The moment I saw the message on WeChat, it felt like my just-awoken brain got hit with a sledgehammer. A metal one.

I opened the chat window of "Mrs. Anderson."

In just half a day, she'd sent me thirty-two text messages and twenty-three image messages.

"Ms. Lawrence, Alexander said he doesn’t understand question 13. Can you help him out quickly?"

A bunch of images followed.

Five minutes later, another message came through: "Ms. Lawrence, didn’t you see it? It’s been five minutes!"

Ten minutes later, more images came, along with a text: "Ms. Lawrence, my son Alexander is in the top ten. Unlike those playful kids, shouldn't teachers encourage and help intelligent, well-behaved students more?"

Thirteen minutes later, she was frantic: "Ms. Lawrence? I’ve called you dozens of times. Why aren't you answering? I can't believe you haven't seen this. Who doesn't check their phone these days?"

Half an hour later, another batch of images arrived.

"Ms. Lawrence, I personally think it's not Alexander's fault if he can’t solve these. The questions are unreasonably difficult, possibly beyond the syllabus. Otherwise, with Alexander's ability, he wouldn't struggle!"

"I asked his dad to call you a few more times. Didn't you see those either?"

"Ms. Lawrence, it's only 10 PM. I can't believe you'd sleep this early."

"Helping students is a tradition! Passed down for thousands of years! Teachers have good virtues, right? You wouldn’t pretend not to see this!"

At 3 AM, she asked her final question: "Ms. Lawrence, are you attending a family funeral?"

I jumped out of bed. Shook my head to ensure I wasn't dreaming. My chest was heaving with anger.

Without hesitation, I typed out a long message, ready to send it, when I received a text from Director Vance.

In the message, Director Vance once again emphasized that the primary requirement for teachers is to properly handle relationships with students and their parents, striving to turn big issues into small ones, and to establish a good bridge of communication between home and school.

Director Vance also sent a lengthy note: "Ms. Lawrence, you are a promising young teacher! Your teaching ability is well recognized. Now that you have been selected as a provincial renowned teacher and core teacher, you should be more mindful of your behavior, communicate effectively with students and parents, and don't let a moment of impulse lead to actions you might regret!"

I took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled, and after ten minutes, my anger subsided a bit.

After politely replying to Director Vance, I deleted the long message I had typed.

I only sent a question mark in response.

I could completely understand the anxiety parents felt when tutoring their children, and I was willing to empathize and share some of their negative emotions.

But Mrs. Anderson sent her first message on a Saturday night, around eight o'clock, which was entirely my personal rest time, and I usually set my phone to silent on Saturday nights to focus entirely on lesson preparation.

I had no obligation, nor any reason, to answer questions sent to me during this time.

Moreover, the questions in those images weren't assigned by me but were extra assignments from an after-school tutoring class. I wasn't obligated to do unpaid work for those paid teachers.

After washing up in the bathroom, I was about to ask a friend out when Mrs. Anderson's chat popped up again:

"So, nothing's wrong at home, Ms. Lawrence? I thought maybe your mom got hit by a car, otherwise why would you be too busy to respond all day?"

"Alexander has a competition question he can't solve. Make sure you teach him first thing Monday."