter, while still carrying the will to protect her?
How did he survive?
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