Others' words must be followed by actions, but my words must bring social death. Scolded by the teacher that my brain is flooded, my ears start leaking water on the spot; self-deprecating that I am so hungry my chest sticks to my back, I instantly flatten into a sheet of paper; boasting that I am so handsome debris is falling off, dandruff flakes drop all over the floor; complaining that the sky is leaking, a heavy rain precisely pours down right over my head. The iceberg campus belle passes by holding an umbrella: shouldn't you apply for a meteorological disaster subsidy? I murmur softly, why is your way of speaking so cold—her whole body instantly freezes over, she turns her head with a dangerous smile and retorts to me, remember to wear a down jacket. Until that business card appears: Metaphor Administration Bureau, please report within three days.